It was late afternoon, and fairly quiet. A cloud bank was advancing slowly across the sky, threatening rain. The air was so heavy and damp already that a bit of real rain might actually be welcomed. Just not by Wick. The tiny faery was buzzing aroud the park, looking for people to annoy. He couldn't very well fly around with his wings stuck together by rainwater - it was difficult enough with the humidity.

It wouldn't be noticeable to someone who didn't know him, but Wick had grown by about a quarter-millimeter in height since the beginning of summer, and his face looked slightly less round and childish.
His personality hadn't changed one iota, though. He was going to dive-bomb the next interesting-looking person he saw with the small water balloon he was carrying.

Mort sighed. He rather liked rain, and was staring wistfully up at the clouds, a faint hopeful smile on his lips. He hoped they came further this way. Ah well, even if they didn't, cloudwatching was amusing.
He let himself fall from his sitting position in the grass, landing with a slightly jarring thump on his back. Lazily, he scratched at the back of his neck, where the grass made it itch. A nice, relaxed, boring day...just the way he liked it.

Ooh. Target spotted.

Wick flickered over Mort, hovering a half-dozen feet above him. He allowed himself a nasty little giggle, then swooped downwards, letting go of the small waterbomb just as he drew nearest to Mort's face, then flew upwards, cackling.

((=P I have to go eat now, I'll be back soon.)

"Gah!" he sat up straight, and his antennae stood up as well, droplets of water running down their lengths and adding to the drenched, visibility impaired mess that was his glasses.
"What the--who did that?!"

Wick's eyes widened, and his grin brightened. This guy was fae, as well... Not that that would stop Wick from pestering him. He had yet to meet a human-sized faery that he actually liked. He swooped down again and grabbed Mort's glasses, pulling away with them.

"It was me-eee..." he sang, dropping the glasses on the ground. Then he shot up again, flying in slow circles around Mort's head and trying to decide whether he dared pull on one of the antennae.

"Hey! What's going on?"
He scrambled for his glasses (he could just barely see them, ahead of him in the grass), one hand up in the air, swiping blindly for what he had temporarily nicknamed 'the invisible thing.'

Wick dodged Mort's hand, and in retaliation grabbed his left antenna and gave a good, sharp yank.

"You can't see me, can you?" Wick said gleefully, fluttering just out of Mort's reach in case it turned out that Mort could see him.

Mort dropped his glasses again and screamed. He didn't squeak or yelp, he shrieked in absolute terror.
See, the left one was the one that had been cut off, and only recently grown back.

Wick uttered a curse, and clapped his hands over his ears until the noise subsided.

"Geeeez, it's not like I'm killing you or anythng," he protested loudly, feeling a bit guilty. He landed on Mort's head. "Get a grip."

For a moment, the only sound was ragged breathing. Then, Mort shook his head.
"Sorry. But I can't see you, and for all I know you were trying to pull it off...I mean, someone cut it off the other day, what am I supposed to think? People keep doing weird stuff to my head. And it's really scary that I can't see you. I mean, are you invisible or just really small? If you're invisible, how do I know you aren't some freaky thing? You could have a knife, and you don't want me to scream because you're about to bloodily murder me..."
And so it goes.

"You, my friend-" Wick flitted off of Mort's head and landed on the ground by his glasses "-Are really paranoid."
(Be amazed that he managed to pronounce 'paranoid' correctly).

He made himself visible. Such an easily frightened person had to be harmless, right?
"Anyway, I was invisible. But I'm always small." He gave Mort's glasses a tap with his toes. "Put these on. So you can see what I mean."

Shakily, he took his glasses and pushed him up his nose.
"Oh! You are small."
A slightly wounded expression crossed his face. He folded his arms and frowned.
"Why'd you put water on me and yank my...thingy? That hurt. I never did anything to you."

"I didn't know it would hurt," he protested, then giggled. "Well, ...maybe I did. S'all in fun, though, can't you take a joke?"

He fluttered his wings , then folded them to his back. The air was starting to smell like rain, now,... Not a good sign.

"It wasn't a funny joke." he scowled. "Someone cut that off. I really don't want anybody touching it. Are you...are you a faery?"

"People seem to like cutting pieces off other people..." Wick mused, remembering the manner in which he'd lost his first set of wings. He tilted his head slightly to one side, looking curiously at Mort. "No, I'm a deformed bug. Of course I'm a faery. Aren't you?"

"No. I'm a deformed bug." his face twisted, and for a moment, he looked close to tears. Then he slouched forward, planting his hands in front of him in the grass.
"I guess I am. Three people have said I am so far. I...I dunno. You and me aren't the same thing at all."

"Mmmyep..." Wick took to the air again and circled Mort a few times as if analyzing him. "I'm pretty sure you're fae - not anymore of a bug than I am, unless size counts. And there's different sorts of faeries, you know. We're both fae, just... different kinds."

He hovered upside-down in front of Mort's face.
"I'm Wick, by the way. What's your name?"

"Mortimer." he turned his face away.
Stupid little...uh...little person. He sure acts like a bug.
"I don't want to be any kind of faery. I want to be a normal person, like I was before."

Wick turned himself right-side-up, and went to hover in front of Mort's face again, feeling like he was being snubbed, somehow.

"Pff. If you're a faery now, then you've always been one, dummy. You don't just change overnight."

"I did, though. One minute I didn't have these stupid feelers on my head, and the next minute, I did, and one of them had been chopped off. They were never there before, and now I can move them and feel them and stuff."
He leaned back, looking irritated. He didn't like Wick so close to his face.
"I hate being a stupid faery. I'm like a mutant."

"So maybe you just never noticed 'em before. You couldn't see me a few minutes ago, either, could you?" he crossed his arms. "Glamours and magic and things can make you see stuff that isn't there, or make you not see stuff that is."

He frowned at Mort.
"And we're not stupid. Or mutants."

"...oh. But who would've put magic on my feelers?"
It didn't help that his brain stubbornly kept telling him but there's no such thing as magic.
"You're not. You're little, and you have wings...you're just like you're supposed to be, like they always are in the stories. I'm big and I have no wings, and I have feelers on my head. I'm all wrong."

"Iunno," Wick shrugged. "Who'd have wanted them hidden? You obviously haven't been doing that yourself, 'cause you'd have to know what you were doing... "

Wick was used to running into Uninitiates who didn't believe in magic. But these uninitiates were usually humans, which made the situation with Mort seem a bit strange.
He laughed. "Actually, there's more fae about that are human-sized, than my size. Or maybe my sort are just better at hiding."

"Are...are there any who look like me?"
He looked pitifully at Wick. It wouldn't be so bad to be fae, if there was somewhere he could fit in, other things like himself...he would feel less freakish.
His sister doesn't count.

"Um,... well..." Wick hesitated. With the pitiful look Mort was giving him, he didn't feel like being mean. "There's a bunch that look almost just like humans, 'cept they have ears like mine - they hide them, though, so you can't tell. ...But I've never seen one with those head-things of yours before."

"Oh." he drooped, frowning. "So I'm not even a human freak. I'm a faery freak."

"So what?" Wick said, shrugging. "I've never seen any like me either. Doesn't mean they're not around. Fae come in all shapes an sizes, you know. 'Sides, what's it matter? So you're different. Big deal."


((I'm going to be scarce this week - it's Frosh week. *grumble* . Just so you know.))

"It is a big deal." Mort wasn't a yeller, but his distress and aggravation were expressed by the tension in his jaw and the clenching of his fists. "I don't want to be different."

"Well, it's too late for that. You don't have a choice."

Wick smirked smugly at Mort, crossing his arms.

"So deal with it."

"Shut up."
Pressing his lips tightly together, he folded his arms and twisted his head, glaring at the grass and pointedly away from Wick.
"I can pretend to be normal."

"You shut up. You're being stupid," Wick flew over to hover in front of Mort's face. "Why pretend to be normal? You're not normal, the way you see it, so why bother? You're stuck this way."

That was definitely a note of glee in his voice.

"I'm not stupid. I'm really smart, actually." But not very old, and even less mature. One can almost hear the 'so there' that should follow that statement.
"If I let people know I'm not normal, they'll sell me to a zoo or a lab."
That one's becoming a mantra.

"You've been watching too much television," Wick said scornfully. A wicked sort of smile lit his face, and he added, "...'Course, that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. I've been caught and kept. Someone might take you for a pet."

He snickered.

"If you're lucky."

He glared.
"Are all faeries as horrible as you?"
Just leave me alone, you stupid...thing
And a nearby streetlamp flickered.

"Depends. You're pretty horrible yourself, hu- oh, wait, what am I thinking? You're a faery. Ha. If I'm horrible, then you are too." He stung his tongue out at Mort. "Jerk. Maybe I should find someone who'll put you in a cage,... bet I could if I tried."

Nasty little monster, is Wick.

"You wouldn't do that!" all of his annoyance was gone, replaced by fear. "...would you?"
The lamp went out.

"I might."

He wouldn't (not to mention couldn't).

"If I feel like it. Betcha some zoo somewhere would like to have you,... I know there's one with a unicorn in it, 'cept they don't know it's a unicorn. Bet if I put you in a costume they'd put you in a glass box with a buncha other big bugs..."

He looked horrified. Then he threw himself forward into the grass and began to cry quietly into his folded arms.
The poor kid was having a stressful week, and it wasn't easy being afraid of everyone.

Wick blinked, then fluttered down and kicked Mort's antenna - to get his attention, not to hurt him. A few raindrops started spilling down, tapping the ground around him. A few hit his wings, making him drop to the ground.

"Geez, don't cry." He sounded partly scornful, partly guilty. Wick wasn't terribly good at being mean. He could continue as long as the target of his nastiness was nasty right back at him, but (as of yet) he was unable to continue picking on anyone who started crying. "Come off it, you big baby..."

"Don't cry!" he sounded indignant and embarassed. "You want to sell me to a zoo, where do you get off, calling me a baby!"