Wick has settled himself on top of a bookcase, near the ceiling, and is patiently shredding the pages of an old musty-smelling book. The torn pages make very handy confetti. He's already made quite a nice little pile of it.
When he has enough, he means to push it off the bookcase and let it scatter where it will, just for the sake of making a mess.

Because, you know. Messes are fun when he doesn't have to clean them up, and as he's been spending his time at Dave's, he hasn't made too many messes lately. It's not nice to wreck Dave's apartment, and he'd never dream of it...

(He would, really, but he's not allowed to. He just tells himself he's being nice instead of facing that he has no choice.)

Ted has that unfocused look in his eyes again.

He's using magic.

Oh well - to each their own, right? He isn't exactly running into things as he uses his Sight to find Wick.

Okay, maybe he runs into the bookcase a bit.

But just a bit. Just a tiny bit.

Wobble?

"Hey!" Wick digs his nails into the wood, leaving little scratches in the dusty varnish. He leans over the edge once the bookcase stops wobbling, glaring at the bumbling idiot who--
oh.

He cracks a smile. "Hullo."

Blink. Oh, he was here. Cool!

"Wick!" Glee!

Pause, and a slight serious cast of expression. "You okay?" He vaguely saw/sees the Alice thing. I think he was worried about Wick.

Wick was, after all, his friend.

Really, even after leading him astray?

"Yup," Wick says cheerfully, sliding forwards and lying on his front. He lets his arms dangle ove the edge of the shelf, his sleeves riding up to show the bandages stil on his hands. "Whatcha doing here? Looking for a book?"

His wings start to hum, but he remains lying on the shelf - the breeze created by the wingbeats causes the shredded pages to blow everywhere, like a mini snowstorm.
"Hope you weren't looking for the one I just tore up," he grins.

Hah, leading him astray was the best fun Ted had in months!

"Nuh-uh. I was scryin', and then I thought, I wonder what Wick's doing, and then I saw that you were here, but I didn't know where here is, so I came to find you and see where here is and-" he pauses for breath. "Where are we, anyway?" Looks boring. Books are fine, but he much prefers books with explosions. Or books on magic.

Or books on magic explosions.

Or motorbikes. Those work too.

Ou, snowstorm.

"Bookstore," Wick says shortly. "Jacobson's."

He pulls down another book, props it open,...bah, nto even a picture. Just tons and tons of words.
This one's going to be confetti, too. Wick starts tearing the first page into strips.
"What're you lookin' for me for?" he inquires, blowing another palmful of paper shreds off the shelf.

"Huh."

Pause.

"'Cause I haven't seen you in forever. What's that one?"

Ted has a tad of a short attention span.

"Uhhh,..."

Wick flips the book's cover over, with some difficulty. He mouthes the letters one by one before stringing them together.

"...Gulliver's Travels, it's called," Wick shrugs. "Not worth reading. Doesn't even have any pictures."

"Huh. I've read that one."

Pause.

"They have this story about a land full of people your size who get angry at Gulliver for being huge. I think they poked him with sticks."

He really wasn't paying much attention to the story when he heard it last. As Wick said, it didn't have pictures.

Wick snickers.

"Sounds pretty good," he grins.
...
"But not good 'nough,... it still doesn't have pictures. If it did, I'd read it. Well, maybe. If I was really bored."
Ooh, ook, there goes more confetti.

Ted nods.

He also decides to have a bit of fun with magic - no need to be subtle since Wick was right there. No one else about.

He uses magic to make a streamer of loose bits of paper, fastened together with magic. He swirls it, up and down and in and out in complicated knots and letters and other things - rather like shadow puppets, only this mini-snowstorm of theirs was far more flexible than shadows on the wall.

It's quite pretty, if Ted might say so himself. Artistic. Ted's an artistic boy, sometimes - more likely in black and white than color, though. Color is his mother's thing.