Restaurants weren't generally Wick's favorite haunts. He was good at making mischief wherever he went, but restaurants ...? Knocking food and drink onto people was only funny so many times. He had another reason for being in Monroe's today. The clouds had been threatening rain and he didn't want to be caught in it, so he'd ducked into Monroe's. Just as he'd gotten inside, it had started to pour.

Wick perched on a windowsill with his wings folded to his back. He looked sulkily out the window, at the big raindrops spattering the glass.
Sigh.

He gave his wings a little flick - the heavy dampness in the air was making them uncomfortably sticky. It wouldn't affect his flying much, it was just annoying. When Wick was annoyed, he generally felt like annoying other people. He hadn't anyone in mind just yet, but he was keeping an eye out for any potential targets.

Well, Meg is certainly an eye-catcher, even when she's drenched and miserable and glamourless. All her clothing is real; glamours just don't do the trick. They're rather airy.

She's wearing a halter top that really shows off more skin than should be acceptable, and the fact that it's soaked and clinging to her skin doesn't make it any more modest. Her jeans have cut out patterns all over them and are really more like lace than jeans. (She's wearing black hose underneath them; she's not that crazy.)

Her hair is a plain, dull brown colour, because she hasn't put her glamours back up, because the rain has put her in a bad mood. It's amazing how quickly one can get wet in weather like this.

She orders a coffee.

Wick watched her, with obvious interest. It was always easier to get a reaction from someone who was already in a bad mood, or agitated, and she looked like the perfect candidate. Something about her (not her clothing) was telling him she wasn't ordinary, but he didn't look too far into it.

He was rather lax on his glamours lately, as well - he didn't bother to hide himself from everyone -instead, he'd opted for a little trick that wouldn't let him be seen by unfriendly eyes. Of course, he really hadn't worked hard on keeping himself hidden. It didn't really bother him anymore - he always ended up getting caught anyway, so what did it matter if he put on a weaker glamour?

She took a long drink of her coffee--remarkably not burning her mouth and throat--and began the task of at least straightening her wet hair and possibly making it presentable, instead of pitible.

She was muttering to herself as she fingercombed it and began to put it in twin braids. In Fae, and impolitely, at that.

Standing up, Wick hopped off the windowsill to he nearest table. He took to the air, circling Meg a few times before darting in and giving her coffee cup a shove, to knock it over. He didn't want to spill it on her - it was hot coffee, after all - he just wanted to spill it and make a mess. Spilled coffee was a fairly minor prank. He was just testing to see how she'd react.

Her reaction was probably not the one he expected. Whether her glamours are up or not, she can see through others', and she caught the cup before it could do much more than wobble.

"Back off, shrimp."

He blinked a few times, too startled to be annoyed at having been spotted.

"Well, drat," Wick said emphatically, hovering in front of her, at a height he thought was out of arm's reach. He frowned, looking at her suspiciously. "How come you can see me?"

A glamour of her own flickered into being around her hair and face, and lo and behold, she was suddenly wearing a rather eclectic make-up job and a very light blonde.

"Three guesses."

"I just need one guess," he scoffed - well, it was obvious, now that she'd shown off her glamours. No surprise she saw through my glamour, anyway,... it was kind of pathetic. He flew around her, still out of arm's reach. "...What's your name?"

"Margaret Ann. If you call me that, I'll squish you. I go by Meg."

She's probably not serious about the squishing thing. Ancient legends have to stick together, after all.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Margaret Ann, Margaret Ann," he chanted (obnoxiously, might I add) and flew up to the ceiling, so he could be sure he would be out of her reach. He grinned. Sure, ancient legends should stick together, but that wouldn't stop him from pestering the heck out of her.

She ignored him. And drank her coffee, and worked on improving her glamours, which had been thrown up hastily and needed refining before they'd be exactly right. Anyway, she didn't like blonde today.

Eventually, she settled on purple, to match her shirt.

When the chant didn't get any reaction, he gave up. It felt sort of like bad manners to pick one of his own kind, despite the size difference. While Wick wasn't the mostmannerly of beings, he did have a conscience.
Of sorts.

He spiraled down to the tabletop and frowned at her, crossing his arms.
"Purple's not really your color," he said. Just to be annoying, of course.

Of course.

She glanced at him and stuck out her tongue. I never claimed she was mature, after all.

"This from a runt who flutters around in scraps he probably filched from trash cans."

He wrinkled his nose. "And? Is there a problem with that?" he asked, flying right up close and hovering a few inches in front of her face. "So what if they are?"

She smiled sweetly.

"Advise me on style when you've got some of your own, pet. You never did tell me what to call you, by the way."

You know, she didn't give him her whole name.

"I didn't say anything 'bout style. You just don't know how to match colors," he said indignantly. He hadn't known he would be offended by someone insulting his clothing until she had. He fluttered to the top of her head and tugged her hair. "It's Wick. And I'm not a pet."

"Maybe I like purple. And maybe I don't care what a colorblind little shrimp thinks, hm? Your colors don't much match, you know. Can't you find better scraps than that?"

She's still smiling sweetly, but there's a malicious glint in her eyes.

"They do too match!" he whined, nettled. It wasn't often that he was teased, and he wasn't quite sure how to take it. "I happen to like them just fine. So there."
He blew a raspberry at her and gave a few strands of her hair another sharp tug. He wished he had a water balloon to drop on her. He almost wanted to knock her coffee on her, now, but wasn't quite that angry yet.

She giggled.

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings?"

Please note that if he really does turn out to be hurt--not just nettled and annoyed, but actually hurt--she'll probably be rather nicer. She's funny like that.

"No," he said sulkily. He let go of her hair and flew to down stick his tongue out at her. "...You're just stupid. And you're no fun. I hope you bore yourself to death."

With that, he whirred away to the other side of the large room, again selecting a windowsill as his seat. He glared out the window, wishing the rain would stop so he could leave and go someplace fun.

She stuck her tongue out right back and resumed drinking her coffee, watching him fly away with a somewhat amused smirk, but more than a little wistfulness in her eyes.

The game had been entertaining, until he got fed up and flew off. What a shame.

She started doing pink sparkly doodles on the tabletop in front of her.

Wick looked back at her out of the corner of his eye. Upon seeing the pink sparkly doodles, he looked away, with a scornful expression on his face. Yuck. Pink and sparkly? Just like a girl who'd have purple hair even if it wasn't her color,... how- girly of her.

Well, duh, Wick.

Although I should note that they weren't Barbie-pink, hot pink, but rather a muted sort of rose-pink, the kind of color that actually might look good on a wall. It could be a lot worse.

Illusory bubbles started drifting up behind her finger now, as well as the faintly glowing lines on the tabletop. She likes to tease humans too, but when there aren't so many around... she entertains herself in other ways.

Wick wasn't paying attention. He was still staring sulkily out the window and followng the raindrops as they spattered the glass. Every so often he'd catch a bit of Meg's reflection in it, and he'd instantly move so that he wouldn't see her.
Stupid, boring, unfunny girl...

After a while, Meg grew bored.

Thus, her illusory bubbles drifted across the diner--amazing that no one's noticed her yet--and surrounded Wick.

Then they burst with an audible 'pop!'

He flinched at the sound, and shot a glare at her before, again, ignoring her in favor of looking out the window. If he was a little more mature, he might not be like this, but he was just in a terribly sulky mood.

Well, fine then.

The last bubble burst right in front of his face, and she turned her gaze to her own window, sulkily.

How rude.