Owner	Pose
Molly	It's been a hard day's work, and someone has been 'decorating' Red Hook. The decorations go over about as well as one can expect when it's fish guts and rotting scales, the great trawler nets draped over ugly sculptures in front of the Museum of Primitive Art. Buoys covered in slick 'blood' hang crookedly at bizarre angles, puddles of spray paint accumulating on tarps underneath. The entire place has a questionably briny smell. Tourists and locals unfortunate enough to emerge from buildings are assaulted by the stench and numbers of people in fish costumes, metallic scales and all, running about to protest the use of trawlers in highly threatened marine ecosystems. And for the argumentative, well, there's a bucket of chum being hurled at them just in case. More than one annoyed pedestrian has become a wretched soul, on their knees, retching. At least two of the local fae are flitting around, manic little pixies delighting in the surge of emotion and crazy behaviour. Because for them, this is fantastic, mad chaos everywhere. Their third isn't having so much fun, sitting on the finger of a rather put-out girl forced to make sense of what is going on. Mostly there as a nuisance, the little blob of light and windswept, feathery hair is chiming away. Molly shelters in a doorway, the gush of oozy fleshy goo running down the front. "Yes," she says in a low, sharp tone, "I //do// know there are fish on the rocks. It's very stinky." Her eyes narrow slightly, a film of opalescence giving away she's not all human. The Invisible faerie under a glamour plain to any wizard or fae? Well, it has words to say. The bell chime is followed by, "You are hiding in here, aren't you?" Ding ding ding. Happy pixie answers.
Till	Let those old fairy tales tell it, and in any patch of flowers there's liable to be a faerie. And a handful of modern fairy stories, too. Not all faeries are fairies, mind. But there are 'fairies'. And sheesh that's a lot of noise going on over there with the primitive art museum! "WOW that's loud! And stinky too!" That is not a chiming voice, though it's a tiny voice. And from a nearby patch of flowers (because let's feed the stereotype whenever we can, right?), a green-haired head pops up, a young boy looking quite cross with all the noise. "Like the constant beeping isn't enough to keep me awake!"
Molly	The little folk outside are complaining boisterously, if only to add to the mayhem. The pixie who doesn't want to be splattered in guts is hiding around the Winter Lady, which implies it must be a frost pixie or something aligned to her court because no happy sunbeam sunflower would ever bow to that. Not when her mantle is visible sort of to them. That one squeaks and chimes. "What?" The blue-haired girl tips her head. "No! You can't hide in my bodice, like no! Just no, no, no. Out you go!" She isn't actually in a hurry to open the door as someone else is wandering by. They might have a bucket, and she slinks back behind the pillar to avoid the likelihood of this being a prime opportunity to get attacked. The pixie giggles. She glares. It becomes silent. Another thirty seconds later, a pixie vaults out through a crack in the door over the garden, trailing light beams. The young woman follows, and if that's back to the Ritz's garden, great. Or the coffee stand with a little cover, wonderful. Chum versus boiling hot latte, which is worse?
Till	Hey now, what's this? Light beams and pixies! Till sees an opportunity to put one over on his fellow Fair Folk. He grins, and hunkers down again as the pixie flies overhead. Just to hide from the pixie overhead. Not too long, mind, he can't let the pixie get too much of a headstart. So the following Winter Lady (who the flower fairy hasn't noticed yet) might end up with a faceful of fairy dust from the fast fluttering of the wings of a fairy that sudden ZOOMS out of the gardens!
Molly	The little pixie leading Molly starts zagging and zigging. Real easy to get around when one has lovely wings or defiance of gravity, and breaks no magical laws doing so. The alarmed chiming isn't much audible, but the much taller Molly Carpenter is definitely so. Her feet beat a tattoo on the ground and she throws up an arm to bat aside a trawler net draped in the way. Too close for comfort, but the residents are going to have fits when they see what happened. "Hey, you need to slow... Merde!" Imagine if her father heard her swear, even in French. The sudden appearance of a flower fairy shooting up from somewhere crosses her path and she bats about to get the glittery dust out of her face. To the flash mob activists, maybe she's bitter about their net or hurting it. Oh boy.
Till	Whee! Indeed, when one can flit about happily without really breaking the laws of physics -- or the Fae laws, those are really important too -- it's super-fun! Till, with Glamours fully in place, zips after the pixie, laughing happily. He doesn't seem to have noticed Molly just yet. And the people? Well, to them he's either completely invisible or just a large dragonfly buzzing around. Though if there are any really little kids, they might see him. Though as he wheels around, he finally notices Molly there, and... oooooh crap, he recognizes her. Suddenly he's hiding in the bushes. Eeek! That's the girl from the garden! The one who gave Trevor a waffle and fruit! Till's human form isn't really much of a disguise; about all it does is hide the green hair, wings, and that whole 'being six inches tall' business.
Molly	They might need to forgive a startled girl for backpedalling and avoiding the slime. Fish guts make an awful accessory and Molly flings her arms out to her sides to get her balance, and mince tiptoe through the narrow stretch of clean pavement. Elsewhere, a shriek rises from a teenager who got too lippy and got a bucket for her troubles. "What is //wrong// with these people? I don't... stupid protest..." She doesn't take long to decide where to go, scrambling for the same bushes that a landscaper tried so hard to trim nicely into a hedge. Well, good enough, she can leap over them and hide like the best. Harry Dresden, master of lurking, skulking, and huddling. The pixie zooms to hide in a birdhouse on someone's balcony, making itself a prime target for a golden eyed hawk always on the lookout for dinner. If only it could see through glamour. Pity for Till, he's about to get the sprawl of the Winter Lady in tulle and leather and lace beside him. But for today's adventure, her usual silly party girl wear has a t-shirt atop; the boots are leather, yes, but the skirt not so fluffy.
Till	"Eek!" Till squeaks, as he find himself with a partner in hiding. But hopefully she won't be able to see him in here. And his voice is probably different like this, seeing as how he's so tiny. So maybe if she doesn't actually SEE him, she won't be able to tell it's him. ...And yes, that does run along the lines of covering one's eyes because 'if I can't see them, they can't see me'. But that this moment that's about all he's got. "Somebody needs to call the police," he observes. "Isn't this salt? Um. Salting? Salting batteries or something? Salting batteries is bad." He's trying to say 'assault and battery', actually.
Molly	Eek. It's the banner statement. Meanwhile, crazy people run past, tourists shouting and the pursuing vultures yelling "Down with trawlers" and "Stop purse seiners, they're evil! You can do something!" A voice in the bushes causes her no amount of consternation. Molly flails around for a bit and then pulls a locket back under her shirt, sitting up a little. "You need to move. Really, it's not good out there. Everything changes when the sun goes down, the police don't care." Her hasty little rustle puts her in urgent need to get away from anyone who might see a bucket. Like the teenager peering down at her, at least, bucket at the ready. "You! You totally messed up my net!"
Till	Till's about to take that advice, and just scram. Really. There are other gardens to sleep in. Except JUST then, one of those horrible teenagers with the smelly fish-guts in the bucket looks like she's going to dump it on Molly. That can't be allowed. It's a Tom and Jerry moment, it really is. The little flower fairy pulls up his belt a little, then zips out of the bushes, to that bucket. Just as it's being lifted, Till flies into the side of it and pushes with all his might. He's hoping this will dump it BACKWARDS, dropping the contents onto the shoes and/or pants of the teenager trying to throw the bucket at Molly.
Molly	Six inches tall and full of momentum. The wafting stench of herring guts is really quite wretched, and Molly clenches her hands. Just eww, she's not going to take this sitting down, though she can only crab walk back so fast. Her boots skid into the grass and she, of course, is the big target. The little one just slammed into the bucket and made that go off-hand, spilling the heavy contents, and probably giving the poor faerie a steady bonk. "Ew! Hey what the hell!" shrieks the activist, but there's something to be said for being dressed up as a fish. Might as well accessorise with fish guts. Oh //yuck//. Molly snatches up a pointy weapon which happens to be a metal brush used to scrape barbecues, and banned in many states. The wires aren't any kind of inhibition, but she has another foot of reach at least, and probably more. "Back! Back!" A swing of it shows she has a bit of talent figuring out how to use it, though. A jab holds back the wailing interloper, who slips and skids out of the way.
Till	"Ow!" Till complained, fluttering back woozily from the upturned bucket, rubbing his head. Okay, yeah... that actually hurt. Then again, the bucket got dumped prematurely and that's what he was trying to have happen. So it wasn't a total waste. Worth it! Though the activist still doesn't seem to be ready to give up, even when Molly picks up a 'weapon'. So Till has to intercede once again. Yelling won't do anything. Besides, she'll see him. But he knows where to hit the taller ones to make them fall. So he zips down to the activist's legs, and jams a foot into the back of a knee. He'll use the momentum to bounce back, hopefully out of the way. With the activist already having trouble standing up, the jab in the back of the knee should knock her down.
Molly	And with a collapse of her legs, the activist tumbles right over. She lands on her butt and shouts in alarm, caught in her own icky goo. Really a nasty situation, all said and done. Herring is not fun. It makes a hideous mess, and the oil gets into clothes and that's the end of anything remotely palatable or wearable in public. Molly gets up from her fencer's lunge and puts back the ugly brush. "Let that be a lesson not to bug people who don't agree with you. I hope you have a //really// bad day, and appreciate how much you've messed around with." Her blazing eyes are a little too close to glacial blue for comfort, but she stalks away. A bit of safety on her part, hurrying along to find somewhere to retreat from. That means jumping from lawn to lawn and over the bushes.
Till	Molly isn't the only one who's motoring out of there. Till's flying away from the site too. He's following Molly, but not too closely. And once she slows down, Till takes a detour. Where? Somewhere that not too out of the question that a human-sized kid could reasonably wedge himself. And so, a moment later, it's not a tiny fairy that zips out of that space. It's a five foot male teenager, heading near where Molly is. Once he finally catches up, he asks, "What's wrong? I saw you run by..." Again, not a complete lie...