Blood of My Blood, Flesh of My Flesh (Bughead)

Freaks

We have a flair for the shade and the inbetween
We like to run with the wolves from the darker scene
When we turn the safety off, the shots are automatic
All our friends tell their friends we're so dramatic

We'll have you wrapped around our trigger finger
Queen bee yellow, you're the skin for our stinger
We'll make you swoon, make it hurt just a little
We're the boys and the girls and the freaks in the middle

-Freaks, Hawk in Paris

Down in the club, Betty beelined for the bar's counter. She chose a barstool far away from the generally gregarious club-goers, near the back where the neon didn't hurt her eyes so bad. Sweet Pea patted her shoulder.

"You going to be cool for now? I see a vampire over there I haven't seen since I was 12. Hasn't aged a day, of course. I think he might be from the 1950's...anyway, do you mind?"

Betty wordlessly shook her head, blinking as she attempted to hear Sweet Pea over the din of the heavy music and chatty people.

"I'll be back. Eat, stay there," Sweet Pea instructed, "Or, don't. I guess if you found the others, that would be fine too. Just...erm, whatever," He shrugged, nodding to her once more before vanishing between the sweaty bodies.

Betty called over the bartender, leaning over the bar's edge to talk to him without screaming. He was probably in college, with a lot of tattoos that Betty swore were moving. He had a necklace on with a runic symbol, but Betty didn't think too much about it.

"Hi, yeah, can I get some food? Erm, Nick St. Clair said you make a really good risotto?" She tilted her head, feeling strange and out of place, "I'm a friend of Veronica's..." She added when the bartender just looked at her.

"You don't seem the type, no offence." He said, snorting.

"I've been told." Betty replied coolly, She felt like she should be offended on Veronica's half.

The bartender just shrugged.

"To drink?"

"Uhm, just a Pepsi." Betty played nervously with her hair.

The bartender vanished for a little bit. In the meantime, Betty ran her fingers over her necklace, wishing Polly had needed her, so she could have gotten out of this. She looked around the room, but even when the haze cleared, she couldn't see any of her friends. It made her feel uneasy. She wasn't used to this sort of 'fun'. She didn't know how to dance very well despite being on the cheer team and the music playing really just hurt her head.

She didn't even realize how much time had elapsed with her staring out into the surge of dancing bodies until a plate was put in front of her, along with a tall glass of soda.

The bartender leaned in again.

"What type are you?" He asked.

"What?" Betty wasn't even sure what he was asking.

"Creature." He said.

"Witch...why?" Betty asked with a hint of suspicion.

"I'm making you a drink. Different herbs do different things for different creatures. Don't want to accidentally kill you, of course," The bartender replied, "You look miserable sitting there." He added.

Betty floundered, "You can't possibly think I'm 21."

"Oh, obviously not," He seemed nonplussed to be serving to underage teenager, "But you know Nick, and Nick would kill me if he saw you sulking here, having no fun. Literally."