Norm was seated at a table in a corner, seemingly paying no attention to his surroundings. But he was only pretending. At every loud noise - a dropped glass, the door opening - his blue eyes would flick towards the source of the sound, then away as he realized it was nothing to be startled about. He was slowly sipping his espresso and leaning forwards in his chair, flipping through a booklet on stained glass. This time, he wasn't on hs lunch break, having to hurry back to work. Work was over for the day. And he could think of nothing better to do than try to relax in a nice, peaceful environment that wasn't his apartment.

He wasn't expecting anything abnormal to happen,.. but he was definitely on his guard.

"Hi. Can I sit here?"

The voice belonged to a girl who didn't look much like the creature who'd tormented him that one time, or the one who'd argued for the existence of magic the time after.

Tank top. Jeans. Both in remarkably normal colours. Hair of a dirty blond, streaked through with red and brown--she can't resist being a little weird--pulled back in a half ponytail.

"Nnh?" His eyes widened and his head jerked upwards as he turned to look at her, making it more than a little obvious how jumpy he was. Norm managed a smile for her all the same, not recognizing her despite feeling that she was familiar.

"Oh. Yeah,... uh... go right ahead," he nodded to an empty seat.

"You okay, babe? I mean, last time I checked, I don't look like an axe murderer."

That's her idea of a normal person's idea of a joke. It's not quite right, but at least she isn't making her idea of a joke at his expense. Meg can be compassionate too.

Kind of.

"Heh."
Never had a 'heh' been so unconvincing.
"No, no. you just startled me, that's all. I was preoccupied." Norm smiled again, but this smile looked just as fale as the previous one, though he'd put more effort into it. "You don't look like an axe murderer. Not that I know what one's supposed to look like, aside from the whole 'hacking at people with an axe' bit."

She slid into the seat opposite him with the kind of boneless grace that humans envy in cats--and fae. But the second one is kind of an obvious thing, doncha know--and tilted her head.

"D'you think if I was carrying around an axe, I would?"

What an odd question. But it's delivered with a charming smile and a wink of a brilliant green--though normally pupiled--eye.

"You can never tell," Norm shrugged, his even tone of voice making it impossible to tell whether he was making a joke or not. He looked down and took a sip of coffee, then replaced the cup on the table with a satisfying tapping nose. "It's the ones who don't aren't obviously axe murderers that you have to watch out for. You don't really strike me as the murderous type, but what do I know."

"Well, if I was a murderer, I probably wouldn't use an axe. So messy."

She giggled.

"I'm Meg, by the way. Call me Margaret and I'll kill you."

Which might have been a little odd wording, considering the original topic of conversation, but that's Meg for you.

She stuck out her hand to shake.

He raised an eyebrow. Of course she was only joking...

"Pleased to meetcha. I'm Norm," he said, smirking at her choice of words. "And seeing as I really don't want to be killed, I'll stick to calling you Meg."

"You do that."

Of course she was only joking. If she weren't joking, she wouldn't have brought up the subject.

"I like your hair, Norm."

It's an improvement on the way he used to wear it, anyway.

"Oh, thanks," he smiled faintly. "It's ...really different from what it used to look like. Obviously. It's supposed to be blond,.. don't know what possessed me to change it to pitch-black all of a sudden, but it turned out okay. I guess."

Suggestible, this one. How interesting.

She smiled and shrugged. "Blonde is boring." Which is why her hair is so many colors today, instead of just blonde. (The base color is natural, though, which is mildly surprising.)

"It looks good, anyway. Don't have to guess."

She's being moderately nice.

"Heh. Thanks. You've got a nice-" he frowned slightly, trying to think how he was going to phrase his compliment without sounding like a dork. His smile was growing less forced, and more earnest Also slightly apologetic, because he thought he wasn't being very much fun to talk to. "-assortment of colors in your hair. Well-balanced. 'S neat. As in, cool. Very... different."

"Thank you," she preened. "'s different from my normal style, too. Usually I only have one colour."

This implies that she is in the habit of dying her hair, not that she changes her hair colour with glamours at a whim.

"Reall? What's your favorite color?" he asked. While waiting for her answer, he drained the last of his coffee, and then leaned back in his chair. Discussing hair color - while it was a slightly unusual sbject, it wasn't too weird. It was almost normal.

"Purple."

She grinned.

"But that one only lasted a day."

Most of them only last a day, though once she actually had black hair for an entire week.

"Purple, huh? Cool."
He peered at her through the thick lenses of his glasses, trying to picture her with purple hair. He wasn't able to manage it very well, because the mental image kept bringing up just like what she looked like at the moment. "Just how many colors have you tried? I'd've thought your hair would be fried by now, if you change it too often."

She shrugged.

"I don't remember? And I use a special shampoo."

And doesn't use dye, usually, because glamours are so much easier. Not to mention that they're much faster, and they don't 'fry' her hair.

"Oh. 'kay, just wondering," he shrugged, running a hand back through his own spiky, dyed hair, and tugging at a few of the short strands when they got caught under his fingernails.

"Ummm... so..." he said awkwardly. He picked up his coffee cup, then remembered it was empty and put it back down. "Where're you from?"

"Here. Lived here all my life, hopefully I'll get out of here for college."

She's in high school at the moment, although she does tend to find her way to many of the rather wilder parties over at Keaton. The college students don't mind, after all.

"Have any plans on where you want to go, for college?" he asked, seeming a little surprised that she wasn't already in college. He tended towards overestimating people's ages - as well as forgetting or mispronouncing their names. "Keaton's not bad,... 's where I went. But if you're looking to get out, then there's lots to choose from."

"I dunno. Far away, though. Maybe even out of the country! England, or something. France. Iiiiiiiiii-taly. Maybe I won't go, and I'll just go to Europe and backpack across it and then settle down somewhere and be an eccentric old lady."

Or maybe she'll see if she can find some fae who still live Underhill. She'd get along well with some of the more mischievous of her ancestors, I think.

"Sounds like fun," Norm said, with a wistful smile, drumming his thin fingers on the tabletop. "Except for the 'eccentric old lady' bit. Me, I've never been out of the country. Been all the way through it, but haven't left it once. Maybe Ill try it sometime."

She giggled.

"Well, eccentric old ladies get to have lots and lots of cats and do strange things and nobody wonders why. Except for the little kids who think she's a witch and only go to her door on dares."

She'd have fun with that image, don't you think?

"You should try it. I haven't done it either, but I bet it's a blast."

"You seem to have it all planned out," he grinned at Meg. The mention of witches made him cringe a little, but she wasn't referring to witches being real, so it was okay. "Mm. Well. I'll let you now how fun it is if I get to go before you do."

"Okay."

And she scribbled a phone number on a handy napkin--with a pen that she must have produced from a pocket, even though it wasn't quite apparent where that pocket might have been--and slid it across the table to him.

"There. Now you have a way to let me know."

Grin.

Norm blinked at the napkin, then drew it over with his fingertips and picked it up.
"Oh. Heh. Okay, I'll give you a call if I get around to travelling," he said, then carefully tore the napkin in two (not tearing the number). "Here, let me borrow your pen? I'll give you my number in case you get to go first."

She handed the pen over and wound a strand of hair around her fingers, watching him.

"You sure you weren't upset right before I came over?"

Confused and angry humans she can handle, especially when she's the one causing it. But she's nice enough to feel a little worried that she's upset him further than the odd experience should have.

Gasp.

Norm bent over the bit of paper and wrote his phone number on it, taking quite a bit longer than he needed.
"I'm sure, he said, then guiltily added. "Mostly. I've just been a bit out of sorts, lately, is all. Nothing big."
Norm was always out of sorts. It was just those times when he was particularly out of sorts that it was noticeable.

"So what's the small stuff?"

Completely innocent curiosity. Really. Really.

"Just... stuff,..." he said nervously, taking a painfully long time to write the last digit of his phone number. Small? Well, I guess it's small. I mean, people get attacked on the street all the time. It's just when it's by a- his thought process froze as a mental image of Verkur crossed it. It was hurriedly replaced by the image of a ciminal he had seen in a movie once. It was just strange because the guy was mentally imbalanced. You have to be crazy to just stab a person like that.

He held out the pen and half-napkin to Meg. "There you go."

She grinned and stuffed them both in the same nearly impossible to find pocket that she'd produced the pen from in the first place. A barely lifted eyebrow was the only indication that she'd heard anything at all of the thoughts attached to the objects. (Oh yes, and the image of Verkur was almost there, but not enough for her to recognize him as anything she knew.)

"Thanks."

A tilt of her head.

"You sure you don't wanna talk about it?"

"Well,.. um.." Norm bit his lip now nervously tapping his fingers on the table. His hands were long-fingered and pale, like white spiders. "I... heh. It's not much. It's something that happened a while ago. I oughta just get over it already, but it's got me nervous about every little thing."

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Then he decided to explain.
"I, uh... well, I was attacked. It landed me in the hospital," he said, then managed a weak smile. "In retrospect - I shouldn't've been out as late as I was, that night. Wasn't a very smart thing t do."

She reached across the table and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, you came out okay, didn'tcha? So why're you still so upset about it?" that you're imprinting fear on the stuff you touch... And how come you don't know you do that, hm?

Meg scents a puzzle in this human, and she'd like to figure it out. (The interest will probably last about a week.)

He flinched involuntarily when she touched him. Another brief memory of the demon forced itself into his head, starting when Meg's fingers first came in contact with his sleeve. It was dark and he, Norm, was pinned against the wall, the monster's claws slowly piercing his shoulder -
It was knives. There was no demon. Just a person.

"I don't know, myself," he shook his head, sounding disgusted. "I can't help it."

She jerked her hand back. Probably that was just because he flinched and obviously didn't want to be touched. But possibly it was because his shirt was imbued with an image of the demon--and what a demon, too--and his frightening claws.

"Oh!"

Pause.

"I guess I can understand that."

"Sorry."
Norm grimaced. Must've startled her by jolting like that.

"Yeah,... Wish I could," he said, with a wry smirk. He chewed on his lip, glancing away briefly to switch the smirk on his face for something less stressed, and more pleasant before he looked back at Meg.

"Well,.." he sighed, "I think I ought to be heading home..."

"Aw... 'kay then. Seeya round."

And I suppose that's that.