Radomosity, Thought Artemis. And He

Thankfully The Rest Of The World Assumed That The Irish Were Crazy, A Theory That The Irish Themselves Did Nothing To Debunk. They Had Somehow Got It Into Their Heads That Each Fairy Lugged Around A Pot Of Gold With Him Wherever He Went. While It Was True That Lep Had A Ransom Fund, Because Of Its Officers' High-risk Occupation, No Human Had Ever Taken A Chunk Of It Yet. This Didn't Stop The Irish Population In General From Skulking Around Rainbows, Hoping To Win The Supernatural Lottery.

People Are Afraid Of You, Arty. Girls Are Terrified Of You. You’re A Fifteen-year-old In A Bespoke Suit, And Nobody Died.

It'll Be Messy, But After A Day You'll Be Zipping Around As Though You Were A Thousand Years Old Again.

Sig Sauer. Nine Millimetres. Thirteen In The Magazine. Big Bullets. One Of These Hits You And It Could Blow Your Head Off; Something Even The Magic Can't Fix. Other Than That You Should Be All Right, Presuming You Remembered To Wear The Regulation Above-ground Micro-fibre Jumpsuit Recently Patented By Me. Then Again, Being A Recon Jock, You Probably Didn't.

The Humans Were Protecting Their Heritage, Or So They Thought. Strange That Mud Men Seem More Concerned About The Past Than The Present.