And because Marvel Comics, he has to ask. "Literal leprechauns or children? Because one of the latter, and god only knows of the former."

He rests his chin on his knuckles as he listens, keeping careful track of the names and relations and positions that Molotov's relaying. He plans to stay out of her business, but just because he won't be engaging doesn't mean he won't want to be well-aware of her machinations.

He sits back again and chuckles. "And here I was hoping you'd let me off easy. I'm a mere eight."

Arguing with it would just seem insecure, as if he has something to prove. He doesn't, really, especially if they'll all be coming back.