Ornusjalil looked blankly from her ancient enemy to the child, and back again, and blinked. Veraxotoc was quick to correct the child, and his correction made her blink... but this was kinda what she wanted anyhow, wasn't it? She smiled. "That's right, I'm just a very old... friend of his." she said, eyeing Veraxitoc. Surely the boy was innocent and Ornusjalil could not agree more - he should remain so. Her look, thus, said very clearly that she was fine with that if he was. Even so, she looked from the boy to his blushing face again and there was a definite mischief about her grin, well suited to her elven face. "Nice to meet you, Methusela. That's a very fine name - may you fill it well." He just might she thought.
"We just haven't seen each other in a long time." she continued, and smiled directly at Veraxitoc. The whole subject of necromancy and power-mad old dragons was to be left entirely out of the conversation. It didn't count. Her belly protested otherwise with big purple and blue flags with hornpipes of pain, but she ignored them completely - pillock wounds, being petty and weak! She'd give them a right thrashing when she got home - only, of course, she wouldn't. Ouch.
"So you're serious, Veraxitoc." she said - it was less a question and more a statement on safe grounds. She wanted to hear him talk about it, so she could watch his face. She needed convincing he was serious before she'd ever trust him, that was clear. But... she was willing to listen. She was here, wasn't she?