Flair
Elrond, Celebrian, and their two sons watched in wry amusement as Arwen prepared to lose her five-year-old temper. The small face was scarlet, rosebud lips tightly pursed, and the dark hair was practically standing on end. She stomped across the floor, fists clenched tightly at her sides.
'I want that doll that Tathwen has,' she shouted all at once. 'I want it, so I had better get it! Or do you want me to lose my temper?'
'You had better ask Tathwen about the doll,' Celebrian replied calmly. 'But remember to say please and thank you.'
Opening her mouth wider than Elladan had realized possible, Arwen screamed. Casting herself prostrate upon the floor, hands and feet pounded viciously on the marble. Curious Elves glanced into the room as they passed, slightly concerned by the bloodcurdling shrieks that were currently issuing from it.
Elrond glanced at his sons, his eyes twinkling slightly. 'She really does have a flair for the dramatic.'