The compliment to her intelligence didn't cause her to relax or smile, as it might with some people. She was obviously confident in her own mental abilities, at least, and was in no need of assurance. Some measure of trust, once again, might have affected her lack of response to the compliment, though. He'd continued talking at any rate, so politeness didn't really dictate that she should thank him in the middle of his explanation.
She's somewhat appalled at herself to find herself eyeing him uncertainly, when he claims that her people are adaptable. As trained and afraid as she is, she turns her back to him to hide her expression. She doesn't even think about how the long cape pulls along behind her, when she does. Like some ancient, sloping statue, only enhancing the slouch in her bared shoulders and the cave inward to her upper back. It's not that she looks defeated at all, but she'd never wish to appear this vulnerable, if she knew the way she looked from behind, right now. She'd turned away to avoid his becoming overly concerned about her. Somehow the tears were hard to stop. Which was odd, considering how happy she'd been to escape it all, only minutes ago. But it couldn't be escaped, apparently. The snow flakes became smaller, driving and more numerous.
In all seriousness, she wasn't sure where her life might lead from here. She'd been trained to survive the wilderness, but she also wanted to make sure the people in Arendelle thrived. She didn't feel their feelings about her were mutual, which did make her a little bitter. Like some hopeless unrequited relationship with society. But then she always did tend to end up in hopeless, solitary relationships, right? Why try again? Why couldn't she just make herself give up?
She gives a sad little laugh at his confession, hearing the tenderness in it and not wanting to fully discourage him. She didn't want to cause pain. Not even emotional pain. As painful as she obviously found the situation, she also understood how thoroughly it had been less than ideal, yes. She'd had it all planned out, but she couldn't plan for everything.
No one could plan for Anna. And as angry and frustrated as Elsa was about Hans, at least she could fully understand how a sheltered, shuttered extrovert might feel at the prospect of having no friends and no family who cared. She'd been desperate, uncontrollable.
As Elsa herself was, now? She glanced around them to the snowfall, as Alric began describing the party. More tears fell, even though she was trying to calm herself. A fountain. Which had turned into this spiked wave like some outreaching menacing hand bent upon crushing her, and everyone else. And the baby. How had he just not even mentioned the poor tiny babe that they'd shoved at her as she'd lost control? She winced out more tears at the memory. It had wailed and for a moment she'd heard Anna in that; little Anna. Elsa couldn't return. The way she'd felt herself recoil and hold her hands as though they were horror... the memory was painful.
And yes she was sure others had... erm... weathered worse, but that didn't mean it was safe. She'd suggest Anna take the throne instead, but... yes, more than one person had managed to come out of that party looking untrustworthy. Elsa dearly hoped she was safe.
She hears him approach, feels it through the ice he steps upon. So she has to turn around, tears or no. "They saw. I was scared of my own powers. In their company, and I'd allowed the gates to be opened. I can't-- undo it. You heard what they said."
It was quite obvious she'd had speaking instruction, because given the tears, most people would probably have stuttered at some point already. She'd just clip a word, now and again, or begin then discard a sentence.
"They don't think of me as an irregularity." She says it sadly with a hint of frustration-anxiety, refusing to make eye-contact even as he's standing so close to her. She doesn't yet accept his hands into her ungloved ones. The lack of the gloves was still taking some getting used to.
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Date: 2022-07-24 06:58 pm (UTC)From:The compliment to her intelligence didn't cause her to relax or smile, as it might with some people. She was obviously confident in her own mental abilities, at least, and was in no need of assurance. Some measure of trust, once again, might have affected her lack of response to the compliment, though. He'd continued talking at any rate, so politeness didn't really dictate that she should thank him in the middle of his explanation.
She's somewhat appalled at herself to find herself eyeing him uncertainly, when he claims that her people are adaptable. As trained and afraid as she is, she turns her back to him to hide her expression. She doesn't even think about how the long cape pulls along behind her, when she does. Like some ancient, sloping statue, only enhancing the slouch in her bared shoulders and the cave inward to her upper back. It's not that she looks defeated at all, but she'd never wish to appear this vulnerable, if she knew the way she looked from behind, right now. She'd turned away to avoid his becoming overly concerned about her. Somehow the tears were hard to stop. Which was odd, considering how happy she'd been to escape it all, only minutes ago. But it couldn't be escaped, apparently. The snow flakes became smaller, driving and more numerous.
In all seriousness, she wasn't sure where her life might lead from here. She'd been trained to survive the wilderness, but she also wanted to make sure the people in Arendelle thrived. She didn't feel their feelings about her were mutual, which did make her a little bitter. Like some hopeless unrequited relationship with society. But then she always did tend to end up in hopeless, solitary relationships, right? Why try again? Why couldn't she just make herself give up?
She gives a sad little laugh at his confession, hearing the tenderness in it and not wanting to fully discourage him. She didn't want to cause pain. Not even emotional pain. As painful as she obviously found the situation, she also understood how thoroughly it had been less than ideal, yes. She'd had it all planned out, but she couldn't plan for everything.
No one could plan for Anna. And as angry and frustrated as Elsa was about Hans, at least she could fully understand how a sheltered, shuttered extrovert might feel at the prospect of having no friends and no family who cared. She'd been desperate, uncontrollable.
As Elsa herself was, now? She glanced around them to the snowfall, as Alric began describing the party. More tears fell, even though she was trying to calm herself. A fountain. Which had turned into this spiked wave like some outreaching menacing hand bent upon crushing her, and everyone else. And the baby. How had he just not even mentioned the poor tiny babe that they'd shoved at her as she'd lost control? She winced out more tears at the memory. It had wailed and for a moment she'd heard Anna in that; little Anna. Elsa couldn't return. The way she'd felt herself recoil and hold her hands as though they were horror... the memory was painful.
And yes she was sure others had... erm... weathered worse, but that didn't mean it was safe. She'd suggest Anna take the throne instead, but... yes, more than one person had managed to come out of that party looking untrustworthy. Elsa dearly hoped she was safe.
She hears him approach, feels it through the ice he steps upon. So she has to turn around, tears or no. "They saw. I was scared of my own powers. In their company, and I'd allowed the gates to be opened. I can't-- undo it. You heard what they said."
It was quite obvious she'd had speaking instruction, because given the tears, most people would probably have stuttered at some point already. She'd just clip a word, now and again, or begin then discard a sentence.
"They don't think of me as an irregularity." She says it sadly with a hint of frustration-anxiety, refusing to make eye-contact even as he's standing so close to her. She doesn't yet accept his hands into her ungloved ones. The lack of the gloves was still taking some getting used to.