The last few days have been a bit long for Arty. He's not grounded again, at least, but it has been made clear to him that he is not, under any circumstances, to do anything even remotely dangerous. That seems to include arriving home from school a few minutes late - Violet has been even more hovery than usual since he took that little polar bear swim.
It's so. Unbelievably. Annoying.
The boy isn't quite rushing home today, however. He's not even walking at a normal pace, actually. He's dawdling. Arty's not out to purposely worry anyone, but come on... a few minutes won't make any difference.

"...Arty?"
Keye's voice is hesitant, his face worried--last time he saw the boy, he was blue-faced and fading fast, and Keye can't quite shake the anxiety. He clasps his hands together and steps forward, looking down at Arty.
"H...how're you, kid?"

The boy looks a bit surprised at being approached. He's been paying close attention to the ground beneath his feet and little else.
"Hi, Keye." Arty blinks up at him, smiling weakly. "I'm - I'm okay. How're you?"
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from side to side and generally looking uncomfortable and awkward.

"I'm...all right," he replies hesitantly, looking just as uncomfortable as Arty, but less awkward and more nervous. Then, with a sudden movement, he bends down and hugs Arty fiercely, whispering "Oh my god."

Arty flinches at the suddenness of it, but when it becomes apparent that Keye isn't going to hurt him, he relaxes and, cautiously, hugs him back.

"...You're squishing me," Arty meekly informs him.

"Oh."
He lets go, standing upright and pinching the bridge of his nose, with his head turned to the side at an awkward angle.
"Sorry. I--sorry. Didn't mean to do that. I'm just...glad you're okay."
There's a difference, after all, between being told that someone is all right and actually seeing them alive and well.

"That's alright." He likes hugs. Just not crushing ones.
Arty offers a slightly less hesitant smile. Keye doesn't appear to be angry with him, which is a good sign. He could have killed them both - Keye wouldn't have fallen in if he hadn't walked out onto the ice in the first place.
The kid isn't quite used to the idea of someone not being angry when he does something foolish.
"...'m glad you're okay, too," he manages, scuffing at the pavement with the heel of his sneaker. He hangs his head, and mumbles, "...I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. When you told me to come back."

Keye turns back to him, one hand still hovering around his face (he's halfheartedly trying to hide that his one visible eye has turned somewhat red), and grins broadly.
"Well, that's okay. Just...remember that next time, huh? I don't like jumpin' in rivers."

Arty gives a quick nod.
"I'll remember." He looks up, hazel eyes visible through his hair for one brief moment. Regardless of style preference or whatever other excuse he can come up with, he really does need a haircut. "I won't go walking on the ice again, or--stuff. Promise."
That's a bit of an eager-to-please kind of response, coming from him, but possibly that's not so unusual, given the situation.

Poor, sweet kid (yes, this is what Keye is thinking about Arty). He decides to make an attempt to release the boy from the awkwardness.
"Can you even see?" he inquires, changing the subject.

"Sure I can."
The amount of offence in his voice is carefully controlled - enough to register as offence, not enough to be taken seriously. Arty holds his hair back from his face just long enough to stick his tongue out at Keye (getting hair on one's tongue is not fun) before letting it all drop back in place.

"You look like an overbred dog."
One of the gingery colored ones.
"And even they have to get regular trims. C'mon, that has to be annoying, in your face all the time." Keye being the resident expert on what is a good length for hair, now that he's trimmed an inch or so.

((The analogy returns!))

"I don't look like a dog," Arty grumbles, uncertain. He pushes his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. Most of it just falls back anyway.
"...Sometimes it's annoying," he admits, "I don't feel like cutting it yet, though."


((Sorry for disappearing last night. We had a snow + wind storm and it knocked out the power. =\ ))

"How come?" He pats his own hair with one hand. It's a bit shorter now. It still makes him nervous; if he keeps putting off getting a bit more cut off, it's just going to grow back to its original length.
"You wouldn't have to go somewhere. I bet Vi would cut it for you."

"I dunno. I guess 'cause I haven't had it this long before, 'n I want to see how long it can get."
The reason he's never had it this long, as he's conveniently forgotten, is that it ends up getting in his way and he chops it off.
"I'll cut it myself." He wrinkles his nose. "I'd rather not have her touch my hair. She'll try to comb it, and she never does it right."

"Y'don't do as good in a fight if you got hair in your eyes," he informs Arty seriously. After all, if the kid is still getting bullied, this might be important to know.
"Y'can't see. Plus, they c'n yank on it."

"Hm." Arty frowns, displeased. He never fought anyone his own size until he became human. "I don't like the sound of that."
He tugs on a few strands, holding them in front of his eyes.
"...Got a pair of scissors?"

"Not on me."
I find it strange that he apparently carries everything but scissors on his person at all times.
"Got some at home. I have a pocketknife. It has a little pair of scissors on it."

"Oh. Never mind, then." He lets the tangled strands of hair drop. "I'll just cut it when I get home."
The scissors are the necessary part. Mirrors, however, are helpful if he wants to make the cut have even a semblance of evenness.

"Sounds good." He sighs, looking nervously upwards. "I should cut mine again soon. I'm trying to get it pretty short."

Arty peers at him, considering.
"Yyyeah... you could stand to lose a couple of inches, I guess," he nods. And now, a grin. "Hey, would you let me cut your hair for you? I can do it real neat if I'm careful."

"I--" Frozen except for his mobile face, he pauses, stiff and nervous. He still gets twitchy about hands near his face. But Arty's proved more than once that he's all right, with braiding...but scissors are another matter...
"A-all right."

"Really?"
He doesn't notice - or perhaps dismisses - the stutter, the sudden immobility.
"You will? Awesome!" Arty smiles brightly. He hadn't actually expected Keye to say yes. "When can I?"

Keye relaxes (well, forces himself to relax). Arty may not be someone you'd trust with sharp objects, but Keye has inside information that he has steady hands and is good with hair. It'll be all right.
"Oh, anytime. Afternoon sometime. Anytime I don't have class."

"Okay. Cool." Arty nods, beaming. Something about his posture suggests barely-contained joyful bouncing. Wonder why...
"I don't have class in the afternoon either. So, some day really soon, 'kay?"

"Okay. Great!" He grins. He can't help it. Arty is irresistibly happy.
And on a totally separate note, "What're you up to now? Loitering, huh?"

"Uh-huh," the boy nods. "School ended, like, ten minutes ago. I'm just hanging around, I guess."
Blink.
Frown.
"Why? Are you going somewhere?"
Is he in the way?

"Nah." he tips his head to one side, chewing a bit on the inside of his lip. "Just talkin'. 'S'matter?"
He'd been hoping to run into Arty, actually.

"Nothin'."
The frown vanishes, as if it was never there.
"Only wondering."

"Kay." He accepts it with a shrug and only the slightest blip on his radar. "Glad I ran into you. Been wantin' to check on ya, but in the hospital it was all no, you gotta rest, and then it was even you gotta go home 'n' rest, so...not that I was looking for you or anything..." he twists his hands, his shoulders hunched awkwardly.

Arty merely listens, until Keye gets to the bit about not looking for him. At this point, for a fraction of a second, a hurt look flickers across his face.
That actually...stung.

"I didn't get to check on you either. Not allowed, like you said," he replies, after a pause.

"Yeah..."
He stares.
Something's gone wrong. He can't quite pinpoint what it is, but something...
"What is it?"

"Huh?...Oh. Nothing."
Casual lies aren't entirely normal to him yet, but he's getting better at them.
"Nothing," he repeats, with slightly more conviction.
There. That sounded better.

"I--"
Isn't repeating themselves something people do when they lie? Keye thinks Bo might have told him that at some point, and he frowns. Arty wouldn't lie, would he...? He never seemed shy about expressing himself if he had a problem or something before...
"Okay," he says uncertainly, and fidgets.

"Okay," the boy echoes.
He scuffs at the ground with the toe of his sneaker.
"Um. I haven't gotten in any more fights. I did what you said." Pause. Cautiously, he adds, "It's...working, I think."

"Really?" Keye looks quite pleased. You can never tell with bullies, sometimes these things work, and sometimes, for no particular reason, they don't. "That's great! Bet it's sucked less without people buggin' ya all the time."

"Well..."
Arty doesn't want to bring him down, but...
"He hasn't stopped bugging me, exactly. Hasn't tried to hit me again, though."

"Aw." He tilts his head sorrowfully. Well...it's a start?
"No bruises," he says, somewhat dampened, "that's something."

"Yeah, that helps."
He grins mischievously.
"Know what else helps? Breaking into his locker and dumping his books in separate empty lockers all over the school." He giggles, a touch nervously - he's not entirely certain that Keye will find it as funny as he does. "It took him a while to find everything. I thin he suspects me, but he can't prove anything."

"Arty..." he protests, attempting to cover a stubborn smile with his hand and insert some reproach into his voice. "I--you shouldn't do things like that."