“So, hear me out Blaire,” he says to the brown-haired fae wearing a rather irritated expression, “You know how in our world we have specific names for the kind of people we are, and the creatures from Earth do, also?”

She raises her brows. It seems that’s the closest thing to a reply he’ll receive from her.

“What would you call the people from Ohio?” Ozerahn asks.

Blaire rolls her eyes. “How am I supposed to know? I don’t live there.”

“That was a rhetorical question, friend—”

“I don’t believe you know the meaning,” she cut him off, but the boy with red, curly hair and bright yellow eyes continued.

“—Ohioans.” he says.

“What?” She glares at him as though he’s spoken a foreign language.

“Ohio-ans. Isn’t that an peculiar thing to say?” He held his chin in consideration whilst his shorter friend stared at him like he’d consumed far too many bottles of vodka. “America—Americ_ans_. Brizil—Brizili_ans—”_

“Oh, won’t you keep it down? You’ll blow our cover!” She yells a whisper, as the two fae hide behind a stone wall, awaiting the palace guards to move so they can sneak past.

“ . . . Japan—Japanesi_ans_? Good Avella, there’s another odd one. Portuguese—Portugues_ans_. Humans are questionable indeed!” Blaire slapped a hand over his mouth and pressed him against the wall with wild eyes. Ozerahn watched as one of the guards paused for a moment. He must’ve heard him. But, thankfully he continued on with his marching pace.

She pushed her hand off his head, causing it to bump harshly against the rock. He grunted and held the back of his head. “_Assmole_.” he mumbled. Blaire shot him a quick glare. He looked away as though he’d said nothing at all, as she pulled her dark cloak tighter around herself, and slid her hood over her head. The coast was clear.

“Bitchhog,” she spoke under her breath, before silently sneaking towards the castle. He smirked jubilantly, before pulling his own hood over his mop of bright, curly hair. Then he followed her lead with a mischievous glint to his eyes.