Naturally, Julius hadn't bothered covering his tracks all this time because... Why? Who was going to be looking for him anyway? Damn it if that wasn't just another thing come back to bite him in the ass. That seemed to be a recurring theme lately. But seriously, nothing in his hurried departure had suggested anyone would bother to actually find him. Two hundred years, which had once seemed like such a long time, in an instant shrunk and consolidated into the blink of an eye.
Prickly was a good word for it. But with a name like Thistle, what had Errol expected? Names were incredibly important as far as Fair Folk tradition went, so either the name informed his character, or his character informed the name, but either way if Errol and Poppy had wanted their son to be softer and more malleable, they should have chosen something less...Thorny. He made sure the house slammed the door neatly behind Errol just as soon as he crossed the threshold.
Julius feined busyness, pulling a small carton of cream from the refrigerator, a jar of sugar cubes from a cupboard and spoons from a drawer--something a normal Fae might have accomplished with magic like some modern-day Mary Poppins, but Julius had always been conservative with his magic, even if the recent consumption of Fae liquor had it surging through him with nearly as much strength and as little control as he'd had when he was sixteen--one eye intermittently on his father as the other man no doubt passed judgment on Julius's home.
That felt like a trap. Not a lie, but a trap. A few choice words pinged through Julius's brain as he dunked the infuser ball in his mug of tea standing his ground and waiting for his father to come to him. Thoughts such as no thanks to you and you're fucking right I have were at the top of his list, neither of which would do because that was childish, and he was clearly above such behavior.
"I've done alright," he said finally, all false modesty. "Tea?"