Today I attended a festival down by the port just on the West side of the mountain my well was built on. There were bands and venders, and stores had had sales.
While I was there, I spotted a fellow in steampunk goggles carrying an ammo case, with an old style army hat and a matching green trench coat. He had an incredibly sharp nose and eyes that looked like they had been cut with a blade from stone (never before had I understood the description of "eyes cut from stone" until then), traced blotchily with eyeliner to resemble the lids of a cat. I complemented him on his goggles, a cool, tin pair with clear lenses. He eyed my pointed ears, and perhaps my black and white jester leggings emerging from the silver and blue satin bodice that had a sort of open skirt panels that extended to my a little past my hips, covering a pair of black gym shorts. He approached me as I watched the Celtic band on stage, the lead jumping and sweating as he sang. The steampunker asked my age. I told him, and he said, excitedly, that he was a year older than myself. Then he asked the gutfull question, "do you have a boyfriend?" I smiled, flattered, but said to him I had asked someone out two and a half weeks before.
It is not unheard of for humans to have interest sparked by us elves. He seemed nice enough. I regret not giving him this blog address after turning him down. It is nice to see someone else willing to dress up to what they like.