[ RF ] We Do n't Go There Anymore

`` You wanted to see me.'' It was a statement, not a question. 
 
 The figure seated on the other side of the desk nodded, his carefully groomed appearance and fine features at odds with the Man standing before him. The tailored robes and leather half-jacket over them hid a tall, powerful build, the elegant embroidery tracing endless patterns of soft, curving script. Narrow rings graced his hands, most prominently the signet ring bearing the arms of the Royal House of Alathir. 
 
 `` I did,'' the seated Fae said, templing his hands. `` So... You're our *'Green Ghost.'* `` 
 
 Hilary Flint's tired smirk did not reach his eyes. `` You seem disappointed.'' 
 
 The Elf shook his head once, his auburn hair swaying. `` Merely surprised. If you were to hear the barrack-room chatter, the Green Ghost is a revenant among Men, a judgment upon Fae-kind for their transgressions. Unable to die, tireless in his hunt, and without mercy. They say that you vanished right before the very eyes of a score of my grandfather's finest soldiers. At the Battle of Saginaw four separate soldiers in different regiments swore that they had killed you, only for you to appear elsewhere on the battlefield. Among the peasants you're little better. Mothers tell their babes to behave lest the Green Ghost snatches them away and sacrifice them on the altar of your God. I do not see an ogre standing before but a Man, and a most forgettable looking one at that.'' 
 
 
 Hilary Flint shrugged, the gesture somewhat unsettling to the guards in the room. Perhaps it was how it revealed the brace of daggers and pistol sheathed on Flint's person. 
 
 `` Maybe that's my secret, eh? Just hide in plain sight. It's not like most of your tin soldiers could n't tell the difference between one human and another. One of your foot soldiers kills a militiaman or ranger wearing green, figures it must be that *'deadly and terrible Green Ghost'* he heard stories of, and crows up and down about it like a fighting cock.'' 
 
 The Elf's smiled was thin and brief as he shuffled papers on his desk. 
 
 `` Tell me, *Captain* Flint. Have you been to the ruins of Lansing recently?'' 
 
 Hilary answered with a grim smile of his own, and moved towards a tall countertop with a silver tray of crystal glasses and a decanter of something the color of honey. He pulled free the glass plug and swirled the decanter under his nose, making an approving noise at the smell. Flint poured himself two fingerfuls of the dark liquid and took a long sip at it, a tiny bead of the stuff trickling down the corner of his mouth. 
 
 `` That's fine scotch. Glenfiddich?'' Flint asked. The Elf nodded, his smile genuine. 
 
 `` It is. But you did n't answer my question.'' His smile vanished quick as smoke. 
 
 `` No, as a matter of fact. I've been out East; where I met your cousin.'' 
 
 `` And what about before the Arrival,'' the Fae pressed. `` Did you go there, studied there perhaps?'' 
 
 `` Why do you want to know?'' Flint asked icily, his hands reaching towards his belt. The Fae leaned over his desk, his smile returned, and ten times more feral. 
 
 `` Because, Captain. I believe you and I have already met.'' 
 
 
 
 
 

