Paint It Black

Seated at the Weathervane sipping a cup of hot chocolate, shrouded from view, Drac stared off into the distance, towards the office of one Dr. Kinbott, preeminent therapist to the misguided youths of backwater Vermont.

Right on time, he thought, as he watched the agile Wednesday slide her way down the building from the top floor and make her way across the street, only to freeze and seize up after bumping into a greasy fellow.

'A vision.' He thought, as he watched her recover, and make her way right to him.

She entered the "diner" without sparing him a single glance and headed straight for the counter, appearing to the server boy, as if born from smoke.

'I give it an eight out ten.' He thought. His entrances were better.

He listened in as she attempted to barter passage back to civilization with the apron wearing dog.

He almost laughed when the mutt claimed it could not be bought. Not that it wasn't true, when he looked closely, he could see chains of the dogs own making surrounding his body. He was already a servant of a different master. He found it funny because, who says that when all they're being offered is $40. Save that ridiculous line for when its 4 million dollars, at the least.

Wednesday made her way to the booth, directly connected to his own. The only thing separating the two, a table.

"Its a little rude to sit at someone's table without first asking their permission, don't you think?" He questioned her, only becoming visible to her, after she sat down.

This time, she did not even give him the curtesy of a slight jump. Rude indeed.

"You were invisible?" She asked, her posture straight, focused eyes bore into his own.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips, "more like, unable to be perceived. I was shrouded."

She stared at him. Perhaps thrown at the first real answer she'd been able to receive from him.

"What are you?"

His smile grew just a little more.

"Take a guess. I am very curious to hear your deductions, little death."

However, before she could begin, what was certain to be a nice, astute, monotoned speculation, the ridiculously dressed youths who had just walked into the "coffee shop" approached their table, looking straight at her.

"What's a nevermore freak doing out in the wild," the chubby random remarked.

"You talking to yourself, freak? This is our booth." A different rando piled on.

She moved her eyes to take them in, without moving her head. Then, she looked back at Drac, then back at them.

Drac could see the realization instantly dawn on her that they could not see him.

He once again had the urge to laugh in so many minutes.

She schooled her features, and turned her head to give her potential enemies her full attention.

"Why are you three dressed as religious fanatics?" A very good question.

"Its called cosplay." Dracul whispered from across the table, unhelpfully.

"We're pilgrims." A rando stated, as if that were not what she just asked.

"Potato, po-tah-to."

"We work at Pilgrim World." The until then, unspoken third rando, chirped up. He seemed to take offense at her dismissal of their attire, as he flipped the flyer on the table to show the advertisement. As if people want to tour pilgrim anything. They didn't have any rides or cotton candy back then.

She observed the flyer.

"It takes a special kind of stupid to devote an entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide."

"Mass genocide and truly appalling fashion sense. Note, the hats." Drac chimed in, as he sipped more of his hot chocolate, despite the tension growing palpable.

"My dad owns Pilgrim World." Random #3 informed the class helpfully, as if it changed anything.

Dracul leaned forward, bringing his hand up to his mouth to speak in a whisper, "I think you have offended his honor."

"Who you calling stupid?" Yep, the rando was definitely offended.

"Calm the situation, Wednesday, we're outnumbered!" Drac waved his hands with a look of panic, that was not helped by him immediately proceeding to gulp down his hot chocolate and then holding his throat, as if he were being burned from the inside.

Wednesday spared him a glance, then got back to business. Her focus on her targets.

"If the buckled shoe fits." She quipped.

And just when it was about to get toasty, a hero appeared.

"Guys, back off." The mutt tried to diffuse the situation, but to no avail. The pilgrims were out for blood, completely missing the irony of their actions.

"Stay out of this, Galpin." R #3 demanded.

"Yes," Wednesday glided out of her booth, "stay out of this," and right up to the face of R #3.

"Ahhh shit, its a stare down." Drac gesticulated from his seat, which was now on top of the booth as he snacked on a box of popcorn that came from somewhere, his partially unbuttoned button-down black silk shirt, opened further than ever, but only she noticed, because only she could see.

"So, tell me, freak," R #3 gets prepared to deliver what he more than likely believed to be a badass line. "You ever been with a normie?"

Wednesday was about to respond when she saw a look of absolute terror cross the features of R #3, however it disappeared just as quickly, but his shaking legs gave away the forgotten fear.

"Boo," she jumped at him, which caused him to hop back and his friend to lunge forward.

A well placed spin here.

A nicely executed kick there, and the rookies were sprawled on the floor.

Hardly a worthy battle.

Wednesday looked to the side where Drac sat a moment ago, only to find him no longer there.

She scanned the cafe but didn't spot him.

Even though, he sat in the same spot, looking straight ahead.

His eyes black and read, nails extended into claws, mouth open with, his tongue ran along his right canine. His body stiff. Not even a single twitch allowed.

He sat there, waited, long after everyone left.

Then, he got up and walked out.

Features relaxed, eyes their standard golden brown, and teeth extended only enough to eat a standard chicken.

He stopped in the middle of the street. Hands in his pockets and his gaze toward the sky.

"Time to hunt."

He took a step forward and disappeared.

An hour later, in a biker bar a few towns over, bodies lay scattered, broken, and dismembered.

In the middle of the room, a figure stood, dressed in black dress pants, a black long-sleeved buttoned down shirt completely unbuttoned, and a black earring in the shape of a sword hung from his left ear. He ran his fingers through his smooth, coiled hair, pulling on one particular dreadlock, as he surveyed his surroundings taking in deep breaths.

"Now that, was a worthy battle."

He placed the bloodied butter knife in his hand on the table and proceeded to exit the establishment that once welcomed degens from far and wide.

He swung his leg over his bike, started it up, and sped away, pushing the bike as fast as it could go. He wanted to be back at the academy before dark. He knew Wednesday still had a deduction to give. However, it seemed he indulged his calisthenics exercises a bit too long. He would make it back just as night fell.

In the distance, from the direction in which he had just departed, smoke could be seen rising in the air. Barbecue would be smelled for miles.

"Would you two like some help?" He asked the girl and the hand moving the large instrument out onto the balcony.

She did not even bother to stop her work. Thing just tapped out a hello.

"Yes, please do come in," she spoke sarcastically, still lugging her cello.

He gestured around him. "Technically, I am not yet in. This is the balcony. Also, are you not wondering how I got out here?"

She deigned to spare him a glance. Her eyes taking in what, he did not know.

"You left, earlier. Why?"

He followed behind her as she went to grab a chair and sheet music.

He slipped into the shadows and was back in less than a minute with a violin in hand.

"I had something to handle. Why? Did you miss me?" He asked. His face sporting a playful smile, but his eyes desiring an answer.

"Did that something have to do with whatever you did to the pilgrim? I saw his face. He was afraid of something. Something other than me."

With the stiff arm of his question, she sat her sheet music in front of her, sat down, cello between her legs.

He stood to her side, looking down at her.

"I did not do anything to him, directly. When he said...what he said, I lost my temper, for a moment, and had the urge to reach out and touch him. He felt that. However, I immediately retracted that intent and pulled it from his mind. The fear lingered for a while longer, but by midway through your battle the effects were gone."

He positioned himself closer to her. The side of his leg, nearly touching her back.

"That was a fine battle, by the way."

She said nothing. Only lifted her bow to the strings of her cello, as he lifted his to the strings of the violin tucked beneath his chin.

Both eyed the sheet music and together, they began to play.