John's head still swam in the dim, green torchlight. He read the boy's words slowly, deliberately, fearing if he glanced over them he wouldn't have the brainpower to understand. Well, if he wanted to fight, they would fight. He vaguely noticed the boy's rugged, worn look. He looked under the weather, if ice fae even got sick, that is.

He nearly vomited as he settled into a relaxed stance. He'd be slower, but the boy wouldn't prove much of a challenge.

"Fine then, boy, let's dance," he said, coating his hands in metal. He took a quick step forward, much too quick than he liked at the moment, on a patch of floor he saw no raised stones in, and lashed out with an open hand, hoping to catch the boy's flowing shirt or maybe his arm. Catching the fae would be the difficult part, but once John had him, the fight would be as good as done.