Wenclair One-Shots

Scrapped Scenes

Summary:

Enid rolled onto her side, curled into a ball to feel sorry for herself. Cracking open an eye, she looked at Wednesday's side of the room.

It was as tidy as ever. Her bed was made. Her desk was cleared of everything except her typewriter, a page sticking out of the back. Her manuscript box was still locked on her bookshelf. Thing was still insistently pointing at a stack of paper that was neatly thrown away into her paper bin next to her desk.

Wait a second. What?

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Wednesday's writing takes a turn. Enid was never very good at leaving well enough alone.

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Her fingers hesitated over the screen. She was halfway through her newest blog post, but her thoughts just weren't flowing properly and her voice sounded off.

Today had been such a mind-numbingly boring day. A double maths period was never a good start of the day for a girl who just couldn't make herself care for numbers, but even Ms. Appleton's class was spent studying the most uninteresting processes of plants. Who cares about the function of mitochondria in the cells of a giant Venus fly trap?

She rolled her eyes.

Okay, she could think of one person who would care about that. Her roommate was always interested when carnivorous or otherwise dangerous plants were involved. Although she did call the Venus fly trap "the most unimaginative example of a plant of prey, whose popularity is boosted solely by the ignorant masses only capable of recognizing danger if it's shaped in the familiar form of a fanged maw."

Speaking of her roommate though: even she hadn't come to her with anything interesting unfortunately. No requests for help locating a dangerous monster, no veiled or unveiled threats over her choice of music, not even a discussion on the merits of Taylor Swift versus the sounds of a cat being flayed alive.

'Actually,' Enid thought with a shudder, 'I was fine with missing that last one.' Their last discussion on the topic ended with Wednesday providing an example she'd recorded at home, and she'd had difficulty sleeping for three days afterwards. She got bags under her eyes!

Shaking her head to rid herself of those memories, she tried to get back to where she was.

Right. Her blog post.

A vague hint of an idea popped in her head, and her fingers started tapping. Maybe if she wrote about-

Clackatta-clack-clack. Clack-clack, clackatta-clack.

Her train of thought had barely started before it was derailed by the sound of an ancient typewriter drilling into her skull. Again.

Of course. It was Wednesday's writing time, and unlike her smartphone, the gloomy girl's typewriter was anything but silent.

With a loud sigh, she threw her phone on her pillow and flopped down on her bed. It seems her followers would have to do without an update today.

She spared her roomie a quick glance, then released another, even more despairing sigh.

That finally got Wednesday's attention, and Enid suppressed a smile as dark eyes focused on her.

"What." The girl deadpanned.

They'd been through this song and dance enough times, to the point that Enid was proud to say Wednesday would actually take a break from her writing to ask what was wrong. Definitely not because if she didn't Enid would get louder and louder until even she couldn't write anymore, no of course not. She was just, you know, encouraging her to learn how to be a better friend.