Chapter Text
Wendnesday has written for two hundred and forty-three days straight. But she's on a roll, she finds herself threatened by a chorus of boys of Asian descent of dubious sexual orientation. She is supposed to have an unspoken agreement with her roommate that from eight to nine at night she should not evoke any noise, regardless of whether she is in another language. She checks the hourglass on her desk, and by the amount she has left to drop, she estimates that she has another quarter of an hour to finish her writing session.
Someone has a death wish.
She keeps typing, trying to make each tap of the keys sound even higher than those boys' disgustingly sweet voice, or at least that's how she must listen with the wolf's super-sensitive ear. Until there's a verse where a deep, hoarse voice drowns out everyone, and Enid cranks up the sound of the device on her wrist.
—Felix, how much I adore you!
Her fingers drop to the beat of that scream, typing random letters and completely ruining the page. Wendnesday looks at what just happened as if it were a murder scene, normally she would be pleased by such a scene, but this time she just wanted to make the culprit pay for said atrocity.
She gets up from her chair, looks across the room. She doesn't like to shoot her dark eyes at that polluted corner of various colors. She tries to avoid it, as well as having some exchange of words with the owner of that psychedelic vomit.
—I want him to be the father of my puppies!
Wendsday raises an eyebrow at that statement. she must remember that Enid is a teenager, and such specimens are carried away by hormones. Which leads him to think that her parents have never passed that stage, despite the maturation of her bodies.
Enid continues to scream euphorically into her pillow as this Felix continues to fill the room with his manly voice.
—Sinclar, if you don't turn that off right now. You will see the new light of day with single-toned hair.
Her roommate digs her head off the pillow and looks up at her, her blue eyes holding a hint of seriousness. That she then explodes in a totally expected naivety.
—You would not do that.
Enid smiles, as if it were a game between friends.
Wendsday doesn't make friends, and it seems she has to remind that canine brain of that.
—Doubt me again and you will wake up without a cubic centimeter of your hair.
I lift her chin up, as if it were a white glove to invite her roommate to a duel. Enid accepted it, getting off the bed with her hands beside her body, clenched. Each of her steps made the old boards creak. There was something in the pose., which was different. She would go so far as to say that she is intimidating, just like a puppy.
But she had to change that thought with what her pair of tar eyes are now looking at.
Enid's fists come away from her hips, and her hands blossom with claws of different hues. That party trick, drew the fascination of Wendnesday. She didn't know that a werewolf who couldn't yet transform into one, she could subtly change some of his body parts into such marvelous instruments for murder.
Oh for Lizzie Andrew, she was yearning for Sinclair to show her more of this wild side.And he didn't let her down.
Her blue irises, so disgustingly happy, are devoured by a black slit. She then is escorted by an electric sapphire, a color that he screamed for himself: warning. She reminded him of the frogs of Central America, wearing bright colors meant they were poisonous, deadly, dangerous. She found herself so bewitched by those eyes that she left her hand halfway to show her roommate her knife. What she was talking about, she was very serious about her mission.
Enid crosses the gray tape that divides the room for the first time. There is no apology, like on those occasions where she dances and crosses without noticing her, she does not ask for an invitation, in those circumstances where Thing has taken something from her and leaves it in a dark area. She walks across as if she's part of her territory, and Wednesday looks at her curiously. All the childish and colorful aurora has vanished, she really she can see there a wolf in human skin. A wolf whose body language howls: don't play with me or you'll be eaten.
Although she had never danced with a wolf,she would never allow herself to be devoured by one.
Enid's hand shoots out like a snake, she for a fleeting moment thinks it's going for her neck; that idea made the bats in her abdomen flutter senselessly. Instead he goes for her tie, once he clings to it, he makes for the first time hints at her strength as a werewolf. He tugs on the accessory of her uniform, and with that he tilts Wednesday's center of gravity towards her, dragging her closer to her face and thus forcing the little psycho to stand on his toes.
—Do you really think your empty threats intimidate me?.—Each word was a snarl that she received very close to her face. —Wednesday?
Very few times in her short and miserable life, she had run out of retorts. There was nothing in her repertoire, not a sarcasm or hostile retort, not an intelligent response, not even a killer line that would leave the wolf gaping like a fish.
Actually the latter is being done by her.
The air from her lungs escaped at how enchantingly warlike, devilishly beautiful, how strong and Amazonian Enid stands out at that moment.
It really was a winding sight, and Wednesday couldn't help but take a moment to enjoy it.
Or if she wanted to have that bliss, she wants to scream No. She doesn't want to see anything other than what he has in front of her. But she feels the electric current snake up her spine, as her neck tilts back as if someone were pulling on hers, and the color in her irises fades.
And in that she has a vision.