Chapter Text
Enid Sinclair, 04/25/1946- 7:32pm
A note from her diary. before the events at the Weathervane.
I would like to be an intentional freak, one that proudly displays myself to the world. Turns out, I will remain an unintentional freak, locked in the shackles of my, "also an unintentional freak" mother. Her consistent pestering and disregard for my will to be my person are irritating. Tonight as Mother, Father, and I sat at the table, my mother began to express a dislike for my invitation, from my school might I add, to the masquerade. She claimed that while it was a sweet formal event she feared that it would be a problem to go that night. With us being Werewolves, the most disliked creatures of the community, I understand why my mother worries, but I was supposed to change many full moons ago! I haven't yet, I also have no symptoms such as retractable claws, or teeth, and I know that means I cant be a wolf! It's not impossible to not have the trait. I had enough of her pestering that night, and I wanted to go to the event. As she grew tired of my snarky comments to convince her to be able to go to the masquerade, I decided to leave. It is 7:55 pm on a Sunday and I am going to walk to the Weathervane to calm down with a cup of tea.
---
Prideful angered stomps took Enid from her mothers dining room to the block of The Weathervane café in Jericho Township. The foggy weather and wet roads made for a calming atmosphere, however, this had no effect on her persistent need to be pissed at her mother. Her rage caused her to drop her purse, a pink handbag with a pearl clasp. The bag was one of a kind, specifically from a shop she would never venture into on her own, a novelty strange items shop. The bag was given to her by her mother for her 15th birthday. It was quite the extravagant bag for a late-day walk however Sinclair was quite the stickler for such items, so she carried it daily. As she bent down to pick up the bag a man ran behind her back and snatched up the sentimental item. He bolted down the alley next to the Weathervane which she knew was a dead end. The reckless girl chased the criminal down the dimly lit path.
Wet cobblestone glistened as the audible stomps of both figures filled the alley. During this endeavor, as Enid ran she began to bark, "Give it back you cold fish!" His unresponsive behavior only infuriated her more. She met him at a dead end, his eyes were the only visible piece of his face and he wore all black. His shoulders were broad, and his tall stature was more intimidating up close. Regardless of these attributes, the stubborn girl continued to argue with him. She let the festering anger explode into his blank stare. She thought her insults would somehow have him trembling at the knees though, he'd heard enough childish crude vocabulary, and a gleam of light bounced from his hand back into Sinclair's eyes. He stepped closer to her with the knife at hand, yet her blind rage and ignorance of his capabilities kept her from running to safety. As she noticed the knife, it was too late, he'd grabbed her and the demands began. With the blade to her neck, she screamed even louder. Her only hope was for some assistance, but she did not want it.
-- -- --
Wednesday Addams 04/25/1946- 6:35pm
The lights were blinding and the dull pain in the back of Wednesday's head grew from the sound of circus music and crunching peanuts. Her costume was bothersome, the only tolerable part being the patches on her breastplate. They consisted of two halves of the web of a black widow, one side was colorful and less enjoyable, but at least the other side added character. It gave her joy to be seen with the power of a black widow, a fear nobody could deny. The black widow was a lonely spider, she ate those that were no longer useful and that made her strong. While the lonesome life was concerning, Wednesday did not care to explore that issue, it was the strength that continued her love of the costume. The rest was red and black, with accents of gold. The fabric was scratchy, and the ribbons were too much, but she kept quiet because the web on her chest was not a piece she was willing to give up.
"The next amazing act is brought to you by the daring Wednesday and her trusty partner Thing Addams!" shouted Gomez to open the act. Pugsley Addams was plastered to the Wheel on the stage with an apple in his mouth as the show began. Wednesday tied the silk sash around her head, covering her eyes, after grabbing her bow and arrow and hanging herself on a swing upside down. She raised her bow as Thing, the disembodied hand, directed her from atop her head. The blood rushed to her face as she aimed at the perfectly shined apple. The crowd paused in silence as the makeup dripped from her brother's silly face. 'Oh to see his shock' thought Wednesday as she released the arrow. The guests gasped as it flung through the air and dug into the apple, deep enough to pierce only the apple's core. Another final performance was well done, however, the circus act was not over.
As Wednesday and Thing left the stage for the night, Gomez announced his beautiful wife, Morticia Addams, and her stunning psychic act. Thing helped wipe the white, red, and black grease paint from Wednesday's face. The paint smeared with the damp sponge, but eventually would be removed nightly. Her skin was dull and pasty even without the paint however, this did not bother her, she knew her beauty, in and out, thanks to her supportive family who constantly bubbled about their love and admiration for one another. Thing always helped remove the makeup, his gentle hand always reassured the family's little deathtrap, but she'd never let him know, instead, she'd simply thank him and leave the tent.
The solidarity after a show was comforting to Wednesday, she always wrote poetry alone atop the Weathervane. Once she'd made it to the café she climbed the boxes lining the building, and flung herself to the shingles above. The knives adorning her belt jangled as she sat on the flattest area of the roofing, it was finally time to write the words floating in her skull. "Life is to death as blades are to flesh." was all she'd written before a shriek from down below startled her. "Give it back you cold fish!" the girl taunted from below. She responded with a cheeky statement to end the distraction, "Keep quiet you fat head!" replied Weds as more screams echoed. Thing expressed concern through gestures and insisted that she check for the girls safety. She hesitantly agreed to case the situation for her own peace, and climbed from the roof, jumping over the boxes and landing effortlessly on the wet stone. Thing remained on the gutters of the building as backup and a lookout for other people. After assessing the situation, a blonde lady yelling at a man with a knife and a pink bag at hand, she knew what he'd stolen, and that the girl with an above average appearance was in danger; she was mandated to intervene or the grim reaper would distract her too. She noticed that the girl was about her age, but she was not very threatening, however her spontaneous anger and will to protect her item was intriguing. She appeared human and helpless so, Addams threw a knife that sat in holsters lining her belt, tearing the fabric of the criminal's shirt, causing him to drop the weapon and step back with the purse. "If you make another move, your shirt will not be the only target" stated Wednesday before pulling another blade from her waist. He lifted the hand grasping the bag to run with the item and, another knife pinned the memorable satchel to the wooden paneling on the side of the Weathervane. The shocked scoundrel ran into the night after throwing a nasty "You're a freak!" comment on Wednesday. This did not bother her, she enjoyed his hatred for her in that moment. It made her feel like the spider, a gentle yet lethal pest.
"Who are you? I had the situation handled, alright!" hissed the girl. Wednesday snickered and responded with, "That does not concern you, and you should quit your yelling, people are trying to write, and your absurd profanities are distracting and childish." Enid kept her mouth shut, for the first time that night, and Wednesday fled the scene. 'She was fascinating, what a naïve girl' is all Wednesday could interpret from the situation. As the bruised, worn-out girl ventured home with her purse and senses, Wednesday returned to the rooftop to continue her writings.
The rooftop was silent once more but Wednesday was stumped. Her words had stopped regenerating and the only marks on the paper pertained to a feeling she'd never wanted, nor needed, to describe. The poetry she wanted to share was existential and meaningful, these were spineless words only an insignificant poet would share. "A heart so cold as a metal sheath; I shall not allow this infatuation to torture me." was the recurring phrase. Her mind would not replace the shimmer of that rowdy girl's blonde hair or the undeniable strength in her blue eyes. 'These feelings will remain in the depths of my thought, never to be brought back' she decided as the rain began to drip atop the roof once more for the night, Wednesday returned to the Addams residency.