Machine

Modern AU.  An outsider looking in upon the quirks and oddities of the fourth son of Finarfin.  And yes, the outsider in an OFC I made up on the spot.  I'll try not to Mary-Sue her.  She may never even appear again, other than to torment poor Aegnor LOL.  In any case, I'm just having a little bit of fun and experimenting once again with plot devices.  This is related to "Decay" and "Ballad" amongst others.  Takes place in modern day France in Vardamírë's cafe/bakery.  Keep in mind that I known nothing about France LOL.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion, but this OFC is mine now.

Pairings: none (hinted, but nothing concrete)

Characters: Sarah (OFC), Aegnor, Vardamírë, Maglor

Warning: modern AU, non-canon compliant, OFC-centric, mental instabilities and/or oddities, possible depression

Song: Chigiri ~ Reverie Metherlence

Words: 1,386
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machine (noun): an assemblage of parts that transmit forces, motion, and energy one to another in a predetermined manner; one that resembles a machine (as in being methodical, tireless, or consistently productive)
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/machine

She hadn't meant to notice.  But it was kind of hard not to when she really stopped and paid attention.

After all, the wandering stranger was the most handsome male specimen of the human race Sarah had ever had the pleasure of looking upon.  With his broad shoulders--only emphasized by his plain button-up shirts--tapering to a slender waistline and his long, sleek braid of golden hair that would inspire jealousy in any natural blond, he was undoubtedly gorgeous to the point of ridiculousness.  And she was not afraid to admit that, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath the layers of his clothing, more than once she had imagined what he might look like with those layers peeled away and his bare body spread out on her comforter at home.

But, no matter how pretty his face might be or how mouthwatering his body might appear, he was also undoubtedly one of the strangest people Sarah had ever encountered.

It just wasn't natural.

Every day, he always wore a new pair of slacks--dressy and pressed, but always black--and always wore a white button-up--crisp and clearly well maintained.  His hair was always tied back into the same neat braid with a black ribbon holding the end instead of a ponytail or rubber band.

Never so much as a stain or a scuff or a hair out of place.

And, as he did every morning, he appeared at exactly seven o'clock (nearly on the dot, though there was a few seconds variation in either direction if she watched the second hand closely in the midst of her observation) at the door to the coffee shop where Sarah had her morning fix and a blueberry muffin.

He never went and sat down first, and he never carried anything with him.  Instead, he always waltzed up to the counter with infuriatingly graceful and yet somehow ingrained motions, speaking quietly with the couple diligently working beyond the glass displays of steaming, mouth-watering pastries and ignoring anyone or anything else in his general proximity.

The couple always gave him the same order.  And he always left the counter and went to sit in the same seat two tables down from the end.  And he always drank his coffee in delicate sips between picking apart his bagel, his movements pure muscle-memory, thoughtless and efficient.

So methodical that it was scary.

But all the same, intriguing.

And then, once the bagel was consumed and the coffee-cup half-empty, he would stand up--carrying the cup in his left hand and his cleared plate in his right--and approach the counter, leaving both behind to be disposed of.  Then, always at seven-thirty on the dot, he exited the shop and walked down the street in the opposite direction from whence he had come.  Like clockwork.

No matter how pretty the man was, his behavior was downright disconcerting, albeit subtle to one who was not looking for oddities.  But Sarah was not any one of those many people who glanced at the stranger's exotic looks and then never paid attention to his odd blank stare and odd emotionless visage a second time.

None of them even seemed to notice the machine masquerading as a human in their midst.

---

Of course, she knew that he wasn't actually made of nuts and bolts or metal and gears.  But he didn't seem to be made of anything remotely resembling normal human behavior either.

After another week of observing carefully in detail--taking note that the strange compulsive behavior even continued on weekends--Sarah decided she needed to break his monotony.  If only to see what would happen if she could somehow manage to force him to stay an extra fifteen minutes in the shop.

Just to see what would happen.

It had nothing at all to do with the fact that he was so beautiful and sad.  That he never smiled and never laughed and never talked.  Just sipped his coffee and picked at his bagel and stared at the far wall as though seeing through it entirely.  As though something entrancing lay just on the other side, out of reach but so tantalizingly close.

Nothing at all to do with that.

So, on the next Monday morning, Sarah did not go to her usual corner table from whence she could watch all of the occupants of the tiny shop moving about in their daily routines.  Instead, at exactly six-fifty in the morning, she sat in his seat.  At his table.

And waited.

At exactly seven o'clock, he arrived.  Glanced toward his normal spot and visibly faltered.

It was only a half-a-second of hesitation.  But it was enough.  Blue eyes rested upon her form, a disconcerted sort of annoyance written across that usually blank slate, as if he were silently scoffing at her for daring to invade his routine.

For daring to be the rusty, stiff join in need of oiling.

But, quick as a flash, that emotion once again disappeared.  In its place was that usual mask.  Completely devoid of thought.  Completely devoid of feeling.  A scary plaster shield covering up everything the man wanted to terribly to hide.

And Sarah had always been too curious for her own good.

She watched as he retrieved his normal order--several seconds behind schedule--and sat instead two tables down from the table which he normally occupied.  Far enough away that he could pretend the intruder didn't exist, she would have guessed.  It was almost entertaining how blatantly he ignored her, turning his blue eyes to stare at the same wall from a different angle, as though everything were completely normal and the strange kink in his compulsive life was nonexistent.

At exactly seven twenty-nine, he stood up and made for the counter with his empty plate of crumbs and half-drunk cup of coffee.  At the exact same time--deliberately and without any remorse, cackles of glee echoing within her thoughts--Sarah followed.  Carrying her mostly-full coffee cup filled with lukewarm latte.

When he turned around to leave, she spilled it all the way down his front.  From chest to knees.

And discovered that his shirt--no matter the pale brown stain spreading across it--clung very enticingly to every angle and curve when wet.  She could see the outline of each one of his rock hard, straining abs.  An eight-pack.  And the firm yet sleek bugles of his pectorals and the powerful flex of his shoulders and...

And his thighs... Oh... his thighs...

"I'm... so sorry..." Sarah was too preoccupied with the sudden sensory overload to sound sincere.  She hoped he wrote it off as her human female hormones beating her rational brain-cells into oblivion when faced with sexy, wet male in a translucent white shirt.

Glancing up, she met blue eyes that flamed, bursting fireworks within a frame on nonchalance.  Absolutely infuriated, they almost glowed with the utter disdain for which he radiated in her direction.

Clearly she had not made a friend.

"If you would excuse me, Miss."

His voice was low and balanced on the edge of politeness, but she could hear the clench of his jaw through the words.  The grit of his teeth as he skirted around her and fled toward the door, giving her a wonderful glimpse of his firm (and delectable) ass to accompany the view which she had already been granted through means of her supposed clumsiness.

The glare he had leveled down his nose at her was well worth seeing that impenetrable, inhuman mask shatter, if only for a few moments.  Sarah considered today's experiment to be a success and hummed quietly to herself in satisfaction.

Turning, she was faced the woman behind the counter.  The woman with the pale hair and the laughing blue eyes.  With the knowing smirk curving up dark, full lips as she beheld the resident nuisance.

But beneath all that was a hint of gratefulness and relief.  Just a hint.

And Sarah couldn't help but wonder to where exactly her impromptu experiment would lead.  Couldn't help but wonder what exactly her curiosity had gotten her into this time.