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.
Maybe you'll meet him again. :-)
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