Re: Mayflowers: Max and Solas
Tucking the money into one of the many pouches on the belt inside his robe, Solas glanced up when the door opened. The man who entered was dressed as strangely as any Solas had ever seen, and the sight of an elf on his shirt took Solas aback. He came up with hundreds of explanations for the design, and very few of them were generous. Then his mind turned toward the kind of skill it would take to paint a likeness on a shirt and he became far more engrossed in that problem. It was easier that way.
"A pleasure," he said, inclining his head to McKendrick, though his lips pressed into a tight line for a moment. "I doubt that, da'len. My people aren't even experts on our own race. I doubt that a human from another world could possibly know more than they." In the interest of fairness, not that Solas was about to be fair, he also doubted a human could know less.
The elvhen were children desperately fumbling for remnants of the past, clinging to one belief over another simply because it suited them. They saw small pieces of their race, nothing more. He held them in contempt at the best of times.
His fingers itched to hold the device - the phone - that Max was handling, but he was content to defer to her for now. If rituals were required to activate it, she would know them. He would not. So he turned his attention back to McKendrick. "Your shirt. How was the painting on it done?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Such skill is beyond anything I have yet seen."