Mirkwood was a great town, it really was. There were lots of wooded areas, the residents liked to party a lot….and there was a disproportionate amount of reported spider infestations in the residencies. Not that Arwen minded, she loved spiders.
The unfriendly stares and glowers however? She could definitely do without. Not that she wasn't used to them, but here it was almost malicious. A decent town, but a shadow seemed to hang over it at times. And it wasn't just the constantly overcast weather (always a point in Arwen's book).
A definite plus side was the town's close proximity to the city of Erebor, where one could find more than one activity to get up to. As much as Mirkwood's residents liked to party and immerse themselves in the bar scene, they didn't have many noteworthy clubs to go to. Especially her type of clubs.
Even better than the city of Erebor, but much farther away, was Gondor. When Arwen had lived in her hometown of Rivendell, or Imladris as the residents liked to call it, she'd make the trip up there for a few days to explore the night life and attend the regular hole-in-the-wall goth clubs. Large cities were easy to get lost in, and no one really cared what you looked like.
Elladan and Elrohir, her identical twin brothers, had moved out of Rivendell a while back to Gondor and had been more than happy to host their younger sister. The two metalheads, who could frequently be seen rocking corpse paint and long black hair, had been the first to introduce the then "baby bat" Arwen to the scene. Much to the unhappiness of Elrond, their father, who had always hoped Arwen wouldn't be influenced by her older brothers' lifestyles.
Arwen always chuckled at the memory of her first visit to Gondor with her brothers, wide eyed and nineteen, she'd attended her first goth club. Well, first club at all really. It was friendly to all ages above eighteen, but the large sharpie X's on someone's hands made sure you weren't being served alcohol. Her brothers of course had kept a very close watch on her, being as protective as they were. That didn't bar them of course to getting up to their usual mischief and shenanigans.
She'd worn the only black clothes she'd had at the time, Elladan teasing her hair and Elrohir providing the corpse paint. Her brothers had stepped back and grinned their signature "this is going to make father so mad" grins, causing her to be immediately disapproving. When she'd looked in the mirror Arwen hadn't been sure at all of that style, but at the time she hadn't known anything about the darker subcultures or anything to do with them outside her brothers, who'd been at it since they were teens.
Something about the pale-faced and dark eyed creature looking back at her, hair like a bat's nest on her head, had sent a thrill through her. But she'd never tell them that. The grins had only gotten wider, eliciting a scowl from her.
That night as her brothers explained, was dedicated to the 80's postpunk and darkwave scene (whatever that had meant). With a cover band playing music from various bands such as Bauhaus, The Cure, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees, along with others that Arwen had never head of. The club had been filled to the brim with people sporting hairstyles called "deathhawks" and dark makeup, and it had decidedly been the weirdest thing Arwen had ever seen.
And also the best, as she soon realized. She'd always interested in the more macabre and Romantic styles, mostly in literature and movies, but she'd never realized there were whole styles, subcultures, and even music surrounding those themes. Her fathers disdain of her brothers' styles and tastes had always influenced her as well, so she'd stayed the way she she'd always been-the good girl, never rebelling and never stirring the pot.
In a way she'd resented her brothers for doing what they wanted and being who they were, because it meant responsibility and propriety had always fallen to her. Along with all of her father's high expectations. Not that someone's style had anything to do with their level of responsibility, but her brothers had always been trouble makers and free spirits. Her father loved them all fiercely, but his understanding and patience only went so far.
That pulled a frown from her as she paused in sipping her coffee, her thoughts temporarily being pulled back to the present. Black stiletto nails tapped the side of her cup, red eyes (usually gray, but that's the fun of contacts) staring intensely at the sugar and cream-free substance within.
"I'd ask if you needed more coffee, but your expression suggests that it doesn't have long to live!" A cheerful voice interjected.
Glancing up, Arwen's expression relaxed at the sight of her favorite café resident, Bilbo. The shorter man sported sandy curls, warm brown eyes, and tattoos from the neck down (from what she could see that is). He was the main barista, and when it was slow would often wander out from behind the bar to chat.
Letting out a soft chuckle, she placed her cup down and smiled at him. "Sorry Bilbo, I hope I'm not scaring customers off with my glowering. And more coffee is never a bad thing, no matter how much it's somehow offended me."
His eyes crinkling at the corners, he let out a warm laugh that never failed to cheer those around him. Biblo's changes in facial expressions also made his many piercings move in what Arwen decided was an adorable way. "Hmm, no need to be sorry. If anyone's scared off it'll be by the music my boss makes me play here," he groused. Well known to the employees was the café' owner, Gandalf's, love for repetitive folk-pop that he said the "hipster youth that frequented cafés" loved so much.
Grinning at his ire, Arwen finished the last of her coffee in a gulp. Bilbo hurried to fill it, and it was only until now she noticed the coffee pot in his hand. "You're too kind, but I doubt the other customers are less a fan of a music then they are of the red-eyed, all-black wearing creature with bats nest hair currently sitting in the booth next to the window." She meant it jokingly, but there was a residual undercurrent of apology in her tone. Still couldn't quite get rid of that.
Bilbo rolled his eyes, but his gaze had softened. "If they're that offended by one of the nicest and most interesting customers I've ever had, they can sod off to The Green Dragon. Lobelia will be glad for the customers, and I'm sure it'll warm her cold dead heart by at least a fraction. And besides that, they tolerate the inked up, piercing laden creature currently talking to said red-eyed creature. So from creature to creature, don't worry about it." He winked, and Arwen again remembered why everyone couldn't help but love the guy.
Arwen smiled softly, glancing away a little guiltily. Bilbo's steadfast acceptance of her had been unwavering since the first moment she'd walked into the little café, and it had always meant the world to her. She'd always felt bad, worrying that her presence in the café would disturb the other customers and mess with business, but Bilbo never seemed to care (despite the glowers of the residents at both Bilbo and her).
Before she could thank him, the chime of the door sounded, indicating the arrival of people. Arwen blinked and glanced back at Bilbo, but he was already heading back to the bar, one last warm smile aimed her way as he went. Bilbo had a way with people, even if he didn't know it. He would always manage to make you smile, and say the exact right thing without even realizing it.
Sighing at the loss of his presence, Arwen glanced at the new arrivals, whose backs were turned to her as they ordered at the bar. Her interest was immediately piqued at the newcomers, whose appearances would stand out in any crowd.
From what she could see, the one on the right was tall and slim, their skin a russet reddish brown. They had teased flaming red hair in intricate braids down their back, almost to their waist! The sides of their head were shaved as well from what she could see, what looked like tattoos sported on the bare skin. They were dressed in what looked like a skirt of various fabrics in differing shades of deep greens, their top laced up on all sides with bell sleeves. Scarves and leather belts adorned their waist, and everything about their style that Arwen could see was fascinating.
The other being, still with their back turned to her, was smaller and broad shouldered with light blonde hair. This stranger had both sides of their head shaved, with only two strips of hair left by their ears that were dyed black. White foundation coated the shaved sides of their head, and Arwen could only assume their face as well. The rest of it was styled up into a magnificent straight-to-the-sky deathhawk. Even Arwen's black hair was shaved on only one side, and more just teased to be big and pushed to the side. They wore pointed pike shoes, much like Arwen's own, which people compared to cowboy boots (ugh) but were really just boots with a fierce point at the end.
This persons pikes had what looked like skull buckles, which set the tone of the rest of their look. Ripped fishnets, a shiny leather skirt, and a leather jacket-was that a Siouxsie Sioux patch!?-studded with spikes adorned their person.
Arwen's heart was thudding, and she didn't know why. She'd practically never seen other alternative types in Mirkwood, from what she assumed was a lack of them. Maybe she'd been wrong?
She sure hoped so.
Feeling nervous all of a sudden, she quickly realized she'd been gaping at them. Regardless that they couldn't see her, it was rude to stare (Arwen understood the dislike of being stared at all too well). Quickly averting her eyes, she strained hear ears to hear any snippets of conversation. A laugh reached her, a clear sound, like birdsong piercing the silence in the morning. For reasons unknown, it warmed her to the very bones. Another laugh broke through the quiet lull of the café, this one deeper but no less memorable and pleasing to hear than the first. Probably at some witty thing Bilbo had said, he was quite good at eliciting laughs and good humor from others.
Arwen vaguely noted the song playing in the background, some soft spoken Billie Holiday song that she knew Bilbo would have put on. It was a café after all, Gandalf couldn't possibly have a problem with jazz.
"Walk my way, and a thousand violins begin to play…"
Shaking her head to focus, she had the sudden urge to check a mirror and make sure she didn't look like a mess. Almost scoffing at herself, Arwen scowled out the window. There was no reason to get so worked up over two complete strangers, who probably wouldn't even notice her presence anyway. Arwen's lack of friends in this new town had not gone unnoticed to her, or even her brothers (who called her frequently despite her assurances that she was doing just fine). Her father also called her quite regularly, even driving up from Rivendell recently to visit her. It didn't help that the residents of her new town usually came off as snooty, treating new comers or those not from there as nuisances and to be treated with suspicion.
Her appearance had not helped that either. Many times in her life she'd considered just giving up and going back to the more conservative and "acceptable" self that she'd presented to the world (in more ways than just appearance). Just so people would stop staring and commenting and harassing her. But every time she'd considered it she immediate pushed those thoughts to the side. If she couldn't be herself, who could she possibly be?
Arwen was so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed the two strangers go to leave, until she caught flashes of movement at the corner of her eye. Turning ever so slightly, she got a full view of them that she hadn't before.
And her stomach promptly dropped through the floor.