#anywhere

"I'll watch him." She nods.

Aiden gestures a bit towards the bale, and the gold and silver flames leap up as if fanned, warmth spilling out over the two fledges.

She closes her eyes as the warmth washes over her and chases away to chill in her gut.

A few bits of fire seem to break off, sparks that twirl in the air like cinders from a wood burning campfire, but when they land on Thistle, it's a warm, pleasant sensation, not that of being scorched. Some head for Art as well, but mostly, they drift towards Thistle.

Aiden nods in approval, and heads out, leaving the two to rest.

"I'm sorry, Thistle. I didn't mean for you to have to go through that. I could have told the teacher no, or something."

She plops into the chair, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"I'm fine. We got you safe. You heard what he said - you could have been hurt."

Her never friend dances through the sparks, chasing them like a kitten after snowflakes. If kittens could fly.

A soft 'heh' at the little silly's antics.

"Yeah... it was foolish of me. I could have gotten you hurt. And you've already been hurt by that guy." Art frowns. "We have to do something about him. Even Flynn doesn't deserve that..." naming the frosted-tipped freshman snot from earlier.

"But I don't take art classes anymore. I'm not... I don't. I can make stuff. Practical stuff."

Art is quiet for a moment. "I like your art. Remember when you helped paint the stars on 'Wain's ceiling? Arty... he wanted them all to be correct according to the chart, but when it was finished, the constellations were dancing in a spiral, if you thought of where the outlines would be, and not just the actual star positions... that's an artist's eye."

"it's not... my stuff, it's not..." She trails off, unhappily.

"Maybe we should talk to Flynn. See what he was drawing. There is not a lot redeemable about him that I remember otherwise. Shall we let Mr. Blaine strip him of anything left that might have been worthwhile?"

(Pause!)

Thistle rubs her hands against her skirt again. "I... yeah, it's not right that... but I... I dunno..."

"Do you think he might be a Dreamer? If so, it may be our obligation to seek him out." Art considers, "Or maybe he really is bad at art. That is always a possibility."

"I don't know if he's a dreamer. Hard to know?"

"But even being bad at it... it sucks having your nose rubbed into it like a bad dog."

"The thing is, even if painting, or just any art, doesn't end up being his thing... being treated like that, I could see not wanting to try anything again at all." He says. "Arty gave up on a lot of things. Being told that he was too short, or too wimpy, or too nerdy, or just too... Arty. He never gave up on you, though." A small smile.

"You don't have to give up on things, just because Arty did. Or take what he did...." Changing subjects?

He looks over at her, and changes the subject himself, "Yule is coming up. Do you have plans for gifts?"

"I.... miercoles."

"Huh?"

He asks, intelligently.

"No, I haven't figured that out."

Art considers for a moment, then he says, "I'm looking for a job. Or... I was. Do you think..." He turns to watch the flames for a bit. "Am I too weak? That is, my fae self. To work amongst mortals? Is it a poor idea?"

"Not everybody is like.... like that."

"You handle your family okay."

"They aren't... cold, like that. But if we have one at our school, who knows how many others might be out there?" A sigh. "I do not mean to sound the coward. But if I put myself into situations from which I must be rescued, then what use am I?"

"You're important. The Baron said sidhe are more vulnerable - but that doesn't mean you're weak, jusr because you need to take precautions."

"And a job means you have a reason to get out of babysitting, and money of your own..."

"Have you thought of getting a job at all?" He asks, curiously. "I mean, not that you have to, or anything."

"Maybe? I used to be so busy making stuff...."

"Maybe you could sell stuff you made? People love handmade things."

Her mouth twists into a frown. "I don't have a lot that anybody would want."

"I just make weird, ugly stuff."

"I like your stuff. So did Arty. Will you make me something for Yule?"

"I... uh... sure you don't want a book? "

"I am sure." He says, and certainly SOUNDS sincere.

"I'll make... something, yeah."

He grins! "I'll get you something good. It might not be much, but... well. We'll see."

"Surprise me!"

"I'll try." He says, earnestly. He's looking much better already - it was just a brush of chill, already chased away by the balefire.

Thistle's spirals are still in muddy greens against her clowinish pink-and-white face.

"Are you spending Christmas day in Watertown?"

"I usually spend it with Mom. Go to Dad's the day after."

"You need to escape your fam, give me a call?"

"We're still waiting to hear if the entire mob is coming to our house again. Maybe they'll go to one of the Aunts." He nods though. "I can probably sneak out for a bit, but I wouldn't want to take away your family time."

"Nan might come over!"