Typically, he’d be wary of anyone pressing him for more information. He had to gauge the situation carefully for a moment, remember when and where he was before deciding it probably couldn’t hurt to brag a little bit. It’s not like she was a vampire hunter or anything. And it was a small island. Sooner or later most secrets would out. They were won’t to, after all. Even the best kept secrets had an expiration date.
“Alright, Briar,” he said, gaze snapping back to her as he shook the pile of leaves from his hair. He held out his hand. “Mircea. These days. And the day I was born. But not so much in between then and now.” There has been a lot of names. And languages and cultures to adjust for. Mircea didn’t translate well. He clicked his teeth for a moment considering where to start. “I suppose you’ve heard of the French Revolution, of course?” That wasn’t his first, nor his last. Nor was it the most bloody, though it was certainly up there. “Robespierre was a good friend of mine, until, of course, he lost his head. I mean both literally and figuratively, because, you know, one led to the other.” He shrugged as if it was inevitable. “Weird guy. Smart though. And funny, real dry sense of humor. People forget about that.”