His hair was messy. It was pulled back into a half-assed pony-tail, and strands of red hair continued to fall in his soulless icy blue eyes. He pushed them back nonchalantly, but they were starting to get on his nerves. Who other than Odin was leaning against a wall, watching people walk down sidewalks and cars stream along the streets.

He'd been there a while now, just watching people and cars pass by him. He was looking. He was pickier than his brother about his victims, but certainly more brutal. It was all a matter of patience with Odin, and he had a lot of that.

His short figure was clothed in a simple fishnet shirt and slightly baggy Goth pants. His boots were simple black combat boots.

Red marks trailed all down his arms and were plain for anyone to see. They varied in length, width, and number of scratches drawn together. They were made by razorblades, and they trailed from his shoulders all the way down his fingers.

His gaze traveled to the other side of the street again. There was snow on the ground, but it wasn't snowing. Odin sucked in a breath through his teeth. Waiting. Patiently.

Wick wasn't one to pass up such a target. That is, one that wasn't moving. The small, currently invisible, faery had gathered together a snowball and was hovering high enough above Odin's head that the snowball would splatter when it hit.

Three,... two,... one...

"Bombs away!" he yelled, and let the snowball go.

Odin just blinked. His reaction should have been one similar to, 'What the hell?', but instead he just blinked. Then he neatly pushed the snow off his hair and out of his eyes.

"You know," he said to the empty air as he looked up to see nobody there, "it's considered bad manners to yell 'bombs away'. People will think there's a terrorist attacking. Nevermind the fact that you threw a snowball on top of me and fucked up my hair." All of this was said in a rather bemused, but otherwise nonchalant tone. Odin was not often a person to have a joke played on him.

He reached out one of those telekinetic hands of his, as if to see if there really was something up above him.

What a very disappointing reaction.

"Big deal." Wick frowned at him - not that the human could see him - and wondered, among other things, why the human boy looked so darn familiar. Then he felt the strange breeze that meant something was approaching, and felt something nudge against him,...but he couldn't see anything.
Oh, now he knows why the boy's so familiar.
"...You look like what's-his-face, umm... well, he looks like you, anyway. Dunno his name," Wick said anxiously, trying and not succeeding to avoid the telekinetic hands.

"There's a million other faces in this city. I'm bound to look similar to at least one of them."

The invisible fingers brushed up against Wick's body, then lunged in and grabbed him, squeezing him in its grasp. Lightly, however. That in itself was a miracle, as it was not in Odin's nature to hurt anything lightly. He generally killed it.

One eyebrow began to raise slightly. "Smaller than I expected. You're lucky I didn't squash you..., but maybe now I will. Just for kicks."

Wick struggled when he was caught, and began (with a smug tone of voice),"Oh, yeah? Well-"

Then it occurred to him that antagonizing the person in control here would be a bad idea.
Maybe threatening would work better!

"-Well, if you don't let me go right now, I'll put a curse on you. A really bad one. So you better let go while you still have the chance."

Odin let him go... for a second. Technically he just dropped him from the telekinetic grasp and into his own hand, wrapping his fingers around the faerie's small body snugly, like a tight-fitting restraint.

"A curse, mm? Sounds like fun." He smirked at the place in his hand where Wick was held captive and turned on the heel of his boot, sauntering (people like Odin didn't walk, dammit) back down the sidewalk.

"I'm game for whatever you decide to throw at me, little man."

"Fine. You asked for it."

Wick wasn't taking chances on this one. He was going to use the one technique he knew would work,... it had worked last time, after all, so it would work now,...right?
He shed the glamour keeping him invisible and peered up at Odin, waiting for him to meet his eyes.
Yes, he was going to try and break open Odin's nightmares.
This should be interesting.

Interesting indeed. It would be unfair to say it didn't work when Odin looked down to meet Wick's gaze, especially with a person like Odin. Needless to say, it worked. And the result, though not pretty, was probably something Wick didn't expect.

Odin didn't let go. He squeezed harder and in one crash fell to his knees, unelegantly. Ungracefully. But, instead of letting out a scream, harsh laughter escaped his lips and continued to come forth. Odin, masochistic fuck that he was, wasn't screaming. He was feeling pain, and... laughing like a patient in a pysch ward.

But, let's not forget, he was clenching both fists tightly. Which meant Wick was still getting smooshed, and had made it worse for himself.

Wick definitely needs to work on his problem-solving skills.

He scratched wildly at Odin's hand as the human's grip grew tighter - the reaction, again, was not what he expected, and though anyone he used his little nightmare trick on was supposed to be dead to the real world for the duration of the nightmare, Wick couldn't help but try to struggle his way out.

Finally, too drained to keep going, he broke it off.
"Let go," he shrilled, weakly aiming another slash at the human's fingers.

When the nightmare spell was cut off, so was Odin's laughter. And he was panting very faintly. He was smirking, too, and his grip didn't loosen any. "That was fun!" he cried, his laughter starting up once more.

"For such a little guy, you pack a big, fucking punch, hm?"

"Let's not, and say we did," he responded to Wick's comment, feeling the slash against his fingers. He was tempted to lick the blood the now spilled forth from his fingers away, but he just let it slide out and drip onto Wick.

He stood, so gracefully his movements looked liquid, and began strolling back towards the university.

"But I am going to repay you the favor, okay? And let you go for a long, long time." He was smirking like a Cheshire cat by now.

"What are you talking about?" The faery made a feeble attempt at a snarl, but there was a quaver in his voice. He was scared now, and drowsy, having used up all his energy at once. "You're crazy. What're you gonna do?"

He was asking, but he really didn't want to know. He was hurting enough already - what was it with his tendency to pick on psychopaths?

"That's for me to know," he tapped Wick on the nose with the index finger of his other hand, "and you to find out."

He continued to stroll down the sidewalks, the university in sight.

Gulp.

Wick fell silent - not just because it would be the smart thing to do, but because he was only half awake. Surprisingly, it didn't take more than another half-minute for him to pass out completely. It would be hours before he showed any signs of waking. He was, for all intents and purposes, in a sort of coma.

Odin hardly minded the silence. After all, the little... thing... was sort of annoying. He did sort of toss Wick from hand to hand like a little doll because he was bored and Wick didn't seem like he was really moving much at all.

Eventually he made it to Keaton and entered the university, climbed stairs and all that jazz, and slid into his dorm room. It was a single room, because he'd most likely murder his roommate if he had one.

He tossed Wick on his bed and rummaged around the room to find some things.

He came back to the bed with a box and some duct tape and started humming to himself. He took Wick in one hand and began securely taping his arms to his torso and wrapping him up in tape like a mummy. Except for the fact that the tape wasn't tight enough to cut off Wick's circulation, and he didn't put tape anywhere on his face.

If Wick were awake, he'd be flailing and struggling like mad.

But he wasn't awake. He was just lying there, limp like a rag doll, and would be for a while considering the amount of duct tape being wrapped around him. He might be able to claw it open eventually. Maybe. Duct tape is tough stuff.

When Odin was done with the job of duct taping Wick, he kissed the top of the little guy's head and smirked, opening the box and dropping Wick inside. He duct taped the box shut, too, and then lifted it and shook it some.

"Ha. This is just perfect."

He left the duct tape on the bed and took the box, rummaging around once more until he found a permanent marker. He addressed it to some place in a country far, far away and then put the marker away.

He eventually exited the university and headed to the post office and placed the package there.

When he was leaving the post office, he gave a little wave of his fingers to the box. "Sayanora, sucker," he murmured

and then was gone.