“oh, me,i’ve only learned for the hundredth time that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ is apparently, to the prosecution, a sack of crap made up by someone who was obviously guilty of something,” he responds, swirling his glass in his hand before he takes a small sip, admiring the sweetness. “this case would be cut and dry if it weren’t for some random witness they just fished out of nowhere.” he sniffed petulantly. “i’m overworked enough as it is.” he realizes that he’s frowning, and instead shakes his head to clear himself of the thoughts.
he’s probably getting wrinkles in his brows just by picturing his office in his head, so he’ll leave that for some other time. for now, it’s just him and bard. a situation he’d thought would never actually come to pass — adoring stares aside, all of his feelings had been naught but fantasy. born of loneliness, perhaps? his bed had remained empty for a good sixteen years straight, if one were to obviously negate the nights where little legolas had nightmares and rested easier curled into his father’s side.
"you know,” he begins, unsure of how to proceed, “it has… occurred to me that i really don’t know that much about you, bard.” he wonders if there’s offense there — there shouldn’t be. he knows as much about bard as bard knows about him. they’ve only been acquaintances up until now, adults whom they trusted to have their children kept safe, but aside from that, there was little conversation he could recall.
“i mean… i know your kids, i know your office hours, and i know your phone number. obviously,” he rolls his eyes. “but… nothing else, really. not where you were born, how you grew up… i’m a little intrigued now. maybe a good game of ‘quid pro quo’, combined withe a little alcohol — what could go wrong?”
“The law is still the law, so… until we revert back to the death penalty everywhere, I am hoping that innocent until proven guilty is still a thing. Have you heard about that awful case where that child was prosecuted and sentenced to death, only for it to be thrown out years later? It doesn’t matter when a life has been cost—-” Bard cut himself off at his opinion turning into a ramble. “Sometimes I wonder, how easily a witness could be paid or planted. Couldn’t help it, the same thing sort of occurs in my field of work as well.”
“If anything, my office hours are much more reasonable than your own.” The corner of Bard’s eyes crinkled, and he offered a well-natured smile after taking a drink. “I wouldn’t say I’m an interesting person, per say. There… isn’t too much to know.” Resting chin upon palm, he pondered. Ask him a favourite colour, and he could respond. But when the field was opened up wide, well damn. He was a rubbish goalie.
“Tit for tat, aye? That is fine by me.” He raised the glass up higher in agreement, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he tilted his head for an answer. “Well."
It’s been so long since he’d had a go at this whole scene. What was to be said, what shan’t be said, forbidden conversations, conversations needing privacy, too much information, too vague thus being cornered as ambiguous and unwilling. Goodness. No wonder Sigrid had her head full with confusions and spontaneous moments of frustration at her mobile out of the blue when she’d probably received a text or two that left her rather flustered.
No, Bard decided to skip the drivel about family and bloodlines. Shrugging uneasily, he downed his cup and leaned back in his chair, peering Thranduil in the eyes. "With the fine balancing between family, work and time to oneself, it’s a miracle I even get to see the sun anymore. Which is a rarity in itself,” he murmured, tilting to the window far off to their right, pitch black otherwise splattered with concrete jungle light’s glow. "Itis a little difficult to partake in some hobbies I would like to bring up again when there are my three at home. It is easier, now that Bain and Sigrid are older, but still. Sometimes I wonder what on Earth goes on in that house when I am not there.“
