A square, broad jaw, full lips, a long straight nose like a blade complemented by a high forehead, red hair flaming in the sun and a pair of blue eyes. Deep, cerulean blue, the kind that looked almost pale in sunlight and a deep azure in the dark. There was a hint of smile on his lips, eyes narrowed against the glare of the camera lights, pale skin shining so brightly that the light dusting of the freckles was visible. Around 6'3", dressed in black, from head to toe, his broad shoulders hinting at the strength it held concealed beneath the expensive garment. The innate style and sensuality were his biggest USP, she decided. No, but what about those eyes. So blue and the pale pink lips. Oh, he was just too, too… delectable. Just too…..
"Take care Idril. Not too near. We might have to drag you out from inside the screen." She blinked, her daydream receding away from her to find herself in her cubicle, sitting in front of her laptop, and her friend, Meena, standing over her with a frown.
"Welcome back. How long have you been drooling over that photo?"
She flushed with embarrassment. "What do you mean by drooling?"
"Just what you were doing right now. Honestly, how come no one else catches you crushing on that American dude in office?"
"He isn't American. He is a Scot. And it doesn't matter. It's just celebrity crush. People get them all the time. Especially silly women like us. Also," Idril said with a bitter smile curling aroundthe corner of her mouth," stupid romantics like us who don't give up hope even after being kicked multiple times."
"Yes, they do." Meena agreed with a sigh. She knew exactly what her friend was refering to. But not during office hours and not like teenagers. If your boss ever sees that, you are in for a lecture."
"Yeah, whatever. Let's go eat. It's time for lunch already." She hurriedly got her purse and stood up.
"Don't change the subject." Meena said, as they made their way towards the cafeteria. "Your boss is not a happy man. Didn't he tell you off, because you had sketched a picture of Harry Potter flying on his broom against the moon, or something?"
"He didn't tell me off." Idril defended herself. "He just said that I shouldn't have sketched it in green, or that Harry Potter isn't an ideal subject to be adorning the cubicle of a Finance Analyst, and that.. ", her voice trailed away. In truth, it hadn't been a pleasant conversation. Generally mild natured, her boss or some reason that day had decided to tell her off, quite unnecessarily in her opinion. So, she had sketched a little bit on the whiteboard, but it was her cubicle, for god's sake. And wasn't there something about personalizing your own space? She had, at least not decorated it with teddy bears and fluffy toys or posters of flashy cars unlike some of her colleagues? It was unfair, but in the retrospect it had been a little comical. Her supervisor telling her off for doodling, like in a headmaster in a school.
"Yes, yes, go on." Meena encouraged, obviously amused.
"And nothing, okay?" She flushed hotly. "Besides, he was saying it only because he was fed some bull about me, that woman bitched about me, big time." Referring to her the dour middle aged woman who was given the responsibility of teaching Idril the ropes of the business. She didn't feel comfortable talking about it and thankfully Meena let it go.
"So how is going with that boyfriend of yours?" She asked instead.
Idrilshrugged. "That's over."
"Over? When? You didn't tell me anything."
Idril shrugged again. "There's nothing to tell. Guy was a jerk."
"What happened? Last time we spoke, you said he was cute. And that's a word you don't usually use."
"Yeah. But three dates and he is ready for third base. So I dumped him."
"And when did you guys reached second base? On the second date?" Meena asked, a little censoriously.
"That's the point. We didn't."
"Ouch."
Idril tried valiantly to stop the grimace seeing the pity on her friend's face. Truth was she was really unlucky in the dating department. She had been both in love and a super serious relationship but here she was, caught in dating jungle again.
Feanor examined himself critically in the full length mirror. He had to admit, these traditional clothing quite suited him. He nodded admiringly to his costume designer.
"It's terrific, Teresa. This looks really very good. The kilt is decidedly the best part, though the shirt looks a little too frilly to me." He opined. "Almost feminine."
Teresa came forward to adjust his plaid. "Not at all. This is how they used to dress during social events and weddings are always special. People tend to dress up. And the plaid this time will not go under but will be draped over your arm." She wrapped the said garment to demonstrate and fastened it with a brooch onto his left shoulder. "In this scene, you are to be portrayed as the laird that you are. You come out of the disguise."
"Yes, Teresa, that's all very well. But the shirt still looks a bit decorative." He flipped the embroidered cuff of his shirt.
"This is how your great-great grandfather dressed up on his wedding."
"What do you mean? How do you know how my grandfather dressed like?"
"Your mother gave me a portrait of his wedding day, with his lovely bride." Teresa shrugged.
He looked at her quizzically. "When did you meet my mother? And why would she be giving you any such portraits?"
"I met her last week here on set and I told her I was looking to get the wedding clothes right, as close as the Scots used to wear in the old times. She helped."
He stared. "My mother was here last week?"
"She is here now."
"What?" he cried. "My mother is here and I don't even know? Why didn't she tell me she had visited and why ever didn't she meet me?" he demanded.
"Because my son returns home town after five years and doesn't even bother to visit his parents for more than once." Came a stern voice from behind and Feanor turned to see the tiny but authoritative figure of his mother standing in the doorway.
"Mother." He hurried forward and kissed her warmly on her cheeks. She warmly embraced him and then held him at a slight distance to look him over.
"You look very nice. And imagine if you look this nice for a fake wedding, how would you look in your real one?"
He groaned. "Mum. You are not even here for thirty seconds and you start with your marriage nonsense."
Teresa smiled and gathered up the costume. "I will leave you two in peace to chat." She left the room with an armful of clothes.
He got up and poured her a drink. "So how are things at home, Mother? It's absolutely crazy here and I won't have time for anything until after the first season is wrapped up here; which means next year."
"I know. That's why I came down to visit you. You father wanted to come too, but he is needed at the farm today, so I restrained him."
His parents had a farm in the countryside which they had spent most of their lives working on. He was very proud of them and admired them immensely. His parents hadn't been much wealthy to start off but they had worked very hard and had made the business a success on their own, a fact that had inspired both their sons to do something big with their lives.
"How is my little brother? Isn't he due to be back already?"
"No. Next month." She shook her head. "I tried calling but couldn't get to him."
"Oh yes. He came to meet me before he left. Asked me to take care of some stuff for him. And he diverted all his calls to my number, as always."
"Oh that crazy boy." His mother sighed. Thank god that he will soon settle down. Speaking of which", his mother eyed him beadily; "You can take a leaf out of his book and do the same."
"That remains to be seen." His voice was skeptic. He loved his brother dearly but had been many a times irked by his irresponsibility, which, in his opinion, was a deal breaker in a marriage. "And Mum, I have told you several times that I haven't yet met anyone whom I want to marry." He sighed in exasperation. "Give it up already."
"Yes, Fae, but you are pushing thirty four now. Its time you make an effort."
"Oh Mother." He groaned again.
"What about that beautiful co-star you have?"
"Who, Gweneth? She is just a friend Mum."
"Not according to the newspapers and those advertisements you guys keep appearing on."
"How many times have I told you not to take anything seriously that you see on TV? Those are all scripted, to create the right atmosphere."