His Pigtailed Crucible of Fate

Their botany professor spent the first few minutes of class wrestling with a man-sized Venus flytrap after its muzzle had mistakenly fallen off, and the next ten he spent explaining the importance of safety-wear when handling carnivorous plants.

Wednesday's gaze drifted around the spacious greenhouse in which they sat, with desks and chairs arranged as in a regular classroom. The glass structure was domed at the roof, and incredibly humid, given all of the moisture required to keep its many exotic plants from wilting.

She glanced over at Enid, who had insisted on sitting next to her. She held a sparkled blue pen and appeared to be experimenting with different handwriting styles. Wednesday recalled going through a calligraphy phase when she was younger — she'd found enjoyment in decoratively drafting her own death certificate.

"—And of course, there is further granularity within the genus," the professor's deep British voice reverberated through the space, "when one discerns between actively animate species and the passively animate."

He wore an olive green tweed jacket, and an earth-toned ascot around his neck. His face was rugged and tanned, and upon his nose rested a pair of pince-nez glasses, with their suspension chain dangling off his lapel. Wednesday imagined he was the type to keep a hunting rifle mounted in his living room.

"Now, just as last week," he continued, "it is my desire that you be able to identify these by smell alone, so now partner up with the student beside you and decide who is to wear the blindfold first."

Wednesday didn't find herself entirely uninterested in the direction the class was taking.

The professor did the rounds handing out sample kits and lengths of thick fabric to the class. Enid hurriedly ushered him over as he reached their table.

"Professor Ludlow! Did you notice our new student?" she beamed, "this is Wednesday Addams."

He shot a startled look at Wednesday, as though she'd just appeared out of thin air.

"Ah!— dear, yes, you are a new face aren't you? My apologies for not having taken note of you earlier," he said. "Wednesday— indeed, is it?"

"Correct," Wednesday said stonily. "I'd like to wear the blindfold first."

"Oh— of course, my dear," he blustered, handing over the materials. "In any case, it is good to have nice and even class numbers once again — Enid, it seems you won't need to share a partner this week."

Enid shuffled in her seat excitedly.

Wednesday glanced around at the other students as they all partnered up. She began to notice some of their more discerning features for the first time. Some had fur sprouting from their hands and necks, and appeared to experience great difficulty sitting still in any way — reminding Wednesday of somebody... Though, unlike Enid, they appeared to be further onto the werewolf side of their metamorphosis — she looked entirely normal by comparison, with the exception of her sickening preference for bright colors.

A pair of mysterious looking girls sat partnered together, one with flowing, long hair, and the other without a hair on her head. In common however, was their skin, which appeared to transition into luminescent scales on certain parts of their bodies, the same as would be found on an exotic sea creature. Their eyes also struck her — the pupils shone an intoxicating silver.

A few from the hat-wearing clan were also present, and Wednesday had figured out by now what they were hiding underneath their ridiculous overgarments — a head of snakes. They were Gorgons — the same stone inducing creatures as the mythical character Medusa.

'So,' Wednesday counted in her head, 'we have a cyclops registrar lady, werewolves, Gorgons, vampires,' — she'd realized this of the pale, sunshade-wearing crowd after having dispelled her erroneous assumption that the red drink they'd been carrying around and sipping on had been cranberry juice.

'And, finally,' she thought, turning her attention to the bald, scaly-skinned girl, 'sirens.' Their beauty was freakish, as though artificial, and Wednesday imagined that any weak-willed individual might find themselves easily entranced by the girl's incandescent silver eyes. Wednesday found herself somewhat in admiration of the concept.

"Oh— Professor Ludlow!" Enid badgered, "we didn't get a scalpel!"

"I'll get one," Wednesday quickly replied, saving the teacher the trouble. She'd had her eye on the desk of cutting utensils on the other side of the room since she'd entered.

She waltzed over and perused over her options. The monstrous man-eating plant Professor Ludlow had fought with earlier stood sedately in the corner, its head slowly following Wednesday as she moved. She imagined it desired for her to approach it.

'What a humorous end that would be...' she devilishly grinned to herself.

She returned her attention to the table of instruments, and picked up a thirteen-inch steel hand saw, giving the creature a curt glance. It merely twisted its head slightly, continuing to beckon her.

"Hm," Wednesday murmured to herself with a slight grin. She placed the saw back down and retrieved their necessary scalpel, as well as an extra pair of forceps.

As she spun around to return to her desk, she collided with another student. Wednesday stumbled slightly, bracing herself against the nearest thing her hand could find.

They'd both clearly had their backs to one another as they'd crossed paths — the other student spun around to apologize to her, adjusting his eyeglasses. He'd dropped the contents of his sample kit onto the floor.

"Oh, geez, that was my fault, I'm s—" the boy fell silent mid-sentence, jarringly transitioning from bumblingly apologetic, to shell-shocked by the sight of Wednesday, almost as though he recognized her, or something.

"I'm fine," Wednesday replied dismissively.

The professor strode over with a look of concern.

"Had a spill, did we?" he asked, eyes darting around to assess the mess. As he turned to Wednesday, he fixated on her hand.

"Oh— my dear," he said with worry, "you... didn't happen to cut yourself on that there Echinopsis aegrotatio, did you?"

She followed his gesture to notice a shriveled, blackened cactus-like plant in a pot on the table to her left side. She then looked down at the hand she'd used to brace herself when she stumbled, which trickled blood from a small nick. She hadn't even noticed the cut, as there had, disappointingly, not been any pain.

"Rowan," the professor addressed the boy who'd bumped into her, who perked up to comply with the teacher's request, "would you in fact mind taking our dear Wednesday here down to the infirmary..." He glanced back at Wednesday's hand once again with a look of dubiousness.

"I'm fine," Wednesday asserted, "...or, I'll go on my own."

"Well, it's just that," the professor blustered, "and while I appreciate the bravery Wednesday, a prick from that plant when healthy would typically transmit a poison which, while not technically lethal, would have some deleterious affects on the body... Of course, this particular specimen has been dead for many weeks, despite my attempts to revive it!"

He chuckled to himself awkwardly as Wednesday observed some of the other students taking a morbid interest in the professor's implication. All except Enid of course, who looked catatonic at the thought.

"In any case, Rowan, if you would please," the professor urged, "in the event that she succumbs to paralysis in the hall, I'd like somebody there to bring her the rest of the way."

Wednesday cringed. 'Yeah, right...' she scoffed inwardly.

"Professor!" Enid stood and blurted, "I'd like to go as well — what if something happens to the both of them?!"

He waved his hand in dismissal. "There's no need to send the entire cohort along, Enid, all is taken care of."

Enid sat back down with reluctance, looking like a nervous wreck. Wednesday couldn't help but pity her.

Wasting no time, she marched out of the greenhouse leaving Rowan trailing behind her — she didn't care to hear any more profuse apologies. Though, from what she could gauge from a glance, he still appeared to be in some state of shock. What from, was anybody's guess.

Wednesday halted at a junction in the hallway. There was no signage anywhere to be observed.

She turned to Rowan expectantly.

"Oh— is the paralysis beginning?" he worried.

She ignored him. "Which way...?"

"Um, on the right," he gestured feebly.

She stormed away once again, not allowing the opportunity for small talk.

Finally spotting the 'INFIRMARY' sign above a door along the hallway, Wednesday entered and took a seat upon an empty bed. She glanced around at the sterile room. Nobody came around to meet with her — except for Rowan, who managed to finally catch up with her, still with an expression on his face which indicated he thought she might suddenly succumb to the world's slowest-acting poison.

Wednesday figured she may as well take a look at the cut herself, seeing as no real medical treatment was being provided here. It seemed possible that the wound may have swelled slightly — she wasn't used to seeing any pink coloration in her skin.

Rowan took a seat in the corner, looking uneasy. Though, Wednesday's assumption that his demeanor was caused by a concern for her was beginning to dissipate.

She stole a glance his way. He was staring straight at her, and trembling slightly.

'Why is this idiot looking at me like that...?' she wondered, almost aloud.

At that moment the school's nurse hurried through the doorway, apologizing profusely that she'd been otherwise detained — something about a werewolf-vampire breakup which took a turn for the dramatic.

The nurse gently cleaned the blood and then dabbed Wednesday's wound with some sort of tonic, alleviating the swelling.

"Will it scar...?" Wednesday asked absent-mindedly.

The nurse assured her otherwise, to Wednesday's disappointment.

"Well," she grew impatient, "I'm assuming it won't be lethal. I'd better get back to class — my chaperone is becoming... fidgety."

It was true — Rowan had begun rapidly rocking his leg up and down and was compulsively glancing out into the hall.

'Is he psychotic?' Wednesday earnestly wondered.

The nurse allowed her to leave, and they both set off back toward class. This time, it was Rowan who sped ahead of Wednesday so as not to be near her. It was all very curious, she thought.

She spent the last few minutes of botany class fending off Enid, who'd been petrified of losing her new roommate on the very first day. Wednesday instead directed the conversation to what had perturbed her more than the prospect of spontaneously losing motor function.

"What was that kid's name again? With the glasses and the sweater vest?" she asked while glancing his way.

"Rowan?" Enid responded, "oh, was he good moral support? If I'd have been there Wednesday, I would've—"

Wednesday drowned her out. She was almost tempted to ask Enid what Rowan's deal was, but she knew she'd only be waterboarded with frivolous details, like high-school crushes, and such.

The clocktowers rang out, indicating end of period.

"Oh!— What class do you have next, roomie?" Enid exclaimed.

"Don't... call me that in public..." Wednesday replied sharply.

Enid went silent, biting her lip.

"I... have 18th century oil painting next," Wednesday offered, and then groaned through her next statement, "...what class do you have next, Enid?"

This seemed to reinvigorate her new friend, who began regaling Wednesday with her experience with taking the very same subject last year, and how she improved from a passing grade all the way to an A minus.

"Oh— and I have Transylvanian history next," she finished, "thank you for asking, roomi— um, Wednesday!"

She gave Wednesday the bubbliest of smiles, as they finally were able to head their separate ways to their next classes.

As she walked away, Wednesday struggled to come up with a reason why she'd just put up with all of that. She became mildly less irritated when she stopped and recognized the sound of rain. Glancing around, she spotted an open entry door leading outside, and ventured toward it. She stopped close enough for the raindrops to tickle her fingertips, and closed her eyes, appreciating its scent.

She imagined she still had a few minutes until she'd be expected to arrive at her next class, so she took a step outside into the shower.

Closing her eyes and allowing the water to grace her skin, she peeled back her thoughts and focussed on the comforting, pattering drone. It was about as much bliss as she ever allowed herself to experience, but it wasn't insignificant.

When she reopened her eyes, she noticed a tall, slender boy leant against the wall, underneath a small alcove nearby her, shielding him from getting wet. He seemed to also be observing the rain.

She decided it wasn't particularly ideal for her clothes to become drenched, so she thought to wander over and join the mysterious student under his shelter. He at least didn't seem like the type to try to bother her, on first glance.

If anything, the boy seemed to look somewhat upset. Perhaps he, like her, was out here for the gloomy weather's stress-relieving properties.

Before she became close enough to attract his attention, a loud cracking sound emanated through the air. Not thunder, Wednesday thought, but more akin to the sound a large rock might make if it were shattered into pieces.

Wednesday and the boy under the alcove both shot their heads toward the source of the sound.

"Hey, look out!" the boy yelled out to Wednesday, who watched with curiosity as a stone gargoyle from the castle rampart mysteriously dislodged itself and began its descent toward where she was standing.

The boy had quickly closed the distance between the two of them, and before the gargoyle reached the ground, he managed to tackle her out of its path. She landed violently on the ground, knocking her head…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wednesday awoke in a familiar setting, laying down on a hospital bed with a throbbing pain through her skull.

'A third trip to the infirmary on my first day and I might set some type of record...' Wednesday grimaced.

She sat up slowly, regaining her faculties to find the boy from the rain sitting by her bedside, seemingly waiting on her to wake up.

"Can I help you?" she asked impassively.

"Oh— welcome back," he began, "I figured since I kind of put you in here that I should at least see that you're okay."

She sat up the rest of the way, darting her eyes around to shake the fog from her vision.

"How's the...?" he gestured to his own head.

She looked at him. He had brown hair tied into a short ponytail, hazel eyes, and unblemished porcelain skin. Wednesday presumed he might have been a vampire given his regal appearance, though she hadn't noticed any fangs in his mouth as he spoke to her.

"Unconcerning," she replied plainly, "it's no less pain than I'd have been caused had you not been there to rescue me."

"Uh," he half-chuckled, "no, I'm pretty sure that thing would've splattered you." He looked at her with some curiosity. "You were really just watching that thing come down on you, huh?"

Wednesday stared deadpan back at him.

"I was prepared to die in that moment," she retorted.

"Oh..." he puzzled, "well, I guess I apologize, then."

His comment almost elicited a smile from her.

"You, uh," he continued, "you don't remember me at all, do you?"

Her face dropped back into its usual sullen expression.

"What do you mean?" she asked with suspicion.

"My name's Xavier — Xavier Thorpe," he added, to no recognition from Wednesday.

"Well," he continued, "that's understandable, I suppose, last time we met I was about two feet shorter, forty pounds heavier—"

"What happened?" she interjected.

"Uh, puberty, I guess," he replied jokingly.

Wednesday ignored him.

"What happened last time we met?" she pressed.

He let the slight smirk fade from his face.

"Well, yeah, I— it was my godmother's funeral," he said, "apparently she was friends with your grandmother, or something. We were told that they spent their twenties together in Europe, uh, swindling the rich and notorious, I don't know…"

Wednesday patiently awaited the conclusion to his story.

"But, we were about eight or nine, or something, and we were bored," he went on, "we decided to play hide and seek. I had the inspired idea to hide in her casket... I got stuck, as it was headed to the crematorium—"

"I'd heard muffled screams," she suddenly perked up in recognition, "I just figured your godmother had cheated death and was trying to claw her way out."

"Yeah, well," Xavier chuckled, "either way, you hit the big red stop button and stopped me from being flame-broiled, so..."

"So this was you attempting to return the favor?" she guessed.

"Yeah, sure" he looked down in self-deprecation, "failed attempt, I suppose, seeing as I clearly should've let you... perish, or whatever."

Wednesday smirked a little.

"Well," he stood up, "I don't wanna like, smother you or anything, plus I have to explain to my professor why exactly I'm half and hour late for class, so, I'll, uh..."

She nodded as he somewhat awkwardly left the room.

Wednesday lay back into her pillow and rested her eyes for a bit. 'Never a dull moment around here, I suppose.'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The remainder of the school day had been less eventful than the morning — Wednesday had managed to find an old tree near the edge of the school grounds under which to eat her lunch without being disturbed by Enid, and her final three classes had, miraculously, not seen her taking a third trip to the infirmary.

It had been a stimulating day by all accounts, however there was something about Nevermore's seemingly stone-etched mantra of "it's okay to be different!" which Wednesday found tiresome. In her experience, a school, by nature, was not an institution celebrative of nonconformity — the entire purpose of a school was to produce a product: an obedient child. Principal Weems' ultimate designs were no different — Wednesday surmised this based on their very first conversation. Nevermore describing itself as an 'Academy for the Gifted', and exclusively enrolling children who were otherwise outcasted from society, did nothing to alter the paradigm.

Perhaps it was cynicism, but Wednesday didn't imagine that her "being different" would be tolerated the day that she refuses to volunteer for school outreach, or forms her own extra-curricular club due to the existing ones placing an overwrought emphasis on "camaraderie."

Hell, Nevermore had already stripped away her ability to appear the way she wished, and stuffed her into a grotesquely-colored uniform, so as to look in concert with the other students.

'No,' she thought to herself, 'my fate at this place will be no different than at any of the other schools which tried, and failed, to groom me for conformity…'

Having changed out of the ghastly purple attire the moment she'd arrived back at the dorm, Wednesday sat down at her desk and lay back into her chair, letting out a sigh. She peered out of the window at the evening sky, already darkening. It held a faintly visible full moon. She wondered whether that meant she'd have the dorm to herself tonight, or that her roommate was about to become even more difficult to cohabit with. Either way, she imagined she'd struggle to sleep through what would likely be a night-long chorus of howling from the other werewolf students.

She glanced over at Thing, which lay on her bed with its peripheral fingers draped comically over its knuckles, conjuring the image of one covering their eyes.

"I've finished changing, you can look again," she said.

Thing obliged and scurried over onto the desk in front of her, then perched expectantly.

"It's nothing," she dismissed, "just... nothing. Anyway, I need to finish unpacking."

She fed the closet her remaining clothing, and then pulled the final item from her trunk: a vintage typewriter. She placed it on her desk, wiping it off slightly. This particular contraption had been her one true escape for most of high school, so she'd of course elected to have it with her now, given she'd be living here for at least the next few weeks.

Thing waltzed over and tapped on the machine, as if in question.

"I intend on beginning a new story, actually," she responded, "I feel as though my characters in my other works have become too redeemable to remain interesting."

She sat back down and inserted a sheet of old paper into the top of the typewriter, twisting the roller knob to feed it through. She lay back and contemplated for a moment, before an idea hit her. However, before any of her outstretched fingers reached the keys, Enid burst into the room to greet her.

"Howdy roomie!" she blurted with her usual unbridled excitement. "Sorry I wasn't back after class ended, I was just meeting with my Poe Cup team."

Wednesday didn't particularly know what that meant, but she assumed it wasn't anything interesting.

"I assumed you'd have been out growing hair and canines, howling at the moon," Wednesday mocked.

Enid conspicuously avoided looking out the window, as though it were a sore spot for her.

"Yeah— well," she stammered. Her face seemed to contort into something horrid, an expression that Wednesday hadn't seen from her before — she began sobbing. She ran over to her bed and buried her head in her colorful pillows.

Wednesday looked around awkwardly. Thing seemed to make a shrugging motion.

"Perhaps it was something you said," she murmured to it.

"Okay, I lied, Wednesday…" Enid lifted her head and said, tears still streaming down her face, "I wasn't actually at the Poe Cup team meeting... I was in the bathroom, crying..."

"And yet you still evidently had tears to spare..." Wednesday muttered aloud.

Enid made an expression such that she appeared to be genuinely hurt.

"I know you must find this all very funny, Wednesday..." she sniffed, her lip quivering.

Wednesday, for a reason unbeknownst to her, held at bay her look of contempt and mustered an empathetic voice. "What upsets you, Enid?" she asked.

Enid sat up, dabbing her eyes with the ends of her sweater sleeves.

"Well," she began weakly, "the truth is... I've never actually... you know, wolfed out."

She glanced at Wednesday, as though she expected a reaction. Wednesday simply continued to listen.

"My mom," Enid weeped, "she says some wolves are late bloomers, but, I've been to the best Lycanologists... I don't know, maybe I should just accept that I may never... you know...."

Wednesday opened her mouth, but held herself from speaking, as the only words she could seem to find were mocking in nature — she wasn't feeling particularly empathetic to the girl's plight.

Apparently Enid didn't require any actual tangible advice, however, as she stood up and sauntered over to Wednesday with a smile on her face.

"Oh— Wednesday, thanks for hearing me out," Enid said warmly, "I think if any of us is guilty of judging a book by its cover, it's me — you're actually a great listener, roomie!"

'Seriously...?' Wednesday thought, disgusted with herself.

Enid then abruptly leant in for a hug.

"No—" Wednesday protested, but Enid had already tightly embraced her.

After an excruciating few moments, she finally released her. Wednesday immediately turned to continue typing.

"Ooh, whatcha writing?" Enid eagerly enquired, wiping away the last of her tears.

"An autobiography," Wednesday lied — she decided in that moment that the first murder victim in her new story would be a petite young girl with colorful hair and a four-letter name.

"I see," Enid said charismatically, "well, you'll have to let me know how it ends!" She gave Wednesday a wink.

Wednesday rolled her eyes, and began typing with even more ferocity.

"You type pretty loud, huh?" Enid commented over the clacking, "in that case I'll probably just listen to some music on my Discman for the rest of the night."

She hopped back over to her bed, put a pair of orange headphones over her ears and began to groove out.

In Wednesday's story, the young girl met a grizzly end at the hands of a blood-craving sociopath, who force-fed her sparkling pens to her before smothering her with her multicolored pillows, and finally drinking her blood.

By the end of the night, Thing lay curled up next to Kessler the spider's terrarium, and a wave of tiredness hit Wednesday also. She nodded in satisfaction that Thing had placed a dead cricket inside with Kessler for whenever the nocturnal creature decided to wake. She even contemplated opening the lid for Kessler to wander around the dorm while everybody slept, though she imagined Enid might not have had the stomach for such an arrangement.

Wednesday gave a silent yawn and proceeded to turn in for the night.

She put out her bedside lamp, pulled her covers over herself and lay in the classic Draculean pose — the only way she'd ever been able to sleep — with her arms crossed over her chest.

As she shut her eyes, the werewolf howling began outside. She sighed herself to sleep.