ADDAMS - Xavier Thorpe

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢 (chapter three)

warnings: male masturbation

Similarly to a magician appearing after a cloud of vicious smoke, they stood there with their eyes focused on his facial features. May had thought he looked similar though shrugged it off.

Tyler the barista seemed to have shat his cream coloured pants at the sudden presence of two goth girls. Who looked rather similar. Of course they do, they're identical twins.

The only way you can tell them apart: one has braids constantly, one never has braids and has a septum. Still for some people, it seemed like the shining with the two twin girls.

"Holy crap!" the barista exclaimed while flapping his arms about like a panicked goose, "do you make a habit out of scaring the hell out of people?!"

His face red like beetroot, two Nevermore girls scared the living hell out of him. Embarrassed, his head tilted as he looked at Wednesday in awe. May looked away in disgust.

"It's more of a hobby," May fake smiled toward him and tapped the counter with her pointy nails. His attention turned to May, "You both go to Nevermore, didn't realise they changed up the uniform."

Wednesday, always impatient over the littlest of things, more specifically while on the run from their overly nice therapist. "Two quads over ice, now."

Tyler's mouth gaped, he wasn't sure of what to think of these two. May leaned forwards over the counter and tapped his name badge, "Look, Tyler. It's four shots of espresso," he gulped in response.

"Yeah— I know what a quad is," he looked down at the obvious broken machinery, "But spoiler alert! Espresso machine is having a seizure, so all we have is drip."

A man pouring himself a coffee from a kettle looking thing, "Drip is for people who hate themselves," Wednesday said, her monotone voice making it more scarier, "and know that their lives have no real purpose or meaning."

His ears perked up at the teenagers words and sighed in defeat, his shoulders back as he put his cup down full of drip coffee. Perhaps her words were harshly accurate.

Tyler looked awkwardly to his right and watched the customer exit Weathervane, no doubt to complain to his wife about this girl.

"What's wrong with your machine?" May asked.

"It's a temperamental beast with a mind of its own and it doesn't help that the instructions are Italian," he rambled on, obviously having the worse day ever and this espresso machine clearly making it not any better.

Wednesday, no words just walked behind the counter next to his side and grabbed the instruction manual from his hands, grazing over the foreign words, "I need a tri-wing screwdriver and a four-millimetre Allen wrench."

Shaking his head in disbelief, "Wait, you know Italian?"

May folded her arms against her custom made school uniform that matched Wednesday's, nodding as if it's something he should already know, "Of course, it's the native tongue of Machiavelli."

"Here's the deal. I fix your coffee machine and then you're going to make our coffees and call a taxi," she placed down the manual and got to work.

He shook his head, "Uh, no taxis in Jericho," his eyebrows crossed in confusion, "Try uber?"

"We don't have phones, we refuse to be a slave to technology," May whispered.

Tyler looked down at the two since the height difference, "Then you're out of luck," he shrugged, "Where are you even going anyway?"

The screwdriver kept clanking and making noises every time Wednesday twisted it onto the loose screws, "That's on a need to know basis." she turned to him, "what about trains?"