Author's Note: Wow, what a response *mad laugh* You got me all motivated, so I quickly did this as a thank you. Thanks also to all reviewers! I'm always happy to hear opinions.
While reading this chapter you might play a game called "spot all the elves".
Enjoy!
"Children in the park". Pencil drawing on copying paper – Central Park, noon
"Hands". Pencil studies on copying paper – Central Park, noon
Thorin sat on his piece of cardboard, which he had spread on the dewy grass. Another lump of cardboard was spread on his right knee, and on top of it was a blank paper. Thorin stared at it for a moment, and then blinked up into the sun. It was still chilly in the mornings and in the shadows, but here he felt the first warming sunrays sinking into his skin, and deeper into his bones, like liquid happiness. It was strange not to feel his long locks fall into his face – Dís cut his matted hair so it was now merely a few inches long. He had shaved himself, too, and he felt almost naked without the fuzzy beard. New York's winters were harsh, especially for the homeless, and beards were much needed. But now spring was coming, and with the cold went the need for facial hair.
The pearling laughter of children tore Thorin from his daydreams, and when his gaze fell on a girl and a boy playing in the grass – they were hardly older than three years, with a sparkling curiosity in their eyes and a thoughtless clumsiness in their limbs – he felt his fingers tingle. Without looking at the paper under his hands he watched the children's movements and started to draw.
It was strange, how he saw and didn't see at the same time. Some painters did intense studies of the object they were sketching. Some specialised on quick sketches, perfectly fit for urban settings, moving people, animals and other dynamic scenes. But Thorin didn't actually draw what he saw – he didn't even look at the paper he was drawing on, it was odd, even to him. When he shot a quick glance at his sketch, there were two children playing, but there was no park, no grass, no trees. There were shapes instead, bubbles and leaves and clouds and ribbons, swirling around the small bodies. For a split second Thorin ached for colour; his fingers itched for the rough wood of a brush, he craved the unique scratch of bristle on canvas – or even better, yes, watercolour, oil would be too heavy and intense for those lively children.
He watched as the boy chased the girl over the grass, and he could hear someone – probably the mother – shouting after them, when they were out of sight. With a frown of concentration Thorin turned to his sketch. He had no eraser, so the lines of his sketches were always fuzzy and thick, but he was content with the end result anyway. The children were playing on an island of clouds now, throwing petals and ribbons into the air and streaming tails of bubbles and leaves behind them. He carefully wrote a title – "Children in the park" – and the date in the bottom right corner of the paper and then tucked it away to his other finished drawings, safely stored in an envelope he'd bolstered up with cardboard. Thorin automatically prepared the next blank paper, but since there was nothing that caught his eye at the moment – he'd drawn the trees and view far too many times before – he leaned back and enjoyed the warm sunlight on his skin.
It wasn't quiet of course, there were talking people, laughing kids, barking dogs and …
"… told you not to smoke when I'm around!"
"Ow … Bitch. What, just because you don't smoke I have to give up on my one and only guilty pleasure?"
"One and only!" A disbelieving snort. "Fuck you, you're not blowing smoke into my face, period. Stop whining."
Thorin cracked one eye open and watched the pair that now occupied the bench closest to him, though he could only see their backs from where he sat. If he hadn't heard their voices, he'd have sworn one of them was a woman – it was the long, luxurious blond hair – but no, they were actually two men. And the one with the long blond hair was just grinding a cigarette stub.
"Bastard," the other one huffed.
"I love you too, my dear Haldir."
Haldir sighed and rummaged in a paper bag.
"You know that you're a diva, right?"
"Shut up. And now give me my coffee."
"For fuck's sake, you're insufferable like this."
"It's the lack of caffeine in my system, dearest."
"Jeez, take it already."
"Thank you." And after a few seconds: "Yuck, sugar! I got yours, you prick!"
Thorin felt slightly uncomfortable with eavesdropping on their friendly bickering, but his artistic eye had been captured by a short glance at the still unnamed man's profile. He had only turned his head a little bit after receiving his coffee, in order to thank his friend, and it had been a very quick motion. Thorin almost hadn't caught it. He couldn't describe the stranger's face if his life depended on it, but that quick glance had left a lasting impression of symmetry and beauty that made his fingers itch. It was almost painful how he was aching to draw this man. If only he had a better view – but creeping into his line of sight could lead to various embarrassing situations, and he was too self-conscious to try anything.
"So how was Paris?"
"Goddamn exhausting and stressful, as always. I don't think I had a proper meal or night of sleep during that whole time – and I still hadn't recovered from London and Mailand. But you know how that is."
There was a pause, both took a sip of coffee, and Thorin saw long, graceful hands. It took him only a few seconds to capture them on paper, and a fraction of the itch in his fingers eased into joy.
"I didn't miss too much, then," Haldir said.
"Oh, only the usual: puking chicks, blisters on your feet and back aches. Bría kicked Rondy in the balls. Galadriel finally married that Cele-dude. El tripped and sprained his ankle because Ro shoved him. And you?"
"Well, I can tell you about puking as well."
"Ugh."
"Yeah. Couldn't have walked a straight line for a million dollars." Haldir downed his coffee. "So, what are your plans for summer? Are you going to do Berlin?"
"To be honest, I didn't plan so far yet. I never liked Berlin, and no one offered anything, so … I'd have to ask my agent if there is anything interesting. But we'll all do New York, right? Home game! We've got to walk the runway here. I'd hate to sit on my ass while some half-baked bugger walks in my place, just a few blocks away."
Haldir chuckled.
"You can always just flirt with Manzanares again – he'd lick your muddy boots if you just smiled at him."
"That pervert, I'm never going to wear any of his creations ever again."
That was the moment when the conversation suddenly started to make sense to Thorin – at least the unnamed man had to be some sort of a model. That Haldir-guy probably was too.
"What do you mean? I thought you liked Manzanares."
"Oh, you've got some nerve. That sleazy bastard kissed me once and I swear it was so disgusting … He literally tried to choke me with his tongue and he … touched me. Ugh. No, I'd rather let Lindir shave my head than having to see that asshole again."
"Whoa, that fucker! I'm sorry, I didn't know that."
There was a short pause, when Haldir dusted his coat off – Thorin hadn't even noticed that he'd been eating a croissant. His eyes had been trained on Haldir's friend the whole time, willing him to turn his head, but it never happened.
"By the way, I finally saw that photo shooting you did in November."
"You did? And?" Haldir sat again.
"I thought it was terribly boring, you're far too special to do something so ordinary."
"I had to try it. And thanks for thinking I'm special."
"Sure you are."
Silence fell on their conversation again, so Thorin risked tearing his gaze off the two men in order to look at his sketch. To his utter surprise there was more than one, but each and every one showed the still unnamed stranger's hands, holding the coffee cup, gesturing, absentmindedly tucking a stray strand of rich blond hair behind a delicate ear. Thorin stared at them for a few dizzy moments. He couldn't believe he had drawn those. It couldn't be, he didn't remember drawing more than one sketch.
"… call you. Oh, and give my regards to Legolas."
"Sure, I'll tell him next time I see him."
Thorin's head jerked up. They were leaving? A sudden surge of panic flooded his head. He needed to see more of this mysterious man, he needed to draw more, he needed …
"And don't forget to move your lazy ass."
"Shut up, I'm not the fat one here."
"You little shit, just you wait and see. I'll beat you. I'm gonna get an invite before you."
With his heart hammering he tucked the paper into his envelope and came to his feet. Haldir was already walking away, and Thorin's breath hitched as the unnamed stranger turned, turned- … Oh, and his instincts had been right. He was prepared for it, he had expectations, but oh, he was so much more beautiful than Thorin could have ever imagined. There were no words to describe him, he was simply stunning. He had to draw him. There was no way Thorin could go on with life without having captured those features on paper or canvas. Yes, canvas! Rich, intense oil – gold and white and green and blue – the colours swirled in his head like a hurricane, a powerful tide that pulled his mind out onto the open sea.
The stranger's pale blue eyes almost looked into his direction, and Thorin thought that he would have fallen like struck by a bullet had those eyes met his, but they didn't and he still stood. For a short eternity his feet were rooted to the ground, but then some sort of instinct kicked in and he stepped onto the path, following the man without ostentation. He was a fast walker, though, and Thorin had to hurry to keep up with him.
Author's Note: Did you spot/recognise all mentioned elves? :P There are 10 in total, including Thranduil, Haldir and Legolas.
Also, Manzanares doesn't exist of course. I would never accuse a real person of sexual harrassment. I'm not sure if I'm going to come up with fake fashion labels as well bc I have absolutely no idea about anything.
Thanks for reading, please review!
