A museum - the bane of schoolchildren, who are dragged along on these boring field trips in the hopes that they might (gasp!) learn something. No ordinary child would wander in here on their own. So what was Wick doing here?

Wellll...technically, he wasn't a child. He always insisted he wasn't, despite having never shown any evidence to the contrary. He was nearly a hundred years old, but didn't look a fifth of his age, much less act like it. For example, right now? The seven-inch tall faery was swinging from one of the ropes protecting a particularly famous painting. To the average passerby, all that could be seen was the rope, moving by itself.

To anyone who could see through illusions - what they would see would be a little boy with messy ginger hair and a pair of stubby horns (one of them broken), who, from the look on his babyish face, was having the time of his life.
And as for his clothes ,... he looked like he'd been chewed up and spat out by a thrift shop.

His large hazel eyes roved around the room, brightening as he 'painted' mustaches on portraits. They'd vanish within a few hours - but it was fun to watch museum-goer's faces as paintings spontaneously sprouted facial hair.

If Wick was chewed up and spit out by a thrift shop, Cassie came to life from the pages of one of those fashion magazines that seem to have something against actually wearing clothing, since she's showing more skin than is really appropriate in anyone of her age.

Apparent age, let's make that. Most people would simply smile and laugh to see a two year old wandering around with as little clothing as Cassie sports.

She spots the rope swinging--though not the faery on it. She's somewhat akin to him, in that she's not human in the slightest, but she can't see through illusions--and pauses in her curious amble through the museum, watching the rope go back and forth... and back and forth...

She could probably stand here for hours, just watching this. But it must be unnerving to have someone stand there, just watching. She's not doing anything, not reacting, she's only watching. And staring.

Coooooooool...

Slowly, as he realized he was being watched, Wick stopped swinging. He pulled himself up on top of the rope, and stared back at Cassie. Was she... no, she wasn't looking at him...? He raised a hand and waved at her. No response. He grinned mischievously, glancing back at the painting behind him.

Slowly, illusionary blood began dripping from the frame, thick and gluey like no real blood ever was. Wick turned back to look at Cassie, hoping to get a rise out of her.

Aw... it stopped swinging.

Wait. Blood? Oh my, that can't be right.

Heedless of the rules--which usually say something like don't touch the paintings--she reached out in morbid fascination and attempted to scoop up some of the blood off the frame and examine it more closely.

Wood didn't bleed...

She was quite sure of that.

Frowning at her refusal to be at all surprised, Wick made bloody letters appear on the painting itself, as if someone was fingerpainting it on. He'd seen this trick once on a horror movie once, when he'd sneaked into the theater to nick some popcorn. Very haltingly, the smeary red traces spelled out,

Get owt.

She blinked.

"But I like it here."

You know something odd about two year olds? Everything is so new to them that something that would be bizarre to anyone else simply strikes them as just like the rest of all this amazing new stuff.

"Also, Mr. Ghost, you spelled 'out' wrong."

So she's assuming it's a ghost. Not unreasonable. Invisible people are generally somehow incorporeal.

He rolled his eyes. Difficult, wasn't she.

Get out or face your doom.

Got it?

Wick snorted, looking scornfully at the girl. It had worked in the movie. But then, maybe she hadn't seen that movie... that might explain it.

No, I'm fairly certain that Cassie hadn't seen that movie.

She frowned deeply.

"But I told you. I like it here. Don't make me go away."

You know, it probably looked strange to anyone passing by, this blue haired girl staring at a bloody painting and talking to the words that appeared.

It probably looked a little more than strange, actually.

Bloody doooooom... Wick spelled out, frowning and quickly losing interest - and patience. He managed to clamber up on top of the frame, and tried to detach it from the wall, to make it fall down. Wick wasn't above vandalism - if he was tall enough to be capable of the use of spraypaint, no one would be safe.

Plus, he had little to no appreciation for fine art.

Does she even have blood? She isn't sure, she's never been hurt enough to tell. And let's remember that when she was burned, she seemed more like plastic than she did like actual flesh.

She doesn't feel like plastic to the touch, though.

"Hey, don't do that!" she exlaims when the picture moves a little. "You'll break it."

The little faery grinned nastily, murmuring, "Not a chance," as he bounced up and down on the frame. With a creak, it came loose and the whole thing crashed to the floor. Including Wick. Who, while he could be a genius at thinking up ways to bother people, was not fully attuned to the idea of common sense.Common sense dictates that, if he's standing on the picture, and the picture falls, he will too.
Wick didn't remember this in time.

I believe that qualified as an 'oops' moment, don't you think?

Cassie shrieked as the pretty picture fell to the ground--oh no! Now the picture wouldn't be so nice anymore, and there would be a mess on the floor! (She didn't consider that she might get into trouble, as she was the only one near the picture at the time.)

"Now look what you did!"

Out of pure awful luck, Wick's landing caused him to smack right into Cassie's ankle, then bounce off and roll to a stop by the edge of the now-broken frame. If Wick were visible, he would be in so much trouble. But, he told himself (sitting up and rubbing his head), he was not. He stuck his tongue out at Cassie, glad she couldn't see him.

"That's only the beginning," he said sourly.

"Yeep!"

Something hit her ankle. Something... small, and soft, and... Not a ghost. Ghosts don't touch things, do they? Oh, so it was something invisible then? She would have to ponder that later.

"Shame on you. You broke it."

"That's not what it's gonna look like to the security folks," Wick singsonged, stumbling to his feet and zigzagging around the bits of the frame so she wouldn't be able to follow his voice. "They're gonna think it's your fault."

Face upturned to watch Cassie's reaction, he didn't see the chunk of wood right in front of him. He accidentally kicked it, and swore. Quite loudly.

Pounce!

She's fast, surprisingly. You might think someone as bubbleheaded as our favorite techneid wouldn't have the brains to pounce on the sound as quickly as she did, but she did.

Somehow.

"You awful little... person!"

Oh, hell. Someday, hopefully soon, Wick was going to have to learn the meaning of quitting when he was ahead.

"Let - go - of- me!" he demanded, struggling wildly. He was still invisble,... he was going to give her a chance to let him go before he started clawing at her with those wonderfully sharp little nails of his. "I'm warnin' you - if you don't let me go by the count of three-"

She stood up, frowning.

"You shouldn't break things. It isn't nice."

Hey, I never said she was sophisticated in her reasoning. Anything but, actually.

Wick ignored her scolding. "You're letting go of me right now, or I'll do something you really won't like," he growled, trying to sound threatening. He was thinking of pretending to set her clothes (what little of them there was) on fire. Just an illusion - he'd never burn someone, even if he could.

Does he realize that if she obeys him, she is actually just going to let go? Not set him down, not put him on something, she's just going to open her hands and let him drop.

"You shouldn't be mean."

And if he even pretends to set her on fire, she's going to freak. Out. Cassie is somewhat pyrophobic, after her encoutner with Gabriel.

If he didn't realize he would fall with the painting, he certainly didn't realize that Cassie would take him literally. "That wasn't mean, that was fun," Wick told her, ceasing his struggles. Illusionary flames began licking at Cassie's skin, beginning with her fingertips.

"That is mean." Wick informed her.

She screamed and let go.

Panic. Fear. Ohmygodohmygod, I'm burning again!

Oops.

Wick lost his concentraion on the glamour as soon as he realized he was falling, and the flames vanished. The remains of his wings flickered faintly under his shirt, but didn't do much to dull the fall... he thudded onto the cold tiles, hitting his head hard enough to cause him to black out for a few seconds.

Well that worked well, he thought sarcastically. Though... she did let me go...

Cassie didn't pay any more attention to the tiny little mischief maker for a long moment. That's because she was busy examining her hands and making certain that she wasn't burned.

And crying.

Big, enormous tears, running down her face and making her look to be just about as pitiful as could be. She doesn't like fire at all.

While he wasn't lucky in getting away with his pranks, it was pretty miraculous that Wick got out of the fall with nothing more than a bump on the head and a number of bruises. He sat up, pleased that nothing was broken, but not pleased at all when a large drop of water splashed onto the floor not an inch away from him.
He looked up.
She was crying?

Oh, no, no no... he hadn't meant to make her cry.
"Aw, don't," he said plaintively. "Please stop..."

"I c-c-c-can't..." she wailed, dropping into a sitting position and swiping ineffectively at her tears.

Cassie doesn't cry quite like a human girl--she has that curious ability to cry without turning red or her nose closing up or going all blotchy. Just the tears. Probably any girl would be envious of her.

But then, Cassie doesn't cry often. It's not really in her nature.

"Look, I'm..." Wick grimaced - yep, he had to say it, "I'm sorry. Didn't think it was gonna scare you that bad, honest I didn't. So stop crying, 'kay? It wasn't as if it was real..."

He stumbled cautiously over to her, and reached up to give her elbow (the only part of her he could reach) a comforting pat. "Okay?" he repeated.

Sob. Sob. Sniffle.

"You're... really sorry?"

Wonder how often Wick has someone look at him (or his general vicinity, since he's still invisible) as if he can make things better?

Sniffle.

Rarely, if ever, is it up to Wick to fix anything.

"Yes. I really am," Wick said, albeit grudgingly. Realizing that it might speed the process if he let her see himself, he removed his glamour and made himself visible (people were always telling him how cute he was - maybe he could use it to his advantage). Then he gave a her a warm, sweet little smile.
"I won't do it again, I promise," he said.

"... 'kay."

And there go the waterworks, turned off just like that. She gives him a tiny little smile and scrubs the last of her tears away.

Sometimes, it's nice to be shallow.

Wow, that was easy, Wick thought, feeling quite pleased with himself. He took a few steps back, and gravely asked, "Better now?"

Because if everything was okay, he was going to hightail it out of here - or at least go invisible again before someone noticed there was a faery standing in the remains of a (probably very expensive) picture and its frame. He really didn't feel like getting in trouble for that.

"Uh huh."

And, come to think of it, she doesn't much want to be around when they discover what's happened to this picture. She's pretty sure he doesn't either, so...

"Wanna ride?"

Yes, she's that forgiving. Especially when someone's apologetic.

"Wha-?..." Wick blnked a few times. Ride? ... Oh, she must mean she was going to carry him...

That didn't sound like a terribly good idea, really, considering how it had ended up the last time. But he figured if he didn't set her on fire, she wouldn't drop him. "Okay," he said,"But be careful, alright? I don't wanna fall again. That kinda hurt, you know."

She nodded.

"I'm sorry. I'll be very very careful."

She held out a hand for him to step onto it.

Now... where was he going to ride...? Unlike Violet, Cassie didn't wear one of those conveniently hooded sweatshirts... she didn't have pockets... The only place he might be able to just insert himself was, er, in her cleavage.

Which she wouldn't mind, but probably he would. So he'll have to settle for clinging to her shoulderstrap, or something.

Wick hesitated for only a second before stepping onto Cassie's hand. He promptly sat down. Wick knew from experience what could happen if he stood up on such a shaky thing as a human hand. Or a techneid's hand, but he didn't know Cassie wasn't human yet.
"Okay, I'm ready," he said.

"Where d'you wanna ride?"

Hasn't it occured to him that she's a little calm in her acceptance of this odd little person?

Then again, she was completely calm with her acceptance of his illusions too. Until the fire one.

"Iunno," Wick shrugged. "Something cool. Is there anything like that in this place? I haven't gotten to look all around it yet. So far, it's pretty boring."

"Meant on me. I don't want to hold you in my hand all the time; I might drop you 'gain."

Which is, of course, perfectly logical.

He has two options. Her shoulder, or... the other place.

"But I dunno. You like armor and stuff?"

Most boys do, in her experience.

"On your shoulder, I guess," Wick shrugged indifferently. Armor? It had never occurred to him before that he should like armor and swords and things. Maybe he ought to try it. He grinned. "Sure, I like armor and stuff."

"'kay then." She lifts her hand to the level of her shoulder so he can climb onto it--not the burned shoulder, by the way. She's still sensitive about that--and sets off to wherever in the museum they keep the suits of armor.