Norman was in a wonderful mood. That was why he was trudging along, frowning, and muttering curses under his breath. Yes, he was in a wonderful mood.

His hair was back to normal - no more purple mohawk. He'd had to leave work early the afternoon he'd walked into the office with it. He'd also had a lot of explaining to do when he came back to work the next day and it was gone. He hated making up explanations (read: lying) about things that he knew nothing about.

And he didn't know wy, but he was sure it had something to do with the weird girl. He didn't know how she'd done it, and he didn't want to know, but he was sure it was her doing.

Meg was in an awful mood. That was why she was humming and swinging her purse--which looked like it might have once been alive, but probably wasn't--and almost skipping-but-not-quite.

Today was a good day, she decided. Even--or perhaps especially--when she spotted the other day's victim.

"Hello again!"

She sported a swishy black skirt that was at least three layers thick, all of them gauzy and slightly transparent, and a deep blue halter top that showed off her matching belly button ring.

"Bugger off," he growled. He'd have said that to anyone who spoke to him so brightly, today. It was nothing personal. And then he looked up, spotting Meg and recognizing her. "You."

He stopped trudging, and started standing with his arms crossed. "What did you do to my hair?" he demanded.

She grinned.

"Improved it."

Improved by her standards, anyway.

"It was not an improvement! It looked completely insane!" He spat out the last word as if it had a bad taste. "Why did you do that?!"

"I wanted to."

And that just explains all of it.

Perhaps a better question would be 'How did you do that?' because she's not going to be terribly cooperative otherwise. Or even if he asks.

It's lucky that he's curious, or he'd never ask, for fear of getting a strange answer.
"...And how'd you do it, anyway? I never turned my back on you for a second! And you need, like, an hour to get dye into hair, and whatever you used -... how?" he sounded hopeless. He desperately wanted her to give a normal answer.

Are normal answers possible when involving purple mohawks?

"Glamours."

Not 'glamour,' singular, and referring to taste and style. 'Glamours,' plural, and referring to the illusions that the fae folk can cast.

She knows he won't believe her.

"...I have no idea what the hell you mean," he said simply, glaring at her. Glamours? He wouldn't know the term anyway, beyond when the word was 'glamour' and used to describe a fashion model or something. Norman shied away from anything involving magic or the supernatural, and there was nowhere he would have picked up the term by accident.

"Y'know, glamours. Go read a book, Mr. No-Imagination. Look it up online."

She smiled sunnily.

"Ciao."

And turned to go.

"You - you-" he sputtered. He didn't know why it was so important that he knew, but he needed her to tell him it had all just been some trick. He grabbed her arm. "Hang on just a second! You're not going anywhere until you tell me just what you did!"

She paused.

"Let go of me."

If he isn't careful, he'll make her angry, and if you thought what she did when she was bored was mean tempered, you probably don't want to see what she does when she's angry.

"Tell me what you did, first," he answered, slightly easing up on his grip on her arm. "Explain. Now."

He frowned. Why was she being so difficult? It was just some complicated party trick, right? Nothing really weird - so why would she not want to explain it to him?

"Let go of me. Or you'll be very sorry."

You've heard of fae curses, right?

Maybe she can't do anything to the level of a god, but she can make his life pretty hellish for a while.

"What? You're going to go all kung-fu on me?" he said sarcastically. "C'mon, just tell me!"
But he did let go. That sounded like a very serious threat. When he let go, he took a step closer to her, making a point of invading her personal space. "Come on, tell already."

Meg doesn't really care about personal space.

"It was a glamour. And if you don't know what that is, you'll have to look it up. Stupid boring human, don't even know your own legends."

Odd, the way she's talking about humans, isn't it.

It is odd... Norman doesn't like 'odd'.
"What legends?! Are you talking about magazines, or some famous hairstylist to the stars that I haven't heard about?" His tone was plaintive, now. Glamours? Legends? What?
"What do you mean by glamour?" he said despairingly.

Dense, isn't he.

"Glamour. Illusion. Magic. Hel-lo."

And the day had started so well, too. Pity, that.

He's actually fairly intelligent,... but you can't expect someone who absolutely refuses to believe in anything weird to know abut glamours.

He paused, looking stunned. Then he glared at her.
"You're lying."

"Nuh uh. You're just stupid."

Well... more like in denial. Because, well, not knowing about the existence of magic isn't stupidity. Refusing to believe in it isn't stupidity either, though you'd be hardpressed to convince Meg of that.

"I am not," he replied, looking both hurt and insulted. "Magic is fake. Whatever you did wasn't magic, it couldn't be. It was - hell, I don't know. Chemicals. Sleight of hand. I don't know. But don't give me that crap about 'magic'."

She glared.

And there was a small explosion of light, right in front of his face. Her hair changed colors, as did her clothing, and she was still glaring.

Meg is... annoyed.

"Idiot human."

"Idiot?! You're the one who think magic exists!" he laughed harshly, sounding slightly hysterical. The new colors only served to irritate him further, because he knew she was doingit. But the only answer he'd accept from her was the one he wanted to hear,... and he wasn't going to get that, was he? "Now tell me how the hell you're doing this."

"I did."

He's not going to get the answer he wants. That should be obvious by now. He can believe what he wants, but Meg told him the truth, and she's not going to give in to this stupid human's desire for normalcy.

"You- oh, forget it," he grumbled, "I told you, - magic's not real. I don't know what you're doing but it. Is. Not. Magic."

He gave a huffy sigh.
"If that's your story - fine. But I still think you're full of it."

"Hah. You're just in denial."

Of course, she would know all about that. Meg's known about magic her whole life; it's a part of her, for heaven's sake. She has no experience with this kind of denial... (Except on the part of a small human she made friends with when they were both about five. Which didn't last, sadly.)

"You are, maybe, but I'm not," he shook his head, looking annoyed. "You're insane."

And he turned and began to walk away.
Not dealing with this any more. No sense in arguing with a crazy person...