The Pixie cautiously picks up the twig, stares unbelieveing at the dog, and then hurls the twig again.

"Lights of Zelderath," the Pixie says, "I've gone and found a Black Hound what's gone happy in the noodle."

He looks down at his now rather moist hands.    "Yech..."

The Pixie wipes them on a leaf.

"Don't suppose you can speak, can you, lad?" he says.  "Can you tell me what's made one of your breed want to play?  There's no Pixie alive what's not liking games, but your kind, they say, are a little more grim than my kind."

Amara slowly walks over to the Pixie "Hello, no he doesn't speak but can understand. He loves to play and loves treats. What to give him one" she opens her hand and a large dog biscuit is there. She holds it out to the pixie.

The Pixie studies the offered dog treat for a moment.  It wouldn't be beyond the Pixie's ability to carry, but very awkward, and there are other considerations.

The dog might be friendly, but dogs can be a bit over-eager when slurping up treats, can't they?

At least, every dog the Pixie has ever seen seems to be an over eager eater.  Something that goes with basic doggishness.

"If you don't mind, miss, a slight mistake could cost me an arm, I'm just fine tossing this stick. Nice beast.  Good doggy.  I suppose you know just what kind of dog this is, miss?  I'm Ragwort, by the way.  Boldest Pixie in Central Park.  At the moment."

Mouse chuffs quietly, his tail still wagging.

He moves carefully up to the little pixie and sits facing him.  He raises one large paw, offering to shake with the pixie.

Ragwort considers the paw.  Much as a Human might contemplate the foot of a playful Mastodon, waving in front of him.

"Boldest Pixie indeed," Ragwort says.  "Would you give me your promise that you will not eat me?  Ah... a nod of the head will do.  One nod for yes, no nods for no... let's not over complicate.  Please understand, we Pixies are a fragile folk."

Mouse nods a single nod.  He looks vaguely insulted that someone would think he might eat them.  He'd done it before, of course, but never to a pixie or anyone that wasn't asking for it.  And, frankly, he preferred a cheeseburger to a redcap any day of the week.

To say nothing of bagels with creamy cheese and fish, or donuts, pizza, and, now, macarons.  People food was the best!

Amara tossed the treat in front of Mouse. "His name is mouse and he is a fairy dog. But he doesn't speak but understands. He also prefer burgers to anything living, so he will not eat you. I am Amara, a Djinn by the way." Now if she could only keep him talking.

"Pleased, happy to meet you," says the Pixie, in between throws of the twig (all of which require substantial exertion on the part of the Pixie.).

On the fifth toss the Pixie decides to have a little more fun with the dog, now that it's "safe".  He looks around carefully to make sure no mortals are watching.  With a wave of his hand, he gives the twig a little sprinkle of golden sparkle.  The dots of light settle onto the twig like motes of sunlight.

This time, when he tosses the twig, it does not obey the laws of gravity, but drifts further, suspended in the air.

"So, umm... this is your dog then," the Pixie says.  "And you're... out for a walk?  Hunting?  Never seen you in the park.  New?"

Mouse quickly snapped the treat out of midair and, with a couple of crunches, swallowed it down.  He then returned to the game of stick he was playing with the pixie.

When the stick began floating, Mouse barked with joy.  He began running and leaping about it.  Nudging it with his nose, almost like he's herding it, he turns it's course.  Soon he has it floating back towards Ragwort.

"Oh, I am relatively new to town and looking around. And no, his is not mine, he is a friend. He makes his own decisions. But this area is so beautiful. Where I come from is mostly desert. This is like a giant oasis. And I don't hunt, I shop for food or just conjure it. she snaps her fingers and makes a plate of sugar cookies appear after she makes sure no one is watching. She tosses one to Mouse.

"Oh, he is not your dog!" the Pixie says.  The Pixie continues in a bad French accent:  "That is not my dog!" and then giggles hysterically.

"Human movie joke!  They are the best!  Where do they get it all?"

More giggles.  Eventually, the Pixie composes himself.  He helps himself to a sugar cookie, which he holds like it was a plate, and sits on a nearby tree branch.

"Good thing that you came here," the Pixie says.  "We have a desert with sand, if you want one.  It's over there."

The Pixie points to the sand box in the playground.

"I wouldn't want to live in it, though.  You'll like it here.  You'll have lots of friends, since you can conjure cookies."

"Yes, it is amazing how movies have developed. And no, if I liked the desert, I would still be there. But that sand box is just a very small part of what my desert is like. Think of this whole city in sand as far as you can see and then you travel for days and days and days, and its still just sand" she says melodramatically.

"Are there a lot of Pixies here? I can't remember seeing many of you all here?"

Darren listens in rapt interest, awkwardly trying to look "normal", and settles on giving Ragwort what he hopes is an open and friendly smile. He's surprised to find pixies are movie fans, but then, he supposes Hollywood always did have a flare for the fantastic. He's enthralled by Amara's description of a city of sand and waits to hear more.

Pixes are not very good with math, measurement, any of that "real world science stuff".  They have no use for it.  This is only fair, as Real World Science says Pixies do not exist.  The two maintain a state of mutual non-recognition.

Unfortunately, this gives the Pixie no way to give firm answers to questions about the population of Pixies.  Fortuantely, Amara has asked only for a relative population size, not a count or even an approximation.

"Oh, sure, there's plenty of us, but we're hard to find," the Pixie says.  "Except for them..."

He points to a little girl, no more than four years old, hopping and stamping across the playground.

"And the likes of him," Ragwort says, pointing to Mouse.

It's something known to those who know Pixie Lore, and another facet of how Pixies do not get along with the rational, "Real" world.  Pixies are not naturally invisible.  Many think they are, but they are wrong.  The truth is, those who have embraced the Real World and its Science, those who know that four and five equal nine and a square has four sides, lose their ability to see Pixies.  And not just Pixies, but others in the  True Fairy category as well.  Sometimes, when the mind finally starts to lose its grip on Facts and Figures, perhaps with great age or the influence of strong drink, the ability to see them returns.  Not always.

Of course, those who can see through the Veil can see Pixies.

"It sounds to me like your desert isn't a fun place," Ragwort says.  "That's why there's no Pixies there.  It's better to be here.  Did you come for games, is that why you're looking for Pixies."

The enchanted stick floats back to them, nudged by Mouse.  Ragwort gives it a swat, and it heads off again with a slow spin.  The little girl, too young to understand that sticks don't float in the air, watches it with interest.

Violet had delivered the latest batch of costumes, this time for a Pantomime, and was taking a well deserved break before returning to her apartment. She heard a dogs playful barking and paused near the playground to watch him play. She was not expecting to see him herding a floating stick however!

Violet was an elf, clearly, and yet she stood there looking just as surprised as any human first seeing through the veil, aside from the fact that she didn't look as drunk as most adult humans seeing what they are not used to might be.

Ragwort the Pixie pauses in his games with the dog, looking at the young woman in the distance.

"Whoa," the Pixie says, perplexed.  "Like someone half done by the Veil, like it wandered off and left its work unfinished.  Like something a Pixie would do."

Mouse runs to Amara, nudging her hand an begging for a cookie.  As he does so he winks at her and then cuts his eyes toward the sidhe that is watching them.

"I wish I knew more about pixies, we don't have any of your kind in the desert. What can you tell me, do you all fly?" she wanted to let him tell her so she could make it look like she was curios, even though she really was curious.

She looks over and sees this elf walking she has never seen. "Hi, what are you doing, come on over"

"Hello, um, that is a very nice dog you have there." She smiled at both Mouse and Amara and gave a nod of acknowledgement to Darren, not seeming to have noticed Ragwort yet. She seemed to be trying to deliberately ignore the floating stick. "It's a lovely day for a walk in the park don't you think?" Her cheerful tone was slightly forced but the soft lilt of a Scottish accent wove through her voice.

"Maybe she's too sensible to see me,"  Ragwort says.  "But she should be seeing me... I think.. she's one of us, isn't she?  I mean, not one of me.  Waaay too tall.  Not gonna see her fluttering and frolicking over daffodils.  But she's still...   She's got it, doesn't she?"

Ragwort took the next opportunity he had to push the floating stick in her direction.

"I could dust her, but... you know..."

Pixie dust could give any mortal the ability to see through the Veil.  And fly.  And it had other side effects, which according to Pixies were almost always harmless.  But there were consequences to doing things like that.  Dusting mortals was not something socially acceptable Pixies did.  Even if it was fun.

Amara looks at Violet "This is Mouse" she points to the dog. "And this is Darren" who she points at "And this is Ragwort" she points to see if she sees him.

She looks at Ragwort "She should. And are all pixies about your height? Do all of you fly?"

Mouse woofs happily at her, wagging his tail.  As he does so, he lets his fae nature shine out.  His eyes suddenly flare with an emerald lambence fixing her with his gaze.

As the light fades, he walks towards her and gently sniffs at her hand.

Violet frowns slightly, not seeming to see Ragwort, then focuses on Mouse, jumping a little at the flash of light in his eyes but letting him sniff her hand and crouching down to scratch him behind the ears if he will let her.

"Nice to meet you Mouse." She smiles then turns back to look toward Amara only to jump suddenly, her gaze focusing on Ragwort for the first time. A crouch not being the most balanced of positions her reaction causes her to fall back slightly onto her bottom, though she tries to make it look at least semi-intentional. "Um... Hello Ragwort?" It comes out more question than greeting.

"So, do you know what you really are?" she says with a grin.

She looks at Ragwort "some people have no clue as to what they are" she waves her hand and a pitcher appears with a dark liquid in it as well as some goblets.

"Most Fey Folk know who they are," Ragwort says.  "It's the Human-folk who have much more trouble with that.  They all know at first.  The little ones know.  But then they forget.  And they try to get it back.  Some of them work at it for years.  Some of them try to find themselves, as if maybe they were doing just fine until one day they dropped themselves somewhere.  Me, I am a Pixie.  And the height, yes, it's perfectly natural for a Pixie.  Though, we come in a range.  Geometry is not our master!  Or we haven't mastered geometry, one of the two."

Ragwort is just shy of 10 inches tall.  It's a little taller than how many people imagine Pixies to be, but it's a good height, he thinks. Besides, as everyone a handful of well versed experts know, a Pixie's height is not fixed throughout its life.  Neither is a Human's, as a Human starts out quite small, grows enormously, and then shrinks a little, but a Pixie is not so chronologically defined.  It is emotionally defined.  A Pixie's height is based on its emotional complexity.  Most of them, able to handle only simple emotions and those only one at a time, are small.  A Pixie forced to deal with the conflicting emotions, subtleties, and conflicts of desire and responsibility that mature Humans face, can be almost Human sized.

That is a rare thing for a Pixie, and their own stories tell of just a handful, and the Pixies do not consider it a pleasant possibility.

"And we all fly," Ragwort adds, "When we feel like it.  You have to feel like flying.  You know... airy, zoomy... then you can fly."