I was in London. There are none too many sheep and cows for Fair Folk to knock about with. ( a beat and a sideways glance at her. ) Or Welshmen. It's a rather lonely existence. ( it doesn't answer her questions, he knows, and he's quiet for a moment whilst he thinks about how he ought to. all in the court were now, evidently, aware of the reality of fair folk, of creatures even that mundanes wouldn't think to consider fair folk. he presses his lips together tightly, momentarily, and then laughs, the noise punctuated by the shake of his head. perhaps a bending of the truth— )
I followed one. ( a shrug; eavesdropping and making his way round the party, forcing oneself into private and not-so-private conversations has its uses. that this one is proving to be less than fruitful is neither here nor there — it was bound to happen eventually, after all. ) We all did, or else we were dragged. Fair Folk have little interest in manners past obtaining what they want. ( there's a ghost of a smile at that; he can imagine it being thrown straight back at him — by tessa, by jem, by charlotte, or even by jessamine. before continuing, though, he yawns — what he wouldn't give for a bed — and waves a hand disinterestedly an vaguely at their surroundings. ) I've the gift of Sight. ( an easy excuse for a degree of familiarity with downworlders, and nothing more than a simplification of the truth — detailing her as to the nature of shadowhunters, of downworlders and of mundanes, having then to discuss inevitable questions and how and why— even if it were allowed, it's nothing he wants to get into. for a moment, he's glad he'd made sure, earlier in the night, that he removed the daggers attached to the belt on his trousers and tucked them, sheath and all, on the inside of his trousers, before untucking his shirt. advertising that one had weapons, he thought, was bound to go disastrously wrong at some point during the festivities — and it was a means to avoiding unwanted questions. )
You'd be surprised at what pours your drink when you're really looking, and— ( a touch mournfully, ) —how many attractive young women are just Fey in disguise hoping to lure a hapless young Welshman off the beaten tracks and into the land of fairy. ( a pause and a sigh. ) I can hardly blame them, of course, but I'd rather be asked before being recruited into a war. I'm quite busy, you know: I'd intended on spending the 'morrow sleeping until past noon, pestering the kitchen servants for a truly delicious breakfast in spite of the hour passing and ensuring it was to be nothing with potatoes. ( he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: ) The cook's Irish, you see.
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I followed one. ( a shrug; eavesdropping and making his way round the party, forcing oneself into private and not-so-private conversations has its uses. that this one is proving to be less than fruitful is neither here nor there — it was bound to happen eventually, after all. ) We all did, or else we were dragged. Fair Folk have little interest in manners past obtaining what they want. ( there's a ghost of a smile at that; he can imagine it being thrown straight back at him — by tessa, by jem, by charlotte, or even by jessamine. before continuing, though, he yawns — what he wouldn't give for a bed — and waves a hand disinterestedly an vaguely at their surroundings. ) I've the gift of Sight. ( an easy excuse for a degree of familiarity with downworlders, and nothing more than a simplification of the truth — detailing her as to the nature of shadowhunters, of downworlders and of mundanes, having then to discuss inevitable questions and how and why— even if it were allowed, it's nothing he wants to get into. for a moment, he's glad he'd made sure, earlier in the night, that he removed the daggers attached to the belt on his trousers and tucked them, sheath and all, on the inside of his trousers, before untucking his shirt. advertising that one had weapons, he thought, was bound to go disastrously wrong at some point during the festivities — and it was a means to avoiding unwanted questions. )
You'd be surprised at what pours your drink when you're really looking, and— ( a touch mournfully, ) —how many attractive young women are just Fey in disguise hoping to lure a hapless young Welshman off the beaten tracks and into the land of fairy. ( a pause and a sigh. ) I can hardly blame them, of course, but I'd rather be asked before being recruited into a war. I'm quite busy, you know: I'd intended on spending the 'morrow sleeping until past noon, pestering the kitchen servants for a truly delicious breakfast in spite of the hour passing and ensuring it was to be nothing with potatoes. ( he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: ) The cook's Irish, you see.