"Slow down? Good grief, even when I'm carrying someone they complain I'm going too fast."

She slowed her steps a little--which didn't do much, since she tended to forget that she was supposed to be walking more slowly and would only speed up again not long after--and glanced down at him.

"My name is Taryn."

"Fine. Slow down, Taryn. I didn't ask you to carry me..." Wick groaned, covering his eyes with his hand so he wouldn't have to watch the scenery go by. It helped a little. He didn't feel quite so ill, with nothing to look at.

He tried not to think about how he was feeling at the moment. He had really thought he was fine, up to a little while ago. Think of something else. But not your shoulder. And don't think about blood. Think of something nice. Think of flying - no, not flying. Not now. Flowers? Baby mice? ... Candy...? Oh, hell, it's not working...

"You aren't supposed to be green, are you?"

Well, all right, he wasn't actually green. But he looked ill... Come to think of it, at the speed she was walking and the level at which she was holding him, it probably felt like he was riding in a boat on a particularly choppy day. Bother.

When she was younger, she used to make a game of seeing if she could carry a cup of liquid completely level, without even rippling the surface. She decided to try to do that now--though how she was going to manage it going up stairs was something to think about.

"No, I'm not s'posed to be green," Wick replied, a tad crossly. He couldn't help it. It was turning out to be an altogether miserable day. And Wick wasn't one to repress emotions, so if he was feeling annoyed, Taryn was darn well going to hear about it. "...Are we there yet?"

That inspired a chuckle. "You sound like my little brother," she told him. "And no, we're not. But almost."

Almost meaning that they were in the yard of her dorm complex and the door wasn't too far away and they only had three flights of stairs and a hall before they reached her dorm room.

Let's hope her roommate isn't in, aye?

"Well, I'm not your little brother," Wick said drowsily. "Good thing we're almost there... I feel... kinda sleepy. Tell me when we get there. I'm just going to, to.. rest my eyes a wee bit."

The young faery removed his hand from his face and cinched his eyes tightly shut. It was just as much an attempt at resting as it was a grimace of pain. All the joggling around had made his shoulder hurt worse, if that was even possible. Stupid crows, he thought irritably. Stupid crows and their stupid claws.

"Nope. For one thing, James is bigger than you are. And... oh, never mind." Not that he was likely to hear her if she actually said anything more--he seemed to be falling asleep.

Through the door now, and in the lobby, heading to the stairs. I told you she walks quickly...

Now that there's no conversation going, she's humming something under her breath. It sounds like there should be words to it, but she's not humming loudly enough to really tell.

How long is this going to take...? Agh! I should have just cloaked myself when I saw her. Put on a little spell, and then gotten out of there. Wick sighed inwardly, frowning and biting the inside of his cheek. The tone of his next thought was wistful, rather than annoyed. Too bad I didn't think of that sooner. I could be... I dunno,... doing something fun...

Up, up, up the stairs we go, and then... into the tunnel...

Or not. But the hallway is quite dim enough to be considered a tunnel, if one wishes to imagine it to be one. It's not particularly nice, either, but it's a dorm. What do you expect?

Taryn's at the end of the hall, room 311. There's a note on the door for her from her roommate, letting her know that she won't be back for a couple hours. Perfect.

"We're he-ere," she sing-songs, slipping in and letting the door close behind her.

Wick opened his eyes, looking around the room in such a way that he gave the impression he was casing the place. It was instinct with him. Doors, windows, hiding places, things to mess with, things to not mess with. That was the order he saw things in.

"Looks like Violet's place," he remarked, rubbing at his eyes with a grubby fist. He'd sneaked in to a couple of the other dorm rooms a few days ago, and they all looked pretty much alike to him.

Does Violet have a collection of stuffed cats--most of which are bigger than Wick, come to think of it--holding court at the foot of her bed? Taryn's been collecting them since she was eleven. (Only half the collection is here, though.)

"Well, it's a dorm. The whole thing is carbon copies of rooms. Wait here." She set him in the middle of the bed, which was covered with a chenille throw, and stepped over to the cabinet in the corner to hunt up her first aid kit.

Wick crossed his legs like he was sitting at a campfire.Then he turned his head to look at the stuffed cats. Oooh, did he ever hate cats. Not kittens so much - kittens could be nice, actually, but cats were horrible monsters. Smirking kind of dazedly, Wick cast a little illusion over the stuffed cats that made it look like they all had little black mustaches and goatees. Ha.

Now.. Where's she gone...? Wick wondered, plucking absently at the fuzzy bed cover.

Taryn returned momentarily, first aid kit in hand. She glanced at the toys, blinked, and tossed a glare at Wick. If he'd been bigger, she'd have tossed a toy, too, but that would be too likely to knock him off the bed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, somewhat gingerly because of course she didn't want him to tumble down, and opened the first aid kit.

"Take off your shirt."

Wick looked taken aback by her request, and opened his mouth to ask her,"Why would I do that?" Of course, then he realized, he knew why, and pressed his lips together to form an almost-pout.

He looked at her with a very irked expression before beginning to unbutton his shirt. He fumbled with the buttons, grumbling under his breath (involving some very impolite language, no doubt) and struggled his way out of the raggedy piece of clothing. He folded it into a bundle and hugged it to his chest, as if embarrassed to be seen without it.

Streaked down his back, now tinged with blood from the cut, were two narrow pink scars, with thin, glistening threads protruding from them. The threads were all that remained of his wings. And he was hoping she wasn't going to ask about it.

((Yay for multitasking... *head explodes*))

Taryn didn't comment on his scars. Really, it's doubtful if she even noticed them, since he was so very small, and her eyes were focused on what was likely to be his newest scar...

"Hold still," she admonished him, taking one of those little alcohol wipes from the kit and opening it, preparatory to cleaning his shoulder of blood and putting the bandaid on.

Upon seeing the alcohol wipes, Wick jolted as if he'd been struck. He began nervously edging away from Taryn. "Y-you're not gonna use those things?" he said incredulously, his brows knitting in a frightened arc. Besides the fact that he hated the smell of them, he knew from experience that it would sting nastily. Violet had ended up buying a supply of them after his last escapade, and he'd been doing his best to keep her from using them.

It just figures... he grumbled inwardly, hurrying backwards a couple of inches further.

"Well, yes. Unless you'd rather have an infection, of course. Which, of course, hurt about ten times worse than the actual cut and make it take ten times as long to heal..."

A few inches is nothing. She can grab him any time she likes, unless he pops invisible again.

"Don't be such a baby." Big sister voice again.

"I am not being a baby," Wick protested, nettled by her remark.

He stopped his retreat, and sat up straight. He'd show her he wasn't a baby. (Poor fool. Wick could get goaded into anything, if it involved his age being mistaken. It didn't help that he was nearly a hundred years old, but could barely pass for fifteen).
"... Here. Fine, go ahead," he said, scowling.

The scowl lifted a bit, as he realized what he was going to let her do to him. But he just bit his lip, and turned away from her. "Go on. Hurry up and get it over with," Wick went on, his voice trembling a little.

Boys. If it involves their toughness, they can be poked into anything at all.

Taryn chuckles and leans over, swabbing as gently as she can at that rather nasty cut on his back. The wipe turns a rather nasty dull red color by the time she's through.

As she finishes, she pulls out a bandaid from the kit and starts to unwrap it.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Wick, huddled in a tight ball and hugging his wadded-up shirt, preferred not to answer right away. Not going to cry. Not going to cry. Don't. Don't even THINK about it, he warned himself, his eyes tightly shut. What was it she'd said? "That wasn't so bad" ? Ha. That bloody well hurt, thank you very much. There was nothing that could smart quite like alcohol on raw skin.

But, "Didn't hurt," Wick snorted briefly, rubbing his eyes. "Not a bit."

Well... lemon juice (any citrus, actually) hurts worse. Trust me.

"C'mere. I have to put the bandaid on, so that it doesn't start to bleed again. Violet can probably give you clean bandaids every day, I hope?"

Taryn's had to deal with a lot of cuts and scrapes for her (many) younger siblings. She's very used to this sort of thing, and his obvious determination to be 'tough' is amusing.

"If not, you can always come back here and I'll do it."

"Nah, Violet's probably got some. Whole stockpile of them probably," Wick said, drying the remaining hint of tears from his eyes. Wick wasn't the least bit concerned about infections and whatnot. He actually had no intention of asking Violet to change the bandaid. He'd probably leave it there until he could pry it loose himself. Bandaids were such sticky things. Besides, it hurt when they were pulled off. He'd rather avoid that.

"But thanks." Not. Stiffly, he began putting his shirt back on. His shoulder was kind of sore... but it didn't hurt so badly, now that the stinging was wearing off.

"Your shirt needs washing..." she commented, then blinked. How funny; she'd dragged him all the way up here to her room and never even asked for his name. That sort of thing hadn't happened since she was rather a lot younger, and made a habit of playing with random children in the park.

"And you never told me your name."

She was likely to wrest the location of Violet's room from him, as well. Since she was curious to meet this other girl, and maybe they would have enough in common for a friendship. Or what passed for a friendship, with Taryn.

"Ah, the shirt's pretty much ruined away. The rip, I can mend, but blood never comes out," he sighed. He'd liked this shirt. It was an older one - plain as plain could be, but comfy. Oh, well.

"My name...? You didn't ask, so I didn't tell you. But you can call me Wick," he continued. Being a faery, he had to be selective about who he gave his full name to. Give them his name, and they would have power over him. It was one of those uncontestable rules.

"Sure it does. Soak it immediately in cold, cold water."

Wick, hm? An unusual name, but then, he wasn't exactly the usual guy. Most guys being rather larger than seven inches tall, for example.

"You could use my sink, I guess."

"I... I guess..." he said. As much as he didn't like to accept help, a little more time here wouldn't be so bad. "Yeah,.. okay."

He slipped back out of the bit of clothing. She seemed ...what was the word? Trustable? Something like that. She hadn't tried to flatten him yet, or close him up in a shoebox with holes poked in the top (that had happened once. Some little boy had kept him as a pet for nearly a week. But that was ages ago). Surely he could stay a little longer.

I believe the word he was looking for was trustworthy. But trustable works too, I suppose... And if she'd discovered him some years ago, she might have tried to make him live in her dollhouse, but that would be about the extent of it.

She held out a hand for the miniscule shirt. "Give it here, I'll set it to soak." She had a few bowls around for that staple of the college diet, ramen noodles. Would dish soap work on it, if they needed to scrub?

Wick dropped the shirt into her hand, "Thanks," he said. Then he wrapped his skinny arms around himself, and sat there looking rather awkward. "So... you know, most humans are really, really surprised to see me. They scream and throw stuff. When'd you find out magic exists? Violet still sometimes doesn't believe it."

"About a week ago. I met a god."

Her voice is flat, no emotion whatever. This is to hide the tremor of terror that would be there if she let any emotion at all leak through. She's not over Az, in the slightest.

You know, it's probably a good thing that Jay didn't tell her what Azrael was the god of...

Mechanically, she fills a bowl with cold water and pushes the little garment under.

"Ugh," he shuddered. "Don't mess with gods. I keep my distance. Haven't seen any, thank goodness. Wouldn't want to run the risk of making one angry."

He rubbed his arms with his hands, trying to warm himself up. It was chilly. Just as cold as Violet's dorm room, but at the moment he was lacking his shirt. And the mention of gods ran a shiver down his spine.

She shrugs and fakes a smile. "Turned out one of my friends was fae, and he explained a few things to me. And after... Him... you're not so surprising, y'know?"

I suppose that to someone as small as Wick, the room was rather cold, though Taryn didn't seem to notice. Then again, she rather enjoys feeling a bit chilly. Don't ask why...

She is fairly observant, though, and notices him shivering. So, she takes a half-knitted scarf of some kind of fuzzy yarn and lays it on the bed next to him, needles and all. They're a size 11, so they're bigger around than his legs. Still the scarf is big enough that it should wrap him up nice and warm, even if he can't use the end with the needles.

"There."

Wick looked startled. He hadn't said anything, how did she know he was cold? "I, um.. thank you," he said. He tugged the heavy fabric over himself and snuggled under it. Ahhh. Warmth. Lovely.

His opinion of her changed slightly without his realizing it. Before, he'd thought she was a pushy, nosy, yet helpful human girl. Now, she was a pushy, nosy, helpful, and nice human girl. He would probably like to hang around, he figured. Then again, he couldn't really be sure he liked someone until he played a few tricks on them to see how they reacted.

Nice? Well, only sometimes.

"You're welcome." She cocks her head. "Why were you pulling the crows' feathers anyway?"

She sits back down on the bed and picks up one of her cats, toying with it in a rather aimless manner. She noticed the illusionary mustache and beard earlier, but she hasn't said anything yet. Of course, she was busy with his injury before...

"Fix this," she orders, shoving one of the bigger ones--which happens to be a tiger--at him. "Now."

Wick tumbled backwards in surprise, then righted himself. "Okayyyy... Touchy, touchy." With a sheepish grin, he gave the stuffed animal what looked like a friendly wave goodbye - and the mustache and goatee were gone.

"I was pulling their feathers because I thought it'd be funny. It turned out it wasn't," he said reflectively. "But I figured it'd be funny to see them flapping around and going crazy 'cause they couldn't figure out what was happening."

She pulled the tiger back with a satisfied smile. "Don't mess with my cats."

But she had to giggle at the image of the crows flapping around in a panic because something was pulling their feathers that they couldn't see.

"How come it didn't work?"

He put the stuffed cats on his mental 'don't touch' list. He frowned in recalling the failed prank. "They saw through my spell. I figured it would work on them like it did everything else. Animals, people - no one can see me if I don't want 'em to. Animals might smell me, but you people hardly ever notice I'm around. I guess crows are just different."

"I see. Maybe it's got something to do with the way they're always involved in magic and omens and stuff in stories and things. Or whatever."

She's just guessing, mind. She doesn't know anything about magic, except for what Jay's told her and what she knows from the stories she's read. And most of those conflict so much that there's really no telling which one's closest to the truth.

"I dunno," Wick shook his head. "But I'm going to be more careful 'round birds in general, from now on. Heh. 'Cept pigeons. D'you know you can chase pigeons around for hours, and they'll just keep waddling away? They don't think to fly away. They just bob along. It's fun."

Wick felt a sudden pang of loss at the thought of flight. He missed flying. A lot.

"Anyway, you should try it sometime." he finished, grinning fakely.

"I got tired of chasing pigeons when I was a little kid," she told him primly, though there was a sparkle in her hazel eyes that belied that.

"Anyway, it's more fun to make fun of people."

Taryn, you see, has a rather sarcastic sense of humor, which she does not hesitate to use on just about anyone, so long as there is not a man sitting in too close proximity to her. Or if there is, if that man is someone that she's pegged as 'safe.'

"Making fun of them, as in, making them look stupid?" Wick's grin broadened, turning more earnest. "'Cause I'm really good at that."

It was his main pastime, making people look stupid for his amusement. His pranks backfired more often than they worked, but he never stopped trying.