Trou dans le Mur - the 'Hole in the Wall'. If there was a more perfect name for this small pub, the management had yet to hear of it. It was a hole in the wall, really - the entrance was a dimly-lit alley, and the actual pub was on the top floor of an old building bordering what had, once upon a time, been a busy street. Most of the customers found it completely by accident. Innish, Unnish - it didn't matter, as long as you respected the rules. The place had a pleasant, sleepy atmosphere and the patrons didn't seem to be aware of the anti-smoking bylaw, because everything was faintly hazy with tobacco smoke.

It was loud, but not too loud, and it seemed a friendly enough place. That was what had drawn Wick in.
There would be less chance of getting flattened.

He'd found himself a spot on one of the corner tables, by one of the yellow-stained windows. He was sitting on a coaster, swaying as if pushed by a light breeze. Someone had left a shot of some raspberry-scented liqueur at the table, and the inches-tall faery had chugged sampled it before it was cleared away. It took away the shivers he'd had upon entering the Trou dans le Mur, and he felt pleasantly warm. It was raining out, and he was all damp still, but no longer cold.

"La... de laa... la la..." he sang softly, hazel eyes unfocused and bleary, obscured by the damp strands of his gingery hair. He had an amused half-smile on his face. He was having a great time by himself,... unseen, unheard,... just rocking along to whatever song it was he had in mind. The earrings in his pointed ears jingled faintly along with him.

Yes, ladies and gents, if you hadn't already guessed; Wick was utterly sloshed.

Alexander had definitely stumbled upon the place by accident. He had gone in because if he didn't know the place existed, neither would anyone he knew. And tonight, he didn't much want to engage in a battle of wits with Douglas and he didn't want to be Keye's support.

Tonight, he was taking an evening for himself.

Selfish? Oh, a tad.

He sat down at one of the tables--yes, the same table where Wick was sitting--and leaned on it, staring broodingly out the yellow window.

Yes, he's on one of his guilt trips. What triggered this one? A recent encounter with April Terence, if you can believe it. She's just a girl, and a sweet, naive, very much alive little girl at that. He feels guilty for planning to kill her.

Unfortunately, not guilty enough to stop him.

Alexander's funny like that.

Wick frowned thoughtfully at Alexander for a moment, his mind so hazy that he couldn't place him. His face lit up as he remembered. Dr. Barclay! The guy who,... who,... um... Who signed his cast, that was it. And who had made him quiet for a week, and tried to squish him...

"Hullo, there!" he said cheerily, wobbling to his feet and removing the glamour that was cloaking him. Now anyone could see him - but he didn't care. Everything was just peachy. Nothing could go wrong. He stumbled closer to Alexander, grinning stupidly. "What's up, doc?"

Alexander's expression was quite priceless. Both of his thick black eyebrows shot up, nearly to his hairline--which was less impressive than it might have been if he had had a receding one, but still rather unusual--and his mouth actually dropped open.

It was a moment before he said anything.

"What in the world is wrong with you?"

At least he isn't resorting to profanity or death threats. That's a good sign, right?

"No, no, no," Wick shook his head emphatically, still grinning, "I asked you first. Well, not really,... 'cuz I asked what'sh up, so it doesn't count. So I should tell you what you asked, 'cuz that'sh only fair... um..."

He scratched his head, peering blearily at Alexander.
"What wasyer question?"

Then he snapped his fingers - "Wait, I 'member. You wanted to know what was wrong with me... um,... well, nothing's wrong with me. Kinda wet. Nothing's wrong with me though, thanks for askin'. What'sh wrong with you?"

If Alexander didn't notice that every so often, Wick was slurring his 's'es, he might possibly be tipped off by the fact that the small faery smelled quite strongly of alcohol. He'd spilled some on himself in trying to get to the bottom of the shot glass.

"Nothing."

Except that he was up to those eyebrows in a diabolical plot to ensnare the god of Death and Dreams himself, kill over two dozen young people, and a few other things, and he was feeling very guilty over it. Oh yes, and he had a son that he'd sort of adopted and didn't quite know what to do with sometimes, and that was interesting, and...

I guess there was quite a lot wrong with him.

"You're drunk."

He said that in tones of surprise. I wonder why.

The small faery laughed as if that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.

"Drunk? Me? Nnnnope, no, no way! Where'd you get that crazy idea?!" he giggled, holding his sides and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes with the back of his sleeve. This man was hilarious! "I'm not drunk at all. Well, maybe just a tiny, tiny, tiny bit tipsy, but I'm just fine."

Then, he added defensively, "You're drunk."

"Hardly."

That was a dry comment if ever I heard one. Alexander is trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or shocked. He's also trying to decide whether to leave or stay. If he stays, he's no idea what the faery will do, but he's always found drunks rather amusing. If he leaves, he doesn't have to deal with the rather irritating little faery.

Bother.

He'll stay, for now.

"What have you been drinking?"

At least it's a distraction.

"Shtuff I found on th' table" he gestured at the flat expanse of tabletop, "In a big glass - big to me, to you it musta been tiny. It had this clear stuff in it,'n it looked like water, but it wasn't water. It smelled like fake raspberries, 'n something else really strong. Made me dizzy. It was about, hmmm, about a quarter full? An' I drank it. Then the guy over there with the apron came 'n took the glass to clean it. Hee hee... I dun think he knew I was there."

That's a lot of alcohol for a seven-inch tall faery, whatever it was.

"Anyway, it tasted weird at first, but it got better as it went," Wick said, momentarily making a face at the memory of the icky taste. "You got any idea what it was?.. I wanna try some more."

"No, I have no idea. And I think you have had quite enough of whatever it was." Okay, Alexander sounds like a professor, and he's talking to Wick. Scary.

Maybe it's just that he's too far off guard to bother being cold. Maybe Wick's cuteness is finally getting to him. Maybe Wick reminds him of certain college students he knows, and their habits of getting drunk.

Who knows.

He stuck his tongue out at Alexander.

Had he any respect for authority? Not really. He had little enough of it at the best of times, and when he was as (ahem) 'tipsy' as this, he had none at all.

"Yer no fun. How'd you know if I had enough, you weren't here when I drank it," he said sulkily, pouting like a scolded child. He aimed a kick at the air, frowning. Now his cheerfulness had been ruined. "Anyways, you're not th' boss of me. Nobody's the boss of me. So there."

"Well, I may not be 'the boss of you,' but I have had quite enough encounters with those who have had too much to drink to be able to tell. And." A rather nasty smile curved his lips here. "If you wanted more, wouldn't you have to find someone else to order it for you? I doubt very much you could open the bottle to steal some on your own."

Considering most bottles are twice Wick's height and made of slippery glass...

Oh well. I suppose he could always break it and drink from the puddle. But that would be unsanitary.

"Nuh-uh, you're wrong," he shook his head over-emphatically, in the manner of one who couldn't control his movements, "Sometimes they have it in little bottles, almost 'bout my size. Maybe not here, but some other... store, 'r something. If I knew what it was, I could find some."

He was saying this just to be difficult. He wouldn't go to that much trouble for another sip of whatever it was he'd had - it was just a passing notion of his. It would be nice to have more, but he could really do without. He felt kind of full at the moment. Also, ... maybe a little ill. He barely noticed it, though.

It was the room's fault. Stupid room was spinning and making him dizzy.
He sat down heavily, legs splayed out in front of him like a baby just learning to sit up on its own. "Dumb place ish all shpinny..."

"No, I believe that's your head."

He's rather amused by this point. He isn't sure how a shot of alcohol would translate to someone Wick's size, but he's pretty sure that the faery's had at least the equivalent of multiple shots of something strong...

How funny.

"Tell me. Do you know anything about the boy who hurt you and Miss Vendredy?"

Well, that was an abrupt subject change. Obsessive fellow, isn't he.

"Toldya, I'm not drunk," he said, - but he knew he was, by now. That was why he was denying it again.

He frowned, confused.
"Who's Miss Venderdy? ...Ohhhh, wait, you must mean Vi'let," he nodded,... and just kept nodding until the movement wore off, still talking "Whaddya wanna know 'bout the scary guy? He's horrible. He bit me and he threw me into a tree - thass what broke my arm, y'know. But he's awful. So I made him have nightmares so he'd leave us alone, 'n it worked..."

He was telling Alexander all he knew about the boy - which wasn't much. He just rambled on, not knowing just what information Alexander was after, and not particularly caring.

Mhmm.

It doesn't sound like Wick knows anything more than Violet did, and he's giving him information that the professor doesn't really care to know.

"Enough."

He gazed morosely at the faery for a moment, then decided he might as well get something to drink while he was here. Worst it could do was poison him.

So he got up and headed to the counter briefly.

"Heyyy... where ya going?" he said miserably, "Are you leaving already...? Was it something I said?"

"Awww," he grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chin and giving a deep sigh. He didn't want to be alone. Well, he could have fun by himself. Sure he could. Was there anything within reach that he could break...? ...No...? Well, maybe there was something at the next table.

Wick got up, took two wobbly steps, and fell down again. Ouch.
He gave up.
"Stupid spinny room,...'s not playin' fair..." he muttered.

Alexander returned with a shot of vodka.

What?

"Problems?" he asked, mock-solicitously. All right, so Alexander has a slightly cruel sense of humor. At least he isn't trying to squish the faery or anything like that. He's just being sarcastic.

No, he isn't going to share the vodka.

Not unless Wick asks veeeeeeery politely.

Wick couldn't be polite right now if his life depended on it, but he'd decided he didn't want any more alcohol tonight anyway (it was that sickly feeling in his stomach that made him change his mind). He looked forlornly up at Alexander. Wick had gone from crazy-happy, to annoyed, to miserable in under five minutes. Bravo.

"Mmfhvllfhmbl..." he mumbled plaintively, hiding his face against his knees to shut out some of the light. His incoherent mumbling might have actually been words, but it was so quiet and slurred it was impossible to tell.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Sip of vodka. This is all that Alexander is going to be drinking tonight. He doesn't need to be inebriated, after all.

And he also doesn't need to be quite so nasty. But you can't have everything.

"'Course I said something," Wick replied, "You ashked if I'd got problems, an' I said yeah, I did and then I said what it was but you just weren't listening right so you couldn't hear me, maybe..."

As well as having little-to-no respect for authority at the moment, Wick was also pretty much incapable of detecting sarcasm.

Wick has respect for authority any moment?

"You should enunciate," he admonished coolly. "No one can understand you when you speak with your mouth buried in your arms like that."

He's being so cold right now.

Then again, is he ever not, aside from when he's with Keye or when he's pretending?

He has respect for authority when they have something to threaten him with.

Wick glared at him, swaying slightly.
"I won't 'nunciate if I don't wanna," he said, pouting. A sudden flash of lucidity lit his drink-fogged head. "But you don't even care,... 'course you don't. I'm just too dizzy 'n that's why I didn't figure it out. Bet you don't really wanna know anyway. Don't know why you asked if you don't wanna know..."

"No, I don't care. Why should I?"

... and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Alexander is not someone you would want to meet.

He only cares about people who are useful to him. And Keye. (He cares about his family too, but they don't count anymore, because he doesn't, can't do anything for or with them.)

"Thass what I thought," Wick nodded, blinking blearily up at the professor, "I dunno why you should care,.. 'cause you're nice? Iunno."

That was a guess - not Wick's opinion. He didn't think Alexander was nice. He was okay to hang out with, because Wick knew that he wouldn't hurt him. That would bother Violet, which would in turn bother Keye,... so the professor wouldn't do it.

But,...
He suddenly went pale, and it had nothing to do with the queasy feeling inside his stomach. What if Violet didn't care anymore if something happened to him? She had been really furious.

Oh, dear.

Alexander laughed.

Not the joyful laugh he occasionally releases around Keye. Not the ugly laugh that he with which he favoured Robbie over the telephone. A coolly, nastily amused laugh, this time, with just a tad of incredulity tossed in.

"I'm nice? I don't know to whom you have been speaking, little faery, but you were greatly misinformed."

Nice is not a word he would use to describe himself. At all.

Wick shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

"...Just saying. No one told me that, I was just guessing that might be why," he explained, frowning. He edged backwards, making it painfully obvious that he was growing more unnerved by the second. That didn't stop him from adding in a snide comment - or what he thought as a snide comment. He was having serious difficulty in thinking straight.

"I don't think you're nice. I think you're a mean old man with no friends."

Well, that wasn't a very nice sentiment. It was very nearly true, but it wasn't very nice at all.

"And what makes you think I have no friends, hm?"

He doesn't, though, really. Anyone he might have considered a friend is long insane by this point, and he hasn't made any new ones.

Stupid right little faery.

"'Cause yer horrible," Wick explained, sounding incredulous. He didn't know it was that obvious?

(...Wait for it. Everyone loves drunk logic.)

"You're too mean to have friendsh. If you weren't mean, you'd have friendsh, and if you had friendsh, you wouldn' be sho mean," he slurred. There was a marked decrease in his capability to speak properly. He blinked a few times, squinting at Alexander. He couldn't... seem to... focus.

"There's a name for that sort of fallacy, you know."

It's called circular logic.

The scary thing is, the first part of what Wick said is true.

Someone who wasn't horrible wouldn't be involved in the kinds of plots that Alexander is, now would he.

His eyebrows knit together in a rather stupid-looking frown.

"Whassa fallacy?" he asked.
Then, for apparently no reason, he fell over. He didn't try to get up right away.

"Ouch," Wick said plaintively, to no one in particular, "You did that on purpose..."

Alexander did not deign to answer that.

Instead, he poked Wick incuriously, setting his shot glass down next to the faery's head.

"I don't believe I've ever seen a drunk faery before."

He made a shaky attempt to scratch Alexander when he poked him, but missed completely, so he just let his hand drop. He forced himself to sit back up. The way he was moving was reminiscent of one of those dolls with a weight in the bottom. If you hit it, it would wobble but eventually get back up. Wick was different in that he didn't look like he would be able to keep on getting up.

"I never saw one before, either. Or was one," he said."...It's not very fun anymore..."

"I haven't been drunk since my university days."

It's a good thing that people never seem to take you seriously when you're drunk. Else he would have given himself away a long, long, long time ago...

"Just wait until morning, if you think now isn't much fun."

Oh, that's a nasty smile.

Wick wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering. That was indeed a nasty smile, and he didn't like it at all. What was going to happen in the morning? Did drinking too much turn you into a vampire and you burned up when the sun hit? Or did it make you wake up too early so you were sleepy all day? What?

"What're you talking 'bout?" he asked, sounding frightened.
Funny that he could live into his nineties and not know what a hangover was.

"What, you've never heard of a hangover?"

His smile widened further.

"I should rather like to see how you cope."

He isn't going to explain. Did you think he would?

"Well, I never drank before. What's gonna happen?" he asked, sounding almost frantic.

Thud

He fell on his side again. "Ouch," he said, though it hadn't hurt. He forced himself back up, trying to steady himself by placing his hands flat on the tabletop for better balance. It didn't help. He fell over again. It was pretty funny that he could keep losing his balance, and he wan't even doing anything complicated like, say, standing.

"You'll see."

Alexander is practically sing-songing that.

He really is a bastard, isn't he.

Don't answer that.

"Jerk," Wick snorted, lying on his side and not bothering to get up. Maybe it was better that he didn't know he was going to have a monster headache in the morning. Pain scared him, when he knew it was coming,... such as antiseptic on cuts, for example.

He grimaced as his stomach gave a loud gurgle.
"Oooh,... I don't feel so good..." he winced, closing his eyes and curling in a ball.

"That happens when you drink."

He nudged the shot glass over to the faery.

"Throw up in there, not on me."

No, that's not at all sympathetic. Thanks for asking.