He wasn't looking forward to the education. He'd lived quite comfortably ignoring the plight of elves. He could ignore them, because the city had been built, generations ago, by those who wanted to ignore them. For years, he followed the meticulously designed, worn streets around and away from the Alienage, and he'd long grown accustomed to the sight of the wall as a stain in his peripheral vision. He knew that the conditions were deplorable. He could smell the rolling stench of soiled, crowded bodies if he drifted too close (and the smell was enough to make him veer back away). Going in, deliberately, might change him. For all he knew, the last time he’d been by the Alienage, was the last time that he’d never paid it mind.
"Accidents happen every day," he said with good, distracted humor. Whether she wanted to kill him or not, he'd meant what he said. They were two fast burning fuses. Anything was possible. He took in 'handsome', with the same humor, and tried not to seem too pleased. Maybe he'd focus on it later, when the business wasn't so sordid.
"Little you? I believe nothing less. You're no mouse." He touched his hand to his breastplate, where she'd jabbed, as if to remind her that he wouldn't be fooled into thinking that she was meek.
"I should change. If I'm wearing this, they'll think I'm there for the children." His experience with elves had been limited to Templar work, and it never ceased to amaze him how quickly elven communities closed ranks, and protected their own. Maybe her presence would lessen their xenophobia, but they needed only the best of impressions and cooperation moving forward.