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“So what are you wearing?”
“Stop calling me!” Bill made sure to hold the phone away from his ear, as the person he was harassing was incredibly loud. He snickered. “How'd you even get this number, creep?!”
“I bumped into a friend of yours.” Luke Triton, the aide upstairs living with the professors. “He seemed nice enough.” But the professors hadn't. Not when Bill had decided to flirt with Luke. That was how he was able to slip the phone out of his pocket and get Apollo's number: flirting with the kid. He was easily flustered. “You know, I think the top hat is out to kill me.” Which was a surprise, because he and Layton were getting along well up until Bill had flirted with Luke. The redheaded Professor Sycamore had always seemed the more likely to attack, not the top hat. Yet it was Sycamore who'd pulled both Luke and Layton inside the elevator in time to get away from Bill.
“I'm sure loads of people would mourn your disappearance,” Apollo spat. “Now leave me alone.”
“Aww, but you're so cute when you're angry.” Was that a screech coming through the speaker? Bill grinned delightfully. “Come on. Are you still wearing red? Is that your favorite color?” There was a click and the call ended. Bill stared at the phone. Well, that's boring. Can't people bicker with him for a change?
Lying back on his bed, he dropped the phone to the floor. People were so boring. It was a wonder he still found entertainment in the people in the building. They'd gotten clever in avoiding him, though, so he had to find ways to pester those he could. Speaking of which, he rolled out of bed and leapt to his feet. Silently stepping up to the door, he peaked out of the peephole in time to hear voices. There was one person who wasn't used to his shenanigans yet and he was right across the hallway from him. Ah, early Christmas present to myself! Bill thought.
Speak of the devil, there he was looking precious as ever. He definitely was precious, Bill had to admit. He liked how he looked surprised by the world all the time. As the kid with the pine tree cap approached with Wendy, Bill listened in on their conversation.
“What'd you sign up for, anyway?” Wendy asked.
“History. Classics.”
“Blegh!” Red then asked, “Who's your history teacher?”
The kid looked down at a piece of paper in his hands. “Hershey Layton?”
Wendy burst out laughing. “That's Hershel. And he lives upstairs, just so you know.”
He tensed up, eyes widening further (Bill hadn't known that was possible). “He's one of the . . . the professors upstairs?”
“Jeez, with the way Xi describes them they should just paste a plaque over the button to the third floor. Not the third floor, but the Professors' Floor.” Bill even laughed to himself at that notion. Their landlord did have a habit of getting everyone to refer to Layton and Sycamore not by their names but by the title he'd given them.
As both Wendy and the kid fumbled for their key, the pine tree looked at him. Well, not at him directly. He looked at Bill's door. Then he asked, “Do you ever get the feeling he's just watching you? Through the peephole or something?”
“I am,” Bill whispered to no one in particular. How cute. The kid was paranoid. Bill could help with that.
“He is,” Red then added. Bill grimaced. Wendy turned to look at the door, only she was looking at the seam along the floor. “Definitely he is.”
“How can you tell?” the kid asked.
“You can see his feet.” Wendy pulled her key out at last, quickly unlocking the door. Turning back to Bill's door, she said, “Quit being a creeper, Bill.”
He withheld the urge to shout back, “Never!” successfully.
Instead, he continued listening as the kid asked, “Does he do that to everyone?”
“Yeah. Sometimes worse. Keep an eye out for him. You might be his new victim of choice.”
“Why?”
“You're new. He hasn't pissed you off yet.”
“I haven't pissed you off either, Toots,” Bill uttered to her softly so she wouldn't hear. “Not yet.”
As they entered, he heard the pine tree ask, “Does anyone know why he's Satan?”
“You will soon,” Bill murmured.
“Pitch probably. I wouldn't recommend asking, though.” And then the door was closed. He heard faintly through the door, “No mystery seeking, Dipper. You don't have Mabel to back you up.”
“As much as she could back me up,” was the last Bill heard of that conversation.
Dipper, huh? Hm. Bill liked Pine tree better. Stepping away from the door, he continued being bored.