Nor do I. Have a predisposition to harm.

[ He assures, in case this young man were to begin to grow concerned that he had aided someone who might turn about and take advantage of the situation. Someone who might have been acting — lying — to entice him to letting his guard down, abusing his kindness. The mere thought of it sends steel and ice down his spine, emboldens his pleasantries and manners, drives him to be the paragon of his race he has always had to be. Any missteps or mishaps would result in someone, somewhere, crying 'aha, I told you so!' about their long-held faithlessness.

Elves like him remain difficult topics, for the common folk.

He folds the metal flask between his hands, giving it a little tip to test the slosh of the remaining water. Unwilling to give it back, until he has properly refilled it. ]

I am not very good with crowds. [ He admits it, slowly. ] Especially city crowds. It was fine, and then —

[ He touches the tip of a long, tapered ear. A dark point that pierces through the waves and coils of his white hair. ]

Bit too much, all at once.