Addy felt like complete and total crap. She was currently sitting in front of a store front, hugging her knees and letting her chin rest upon them. Her entire body was caked in multicolored spray paint, that was now dried and making her now-ruined clothes really stiff. Her face had dried blood mixed in with the already uncomfortable paint, and her hair was a matted, multicolored mess that clung to her face. She had a small cut on her shoulder that had torn her jacket and her shirt to get to the skin, one on her side, and another on the outside of her right thigh. She looked like she was about to cry, but she sucked it up.  She could do that when she got home. 

Shit. She had to get home. At least she had adequate energy for the walk home now, anyway. That was...something, though nothing could really make this better. Not the way she saw it, anyway. 

Pushing herself to her feet with a groan, she was finding that movement was impeded thanks to the dried paint. That skinny blonde Glowstick sure did a number on her. Here it was, after dark, and Addy was walking down the streets of New York, trying to get home, which thankfully wasn't far. 

However, the paint was making it very hard for her to move, so she was more or less doing a defeated, awkward shuffle down the sidewalk. She needed a shower, a new outfit, a good cry, and somewhere in there she was raiding her parents' booze cabinet.

“Hey there,” he said. His voice was level, calm, aiming for nonchalant. He smiled what he hoped was a non-threatening smile. “Need any help?”

Danny stood about two to three feet behind the shuffling girl on the sidewalk. A comfortable distance. Not too close, not, like, twenty feet away. Hopefully, it wouldn’t set off creep radars. Because he had a feeling it’d set off creep radars!

On his back, a heavy-looking college backpack hung. One of those computer bag models, made for carrying your laptop or tablet alongside your books.

On his person, a black leather jacket, Rush t-shirt and blue jeans with red sneakers. Contacts, no. Glasses, yes. With black frames. He had been giving no ffffks that morning.

In his hands, he had a grocery sack. It was labeled after the store name the girl had been sitting in front of, just a few minutes earlier. He’d seen her when her gone in, for a post class snack.

He just couldn’t have left it like it was. The part of him that was studying to be a doctor or a nurse or whatever. It couldn’t stand for it. Leaving someone who looked injured and out of it alone, to fend for themselves. The Hippo oath! So, he’d gone inside to do something about it. And when he’d come out, she’d been gone!

Or at least. He’d thought she was gone, until he saw her not so far away.

Oh, he hoped hoped hoped this wasn’t coming off creepy! He had a first aid kit in the fox keychain one of his first girlfriends had given him, but he’d gone inside and bought supplies instead, just to avoid walking up like some creeper with his own personal first aid kit and being like oh ho ho, wanna play doctor? Or to give away something of sentimental value.

And was it weird he’d thought this over so hard? Because when the person looks like a teenager of the opposite sex, and you’re a college looking guy, you gotta think about the connotations. And— oh what the hell.

He held the bag out towards her and explained it all quickly. “You’re hurt. I got you band aids and stuff. I’m a med student and I just couldn’t leave you wandering around hurt and covered in blood. But you can patch yourself up. I’m not a creep!”

Had he actually said that last part out loud? And had he kind of shouted it? Uh.

Damn.

Her nose had a pulse, she was sore in a few places, and her pride was shattered, but she trudged down the sidewalk as best as her stiff clothing would let her. Her mind was clouded with anger, thoughts of revenge, and pushing back the urge to break down and cry. That, she would do when she got home.

"Hey there."

She jumped, balling her fist and letting little sparks dance around her knuckles; she knew she probably didn't look threatening. She was covered in paint, blood staining the lower part of her face, and she looked shot to hell with her smeared makeup and matted hair. "**** off," she growled, though at this point it was more of a groan. "I've had a rough evening and don't need some creepo adding to the bull**** I've already dealt with, alright?"

She scoffed at the offer. "Bandaid? I've got a busted nose, I look like Rainbow Dash just barfed all over me, and I'm in a rotten mood. What the hell am I going to put a band-aid on?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and still trying her best to look threatening. It...probably wasn't working.

"And yeah, you are kind of a creep, following wounded teenage girls around after dark waving first aid kits at them," she added flatly.

Ugh. He really didn’t need teenage lip right now. But even if she were recalcitrant as a mule, the Hippo oath said he couldn’t refuse to help her. Even if she looked like a my little pony had a bad case of the trots and consequently exploded all over her clothes, and then she swallowed a lemon that made her face scrunch up and made her all sour.

What could she put a bandaid on? How about her mouth. Then maybe people could get some peace and quiet around here!

And she called him a creep right to his face. So annoying. And probably the worst part was, despite how mad she’d made him he was still going to offer to help her. And it was probably just a pissy mask to scare people off and help hide some sort of inner pain. Or like fake eyes on a butterfly. Or a skunk’s fart! Or maybe she was just a b-witch.

But he was still going to help her.

Danny clenched a fist.

Danny grimaced at her.

Danny cursed silently to himself. Dammit. And then, he took one calming breath and gathered his nerve.

He let it go.

“Now listen here, Twilight Sparkle. You can either take the help or not! But my sweet old Aunt Petunia had a saying. She said if someone offers you a little bit of help when you need it, out of the goodness of their heart, you’re a f$@$ing moron if you tell them to f$&@ off!”

He held the bag out to her again, insistently. And didn’t break eye contact. He wasn’t scared of her at all.

“You can either take it or not. I’ll leave if you want me to. I just want to help, dammit. There are antibacterial wipes in there. At the very least, you can clean your wounds.”

He couldn’t do a thing about her face.

Addy didn't want help; she didn't want to be here, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this. Hell, she was going to go home and try to sneak past her own sister. And if she didn't want to deal with Veronica, then nobody really had too much of a chance.

"I'll Sparkle your Twilight if you don't back off," she growled, letting her hand emit a spark of blue electricity. "Also I have no idea what reference you're trying to make there, and I sorta feel like you shouldn't either," she said, giving him a judgmental glance from behind her mascara-smeared eyes. And then....after a moment of silence, something happened.

She leaned against the wall, breath becoming shaky. "Look....if you think you can help....fine....be my guest. Normally I'd kick you in the balls and be on my way but...I don't have any fight left in me..." She hated this; she felt like a helpless little kid. "I was in an alley back there and this....bitch who could turn into light and make it explode and stuff appeared and picked a fight. I...took her up on it, and didn't come out too good, okay?" She bit her lip, not making eye contact.

"Like I said though. No idea what bandaids and wipes are gonna do for dry spray paint and a shattered ego..."

She would twilight sparkle his what?

How does one sparkle that?

He saw the cranky cracklies. He saw the snarky sparkies. He was fully prepared to make some excuse. Like that he’d seen the show while babysitting a friends daughter, or had had an ex who liked the show, and had kicked off his long-standing crush on all things Tara Strong. Or like how his friend had often toiled over the hot oven making his special family recipe, while they sat watching cartoons on lazy Saturdays. And how after a couple of brownies, the remote got really far away and changing the channel became quite the undertaking. And how this show wasn’t so bad, and hey! Even friendship could be magical. And were those ponies? Was that Tara Strong?

All of those could have been true, or none of them. At least one was. Maybe all. But he had not had to utter a single, nor a plethora, of excuses, because something happened. It was something on the same tier as the Grinch and his spontaneous heart explosion. It was a miracle. She gave in!

He felt bad for her, really. Because she’d been beaten up. But he felt pretty good about not getting kicked in the balls, so there was that.

She didn’t want to make eye contact, so he didn’t even try. He just sauntered up to her and dug into his sack of groceries. He pulled out a package of wet ones, and a package of cotton balls. Set them on the ground. Pulled out bandages. The stretchy kind, not the kind you use for a skinned knee (though he had those, too). A bottle of rubbing alcohol came next, and a bottle of water. And a candy bar. That was for him. He held it out to her, all the same.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Danny said quietly. “Light bitch sounds like a total bitch. Snickers?”

Whether she took it or not, Danny moved on.

“I can’t really do anything about the paint on your clothes. Here.” He handed her a handful of wet ones. “Lets start simple. Clean up some of the blood on your face. Maybe get the paint you can?”

“I have stuff you can use to clean and bandage your wounds, and I can show you what to do. Do you have any big cuts?” He asked.

Addy found herself melting as she sat on the ground, hugging her knees. "It's...it's not your fault. I'm sorry I was a bitch to you..." She didn't have any fight left in her. She just wanted to go home. "T-thank you," she said sheepishly as she took the candy bar, unwrapping it and nibbling on it a little, much like a chipmunk would.

"Yeah...she was. I mean I shouldn't have been tagging that wall, but then she came out of nowhere, talking ****, then she blew up my backpack..."

She took the wet wipes, attempting to wipe her face, getting some of the paint and most of the blood off of her nose and lip. When that did all it could do, she began scrubbing, and after several minutes there wasn't as much paint on her face, but she'd scrubbed her skin raw where it had come off. "Close enough?" she asked sheepishly. "Nothing big, no. Just my pride, but I don't think you have anything in there for that."

He did not say anything, when she apologized for being a bWitch. In his experience, people did not like it when you either confirmed or denied that status. Instead, and wisely, he focused on the thank you.

“You’re welcome.” He said.

The girl told him what had happened. He frowned and nodded. “Some people are freaking psychos. Wish I had a spare backpack.”

He wasn’t bullsh***ing. If he’d stored a spare, he’d have brought it out. But he had not made any fancy duality items in a while.

She fell into silent cleaning mode, and he helped where he could by telling her if she’d missed a spot or not. When she was done, she asked how she’d done.

“Best as you can do right here,” Danny said. She’d need a shower to get the rest.

“As far as pride goes... no. I have a Monster.” He dug out an energy drink. Offered that. It was no parents liquor cabinet, but he was no mind reader. And she was a minor.

He looked at her. “If you want, I got band aids. For the things that aren’t a bruised pride.”