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Merroth did not want to go to daycare, which only made Black doubly determined to take him. She had cawed with laughter when she saw the colors on him after his fight with Wisp, refused to do anything about it, and dropped him off at home, at which point a frantic Nerys rubbed Roth's skin raw trying to get the color off and shrieked at Black next visit to reverse the process. "I'll consider it," said Black, and promptly dropped Merroth off in daycare to let him fend for his multicolored self.

Instead, Merroth huddled in the corner under his jacket, and no amount of cajoling by the daycare staff could get him out. "Oh, just leave him there," was Black's harsh judgment, followed by a quick little snort of amusement she could not contain from the center's staff. Where Black was now, Merroth did not know, nor did he care. He was too worried about anyone else seeing him in his discolored state. He didn't even want Edward John and Nerys to see him like this and had spent much of his time at home hiding in his room, to Nerys's considerable upset. Black had needed to forcibly drag him out to get him to go to daycare.

He wished so hard he could have been left at home to huddle under his nice, soft quilt. Now he had to hope and pray that no one disturbed him. Thankfully most of the other children at daycare already knew to avoid Merroth, and he spit at anyone who ventured too close to him for good measure.

Merroth was not interested in apology. The moment he head the words, he felt a deep pit form in his stomach and he hated it.

No one apologized to him. Not Edward John or Nerys, and certainly not Black. Now that someone had, he wanted nothing more than for the apology to be taken back. He needed the apology to be erased, because with it erased, his next actions were justified. Not that he needed justification. He just wanted the animosity to be mutual, took some satisfaction from so completely controlling his opponent's reactions. He spat at Wisp and then he spat at her mother, and he had enough practice and spitting to make them good, big wads with plenty of force and distance that splattered into a slimy mess.

"Hell no! I hate you!" was Merroth's totally contained, mature response. He had very nearly succumbed to the urge to bite Wisp when she took off the colors, but sheer desperation to get rid of the offending shades had contained him. He dropped his jacket on the ground, not needing it to hide himself any more. "You messed up my shirt! You are FAT and UGLY and VERY VERY STUPID!"

Which, in all fairness, was the same thing he would have said to one of his friends, if he had possessed any. In retrospect, though, he might have toned it down for the fact that he was still standing in the presence of Wisp's mother.

Instead of triumph, Merroth felt only vast disappointment as he stared after Beatrix and Wisp. They were leaving him. "YOU'RE A MORON!" he shouted after Wisp, but it was a hollow victory. He looked around, found no one, and kicked the nearest cheap plastic toy he could find at the wall.