#ringwinner

Bilbo had passed Florets flower shop a number of times and though he had admired the beautiful foliage inside, he had, for one reason or another, never had the time to stop in and have a proper look round. He was something of a gardener himself, but he grew more fruit and vegetables than he did flowers. He had always wanted to, had always admired gardens that were a jungle of vibrant colour and curious variety, but he never seemed to get the knack of it.

He never liked Gardner’s Question Time and none of his friends could be called experts on gardening, so he supposed that the only way to get some solid advice was from forever flourishing flower shop. He chose a quiet time of day where the bakery wouldn’t miss him and walked down to Florets, determined to finally go inside; once he did, he wasn’t disappointed. There was so much to look at and admire and he spent ten minutes glancing over all of the different flora and foliage, before realising that he wasn’t alone in the shop.

Bilbo turned and smiled at what he assumed was the owner, a man not that much taller than himself, with striking eyes and autumnal curls.

"I think I am doing pretty well at staying calm."

He did not look calm, jaw clenched, hand grasping the hilt of his sword at his belt. Like a loaded spring, Beleg waited to strike.

                                                  @ringwinner​

Music: Lovely Piano Song

Musician: Rafael Krux

URL: https://freepd.com/

                   “I’m well-versed in the art of pretending to be a gentleman.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ;  𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 ?    Even if he would hardly have taken Bilbo’s demeanor for a lie, Thranduil escapes the clutch of surprise and in lieu of a puzzled mien offers a low huff.    It is birthed by amusement of a sort that solely tugs at one corner of one’s mouth, not at all distracting from the task at hand.    To cut a fluffy piece of dough.    The knife knocks on the plate with gentlest noise, delicious halves fall apart.

❝  𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮  ❞,  drops his dust-dry comment simultaneously with the silverware being laid against the plate’s edge.    He leans back, eyes the sliced pastry as if contemplating which bit to savor first, all the while an adorned hand plucks the cup from the table to bring it to pale lips.    The desired sip not taken yet, his inescapably sharp gaze seeks the hobbit’s features.    ❝  𝐈 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐨 𝐁𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬  ❞,  a twitch of brows upward, silvery head tips minimally to one side.    ❝  𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭.  ❞