"Corporate Bigwig Thranduil and Estranged Son – Sudden Reunion at the Announcement of Swarovski's Successful Financial Year-End"
"Introducing Swarovski's Heir…Pressure is On to Measure Up and Shine Like his Father"
"Thranduil's Long-Lost Son Legolas Greenleaf: An Ungrateful Drunkard?"
Tauriel's face progressively screws in distaste at each blasted headline on the cover of tabloids lined up outside a convenience kiosk. She picks up the last one with the oversized drunkard title, and underneath; a picture of an angry-looking Legolas caught in the middle of an inconvenient blink, holding a beer bottle up to his chest. To the left is his father looking soft and gentle, stealing a sidelong glimpse at him as they loomed over the rowdy crowd on the ground level.
Tauriel scoffs loudly and waves the magazine at the vendor who is watching from behind the counter.
"This is distribution of inaccurate information, and you are condoning it by selling…," Tauriel struggles handling the tabloid and almost lets it slip through her fingers. "…this trash!"
She flips open the tabloid and skims through it half-heartedly. "So just because he was drinking beer, he is labeled an 'ungrateful drunkard'? This is ridiculous," she talks, but not necessarily to the vendor.
The vendor seems oblivious anyway and responds by scratching his head. After plenty of ticking seconds while observing Tauriel go off about the content of the tabloid, he is finally bothered.
"Hey lady, are you going to pay for that?"
Tauriel perks up as if realizing for the first time that there is another presence around her and places the tabloid down. "No thanks. I'd rather buy the truth!", she taunts the vendor and stomps away.
Minutes later she reaches Legolas' apartment and spots a crowd of paparazzi huddled in the small, secured area before the main lobby, waiting for their chance to snap candid pictures of the budding 'celebrity'. She takes a deep breath before marching across the street and pushes the first door open, intending to squeeze the solid wall of people standing behind the glass wall. Once inside, her shoulders either bang into swinging DSLR cameras, or into other bigger and muscular shoulders.
Despite the buzz around her, she catches a small talk coming from a corner.
"This place is a dump. I'm sure this guy is a fake."
"Must be convenient to look like some big time CEO huh."
"It's ok, Joel. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Donald Trump, but much balder?"
Suddenly, the crowd feels like it's caving in on her. Tauriel hurries as she scoops out her duplicate key with a small cat keychain that looks a lot like Seven, and panics while going through the second set of glass doors. Catching her breath as the door shuts loudly behind her, she steps backwards and squints at the paparazzi studying her, enclosed within the glass wall partition like a bunch of zombies.
"Are you sure it's just you out there?" Legolas asks through the crack of the ajar door. He has his cheek pressed against it, staring at the chain lock which is stretched to its capacity, the only thing that is keeping him safe from the wild beyond.
"It's just me honey, I swear," Tauriel breathes back into the allowance of the tiny space between her and Legolas. She rests her forehead against the door to his apartment as her hand is poised over the doorknob, her copy of his key still inside the lock.
"Look both ways," he requests stubbornly. Legolas is clearly having none of it today. Tauriel does what she is told and cranes her neck side to side to check for human anomaly while Legolas watches her through the peephole. She then returns her eyes to the small round lens in front of her to confirm the area is clear.
She hears the chain lock slide and a click and the door finally opens, albeit timidly. Legolas looks at her from behind the door with mild ambivalence, half naked with a towel wrapped around him from the waist down, blond locks in a gorgeous wet tangle. There is a bit of water pooled in the middle of his collar bone and Tauriel fights the urge to lick it. Nope. Not today. Not when zombies are invading his apartment.
"Legolas, you can't live like this, cooped up in your apartment and scared of people," Tauriel starts, determined to keep Legolas' life normal. She points at Seven curled up on the window ledge. "That's what your cat does."
"Did you see those paparazzi? They're like rabid wolf packs!"
"You know, some people would kill to have your problem right now." She is trying not to laugh.
"I can't even go to the deli, Tauriel. I probably can't go to Walmart either to buy normal stuff," Legolas says slowly, dawning upon a realization. "Why would people want a problem of not being able to go to Walmart, or the deli?"
At this point she has a hand over her mouth in case snickers. She then examines Legolas with concern and curses internally because had the role been switched, she would probably have a field day with being suddenly famous. She shakes her head and smiles.
"Alright honey. Time to get you all dolled up for your first executive meeting ever!" she dramatically pulls out a black blazer and waves it at Legolas.
"And step out of this apartment to get sacrificed into the fiery pits of paparazzi, no way," he says firmly. Hopping off her favourite spot on the ledge, Seven joins her owner and rubs up against the back of his leg.
The Swarovski head office is not hard to spot within the hubbub of Los Angeles financial district, for it is the only black-tinted glass building with silver lining framing the whole structure, and bright silver lettering for its signage. Everything was silver and black. Along its main entrance boasts tall palm trees, accentuated with rectangular pots of red bougainvillea crawling around each tree.
Legolas rushes through the hallway of the twenty-second floor as he desperately looks for the main boardroom, his long hair flying loose behind him. Wide eyes and big smiles greet him as the sea of employee automatically parts to give him space at the drop of recognition, some flagging him for a chat. He is wearing his trademark dark jeans and sneakers, and a solid white shirt underneath the black blazer that Tauriel flat ironed for him earlier that morning.
There is a steady murmur in the boardroom when he enters, hesitating to come in as he pokes his head through to check out the size of the crowd. The noise continues despite his appearance and only a few people cared to look up and acknowledge him, making him breathe with relief. The employees are still scribbling, lost in conversations with each other. Legolas scans the long table and on the very opposite end is a red, notably more luxurious chair standing out amongst the black ones. On the table he notices a voluptuous aerator with red wine inside, and an empty wine glass placed beside it which further confirms that it is his father's designated spot. To the left side of the red chair he notes a brown leather-bound notebook and a coffee mug with steam still coming out of it, indicating that it is also taken. And finally, to the right, is a cold Labatt Blue beer bottle sitting atop a coaster bordered with blue crystals, arranged just for him.
He can't help but feel special and spoiled as he makes his way to his appointed chair, glancing back at the door to see if his father is trailing behind him. The two of them seem to be the final attendees to the meeting. Once he is settled, he sees Thorin on the other end of the table standing close by the projection board in the front of the board room, smirking with his arms crossed.
Legolas scans the room satisfyingly, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. "This has got to be the snazziest board room I have ever been in."
"And I trust you haven't seen many," Thorin responds to his comment.
Legolas sits back comfortably and clasps his hands over his chest, twiddling his thumbs. "…Actually, this is the only one I have ever been in."
Thorin chuckles, glancing down at his shoes. When he looks back up, his glorious black hair bounces in slow motion. "Glad you finally found your way in, Mister Thranduillion," he says with that accent that Legolas can't quite decipher.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Legolas apologizes as he reads the time on the wall, realizing they're fifteen minutes past the meeting kickstart. As he looks down the length of the table he is distracted by a pair of light purple eyes zeroing in on his, accompanied by long silky blanket of black hair cascading down her shoulders, and her complexion is as pale as porcelain. The woman gives him a lopsided grin when she notices that she finally had his attention.
"Don't be that sorry. Someone else is running even later than you," Thorin answers and waggles his eyebrows knowingly. "Like father like son, huh?" he continues, as if he said something clever. He nods while approaching Legolas, challenging him to answer, halting from within a foot's reach.
Legolas clears his throat and looks up at Thorin. "Amazingly, that is true. And what's even more amazing is that it is probably the one and only thing we have in common, right Thor?"
He shrugs his shoulders when he catches sight again of the purple-eyed woman still staring at him, a bit of Thorin's long hair obstructing his side vision. A different door that is camouflaged within a wall opens in the far end of the massive board room and everything falls silent. Thranduil waltzes in with his cell phone plastered to his ear, absorbed in a dialogue and light in tread, wearing his hair down like Legolas. Someone appears on cue and pours red wine into Thranduil's glass and then tends to the beer bottle after. But no commotion stops Thorin from scooting closer to whisper something important to Legolas.
"You listen, junior diva. Never call me Thor again, never use your jack ass tone on me, so you sit there tight and shut up for the next hour because I am running this meeting in which you and your sparkling father have already delayed."
Legolas' thumbs freeze in mid-twirl, letting Thorin's warning settle in after the initial shock. Much to his dismay he watches his father take his time on the phone, and makes a wish for him to get to his seat sooner.
Thorin pulls away from his ear and Legolas lets out a small puff of air through his mouth, only for Thorin to draw right back in, and says for the last time before heading back to the front projection board, "By the way, that's my rightful chair you're sitting in."
Legolas looks down at himself before falling slack into the seat as he is finally left alone, suddenly discouraged from staying to hear the rest of the meeting. He wears a frown by the time his father is floating past behind him.
Thranduil only acknowledges his son's presence by placing a hand on top of his head and ruffles his hair, shocking the whole table and making someone gasp. Legolas is caught off-guard and is delighted by this unforced playfulness, beaming like an idiot who's been deprived of affection. Thranduil nestles into his chair and barely puts energy into making a lazy gesture with his hand that looks like shooing off a fly. Amazingly this sets off the meeting and Thorin's assistant proceeds to make the introduction.
Two women in their early-twenties pose for their cell phones while holding up cold Starbucks beverages, enjoying the afternoon sun in the patio. Their feet are surrounded by large shopping bags from high-end retailers, and the item being shared on a small plate is a gluten-free blueberry scone. One of them finally takes up a fork and knife and starts slicing into the scone, almost embarrassed to be the first one to eat.
Legolas watches this charade in Starbucks from an upscale coffee shop called Café Sonoma, exuding elegance and mostly business people in complete business attire, a couple of hours after the meeting adjourned.
He falls the tiniest bit conscious of what he is wearing, being the only customer in the café on a Monday lunch hour without a tie. He also begins to over-analyze the amount of food he is eating compared to others, which is abnormal to him. There is a parade of freshly baked goodies consisting of prosciutto and brie Panini, three alfajores, a cheese raisin roll, warm chickpea salad and a caramel macchiato.
He is convinced that business meetings bore and starve him at the same time.
He glances down at his father's pathetic lunch combination of eggs benedict with a glass of aranciata dismissively across the round table and look up only to catch him staring back at him in what he categorizes as disbelief.
"I know dad. I feel fat."
Thranduil picks up a fork and pokes at one of the eggs. "You see, that right there is one of the many reasons why I am hesitant to step foot in a Starbucks."
They tilt their heads in unison to see the girls urgently fixing their hair and still taking selfies of themselves but with their oversized shades on this time. Legolas decides it's best to stop watching as soon as the girl with the ice blue highlights starts to reach down her purse for a lipstick.
"Really, I would've been fine with Starbucks. This place is too fancy. They only let me through in jeans and without a tie because you're with me," Legolas says as he pops an alfajore in his mouth. "Besides, we could have also done without these violinists."
There are two women dressed in frilly white dresses playing violin from somewhere behind them, their bohemian wavy blonde hair catching sun and giving them an angelic glow. Classic music fills the air, providing a unique kind of live entertainment in the patio area of the café.
Legolas leers at a violin and adds, "It feels like we're on a date."
"I have the right to enjoy a delightful piece of violin concerto in D minor whenever I want," Thranduil answers with his nose upturned. He takes a sip of his aranciata and closes his eyes in contentment.
"Well then, if it is accessible music you wish to have whenever you want, may I suggest Spotify?," Legolas asks in an exaggerated salesman tone, fumbling with his cell phone whilst trying to keep eye contact with his father to see if he is interested.
"What is this Spotify device," Thranduil answers blankly and continues. "The violin music is a simple gift from the owner of the café. I personally invest in their business. I provided them funds so they could purchase the best, most expensive coffee and espresso machines made in Italy. In turn, I receive a share of their earnings."
Legolas nods and downs half the mug of the caramel macchiato. "It was nice to learn about some of the Swarovski business operations during the meeting. College education came in handy so the lingo wasn't very alien to me."
Thranduil's ears perk up. "I am very glad you enjoyed it. However, we barely scratched the surface," he smiles big at his son who is now wolfing down the chickpea salad. Legolas pauses from chewing and feels as though he has accidentally opened a floodgate. His father continues, "I will have someone send you a communication containing the date and location of the next meeting."
Legolas gets hit by a mild sense of dread. But he figures that he'll get a positive kick out of it because it makes his father happy, and it will also give them a chance to spend more time with each other.
Despite the current awesome state he is in, there is one lingering inquiry that hangs over his head, a purposeful itch he has been trying to scratch. He pushes his fork and plate aside, along with his anxiousness. He realizes the amount of scheming his mind is churning through and feels silly from it because he thinks he shouldn't be. He clears his throat and hopes for the best.
He turns once again to glance at the two girls over in the Starbucks patio.
"I bet mom liked Louis Vuitton huh. I bet she had quite a collection." He squints to get clarity and mouths 'Christian Louboutin', reading one of the girls' bags and almost slaps his forehead.
His face crunches while Thranduil lets out a full-blooded guffaw.
"Oh, goodness gracious, no. Your mother ridiculed Louis Vuitton merchandises," Thranduil brings a pinky finger to the corner of his eye. He then lowers his gaze and finds the well-used fork laid across Legolas' plate very interesting. His right hand hovers hesitantly over a handkerchief on the table before resting it down, his fingers tapping against the cloth like a morse code.
Something in Legolas had always thought his father is not the type to squirm in any situation, until that one moment he finally asks of his mother.
Legolas grows a bit uneasy from the way his father seems to have vocally collapsed, still staring at his fork, or something on his plate. He is in the middle of gathering breath to retract his question when Thranduil finally resumes to speak, his lips aching to turn into a soft smile.
"Actually, no. Your mother did not think nor speak ill of Louis Vuitton, or anything at all. Your mother was in fact…a very lovely, wonderful person…" Thranduil says in a trance, his eyes now slowly circling the table as if searching for something. "She liked Hermes."
Legolas leans in forward to get a sense of his father's train of thought and found no train. Instead, both jump into the back of their seats as an upbeat voice greets them from the sidewalk, destroying every momentum that Legolas feebly tried to build. It's the woman from the meeting, with the luscious black hair and China doll skin.
"Hi guys, I hope I'm not interrupting your lunch date!" she says as her hair brushes against her cheek. She is staring unabashedly at Legolas.
"Of course not," Legolas is at the brink of rolling his eyes.
"Son, this is Arwen, one of our project coordinators. Arwen, this is Legolas," Thranduil formally introduces the two. Legolas stands up and walks towards the sidewalk, extending his arm over the low metallic barricade bordering the patio to shake hands with Arwen.
"I remember you," she almost winks. "You're the mysterious observer in today's meeting. So what tricks did you pull to be able to drink beer in that board room?"
Legolas has his innocent face on. "No tricks. Only asked kindly the mysterious mobile bartender who kept appearing to fill in dad's glass," he answers, emitting a string of giggles from Arwen.
"You know, they have a single malt scotch hidden in the eighth floor kitchen pantry, and it's usually locked," she suggests to switch his choice of drinks.
"It is also Thorin's floor and where he happens to spend most of his disposable time," Thranduil adds, easing back into his chair, his long limbs stretching out.
Arwen and Thranduil open a round of tamed laughter at this inside joke while Legolas remains quiet.
"Speaking of Thorin, he mentioned Legolas could've jotted some key points down so he won't feel excluded and clueless in the next meeting," Arwen addresses Thranduil but is looking at Legolas.
"I apologize, I came out empty handed. I should've been given a notepad rather than a bottle of beer," he jokingly sneers at his father with an arched eyebrow. Thranduil chuckles.
"Well, if it helps, maybe we can go over my summary notes together one of these days," Arwen advises Legolas. She does not wait for a response and turns on her heels, starting to walk away.
"Arwen, save some of that charm for the old partner McDougan tomorrow. He needs to review and sign a godforsaken document that has been pending for months," Thranduil talks to her back as she continues to stride down the sidewalk like a model. Arwen merely waves her hand before she disappears into the street corner.
"By the way, my girlfriend's name is Tauriel!" Legolas attempts a last minute declaration but Arwen is obviously already gone. Legolas reclaims the seat across his father's and asks, "Do you think she heard that?"
Thranduil does not answer the half-assed question because he is too busy surveying him.
"Son, who are you wearing?"
Legolas' reflex reaction was to burst out laughing. Seconds later he wipes imaginary tears away and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I never thought I'd ever get asked that…but uhmm," he pauses and scans over himself, "they don't have names but uhh, this shirt is Old Navy and so are the pants, the jacket is Banana Republic."
Thranduil places an elbow on the armrest of the chair and languidly rubs his chin, judging Legolas like a fashion victim crying out for help. Legolas purses his lips, facial features softening as he realizes what is about to unfold.
Thranduil dishes out an iPhone from his pocket and speed-dials a contact, curtly commanding to cancel his 3 o'clock to whoever was on the other line. He hangs up the phone and smiles at Legolas. "My boy. You and I, we are going on the most epic retail shopping you will ever experience."