Chapter Text
“Howdy, roomie!”
She didn’t know what else to say really.
Enid Sinclair was only informed the day before that her single room would soon be shared. Obviously, the Addams’ name isn’t one to be chucked around carelessly at Nevermore, Gomez and Morticia were by no means ordinary people, and left way more than an ordinary mark on the school. So once word had spread about their daughter being transferred? So late in the term? Enid was all over it, snatching up anything she heard for her blog. Don’t judge! This was a massive deal, and it was certainly good for web traffic, her blog had never been so popular!
Oh em gee guys, this is shocking news, I am shocked! An Adams. A D A M S. back in nevermore???? And My Roomie???? #winning no but seriously weems must be on a mad one cuz when was the last time someone was accepted in the middle of the semester, this literally doesnt happen ever. Now im sure u all have your own thoughts and conspiracies, nobody’s in the know really but i heard she is a literal murderer? But for fun and also food? Cannibalism is a widely accepted no-go and thats saying something cuz we’re actual werewolves and vampires, i wonder whats so sUpErNaTuRaL about her or if shes just weird LOL lmk ur thoughts xoxox
Eventually, all sorts of ridiculous rumours sprouted up about murder and torture, claiming that this Wednesday Addams had committed horrific crimes. Yoko had even mentioned something about her drinking blood despite not even being a vampire. So, for fun. Which, to be honest, Enid found extremely unlikely. It isn’t that she believed half the stuff going around, but she still made sure to add it to the list of potential blog material, even with the slight gnawing of guilt behind each word she typed.
All morning she was rushing around the room, tidying and making it feel as homely as possible - Ophelia Hall isn’t exactly the most welcoming of buildings. The rooms are always cold, with a horrendous draught seeping through the bricks and wooden beams, sneaking through cracks where the window opens.
Ah. The window.
This is what Enid spent the most time on. She made sure to move all her stuff to one side, however the huge spider web-like window in the middle was her pride and joy, she simply couldn’t bring herself to take down the colours she spent so long picking out and taping on. And if her new roomie can’t hack it, she knows she is more than happy to bring the claws out!
As the late morning bled into early afternoon, she could barely contain herself, buzzing with excitement. She would never admit it to anyone, but she hated not sharing. Being from a family of wolves, it became particularly hard to avoid someone else’s presence at all times, so being without felt uncomfortably unnatural. To combat this, she had tried all sorts: Spreading her belongings out to fill the space, so it all felt like her - not the overwhelming lack of another person. Keeping all of her stuff close, creating a sort of cave in the back left corner, enclosed and safe and just enough room for one, minimising the scope for missing another body. The latter approach seemed to work best.
She gathered all her stuffed animals, set up rugs beside her bed, stuck a patchwork of pictures on her wall, and hung up fabric from the beams. These were swooping down over a little desk where she was sitting just seconds before, shaking her leg and repeatedly flexing and retracting her claws, a nervous habit picked up as a cub that convinced her mother she was a “promising young werewolf”, a phrase she inwardly (and outwardly) cringes at now. Just as she is cringing now, actually. “Howdy”?
In her defence, Mr and Mrs Addams are currently standing in her room, along with the school’s headmistress. This is hardly a situation she could prepare for, and God knows she tried. Anticipation had been eating away at her all morning, itching to meet her new roommate, endlessly intrigued at what wild and wacky things are actually true about her. Her fingertips ached from the constant flexing, and her inner cheek grew sore as excitement slowly transitioned to nerves. Constantly flitting around the room, making minor adjustments, fixating on making everything just right - it was tiring work. So she turned to her laptop, playing mindless videos to work as a distraction, although her mind refused to cooperate.
And that's when she heard footsteps. Principle Weems’ unmistakable clacking followed by three unfamiliar pairs. One of which was significantly heavier, the creaky stairs were not particularly forgiving, however it was clear that these steps knew the space. As did the other pair of heels. Enid’s freakishly good auditory skills allow her to notice these sorts of things. Each step echoed with purpose and familiarity, knowing exactly where to go to avoid the tell-tale creaks of what she would consider an intruder. A familiarity that can only be acquired through living and existing in such a space, and most likely navigating it in the dark, after-all, the “No Boys” rude was only introduced the year of Mr and Mrs Addams’ graduation.
Slotted in between Weems and the other established pairs was a much softer step, albeit slightly clumsy, clearly unfamiliar with the route the other three know so well. Despite this, these footsteps were unnaturally quiet and could only be picked up if Enid really really focused. A task that was proving to be particularly hard, filtering out the drumming behind her chest. It was all becoming a bit real - a sensation that only increased as Weems’ overwhelming perfume flooded the room, giving away her proximity even more so than the echoing shoes against wood, causing Enid to summon all her might into seeming busy and unbothered by the door clicking and swinging open with a startling creak.
Following Weems was the distinct scent of roses and peppermint, a strangely pleasant combination. Enid had pulled her eyes away from whatever she had been watching to take in the sight before her. A startlingly pale girl had followed the Principle in, holding herself with such confidence, enforced by outstanding posture that had left Enid worrying about the state of her spine.. Which she very quickly snapped out of as she caught sight of her eyes - lightning fast, analytical, darting over every detail, never staying on one feature for too long. Enid watched from her seat, fascinated by this body language so foreign to her, impossible to read. She still hadn’t heard a single word, silently observing as her new roommate took in the room, finally staring intensely at Enid’s side, giving off no hints towards her thoughts. Certainly nothing as obvious as the betrayal in her careful footsteps.
The crisp nostalgia for the other two strangers in her room was almost palpable, she almost dared to let out a sigh of relief. That is until the heavy silence was broken with a sharp gasp followed by “It’s so… Vivid”, uncertainty thick in his voice. Ah. This was not the reaction she had hoped for. Was it too much? Too colourful? She should have known better! Suddenly the uniform she has known for years felt uncomfortably tight around her neck, hands growing clammy. She got it all wrong…
No. It doesn’t matter, this isn’t their room anymore. Not that it ever was his, but she could tell he spent a lot of time here. Well now he has no reason to.
Weems, of course, sensed the tension and tried to give a reassuring smile with a deep nod, remaining as calm as ever. Unfortunately, Enid has never been inclined to such peace and within seconds she has scuttled towards this strange family, barely able to contain her smile and curiosity as it sank in, she is getting a new roomie! She’s finally here and it’s finally happening! And she clearly picked up on Enid’s movement, because as soon as she was moving towards them, dark eyes locked onto hers, studying and unblinking. It was rather unnerving, as her head did not follow, remaining pointed at the explosion of colour to her left.
Enid can’t help her fascination with this new character in her life. The way her eyes hold pictures, how her face gives nothing away, how she stands so straight and still, barely moving. Even her breathing is barely noticeable. Combining that with her unnaturally pale complex, she could easily be mistaken for dead. Enid’s always wanted to meet a real life zombie. She isn’t sure if they really exist, but given the other walking myths she goes to maths class with, it can hardly be ruled out.
But, oh. This stranger is certainly not dead - she is very much still alive. The clear hammering of blood rushing through pulsing veins, the brisk contraction of a panicked heart, the quiet but strained shallow breaths, all betraying her blank exterior. She’s terrified. And Enid has never felt more relieved in her life.
Well, it isn’t that she wants her new friend - she hopes - to be uncomfortable. But there is something comforting about knowing she is nowhere near as indifferent as she is holding herself to be.
Enid tries not to think too much into it, there isn’t exactly much pride that comes with using her wolf-like senses to peer into the emotional state of her fellow students. It is a vulnerability she hasn’t been trusted with and therefore shouldn’t take advantage of, and she very much doubts that her new roommate would appreciate knowing her heartbeat betrayed her.
She certainly didn't back home. If you could call it that.
Enid cannot wait to learn everything about her, excitement building with each inhale, before she cannot take it anymore.
Howdy, roomie? That’s the best she could come up with? First impressions are crucial and she has absolutely wrecked this one, arguably one of the most important first meetings in her life. This will be a moment that will haunt her thoughts on quiet days and rainy nights. Where on Earth did ‘howdy’ come from? She doesn’t say howdy. Perhaps they can laugh about it later on! Their first inside joke! No. Stay. Focused.
Weems pulls her out of her inward cringe spiral with a rather unforgettable string of words.
“Wednesday, this is Enid Sinclair.”
Wednesday.
Of course. Of course she knew what her roommate’s name was going to be. It just wasn’t piecing together before. Such an unusual name. Unfortunate even. Who names their child Wednesday? But taking in the girl before her, it all made sense. Who else could be called Wednesday and carry all it embodies so effortlessly?
She is Wednesday. And Nevermore shrank around her.
And Wednesday is quite obviously going through it right now. She doesn’t seem impressed, but equally not displeased? It’s a puzzle really, and Enid’s mission to decipher.
The pair continue making eye contact, a bit too intense for Enid’s liking, but she is certainly not one to back down from a challenge. Her mouth twists into a perplexed squiggle, eyebrows creasing, and eyes softening into concern. If Enid is good at anything, it’s reading people. And when that proves to be a challenge? She must tread carefully, skirting around what she’s after, drawing things out.
Right now? She is set on cracking what’s behind those stern unblinking eyes. How can she resist?
Recounting the facts - Wednesday is quiet, intense, almost intimidating. She is also most likely aware that she is being analysed right back, careful not to give anything away. She is distrusting, uncomfortable, and in all honesty? Vulnerable. More so than she would like to be, and more so than she knows. This much is clear by the betraying hammering in her chest echoing the werewolf’s own.
This is all sensitive knowledge, not Enid’s to have, but not particularly hard to piece together. Anything beyond this, will most definitely be a task to uncover. No better time to start than now, she supposes.
She decides to mirror how she expects Wednesday to feel. Bringing her hands up, fiddling and gesturing helplessly, as if trying to find the right words to say.
“Are you feeling okay?” Enid treads, more truth in her voice than not, “You look a little.. Pale,” pressing slightly, but not too much. She thinks. That’s a normal thing to say, right? Yes, of course. It opens the air for communication of feeling , it isn’t like she can avoid such a direct question. She is still yet to say a word, which Enid finds to be mildly frustrating, but this should definitely encourage something or another, some form of reaction. Anything to bounce off of, really.
Whether that’s a vocal response, a startled change in expression at the interest, perhaps even a shrug. But before she has a chance to display any form of acknowledgement, not that it seemed she was going to, a voice cuts in.
“Wednesday always looks half-dead,” Mr Addams states flatly, a sharp dismissal of any follow up questions.
“Oh.”
Disappointment creeps up her neck, but she doesn’t allow it to reach her face. At least this means Enid isn’t at fault for the extreme stillness she is faced with.
She shakes her head, desperately hoping to come across unfazed. What kind of roomie would she be if she is casting visible judgements at the first meeting?
In the time for this exchange to take place, Wednesday has ever so slightly twisted her head to catch up with those dark, dark eyes, still pinned open. If she looks closely, Enid could swear they have widened slightly. Whether that’s a good sign or not, she cannot tell, but it’s something, so she won’t press for much more. For now.
So instead, she dials it up to one hundred, sure that lifting her energy will leave the dynamic feeling a bit more enthusiastic than before. Well, maybe not sure. Sceptical at best.
“Welcome to Ophelia Hall!” Enid exclaims, raising up on her toes slightly and throwing her arms out to the side as if gesturing to the space, no longer trying to mask her excitement, and perhaps using it to her advantage. Because, while her arms are there, she may as well test this boundary too.
She brings her arms up slightly, angled outwards still, but slightly narrower. Fingers outstretched as if reaching for something, she takes a tiny step forwards. More of a lunge. Thinking about it, it was quite sudden. Not the smartest move, she realises, cringing at her actions not for the first time during this short interaction so far.
Her doubts are met in a rather unfortunate, yet expected way. Thrilling, nonetheless. Wednesday has the most pointed reaction to anything that has happened so far, taking a brisk step backwards, angling herself in such a way that screamed “don’t touch me”. As if that isn’t enough, the quizzical, studying look in her eyes immediately clouds over. She dips her gaze down, breaking eye contact for the first time, quite obviously uncomfortable. She lifts her eyes back up, meeting Enid’s with something that she can only describe as fear, a ghost of a question haunting them before they drift back down.
Judging by the sharp intake of breath and the sudden intensity of a heartbeat, Enid is sure this was an involuntary response. Definitely not what she was aiming for, she didn’t mean to take it that far. However, this is a clear boundary, one she will be careful not to cross.
Enid is particularly aware of how complex physical contact can be. Her family are always all over each other, so much energy all of the time, bouncing off of each other in an endless cycle of tackling and wrestling. As her siblings began to reach their full transitions, she distanced herself. Suddenly the familiar roughness of play fighting was suffocating, and her mother would simply not leave her alone, insisting that joining in would help “unleash the wolf within”.
There is nothing soft about her home pack anymore. She misses the warmth and comfort, her dad’s gentle hand on her shoulder, normally reluctantly pulled away after a nasty glare from her mother. However, any contact can turn stale, and especially recently she has really worked on voicing when it gets too much. So this reaction from Wednesday is completely understandable. She should have known better than to even attempt to initiate such a thing.
Enid glances down in shame, guilt creeping back up her neck as she takes a pointed step backwards.
“Not a hugger. Got it,” she smiles reassuringly, adding a slight nod and bouncing on her toes again. A sorry attempt of conveying how apologetic she really is, emphasising the last two words with unnecessarily exaggerated eyebrow movements. She isn’t exactly sure why she said it like that, perhaps to further her point, really trying to ensure Wednesday knows it has been acknowledged without making it too feeling based.
Once again, before her new roommate can summon any form of response, whether she was going to or not, a parent cuts in.
“Please excuse Wednesday. She’s allergic to colour,” Mrs Addams says plainly, perhaps with a hint of exasperation.
Ah. Now this gets a reaction.
As soon as the sentence starts, Wednesday’s eyes snap up from where they were fixed on the floor, staring straight ahead. Something different is hiding there now, though. They seem slightly more relaxed than before, but in an artificial kind of way. A way Enid knows all too well and can spot from a mile away. It’s the distinct look of trying to cover up the mild frustration that can only be brought on by a mother getting involved. There’s going to be quite a bit to unpack there, she reckons.
From the looks of things, Wednesday does not appreciate not being in control any more than expected. Especially when someone is speaking on her behalf. An irritation shared between them, reinforced by mothers expecting to bypass this rule. At this moment, Enid decides that she cannot call any of the shots if she is going to gain any form of trust.
Processing the information given to her, her smile drops. Allergic to colour? Is that a real thing? Or just a flatly delivered joke?
“Oh.. Wow,” she mutters, somewhat thoughtfully, mentally kicking herself yet again. It’s hardly something to seem so pensive about. Oh well, she’s committed to it now.
“What happens to you?” Enid asks, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of curiosity and concern, maybe a bit more truth in her delivery than she anticipated. She makes sure to address Wednesday directly rather than either of her parents, although unsure whether this attempt at engagement would break the unfortunate pattern she’s been met with so far.
“I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones.”
Now that was unexpected.
With still no indication of whether this allergy is a joke or not, Enid couldn’t care less. Wednesday has spoken to her! They’re having a conversation! She thinks. Her voice is exactly as anticipated, cold, flat, devoid of any tone. Each word is pronounced with such perfect diction - it’s mesmerising. Enid could listen to her talk about anything forever, she thinks.
Unfortunately, she cannot. And it occurs to her how disturbing the sentence she just heard actually was. Forcing herself to push down the pure awe threatening to spill out of her beaming lips, her face twists as she swallows. It is particularly graphic, and hardly a pleasant image, with absolutely zero hints towards the credibility of this statement. She hopes it’s not true, she doesn’t want to scare her away.
“Luckily, we’ve special ordered you a uniform,” Weems chuckles fondly. Enid isn’t sure if she knows if it's a twisted joke or not either. But she knows better than to press now.
She can’t help but notice the way Wednesday’s head stayed facing her as her eyes shifted up, glaring at the Principle through her fringe. A twinge of a giggle builds in her stomach as she’s reminded of one of her younger brothers throwing a tantrum, stamping the floor, fists balled, dark eyes. The memory turning sour upon remembering how upset he was that she didn’t want to play anymore.
“Don’t be silly, of course Enid doesn’t want to play with you. She thinks she's too good for us now,” her mother’s sneer echoes, the giggle fading to dust, catching in her chest with a painful squeeze.
The movement of Wednesday’s eyes snap her out of this pathetic trance. They drop to the floor again, still unblinking. Is she ashamed of such special treatment? Enid still can’t tell much at all, Wednesday poses to be a real puzzle.
“Enid,” Weems says politely, snatching her attention right away, tearing her eyes away from Wednesday’s who was still fixed on the floor. “Please take Wednesday to the registrar’s office to pick it up along with a copy of her schedule.”
A smile finds itself sat on her face again, twitching in the corners. This breaks into a full beam as Weems turns her head to Wednesday, meaning Enid can follow suit.
“And give her a tour along the way,” Weems continues, punctuating her instructions with a slight nod.
Enid is back to bouncing on her toes, arms stretched to the side, subtly shaking her wrists hoping to expel the energy working up her spine.
She can’t even bring herself to look startled as Wednesday turns on her heel to face her parents, and their faces slowly drop. The way she moves is as fascinating as her speech, so controlled and placed, graceful yet stiff. Whatever triggered such stark reactions from Mr and Mrs Addams is irrelevant, and before she knows it, Wednesday is walking out of the door with such feigned confidence it could be her giving the tour.
And Enid is skipping after her, a place she is happy to take.