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“You can cast defensive magic, right?” Murphy asks, balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he tries to shoo the pixies flying around his kitchen away with a weedwhacker.“Uh yeah?” Miller answers, sounding very confused by what is a very simple question. Perhaps it was his rushed and panicked delivery. “Why?”“What can I used to ward against pixies invading my kitchen?”“Pork pies,” Miller says and his reply is so immediate that for a second, Murphy believes him.“No seriously,” he says, rolling his eyes.“I am being serious,” Miller says and Murphy wonders, just for a moment, if he could enchant his weedwhacker to transfer through his phone and slap Miller in the face. “Pork pies are a sure fire way to get rid of pixies. They hate the smell of it.”Murphy snorts. “Even if you were being serious, there’s no pork in this apartment.”“How do two millennielves have no pork in their apartment?”“One, never say millennielves ever again, you heathen,” he says, whacking hopelessly at a pixie that flies right up to his ear, tugging on the pointed end of it. All he does is whack himself in the head which is the complete opposite of his goal. “Two, Mbege keeps kosher remember?”“Okay, that’s valid,” Miller says and again, Murphy wonders if he could magically transport the damn pixies through the phone to bother Miller for a while. “Uh, what type of pixies are they?”“Why and how would I know that?”“I’d say listen to your heart, but I highly doubt you have one.”“Then you know absolutely nothing of elf anatomy and probably failed sixth-grade biology,” he snarks. “My heart says it doesn’t know what the fuck kind of pixies are invading my home.”“Well I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m dealing with,” Miller argues and Murphy knows he’s imitating the guess I’ll die guy with his shrug, he always does it.“What’s the point of having a sorcerer for a friend if you can’t help me with my pixie problem?”“Friendship is about a lot more than forceful eviction of your numerous flatmates,” Miller points out, sounding so sure that shis sentence makes any coherent sense. “Besides, I’m a mage, not a sorcerer.”“They’re basically the same thing.”“No, they’re not.”“You are though, you draw on elements and they draw on books, you still have the same power at the end of the day.”“Fuck you, sorcerers draw their power from knowledge, I’ll have you know,” Miller says in the least threatening tone Murphy has heard in his life. “How would you like it if I said you were a seelie?”“I’d tell you to fuck off to whatever hobbit hole you crawled out of,” he drawls, unsuccessfully shooing another pixie away, this time hitting himself in the nose which is always fun.“I think you’ll find that the term is womb, not hobbit hole.”“Don’t know, don't care,” he mutters, momentarily considering just moving out and finding a zip code that doesn’t warn of pixie infestations, not that he could afford that. “You still haven’t helped me with my pixie problem.”“Just tell him you’re a grower, not a shower,” Miller remarks. “That’s the elf way, isn’t it?”With that, the call cuts off and Murphy only just restrains himself from throwing his phone at one of the goddamn pixies, but knowing his luck, it would rebound and hit him right between his eyes.