Walter de Ville's Advocate

BONUS: Monster or Man

Setting: When they are on their privately-chartered flight, going from England to America

"Would you care for more wine, sir?" the flight attendant asked politely in the dimly-lit cabin. I looked down to my empty glass, then over to Evie who must've recently dozed off.

In all honesty, I probably shouldn't – seeing as I already imbibed with three servings, but the air pressure and the buoyancy of the smaller jet was making me uneasy. I hadn't flown too often before, as I had spent most of my time at New Carfax since airplanes had been invented and became a typical mode of transportation for civilians, but it had never felt like . . . this.

However, each new drink triggered a now long-unfamiliar haziness to my mind, which I was slowly coming to remember as drunkenness.

"I'm not sure if I should, but perhaps . . .," I paused, looking over to my beloved once again, "just one more."

He dipped his head, pouring the drink before excusing himself. I took a hesitant sip, before Evie shifted in her reclined seat.

Without opening her eyes, she muttered, "You know, eventually you're going to have to pee again."

I nearly spat out my drink, but settled for choking on it

"What?" I finally asked amidst coughing, stunned.

"You've been human for a couple of days now. I know that you are only just starting to get an appetite for human food again, and your human body is still waking up, and with that comes . . . everything else."

I blanched, looking down at my drink as one portion of the queasiness I'd been feeling came to the forefront of my mind. "Oh, shit," I muttered, moving my tray from me as I hurried to the extremely compact water closet.

"That too," I heard her say, not noticing her small smile as she adjusted her position.

It was such a strange sensation, though completely normal for a human. After so long as . . . de Ville . . . I wasn't sure how long it would take for me to get used to being – what?

Should I go by Walter Drake, just like the passport I used to procure this flight?

I flushed the loo, and almost banged my head on the wall as they were all practically touching me from every angle. "Well, at least I'm familiar with this bit," I whispered as leaned over the sink to wash my hands thoroughly with the strange, pink soap they provided.

"Fu—," I shouted, throwing myself backwards as something from my periphery caught my eye.

Funnily enough, it had been . . . me.

My arm was throbbing, but my attention – all of my focus – was on the man standing in front of me.

This . . . this couldn't be real.

I wanted to reach out, but instead I cowered down, basically lodging myself between the sink and wall.

"Walter! Walter, open up!" Evie shouted, knocking furiously. "Are you alright? Umm . . . do you need . . . help?"

My face was streaming with tears, and I futilely wiped my forearm across my eyes, making more of a mess.

"What in the—," I began, only now noticing the gash on my forearm.

"Please, just . . . unlock the door. I'll help you, no matter what it is," she whispered. "We need a moment of privacy," she said then, likely talking to the flight attendant.

I reached up to the latch, switching it from occupied to vacant.

"Walter, wha—," Evie froze, her eyes scanning me frantically. "What did you do?" She dropped down, her hand tightly gripping my jaw as she surveyed my face. "I don't see any cuts . . ."