Background
Bob runs a pub in the east end of London frequented by humans and fae
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Bob was behind the bar, serving a round, when Dawn tugged at his elbow.
"Steady on," he said, shaking spilled beer from his hand. He glanced at Dawn, who jerked her head towards the door.
"What's up? Oh Christ!" He smacked the pint onto the counter and pushed Dawn towards the waiting customers as he leapt towards the other end of the counter.
Making his way to the bar, a grin on his face, strode Ted. In another age Bob might have described Ted as a bit touched, or even away with the fairies. Nowadays you couldn't slander fairies like that. Even strokes were now called CVA's, never mind that for centuries people hadn't associated them with being stroked by the gentle folk. But even Ted wasn't that simple. No one could be so stupid as to walk down Cable Street wearing an elf wig. He glanced towards the table in the corner. Too late. The group of four elves were staring, and they weren't happy.
"Take it off!" he hissed, as Ted reached the bar.
"Hi, Bob," said Ted, beaming.
"Take it off!" Bob repeated, with as much urgency as he could muster.
"What?" Ted pulled at the lapels of his ancient jacket. "Take it off?"
"The wig!" Bob made a grab for it, but Ted jumped back. Bob glanced again at the elves. One had stood and started towards Ted.
"Jesusjesusjesus!" muttered Bob, as if divine intervention might be a possibility. The flap in the counter was the other end of the bar. If he ran, and didn't trip over Dawn or collide with a customer, he might arrive at Ted's side maybe five seconds after Ted had drawn his last breath. He could try vaulting over the bar, but his vaulting days were a couple of decades in his past.
He held up his hand to the approaching elf. "He doesn't mean anything. He's just -- he doesn't quite realise, hey, he --" Bob might have been talking to the counter. The elf strode up to Ted, halting six inches from the man, his face radiating such anger Bob was surprised the varnish on the bar wasn't bubbling. Ted, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the danger. If anything, he was delighted he'd attracted the Elf's attention.
"Sweet lad," said Ted.
The elf frowned. "What?"
"Sweet lad," Ted repeated. Bob wasn't sure what Ted was up to, but it seemed to be working. The sheer idiocy of the phrase seemed to confuse the elf.
"Sweet lad?"
"Yes." Ted bowed. "Sweet lad."
"Are you trying to say 'suila'?"
"Yes. Hello. Sweet lad."
"Ted, Ted, don't try and speak Elvish. Seriously, mate, don't." Bob knew of a dozen ways to piss off an elf. Breathing was one. Prancing around in an Elf wig was almost certainly another, though it was a new one on him. But trying to speak Elvish, especially with an accent that was less Rivendell and more Elephant and Castle was definitely one.
"Who are you, to insult my ears?"
"Listen," said Bob. "Ted doesn't mean anything. It's just he's --"
The elf flung out a hand, his palm stopping so close to Bob's face he jumped back a step. The elf finally seemed to notice him. He stared at Bob for a moment, then jerked his head at Ted. "I am asking him."
"Oh, it's not Ted anymore. It's here cas."
"What?"
"Here cas. That's my elf name."
"Your elf name?"
Bob added yet another way to piss off an elf. In his head he was repeating the mantra, 'Shut up, Ted. Shut up, Ted' over and over. He glanced at Dawn. She had the phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the speed dial. Bob patted the air as subtly as he could. Calling the police to licenced premises was a last resort. It never looked good when the licence had to be renewed. Though maybe even using it as a first resort might have been too late for Ted.
"Yes," said Ted. "My spiritual elf name. Because I'm an elf. Inside I mean. Like, obviously I'm a man, but I was meant to be an elf. I got it certified and everything. It's all kosher." He reached into his jacket and produced a square of paper. "See? An elf shaman certified it and everything. I had to go through the ritual. I ate mother earth and everything. Look. It's got a seal and everything."
Ted, or whatever his spiritual name was now, shoved the paper at the elf. "See? All pukkah. That's the high shaman's seal, that is. See?"
The elf took the paper, examined the seal for a moment, then unfolded it, staring at Ted with a look of suspicion. He glanced at the paper, frowned, then started to read it. His anger turned to puzzlement, then to surprise.
"Your name is what?" he asked, finally.
"Here cas."
"No, look." The elf turned the paper to face Ted. "It's Hercas. See? Here."
"Well, yeah, I can see that," said Ted, squinting at the paper. "That's what I said. Here cas."
"No, listen to what I say. Hercas. It starts in the throat. Hercas."
"Herecas," repeated Ted, the world's first elf with a Cockney accent.
"Close enough. I am Llenowen. Listen, this document. It's written in high elf."
"Well, yeah, naturally. It would be."
"I'm not that fluent, to tell the truth, but my friend is. Can I show him?"
"Well, yeah, 'course. Just for a minute, like."
The elf smiled. "Thank you." He turned and strode back to his friends, who seemed puzzled Ted was still standing.
Bob became aware his mouth was open. The bar was silent. Looking around, he realised everyone was staring at the spectacle unfolding, as bemused as he was himself. Now, he thought. Now would be a good time to get to the public side of the counter. He edged towards the flap, scared that undue haste might break whatever spell Ted had cast.
"What's going on?" hissed Dawn, as he passed her.
"Stuffed if I know. But I think Ted's handling it." Bob raised the flap and assumed a casual stroll towards Ted.
"Ted?" asked Dawn.
Bob shrugged. "I'm as surprised as you are."
The elves were huddled around the paper. Occasionally one would raise his head and stare at Ted. As Bob reached him, all four elves stood and came over. Bob glanced at the counter, suddenly regretting his decision to come public-side. The phrase, 'line of fire' popped into his head and wouldn't leave.
"Guys," he started.
Llenowen bowed, extending the paper in front of him like an offering to Ted.
"Hercas, forgive us," he said. "We didn't know."
"No, well you wouldn't, would you," said Ted, taking the paper and sliding it into his jacket. "No, I can see that. All square now though, right?"
"Indeed. It's just we'd never met a spiritual elf before. My friends had to come over and see for themselves."
"Oh, right. No worries. Sweet lad, fellas."
"Suila," muttered the elf out of the corner of his mouth. Realisation dawned on his friends.
"Suila, Hercas," they chorused, every one of them smirking, though Ted didn't seem to notice.
"Hercas, may I advise you, as a new-born brother?"
"Sure, Luwellen. Appreciate it."
Llenowen winced. "'Llenowen'. Never mind. The hair."
"My hair?" Ted's hand rose to stroke a lock. "What's wrong with it?"
"Well, this ring here." Llenowen reached out and touched a ring woven into the hair. "Oh, it's plastic. Still, even if it was silver, it's worn on the other side, and only by a woman who's betrothed. And this." He flicked a tassel hanging from a lock. "I've no idea what it is, but it's not elven. And the style. Sorry, no elf has worn it like that for generations."
"Really?"
"And that's just the start. I'm sorry, but the human who sold you that -- it was a human, right?"
"Right."
"Well, he had no idea. Seriously, brother, lose it. Better still, burn it."
"Yeah?" Reluctantly, Ted dragged the wig off his head, revealing sparse hair combed over balding patches. "I guess I'll have to grow my own."
One of Llenowen's friends turned his back on them, his shoulders shaking as he had a sudden coughing fit.
"Cheer up. Let us buy you a drink."
Ted instantly cheered up. "Cool. I'll have an ambrosia."
"You know that stuff's illegal," said Bob.
"Yeah, but I'm an elf."
"It's especially illegal for elves."
"We're having wine," said Llenowen.
"Um, okay. I'll have some of that," said Ted, who to Bob's knowledge had never ordered anything but a half of bitter. "Can I join you?"
"Sorry, we, um, we're discussing clan business. You understand. Not even other elves can listen in." Bob wondered how anyone could swallow such an obvious lie, but Ted seemed to.
"No, no, fair does. I understand," said Ted, happy just to have a drink he wasn't paying for.
"Five Chardonnays?" said Bob. "Take a seat. I'll bring them over."
Bob returned to the business side of the bar. He shrugged at Dawn's quizzical look. He poured five glasses, balanced them on a tray and returned to the tables.
"We're doing table service now?" asked Dawn, as he passed her.
"Just, don't start. Okay? Just don't."
He gave Ted his glass, then carried the tray over to the elves' table.
"Okay, what's going on?" he said, as he placed the glasses on the coasters. "What was on that paper? Some sort of fake Elvish?"
"No, no, it was the real deal," said Llenowen. "It was from the clan in Hyde Park."
"They have the best jokes," grinned one of the others.
"What did it say?"
Llenowen sighed. "Look, it was just an explanation, that's all. It said basically that Hercas is a child in a man's body. He's harmless and has no idea how insulting he is. He wouldn't leave them alone till they made him an elf. It's basically his get out of jail card."
"And that's funny?"
"Sure. A man thinking he's an elf? It's hilarious. But he's a child, right? Relax. We're not going to hurt a child. We're not going to laugh to his face. And we'll look out for him. We'll let any other elf who comes in know what's happening. Hercas is safe here."
"Your friends don't play much poker, do they."
Llenowen frowned. "Why?"
"Because every time someone mentions his name, they nearly wet themselves laughing." On cue, the others tried to suppress their giggles. "So what else did it say?"
"It's just his name. The Hyde Park clan called him Hercas. It's a combination of two words. 'Her' -- " Llenowen frowned and stared into the distance. "There's not an English word for it. Okay, let me try and explain. When we hunt -- when we used to hunt, we clean the deer where it falls. It's so that the animal's spirit doesn't get lost. If we leave some of it there it acts as an anchor until the spirit rests. Anyway, we clean it. But if it's an elf's first hunt, he might be a bit inexperienced, or maybe he's still excited from the hunt. Anyway, it's possible that as he guts it, some of the contents of the intestines falls onto the good meat and makes it unclean. If that happens the hunt was wasted and we leave the carcass as well."
"Okay..." said Bob, unsure where this was going.
"So 'her' is the contents of a deer's intestine that has been allowed to foul good meat. 'Cas' just means head."
"So 'Hercas' means..."
"Shithead" spluttered one of Llenowen's crew, collapsing into coughing again.
Bob looked over his shoulder at Ted, who grinned and raised his glass.
"Pretty mean joke to play on a guy that's a little simple in the head."
"What should they have called him? A genuine name? How would that go down, do you think? A human introducing himself to an elf? Or they could have called him, 'I just slept with your mother'. What about, ' hello, I'm going to kick your head in'. No, this way, he meets a strange elf and introduces himself, the worst that's going to happen is they'll laugh. Not if he's wearing that wig though. At least it'll give him space to produce his introduction letter. Relax. Any elf reading that will understand. Believe me."
Bob wanted to argue. He wanted to speak of human dignity, of humanity shown to those less fortunate, of how wrong it was to laugh at someone mentally disadvantaged. On the other hand, he couldn't fault their logic. When he thought of the ways it could have gone down, how it most definitely would have if Ted didn't have the slip of paper, if he didn't have a name that made the elves laugh...
"Just, make sure there's no trouble," he finished, aware of the inadequacy of his response.
He made his way back to the bar.
"We've had some weird times in here, haven't we?" he asked Dawn.
"A few," she admitted.
"Any as weird as tonight?"
"Not even close," she said. "You'd better call time on the dot tonight, because the moment the clock chimes I'm going home. I've had all I can take tonight."
"Amen," said Bob, moving towards a creature at the end of the bar waving an empty tankard. "Amen."
