Maybe I could just rest my eyes for a few minutes...

The library is inadequately lit in this far corner of the basement. The air conditioner must be off, because it's more warm than cool. It smells like dust and old books down here. The floor is covered in that uninviting public-place carpet, that looks one color from far away, but up close it looks like someone spilled hundreds of miniscule m&ms into it. Not the most comfortable carpet to sleep on, but then again that's not what it's for.

Not that that ever stopped a sleepy college student. The darkness, the warmth, the time of night (12:36), and the rather boring material that lined the walls of the nearest shelves had all entered into the equation that equalled, after much carrying and complicated division, to the girl sleeping on the floor here. Her head is resting on the open page of the book she was obviously studying a moment before, her cheek mashing unattractively into the curve of the binding. Long legs are stretched out, ankles crossing. One of the girl's shoes has fallen off. Her left hand is curled against face. Her hair, absurdly long, is splayed across her back and the floor. She is wearing a summer dress with a loud multi-colored plaid pattern.

It's the hair, though, that's the most interesting. It is, at the moment, a very distinct pink color, that matches one of the many colors in her dress. But as she lies there, breathing gently in and out, it... changes color. From pink to a natural dirty blonde. And quite abruptly, too, so it could not have been a trick of the light.

Jay Wallace is in the anthropology stacks not because he’s an anthropology student (or anthropology enthusiast), but because he’s doing a bit of research for a film project. He’s in the stacks after midnight because...

...wait, you mean after midnight isn’t the perfect time for a little book learning?

The girl is already stretched out on the floor when Jay comes around the corner to find a book on religion on the Indian subcontinent. He steps lightly past her, not intending to deprive a fellow student of sleep; he can empathize.

It’s a good thing colour isn’t noise, though, or Mister Wallace would be making one hell of a racket. He’s dressed tonight in slim-fit jeans, stone-washed almost white, and a shirt that’s broadly striped with pale yellow and neon pink. Pink and yellow jelly-plastic bracelets take up two inches on each wrist, and he’s wearing a big plastic watch in pink and white. His shoes are flipflops-- bright summer yellow, of course. His well-groomed hair is a rich and totally fake gold, not matching his browner eyebrows in the least. Some of the front, flopping into his face, seems to be dyed pink.

In all, he’s obviously ready for summer, and he’s also obviously advertising, from manner of dress right through gestures and motion. Tonight he’s tired; immersed in the serious business of schoolwork, he’s sashaying less.

Jay is just pulling his book out of its slot on the shelf when something catches his eye-- a colour change; a sudden dimming of hue. The bright pink hair that Jay had off-handedly admired has switched off like someone turned a knob, and the more natural blonde colour is showing through.

He smiles and pads over to the girl, squatting and poking her in the shoulder.

“Wake up, hun. You don’t want to sleep here if your hair’s gonna go Technicolour.”

The girl's face involuntarily scrunches with the effort of waking up, and she mumbles something that sounds almost like "five more minutes". She blinks her odd eyes, raises her head, props herself up with her elbow, rubs her face, blinks some more. She looks around, at the boy that woke her and then at her former pillow, and her waking brain begins to process what is happening.

"I fell asleep." She says obviously, giving herself a mental and physical shake to shed the last of her weariness.

"What time is it?" She asks as she gathers up the book, carelessly dog-earring the page it was open to, but she suddenly stops as something clicks.

"My hair?" One hand reaches back behind her to grab and bring forward a chunk of her hair, which she sees is her natural color. "Oh. Thanks."

Jay leans back on his heels, grinning.

“Just don’t do it where the unnies can see, and we’ll all be fine, hmmm?”

He didn’t wake her as a warning, and isn’t saying this with any ire. His tone of voice is, instead, considerate-- if he’d noticed someone whose skirt was riding up as she slept, for example, he’d have woken her up with more or less this same expression and tone of voice.

Besides-- he always feels a certain affinity for people with vanity magic.

"Yeah" She agrees with a grin, and then, "Thanks" more heartfelt this time, as she begins to realize just how lucky she is that he is an innish.

She smiles at him and then exclaims a little loudly, "Hey, I like your shirt! And your hair!" It's reminiscent of a puppy, a little, the way she seems to be excited as if this is the coolest thing ever.

Aw, she's adorable.

Self-consciously, Jay runs a hand back through his summer-gold hair. His mom had given him hell when she’d learned what had happened to it. His grandma had just cackled.

“You too. Thank the little baby jesus for summer colours, huh?”

He offers her a hand; it’s evident from his posture that he’s inviting to help her stand.

“So, what’re you?”

The thing about being innish is that you can ask someone what they are in the same casual voice you use when asking about their major in university and their favourite sports team.

"One hundred and fifty percent human." She says in a disappointed voice, as she gives him her hand and is pulled to her feet. "You?" She perks up a little, always interesting in meeting someone of a magical species.

She slips her wayward shoe on and tucks the book under one arm; she might as well check it out since it's evident that she won't be getting any more studying done tonight.

A person might expect his grip to be limp, but it isn’t. This is one of those areas where the stereotype won’t get you far—in film and theatre, you learn to hang on to people/things tightly.

“Fae,” he says with a shrug. It’s a fairly informative shrug-- after the strong over tones of casual no-big-deal modesty, there are little undertones of Yep, We’re Awesome. Species Pride!

The undertones might be mostly because of the little smile.

“How’d you do the hair, then?” He’s curious.

"Oh, well, it was sort of a... I can... uh..." She scratches the back of her head awkwardly with her free hand.

"D'you know the god of death?" Because not everyone does, even if they are innish.

"Shit. Really?"

Jay stands back and inspects the girl critically, half theatric and half serious, as if he's checking to make sure he doesn't have and tentacles hiding under her shirt or other unfortunate hazards related to meeting Death.

She gives a kind of sheepish nod.

"But now I can do this," and she takes her hair in one hand and lifts it up, on display. And it changes. First red, then orange, it flashes through the spectrum of color, each one lingering only long enough to register to the eye before changing again. Sometimes it's multi-colored, with the top one color and the bottom another, once it almost looks polka-dotted. Some of the colors are natural, but some couldn't even have come out of a tube, like a near flourescent yellow that seems to glow under the library lights.

And the girl is grinning like a loon, because no matter how many times she does this it never fails to be totally cool.

Has anyone else thought it's totally cool yet?

Jay thinks it's totally cool.

"That's fantastic!" he exclaims, all bright smile and big voice.

His train of thought is chugging along the lines of 'I should show her my hair changing colour' when suddenly it hits hmi--

"My hair got cursed by a god, too!"

He exclaims this with a certain glee, like he might if he'd found out she lived on the same street as the one he grew up on.

"I know right!" She squeals, dropping her hair and letting it swish back down to her hips.

And then she gasps. "Really!?" Her mismatched eyes are wide, her fists are clenched and pumping in the air, she's practically bouncing on her heels. "That's so cool!"

Jay is easily excited, especially by proxie. He ‘eee’s and bounces, too. Just a bit, at the ankles rather than the knees.

“Yeah, Summer messed with mine,” he says, pulling a bit of a wry expression and waving at his golden-blond hair. He drops the pink-streak glamour, and it’s all gold.

“See? Ridiculous.”

And then-- “Let’s go get drinks!”

She's nodding enthusiastically, but then she pulls a confused look.

"Wait, summer? You mean..." You can see the click reflected in her face when she finally gets it. "There's a god of summer!? I didn't know that." She's surprised, but it makes sense that there would be, when she thinks about it.

Jay crooks his elbow at her, apparently not willing to take no for an answer in regard to drinks. His jelly-plastic bangles glimmer dully.

"There's a god of everything, isn't there?" he asks. The pink-streak glamour doesn't re-appear; it's gotten harder to glam his hair recently.

“So why’re you innish, my human dear?”

Jay thinks that the gentle teasing part of a friendship really doesn’t have to wait until he knows someone better.

"I guess so..." She agrees easily. She's about to ask if that means there's a god of pickles or ridiculous one-use kitchen utensils (she may be a bit hungry) when his question interupts her.

"Why am I innish? I was born innish. I'm not one of those unnie to innie sob stories." She grins.

Jay waves a hand, innately dismissive of the plights of unnie-to-innie sob stories (which he considers unforgivably ‘emo’).

“Tshht,” he says, and that’s all he has to say about that. Not a very understanding guy, Jay.

“Born innish? Got a witch mom or something?”

She grins.

"No. Well... not as far as I know. My family's just always known about magic. Though I do think I might have a great aunt who's a witch," she adds, as an afterthought. "Either that or she's dead, I can never remember."

She begins to move in the direction of the stairs, so that she can check out her book and they can leave.

"Drinks sound good." She agrees.

He tags along with her, tied at the elbow. There’s a little spring in his step—he loves meeting new people; extra points for a rainbow aesthetic.

“Well, aren’t you lucky, then—a boring old human who’s in on the fun.” That about sums up Jay’s opinion; he thinks of the unnish sort of as the Victorians thought of the cultures they invaded.

Poor dears, running around in the jungle half-naked. They’re just naïve and less evolved; really, I feel pity for them.

No one ever said Fae were nice.



((Please note I don’t share the victorians’ opinions x x))

She kind of shrugs. "I guess." She said, in a tone of voice that suggests she doesn't. "Though I do try not to be boring."

She doesn't like the way he said that, as if 'the fun' isn't something she's suppose to be in on. But in her excitement at meeting someone new - and a fae at that - she decides to gloss it over.

(I thought they did nice things, like - like granting wishes!)

“I’m sure you do,” he says, and this could either be insult or compliment. We’ll forgive him his condescending ways; he’s getting a masters in the fine arts, after all.

He steps lightly up the stairs. Together, they must look like some kind of rainbow processional.

“Where to for drinks?”

She shrugs with one shoulder, the one not attached to the arm carrying the book.

"I don't know. I don't drink that often." Read: never. She may not be completely unfamiliar with alcohol, but they aren't exactly on a first-name basis.

"Your choice."