Chapter Text
“Wednesday, what are you doing?” Enid aggravatedly grits her teeth at the incessant sound of metal clanging from Wednesday’s side of the room, having just read the same page of her magazine approximately 50 times now.
Wednesday lifts the safety goggles off of her eyes to rest atop her head, turning to look at Enid, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m creating a chain to restrain Thing for when he misbehaves. He’s been pushing it lately.”
Wednesday looks over to Thing, who stomps his index finger to imitate a scoff. She disregards it wholly.
Enid presses her lips together, offering Thing a head lean in sympathy, “Thing only has the best intentions! Right, Thing?”
Thing hastily contorts into a thumbs-up, appreciating a voice of reason in this tyranny of a dorm room.
“You should have seen where his ‘best intentions’ got us in woodworking class earlier today,” She looks around the room when she is met with no response, except for Enid’s sympathetic head tilt from before, having been reinvented with a new raised eyebrow to compensate for Wednesday’s allegations.
-
Thing crawls up the side of the large wooden table, where handsaws, table saws, and jigsaws are all grinding alike, cutting small pieces of wood to carve sculptures of historically significant objects out of. He skitters past all of it towards Wednesday - who is drilling the final screw into her creation - with the most important piece of the puzzle between his fingers.
“Just in time, Thing. No guillotine should be without its blade.” She takes the blade from between his fingers and snaps it into the mouton.
Wednesday pulls back the string until the blade meets the crossbar on top. She hands the string to Thing to hold while she prepares her pseudo-victim for beheading.
Thing managed to find the perfect blade from a discarded pencil sharpener, still as sharp as if it had never been used.
“It’s a shame such a renowned apparatus should go to waste on something as second-rate as this tomato. Guillotines provided much more to society than a deli slicer.” She places the rather plump tomato securely in line with the blade.
She pulls her safety goggles over her eyes, as required by the professor, and prepares for the chop, but Thing notices something he finds rather alarming.
Wednesday forgot her safety gloves, and Thing could never forgive himself if he allowed Wednesday to lose one of her precious fingers. He drops the string to sign for her to wait.
The blade drops from the crossbar and slices through the tomato, splattering the juice all over Wednesday’s uniform. She doesn’t move, except to wipe the tomato juice from her goggles so that Thing can see her judgemental stare.
-
She takes the hint, sorting her tools back where they belong in her frighteningly organized tool box in front of her.
“He does not always have the best execution, which is a shame. Execution is one of my favorite things,” A pair of pliers linger in her hands for an uncomfortably long time, made only more uncomfortable by her unblinking eyes slowly raising from the tool clasped in her hands to the only other potential victim in the room.
Enid rolls to a sit, her feet swinging to hang off the side of the bed as she prepares her hopeful request, “I hope you don’t plan on using it tonight, because I was hoping maybe Thing would like to join me at the bonfire.”
Wednesday quirks her head to face Enid, all too familiar with the way she uses Thing to communicate, “Bonfire?” She stiffly stands up from her spot on the floor, “What kind of bonfire?”
Enid pushes herself off of her bed and paces towards her roommate, swinging her hands jauntily with each step, “The Furs are hosting a fundraiser for a special event later this semester. It’s about lycanthropy pride and I HAVE to be there! There’s going to be so much juicy stuff to write about on my blog - and I have to show my support… obviously.”
“Controlled fires aren’t as compelling. I won’t be attending,” Wednesday spins on her heel and approaches her desk, hoping that her declaration would be the end of the conversation.
“Come on, pleaassee, Wednesday!”
She was wrong.
She turns around again, maybe the stern look on her face will convey her conclusive decision, “You can bring Thing. Just don’t let him get hurt. I didn’t spend all night welding steel together for nothing.”
A knock at the door interrupts their back and forth. A knock that would belong to none other than Xavier Thorpe, wearing his token half-grin (which never gets less obnoxious).
Wednesday begrudgingly agreed to be his friend after his hopeless attempts at romance fell short. When he’s not trying to court her, he actually isn’t so bad. He has certain annoying habits, such as using his psychic abilities to bring to life his heinous drawings and then deferring the blame. When it’s not directed at Wednesday, it can be entertaining. When it is, Xavier should hope he can outrun her.
He stands awkwardly in the doorway before starting his spiel, “Hey, Wednesday. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go-”
“-I can’t, I’m going to the bonfire with Enid. It’s for lycanthropy pride; I can’t miss it,” She glares at him with complete disinterest, not entirely in the mood for one of his immature pranks or half-witted camaraderie.
Enid’s smile grows, trying hard not to show her teeth. She thanks the universe for Xavier’s pitiful attempts at socializing with Wednesday.
10:00 PM
Enid and Wednesday stand side-by-side, staring at the roaring flames that light up the front lawn of Nevermore Academy. Enid is awestruck, Wednesday has seen better.
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Enid beams, pulling her attention away from the fire to look at Wednesday, fiddling with the button on the pocket of her coat.
She deflects the question with one of her own, remaining deadlocked on the fire, “When does the ritual start?”
Enid’s face twists into concern, “What? There’s no ritual, this is supposed to be fun!”
“What is the point of creating this fire if not for sacrifice? It sounds like a waste of resources.” Wednesday questions, crossing her arms in disappointment.
Enid growls, her frustration beginning to build. Her attempts to spend time with Wednesday never seem to be enough.
“Can’t some things happen just because, Wednesday? There doesn’t always have to be some convoluted reason. Besides, why would they need such a big fire for… that? This thing is like three stories high!” She dramatically uses both of her hands to point to the giant fire, emphasizing Wednesday’s lack of appreciation.
“You should see the fires at an Addams’ family gathering. They make this look like a candlelight,” Wednesday reminisces on a fire much greater, and much more of a felony.
“Is that an invitation?” Enid grins widely, clasping her hands together hopefully.
Wednesday turns her head to meet Enid’s gaze, “Only if you want to be the sacrifice.”
Enid’s grin downturns and her eyebrows scrunch with fear. Wednesday watches as all of her happy-go-lucky energy leaves her body, “Okayy… I’m gonna go find the other werewolves. Try to loosen up a little, I’ll bring you back a s’more!”
Enid skips away towards her werewolf brethren, leaving Wednesday by her lonesome. She sighs deeply and flits her eyes to the left, then to the right. There isn’t much to see, just a bunch of teenagers catching up on their routine nonsense after an extra long break due to last semester’s circumstances. She smirks at the memory, that she single-handedly bested a psychotic normie intent on killing every outcast at Nevermore, and the undead pilgrim she reincarnated just to do so. Not to mention the murder-crazy Hyde terrorizing Jericho.
She chances a glance towards Enid, who is already enraptured in conversation with her fellow werewolves.
Perhaps it wasn’t so single-handed after all.
After Enid so gallantly saved her life and they shared their victory with a heartfelt hug, things went back to normal between them, for the most part. Wednesday still makes sure Enid knows that her stuffed animals make her gag and her taste in music is just short of qualifying as a torture mechanism. Enid’s excessive emotions still inspire disgust in Wednesday.
After that night something changed in the way Wednesday viewed Enid’s abhorrent scenes of emotion. It was as if they were acceptable to some degree: like maybe, sometimes, in extremely, excessively, immensely rare circumstances, she could relate to the feeling of self-sacrifice. You know, for the well-being of somebody else. The thought makes her stomach turn.
Thing crawls from Wednesday’s bag and perches on her shoulder, drawing her attention away from her werewolf roommate. He begins to sign cooing messages, which Wednesday is quick to subdue.
“Can it, Thing, you’re already on thin ice,” She scolds, halfheartedly gritting her teeth. Thing spots a familiar siren approaching them, so he takes his cue to slide back into the bag.
“Fancy seeing you here, I didn’t know fire-roasting hot dogs was your scene” Bianca teases with a genuine smile. After last semester, they realized they had a lot more in common than they originally thought, their stubborn determination being each of their dominating traits. They’ve learned to communicate via a respect-hate relationship, which Wednesday knows all too well.
“I was curious what a Nevermore fire had to offer. Turns out it was just as I suspected, astonishingly mediocre. Enid believes it is three stories high. I believe she has never seen a building with more than two stories,” She shifts her body to face Bianca fully, “What are you doing here?”
“We’re staking out the competition,” A herd of sirens peek out from behind Bianca, as if they rehearsed their reveal.
“Competition?”
“For the Nevermore Games. On the last full moon of the semester, select teams compete for the Nevermore Games grand prize: An all expense paid summer vacation to a European country, and, of course, the Nevermore trophy. This year, the winners get to go to Sicily. Every siren has to see it once.”
Wednesday internally rolls her eyes. Any opportunity to be condescending is promptly taken advantage of. Some things never change.
“Winning the Nevermore Games is like a presidential election. Winning once is impressive, winning twice puts a target on your back,” A voice with a hint of an accent projects from behind Bianca, breaking the beat of silence.
“Winning twice at anything puts a target on your back. You only get assassinated if you have something important to say, and I doubt anyone has attempted to assassinate you. With whom do I have the displeasure of speaking to?” Wednesday crosses her arms, curious to see who the uninvited piece of advice was uttered from.
A long, fair-skinned leg kicks out from behind the group, clad in a tight black dress that cuts off at the mid-thigh. She swings out to stand next to Bianca, and makes a show of crossing her arms in a way that Wednesday finds particularly high headed.
“Ida Kastellanos - child prodigy, three time Olympic gold medalist in swimming,” She checks her nails, paying Wednesday no mind, “And you are?”
She’s shocked. Child prodigy? A human-sized fish wins the Olympics and suddenly they’re a progidy? Wednesday is starting to understand the depth of this siren’s ego.
Bianca kindly chimes in, sensing the building tension, “Ida, this is Wednesday.”
“Ah! You’re the Wednesday Addams. I’ve heard plenty about you,” She bends over to match Wednesday’s eye level, removing her beret to reveal her blonde head of hair neatly fastened to the back of her head, “I figured someone like you would have better things to do on a night like this.”
Ida’s attempt to get under her skin is hard to watch. The only way she would succeed is if she literally grabbed a scalpel and started digging, at which point she would be happy to watch.
“In that case, you must not know me as well as you thought. For the record, I’m having a great time. Can’t you tell by the look on my face?” She deadpans.
In an attempt to do damage control, Bianca clears her throat and speaks up, “Wednesday, Ida just moved here from Berlin. She’s studying abroad.”
“That explains the superiority complex and the strict hairstyle. Is that what they teach in Germany? Hold your head high and your top knot higher?” Wednesday digs, hitting her where it hurts, the ego and the physical appearance.
Ida throws her head back laughing, “Perhaps it’s you that doesn’t know me as well as you thought. I have much to be proud of. I actually learned it from my abuela.”
Her plan is thwarted. She has too much pride to take a physical insult personally. If Wednesday can’t will her to leave on her own, she will have to end the interaction herself.
“She comes here every year to participate in the Nevermore Games. She has a knack for winning. I must admit, ever since she’s joined our team, we’ve been unstoppable.”
“Congratulations,” Wednesday accompanies with a blank expression, uncrossing her arms, “Ah, would you look at the time, one of the werewolves should be in the dunking booth by now. Can’t miss it.”
“...Right. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. You’re certainly more than meets the eye,” Ida grins, devilishly. As the group struts away, Bianca turns around and mouths a “sorry” to Wednesday.
Thing crawls from within Wednesday’s bag and returns to her shoulder. She directs her attention back to the billowing fire. Wednesday begs and pleads with every demon in Hell to throw any other monster her way, even the devil himself. Just not another vain, stuck-up siren obsessed with marking their territory around her.
“I think I’ve decided who I’d like to sacrifice.”
Before she even has time to recover from the impromptu encounter, she senses another unfamiliar presence behind her. She turns to face it before they have time to surprise her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologizes, though he seems far more afraid than she is, if his hands uncomfortably hiding in his pockets are anything to go by.
“To what do I owe the displeasure?”
He takes his hands out of his pockets in the name of talking with them, “You’re Wednesday Addams. I’ve heard a lot about your escapades last year. You’re a big inspiration to the criminal justice community.”
She raises her eyebrow urging him to get to the point.
“My name is Aegean,” He rushes out, “This is my first year here, I’m grateful to have been inducted by The Furs. They’re very accepting. I think.”
A werewolf. Wednesday wouldn’t have guessed at first glance. He has short, well-maintained hair. It’s as black as night, maybe even darker than that, but with the occasional streak of white lightly sprinkled in. She imagines his wolf to be the same, which gives him a natural advantage in the wild. The surprising part is his small frame, the other werewolves tend to be more muscular by nature.
He takes Wednesday’s pensive silence as a sign to keep talking.
“I’ve also met Enid,” He drops the nugget of information rather awkwardly, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, “Sinclair… Yeah. I know you two are close.”
Strange. Enid never mentioned meeting any new werewolves.
“I’ve heard that’s pretty hard to do. Be close with you, I mean. Not because you’re, like, bad, just... You know, you don’t really like… it.”
She finally decides to put him out of his rambling misery, “You were right the first time. And the second time.”
He wears an expression of social confusion, not quite sure where to go from there. He decides to take the hint and find an out from the conversation.
“Glad I got to meet you. Or as you may say, ‘sad I got to meet you,’” His chipper smile can’t hide the regret he has from saying that, “Uh, if you see Enid, tell her I said hi.”
He walks away, and Wednesday thinks it’s best for both of them if she forgets that ever happened.
From the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of blonde hair skipping towards her. Before she knows it, Enid is standing right next to her with a mess of melted chocolate all over her hands.
“I brought you a s’more! Just like I promised,” Enid presents her conglomeration of junk food like it’s a trophy. Wednesday looks at the s’more, then back to Enid with a look of confusion infused with disgust.
Enid sports a confused look of her own, “You’ve had a s’more before, right?”
“Enid, I do not know what is in your hands, and I do not want to know. Congratulations, you’ve bested my morbid curiosity.” Wednesday stalls her darting eyes at Enid, who doesn’t realize the honor that’s just been bestowed upon her. Morbid curiosity is something that never escapes an Addams.
Enid’s face lights up, “Wednesday, you have to try it…”
Wednesday recognizes that look in Enid’s eyes. She has that look every time there is an opportunity to inflict Wednesday with a new kind of torture, and she will not take no for an answer.
She stands her ground, “That looks like the biggest confectionary disgrace I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Out of all the ways I fantasize about dying, a diabetic coma would have to be my last choice.”
Enid steps closer to Wednesday, officially intruding into her personal space. She holds her hand out, and Wednesday watches as a drop of chocolate drips down Enid’s thumb and into the grass.
“Come on, this is an iconic bonfire must-have. I know you’re going to love it,” She waves the dessert closer to her face, Wednesday reels back, but Enid just invades closer in return.
Wednesday knows this is a lost cause. Enid would chase her to the ends of the Earth just to shove a heart attack code named a “delicacy” down her throat.
Wednesday stares at Enid’s hand airplaning the treat towards her mouth while she makes excessive locomotive noises. When she finally reaches her mouth with no access granted, they both look up at each other.
“Open wide!”
“No.”
Enid gently pushes the s’more against her lips, leaving traces of marshmallow and chocolate. Wednesday doesn’t budge. Enid glances down at her lips and back up to her eyes, before patting the s’more against her lips once again.
“Usually, when the pilot crashes into the hangar, they don’t try again.” Wednesday states, suppressing the urge to lick her lips.
“I know you secretly love chocolate, Addams. You left an open pack of it on your desk the other day,”
Wednesday ignores her accusation, adjusting her posture to stand up straight now that Enid is not an immediate threat, “Thing, handkerchief.”
When Thing doesn’t move, Wednesday whips her head around to stare daggers at him, tensing her hands into a fist. He shrugs as best a hand can.
Wednesday deeply sighs and looks back to Enid, bracing herself for what’s to come, “Fine. I’ll try it on one condition. Thing gets roasted in the fire just like one of these ‘marshmallows.’”
Thing swiftly retreats back into Wednesday’s bag, to which the corner of Wednesday’s mouth raises into a barely noticeable smirk.
“Yay!!!” Enid breaks it in half, making more of a mess than Wednesday thought was possible. The break is completely uneven, and Enid is ever so kind enough to give Wednesday the bigger half.
Wednesday cautiously takes it from her, trying not to dirty her hands in the process. Wednesday looks back up to Enid, silently implying that she really does not want to do this.
Enid senses her hesitancy, offering a lifeline in appreciation for Wednesday stepping out of her box, “On the count of three, we’ll both take a bite, okay?”
Wednesday nods her head affirmatively, relaxing her shoulders only by a little bit.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
Wednesday bites into the cracker, then sinks her teeth through the marshmallow center. When the flavor hits her tongue, a silent wave of euphoria washes over her. The intensely sweet flavor of the marshmallow is subdued by the whole-wheat taste of the graham cracker, meanwhile the chocolate keeps it from being too dry. She chews, and it feels like every dopamine neurotransmitter in her brain just activated simultaneously. She swallows, and her mouth is watering like a pathetic baby who just lost its bottle. She promptly takes another bite at the expense of her dignity.
“Wednesday?” Enid pulls her out of her trance. Wednesday locks eyes with her in a suddenly serious manner.
“Who made this?” Wednesday questions, urgently.
Enid clasps her hands together, nervous of her response, “Uh, I did. Is it good? Do you like it?”
Wednesday tries to gain her composure before speaking again, “It was okay.”
Enid is elated at her response. She bounces up and down in place, stopping herself from clapping her hands together since they are covered in chocolate, “I knew you’d love it!”
“Perhaps a darker chocolate would make it better. A 100% cacao bar would do the trick.” Wednesday critiques in a last ditch effort to save face.
“I didn’t know you were such a culinary master.” Enid teases, quirking her head to the side.
She looks down at the chocolate drops in the grass, “I learned from my mother. But you wouldn’t like what I cook.”
“Why not?”
She immediately looks back up to Enid, flashing her bulging eyes at her, “It moves.”
Enid contorts her features and a sudden look of worry spreads across her face.
“What? Don’t I strike you as a live prey kind of person?” Wednesday inquires, almost offended.
“No, it’s not that…” Enid sticks her nose in the air and inhales deeply. She physically recoils and puts a hand up to cover her nose. She grabs Wednesday’s wrist and pulls her back towards the Nevermore quad urgently.
“Do you smell that?” She takes another whiff of the air, then quickens her pace to a jog.
“No, what is it?”
She takes one more huff of the air, her nose twitches at how strong the sensation is. They round the corner to get inside the quad. A raven perches on the stony pillar, crying out three loud caws.
“It smells like…”
She stops dead in her tracks as her eyes lock onto a Nevermore student in the corner, dead on the floor.
“Blood.”