𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄: 𝐓𝐈𝐄-𝐈𝐍𝐒 || Four Supplementary Stories

Eustace | 1

A/N: Obligatory “sorry this book is over a year late,” that was not intentional, but I'm so happy to return us all at last to the world of Swanwhite!

In my author's notes on the main book, I referred to these stories as “short tie-in novelettes,” but as usual I seem to have wildly underestimated how much I have to say about these characters, so I hope you will forgive the extra time spent on my predictably ever-lengthening chapters. At this point I should just accept my fate, haha.

Each character's part will be multiple chapters, so for Eustace this is 1 of 4!

Thank you all for being so freaking patient with me, and with no further delay, I present to you, the Tie-Ins~

xXx

Eustace Clarence Scrubb stood abruptly from the kitchen table, scraping his chair back over the ugly tile floor that somehow still looked mudstained even after having been bleached within an inch of its life.

He slung his bookbag over his shoulder and aimed for the door, but not before Alberta broke away from the sink and caught his arms with soapy hands.

"You're leaving already? Do you have everything?" She looked him up and down, her neat brown hair tucked up into the silky yellow scarf that clashed so violently with the filth around her, haphazard stacks of unwashed dishes thoroughly ignored beside the rusty sink where the burgundy folds of her second best town dress floated like slimy islands amidst the suds. “It's so cold out today, why don't you wear a coat? I kept your nice black one with the buttons, you know, and you always look so smart when you—"

“I have what I need.” Eustace pulled away and rubbed indignantly at the soggy handprints now soaking into his sleeves. "It's a longer walk now, I'm going to be late."

"Oh, well, yes—” Alberta reached for him again as he turned for the door, fingertips only just grazing his shoulder when he recoiled just as sharply. “Is it really so much farther?"

"Fifteen minutes, I already told you."

The foreign scent of dish soap on her hands drowned out even the faintest hint of her favorite rosebud perfume, coating his senses with the same grimy film that seemed to cling to every inch of the shabby kitchen with its broken light and ugly orange cupboards, and the stain on the window in the entryway door that turned even the sunlight into a greasy, greenish thing.

Eustace dragged his own hands over the thighs of his trousers as if he could rub the sticky feeling off, ducking away from his mother's touch for the third time and twisting the squeaky door handle.

"Good luck," said Alberta, "work hard—"

He let the door slam shut in her face.

A snap of icy January air struck him like a stinging whip as he descended the rickety front steps two at a time, his lungs stuttering against the abrupt force of the arctic breeze, but nothing in the world could have made him turn back for that black coat with the buttons.

He stuffed his bare hands deep into corduroy pockets and set off at a brisk pace up the litter-strewn sidewalk, kicking a stray can as he went.

Another door banged open just ahead, and a girl tumbled out onto her own front porch, nearly tripping down the stairs as raised voices caught the air mid-shouting match for the briefest moment before another bang cut them off again.

Eustace almost smacked straight into Jill Pole, sidestepping just as she skidded to a halt and puffy red eyes locked with his before flicking sharply down to the concrete.