This is just her kind of place.

It's one of those funny little stores tucked away where you have to know it's there to find it, full of odd little things that really don't have much use except to sit somewhere and look interesting. Meg has a lot of these in her dorm room, actually. Her roommate occasionally complains about the clutter, but the two girls get along well enough.

Today, her hair is a vivid purple with red highlights. You know. The kind of purple that seems to belong to a butterfly's wings, rather than to any human (or human like being)'s hair. Her shirt, a tight halter top with some kind of embroidered design just below the neck, matches. Her skirt is one of those floaty black ones that swirls with her every movement. Her boots thunk on the floor as she wanders along the aisles, picking up things that take her fancy and putting most of them down again.

Meg is having a good time.

Mortimer found this place by chance and wandered inside, as some of the stuff seemed...interesting.
He was browsing incense burners currently (he and his sister both have a thing for aromatherapy and harmless pseudo-mysticism), seeming particularly fascinated by one fashioned from midnight blue clay with little square mirrors and seed beads pressed into it (part of the 'girl troubles' he talked to Darcy about have to do with the fact that he's not the most masculine of men).
He put it down with a sigh (he didn't have that much cash on him today), looking up for something fairly interesting with a lower price tag.
He saw Meg. Frankly, it was hard not to.

What was it Darcy had said, now? Something about not being so shy.
He took a farcically deep breath and stepped forward. His long, black coat looked like it ought to have fluttered behind him, but being rather stiff, it didn't.
"Um...hi."

She turned with a broad, friendly smile.

"Well, hey there."

In one hand, she still held the small glass figurine--if it can be called a figurine when it doesn't actually portray anything immediately recognizable as a figure of any kind--and turned it over and over in her hand.

She's paying attention to him, she just never really stops moving.

"Nnn..."
Deep breaths, Mort, deep breaths.
"Nice paperweight.."
Yeah, he's painfully shy.
He can almost hear his sister's laughing voice: Awkwaaaaard!
He blushed, looking down at his boots.

"You think so? I can't decide between this one--" she held up the one in her hand "--and this one." The one was a pale, silvery blue, with some kind of little flecks of color deep in the centre of it. The other was a dark red, hollow, with caged glass surrounding a flower-shaped something.

They were both rather sparkly. Rather like Meg herself.

"Which one do you like better? Oh, and I'm Meg."

Did we mention that she is not self-conscious at all?

He tapped the first one, being rather partial to blue.
"That one. I...I'm Mortimer."
And perhaps to explain away some of his shyness, he added
"I'm new around here."

"Okay then." She put the red one down and began to browse the stuff that he'd been looking at.

"New, huh? Where'd you move from? Where're you living now, besides here in Bayfield, I mean."

She grinned. He was obviously shy, so she wouldn't overwhelm him with chatter. Entirely.

"From Belledune. "
Hey. Hey, that's my incense burner.
"...apartment, over...over on..that side of the city..."
How distracting. He liked that burner a lot.

Don't worry, Mort. She's not allowed incense burners in the dorm; they're afraid that the students will burn it down, or something silly like that. (The amusing thing is that they do allow smoking.)

"Did you like it there? D'you like it here?"

She's going easy on the questions, by the by. She enjoys making ordinary humans--but then, he's not human, is he. Humans don't have antennae. Cute antennae, by the way--uncomfortable, but she'll be gentler on one of her own kind.

A little.

"I didn't like it there. I suppose it's all right here. I don't really know yet, I've only been here about a week."
He tilted his head at whatever she was holding at the moment.
"That's pretty. I like the ones with the beads in."

She favored him with a look of amusement.

"Not buying for your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."
Oh.
Oh crap, wait a second. Was she accusing him of effeminacy? He drew himself to his full (not very tall) height.
"I'm buying for my sister."

We-ell... she wasn't exactly accusing him of being effeminate. Not exactly...

A grin.

"No need to get so defensive. It was just a question." Can she look any more innocent? (Probably, yes. If her hair was a natural human colour, and her eyes weren't brilliant green with slit pupils, and if there weren't blatant amusement dancing in them...)

"Sister, huh. Older or younger?"

He frowned. Why did he have to get worked up so easily? He was making a fool of himself.
And the lights flickered.

"She's the same age. We're twins."

Blink.

Well, that was weird. A small frown.

"Twins? Cool. I always wanted a twin, or any sister really, but I don't have any siblings at all. 's it fun?"

The lights are normal now, anyway.

"No, it isn't fun. My sister is crazy. She drives too fast, and I'm afraid she'll get herself killed."

Sly grin.

"I drive too fast."

Then again, she doesn't actually have a car of her own, and must make do with the (rare) times when a friend of hers allows her to drive. And she doesn't have a motorcycle.

The danger's rather less.

"Would you be afraid I'd get myself killed?"

"If you were my sister, I would."
But considering that he'd met her in the last ten minutes, it wouldn't concern him terribly.

She made a little pouty face.

"Would you be sad, any at all?"

She's teasing, by the way. Just playing a game; it's what she does. She doesn't have any ulterior motives.

That I know of.

"Sure, a little."
Which is true. But again, it wouldn't crush him or anything.

As you may have noticed, jokes tend to glide right over his head.

Sniffle. (Pretend sniffle, but he doesn't know that, does he?)

"'m hurt."

Just playing. She doesn't mean any harm, you know.

"Sorry!"
He sounded quite distressed.
"I mean, no offense, it's just that I don't really know you..."

"... you didn't think I was serious, did you?"

She smiled reassuringly.

"Just playing with your head, silly."

At which point she proceeds to actually play with his head. Or, more specifically... his antennae.

He batted her hand away, looking confused.
"What're you waving your hand over my head for?"
Frown. What a weird girl.
He has no sensation in his antennae, you see.

Weird, yes. So?

Eyebrow. "What, you don't feel, oh, this?" She gave one of them a gentle tug.

Come on, he's got to feel that, right?

"No."
He gave her one of those 'You are so crazy' looks.
"Because there's nothing there. If you had actually pulled my hair, maybe. But it's several inches shorter than that."

Interesting.

"Hm."

Congratulations, Mort. You have rendered Meg not only speechless, but thoughtful as well.

"I think I want to meet your sister."

"I don't think you do."
Mort almost looked frightened. See, Cass could get a little jealous...
"She isn't friendly."

She made a funny little growling noise.

"Well, I am. You drink coffee? Wanna go get some?"

Weird fae girl, asking weird fae-but-unaware-of-it boy out for coffee. It has a certain strange symmetry to it.

...
A girl had just asked him to get coffee with her.
Maybe Darcy was right.

"Uhh...yeah. Sure."
He didn't like coffee, but he'd take what he could get.

It's hard to stay shy when the girl is as friendly and as bubbly as this one. Also, Mort's a puzzle. She's really curious about his antennae and his lack of knowledge of them.

Fae and not know it? How strange.

"C'mon then. Let me pay for this--" the paperweight, that is, and a few other oddments "--and we'll go down the street and get something, 'kay?"

He nodded, pushing his glasses up further on his nose.
Despite that he was pale, he didn't blush too easily, which was definitely a blessing.

And she paid for her baubles--where's she going to put them? Her dorm room's crowded enough as it is--and turned to go.

"C'mon, Mortie." She made her own nickname for him, you see. Because she didn't think that Mortimer was quite right.

It could be worse.

Right?

It could be worse.
Maybe.
But he didn't really mind, although he supplied his actual nickname.
"Mort is what people usually call me."
He followed her, his boots clomping as he crossed from carpet to hardwood.

"Mort, then." She grinned. "You can't get as many stupid nicknames from Mortimer as you can get from my name," she informed him, blue eyes twinkling... Wait a sec. Weren't they green, earlier?

She's playing with his head again. The reddish iridescence in her hair is turning bluer, also.

Maybe it's...mood hair dye or something...mood contacts.
Mort shook his head. Wasn't worth worrying about.
"What is your name?"

"Well, as I toldja, my nickname's Meg, but my full name is Margaret Anne Squires. I hate most of the nicknames for Margaret, and Anne just isn't my kind of a name. So I go by Meg."

It's okay. She'd rather have some kind of other name, really, but... oh well.

It works.

"Margie."
Ooh, so he does teas a little bit.
Grin.

"Watch it," she warned, though she was smiling. "Or I'll dump the coffee on your head."

That wouldn't be too painful, by the by. She plans on getting some of that iced stuff; it's better for when the weather's warm like this.

Though, granted, 'Margie' is better than 'Margerine.'

"Well I'd better stop, then."
He was still a little stiff, a little awkward. But he seemed to be relaxing, which was a good sign.
"What sort of coffee is good?" he inquired. He almost made a face. He didn't like coffee much.