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[right][code]13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right]
[color=8bbbad]"I had a date wi’ the lake’s sea serpent- and Eau de Dockwater is a [i]must[/i] to attract 'em,"[/color] Cailean didn’t seem bothered at all by Lena’s mocking joke, instead joking back with a grin. They stopped cradling the bust to straighten back up with the pie. 

[color=8bbbad]"Aye, well, looks like my da was right ‘bout never going anywhere empty handed."[/color] They didn’t get a chance to open up and offer the pie… because the man of the hour was finally there. The Archivist. 

Of course he was an elf. Of [i]course[/i] he was a fucking English prick. The moment his mouth opened and that grating posh English accent hit Cailean’s less pointed ears, they were irritated. It was more than that. 

The way he held himself, that air of arrogance and condescending gaze, were a reminder of their inferiority. It was a look they’d first experience when their mum took them to the Western Isles and the Elvish Clan she’d been banished from. She’d hoped that after the years, and with a child in tow, they’d change their mind. At least, she’d wanted Cailean to meet their grandparents. 

All that had met them was disdain. 

Then, [i]him[/i]. Not when they first met… but eventually. Eventually he’d looked at them like they were nothing.

Cailean met the Archivist’s disgusted look with a harsh glare. There was a visible change in the previously excited person, as they clenched their fists at their side and extended their body as tall as it got.

Which wasn’t very tall.

[color=8bbbad]"[i]Tha rop cac ort (You’re talking shite)[/i],"[/color] they muttered under their breath. 

Arrogant bastard. Was it really just the lake water that made him look at them like that? Was that the sole reason for his comment? Or was it because of their ‘[i]tainted[/i]’ half. The non-elvish side… It was probably that too. Elves like him tended to dislike any but full blood elves, and one that wasn’t even half-human?

They weren’t the only one that was unhappy. Questions came from all over and they were mostly harsh. Good.  

They were annoyed, but not so annoyed they didn’t laugh at one woman calling him [i]Santa[/i]. Now there 

[color=8bbbad]"[i]Of course[/i] you’re fucking English! It’s the double asshole combo!"[/color] Cailean exclaimed, lips pulling back into a sneer. [color=8bbbad]"Y’think cause you knew about this shit you’re above us all, huh? You ain’t the only one who read some fucking musty books on magic… "[/color]

Not that they’d actually read any. Their mum had. She’d told them about them sometimes, but it was all based in memory… the books her clan held and protected. Of course, it was all useless when it came to Cailean’s magic. Theory, really. Nothing useful. 

But that didn’t matter, it was the principle of the thing. This fucking asshole acting like he was better than all of them.

[color=8bbbad]"I second all of her questions,"[/color] they pointed to Belladona. [color=8bbbad]"I ain’t from around here, I ain’t even got an address… so either you’re a creep as fuck stalker or you’ve got creepy stalking magic. Either way… how do we know you ain’t just gonna take us down to your murder basement and slit our throats for some crazy ritual? Wait, you wouldn’t get your hands dirty- I bet you have some minions that’d slit our throats instead."[/color]

They then glanced over at Rowan. [color=8bbbad]"Oh yeah, also what you [i]need[/i] from us if it ain’t our bodies in a ritual sacrifice."[/color]