It's a lovely afternoon,... for doing nothing.

Wick is lying on a cushion of snow, on the lowermost branch of a young tree that was planted here late last summer. Considering that it's January, it ought to be cold, but it isn't, not to him. The sun takes care of the low temperatures quite nicely.

He's just relaxing,... not even planning any nasty tricks. He hasn't been in the mood, not since he came back.

Speaking of relaxing? He's so relaxed, he's forgotten to even conceal himself. He's out there in plain sight.
Anyone could see him.

Oh, wow.

Wow.

Wow.

She doesn't approach, for the moment, keeping her distance, sketching rough outline, lines of limb and shadow and branch and wow.

Wings, you see. He has wings.

She's taken over the path nearest him, one arm steadying the notebook, the other holding her flying pencil.

Given our genre of choice, I must point out that her pencil isn't actually flying.

When that's done, she'll edge closer, close enough to see detail, to be added to the picture later. Because this fifteen year old child doesn't want to waste a second of this sighting on record keeping.

Wick glances over at her, nonplussed. He's under the impression that she finds the tree particularly interesting, and he has nothing to do with it - of course she can't see him.
Of course she can't.

He smiles to himself, and turns his gaze back to the sky.

By the time she's right underneath him, studying light and angle and all, she realizes something.

"Could you spread your wings a bit? I can't see them properly." It's phrased as a request, but truthfully, she is a bossy little lady.

What can I say? She is not naturally shy. At all. Ever.

Blink.

"What...?" He sits up quickly, getting to his hands and knees on his perch and staring down at her. Then he smacks a hand to the side of his face, groaning, "Oh, damn."

His wings spread open, in case he decides he needs to take off. She's been good so far, though... he might not have to leave.

She clucks under her breath. Language.

"Hold that pose."

And she, well, circles. Sketching.

This won't take more than, oh, however long she can con him into staying.

Wick eyes her suspiciously, but stays still for her. Why shouldn't he? Apart from the fact that she's drawing him without having first asked permission, she hasn't done anything to tick him off, and he's in too good a mood to be bothersome anyway.

"Who are you...?" he asks finally, after having watched her for a while. "You usually sneak up on strangers and then draw them?"

"M'name's Swallow. Don't talk, you're messing up the lines."

Or she doesn't feel like talking to you, so nyah. Not sure which.

Bossy lil' gel, isn't she?

He scowls at her. He doesn't like being bossed around - in his opinion, he has to put up with it from Dave, so he shouldn't have to take it from anyone else.

"Mrrr."
He sticks his tongue out at her, and then he's vanished.

She stomps her foot in sheer, unadulterated irritation.

"Stop that!"

And now she is sulking.

"Pbbbt. Make me."

My, he's just so mature...

Pause.

"Meanie."

She is not a very mature child either, when it comes right down to it. Can you tell?

He doesn't answer right away.

Then his voice floats over from somewhere a few feet to her left, and there he is again.
Sticking out his tongue at her, of course.

"Over heeere..."

She looks around, up, down, pencil hovering.

Then she gives up.

"Fine." Sulky sulky girl.

Pause.

"I'll give you cookies?"

Everyone likes cookies.

"...Really?"

He reappears.
There's no use in pretending he's not interested - he likes cookies as much as everyone else. Probably more, considering what he'd be willing to do for one.

She nods emphatically. "Uh-huh. Whatever kind you like."

She's a semi-adequate baker in a cheap kinda way, and bribing her model probably counted as part of her art supply budget, right?

She stares, you see, catching details and oddities and filing things away. "You aren't a bird-type at all, are you?"

She is, but she isn't going to mention that.

Wick flutters back to the young tree and takes up his perch again.

"I guess that's okay," he says grudgingly, not wanting to seem too eager. Goodness knows what would happen if it got around that he could be bought out with cookies, right?

He tilts his head to one side, frowning slightly.
"Bird-type?"

"The wings... they're more insect than bird, wouldn't you say?"

Academic interest, mostly because she wants to get the anatomy right.

"Oh! Keep your head like that for just a minute."

For a given value of a minute, but it was just perfect.

"Ohhh. Mmhm," he agrees, barely moving his lips to speak.

Wick's not known for his ability to sit still, but the promise of a cookie can do a lot to fix that. He stays perfectly still, barely even breathing.

"Awesome. That's awesome."

There is silence for a while, because this is a bit more detailed, and she isn't that good at multitasking.

"You can move around if you want, now." Motion study. Or something. She's done with the holding-still bit.

"I have wings. Bird wings." She's making conversation.

"Phew. Good."

Wick sighs and straightens up, twisting his neck to get the crick out of it. Then he flutters over to look at what she's been drawing. He doesn't comment, though.

"Wings? Really?..."
He circles her.
"I don't see 'em..."

She grins up at him (which is a bit tricky, given that he's circling and all). "They're under my coat, silly."

It is a big fluffy green coat, and very nice indeed. She likes her coat.

"Oh. 'Kay."

He hovers around a little longer before returning to the tree.

"Why've you got wings, then? What are you?"

"No clue. Just a girl with wings, I guess."

Shrug.

"Can't even fly with them. I mean, I try now and again, but they're small still."

She isn't finished growing by a long shot, see.

As a side note, she's done sketching (mostly because her sketching hand hurts).

"Oh. Well. That kinda sucks," he observes. "Maybe you'll grow into 'em, like I did mine. Well, not these ones exactly,... the pair I had before,... but same thing."

"Wings you had before? Wings are hard to misplace."

She's feeling superior now. She doesn't misplace her wings.

She really is an insufferable little gel, isn't she?

Wick rolls his eyes.

"I didn't misplace 'em, stupid, they got ripped out."

Pause.

"Owwwwwww."

She's thinking about this.

"Who'd do a thing like that?" Wings are... wings. They're pretty and useful and lovely and unique and amazing. Who would want to do that?

It didn't make any sense!

"Someone who got really angry 'cause of something I did," he shrugs,"...I guess I kind of deserved it."

Pause.

"And the moral of that story is, don't tick off someone who's more'n ten times your size."

Pause.

"I don't know any giants, so that's okay. How'd you get new wings? What'd you do to the guy who took your old ones?"

I'm not sure if she's actually that oblivious to the fact that these memories might be painful, or....

Actually, she is. She doesn't really have any painful memories.

"A... friend made me a new pair."

He flexes his wings, raising and lowering them a few times, and turning his head to watch them.

"The guy who tore off the old ones?...He's dead."
Yeah. Just died, just like that.
Wick didn't have anything to do with it.


Ha. Right.

Pause.

She isn't really sure what to think of that.

Finally, she concludes, "Oh. Cool."

To both of those things, actually. Wings... she can imagine how she'd feel without wings, and she can't even use hers.

Eee. Bad man. Good that wing-puller-out-ers are no more, in general. That kind of thing needs discouraging.

"Mm," Wick agrees.

Pause.

"So." He looks at her expectantly. "When do I get a cookie?"

Hm.

"Depends on what kinda cookie you want. I can do all kinds, or I can buy you a box."

She's generous in her bribes.

Anyway, he has wings. That's awesome. She likes looking at him, 'cause wings!

"I like oreos," he says firmly.

One cookie is more than enough, and could last him a little while. He can eat a lot for a seven-inch tall faery, but not that much.
He tried to eat a whole cookie at once, and doesn't intend to try again.
The result was not pretty.

"Wanna come with me to the shop, or d'you want me to leave them somewhere for you?"

She's flexible.

((Amusing thought - her turning up at Dave's place with a delivery of Oreos and talking to Dave about it.))

"Umm... "

He doesn't feel like following her, so...

"Leave them somewhere for me."


((Hee! ^.^))

"Kay. Where?"

She'll go to study group, swing by the store on her way home, and drop them off this evening.

Maybe she could even wrangle a car ride if it was far enough across town....

Wick rattles off Dave's address.

What? He wasn't going to have her leave them outside somewhere, where someone could find them, or they could get ruined. And Dave wouldn't mind.

"Awesome - I'll drop them off this evening."

And she grins, because this has been a great afternoon.

"Gotta go now, though. Nicetameetcha."