((Funny news? Damn. That's probably not a good reaction. XD))
Tamislin doesn't know what it was like thirty years ago, the look on his face tells Tyrone. "Oh," he says, apparently taking that information at face value, "I always get asked about the ears or someone makes a comment about them, so I.." He trails off for a moment then shrugs, "So I figured it would be." That doesn't sound like it is what the brunet wanted to say in the first place, but the shrug that accompanied it deems whatever he intended to say first inconsequential.
The tea steeps and the short fellow looks to the side as he thinks about the time before he'd been living in this appartment. It doesn't look like he is consciously aware of moving slightly behind the chair on his side of the table, one hand on top of the backrest, the other on the side but policemen are probably more used to spotting it in those they talk to anyway. "This one is better, I think," he said, his voice quiet. "Not so.. " he bites his lip and thinks about his answer again, his eyes yet to meet the Detective's.
"They have a library, and [i]nobody[/i] ever fights in there. They say Mrs. Marcia," the librarian, presumably, "Is secretly a spy or something so nobody dares." Probably not true, but an apparently effective enough measure. Tamislin certainly seems to approve of a capable warrior protecting knowledge. "And the teachers are a lot less.. " He stops himself from saying what he's thinking, and uses the more tactful version of "They're more friendly," instead.
He likes that they have lockers that actually work and that nobody tries to break them open when you're not there. He likes that he can get out of gym every so often because he's good enough physically not to need it, and he has a permission slip to find some peace and quiet every so often as humans and their surroundings are a lot more noisy than he is used to or would voluntarily expose himself to for such prolonged periods of time. They either didn't think it necessary at the other school or just didn't allow for that sort of thing as a general policy. He likes that the canteen lady lets him be picky about the food here when he doesn't bring any from home. He likes that his homeroom teacher will try to explain things to him in as many ways as he can because "he says my brain's wired differently instead," - .. instead of something not so graceful, probably - and he doesn't want the kid to fall behind.
He doesn't like the homework any better, though. And he doesn't always understand what his classmates mean when they say things, so he doesn't always know if he's being made fun of or not, and sometimes, the other children in his classroom are irritatingly immature, but elves and humans grow differently, and he knows to suffer it for the most part. And he can always talk to the dean, though the word doesn't seem to inspire much trust in the short fellow.
People don't bother him as much in this school, and he likes that, too.
The more he talks about his current school, the less the boy seems to need the physical shield of the chair and table and actually looks at him. Tyrone has probably noticed a tendency for him to edge back behind it whenever he mentions the old school though. Never quite looks at the man when he does either. Sounds like that might have been part of the reason he got relocated, then?
But the tea's ready, then, and Tamislin is a good host as he pours the Detective a fragrant cup of Jasmine tea.
"I'm not supposed to get in trouble with the police," he said, by ways of explanation, apparently not quite sure not seeing them too much reflected badly on him or not, despite the Detective's words. "Who wants to deal with the paperwork?" he asks with a shrug, making it sound like it's something somebody else said often enough for it to have gotten stuck in his idioms and abandons the chair in favour of his own steaming cup of tea, adding some honey to it and stirring it slowly.