That Witch Bitch: Continued

Purple People

"Oh.. new blood." An old woman says, lifting her wine glass in a way of respect.

Sadly, the glass was filled with nothing other than plain mineral water.

So much for cocktails.

You smile at the older woman, you didn't give a shit about her but if she thought you did it made manipulating people a whole lot easier.

Your eyes scan the room, seeing people who you barely knew.

You expected tons of celebrities from all over the globe but the most familiar face was Dinah Stevens from The Dinah Stevens show.

Admittedly, it was a lame name for a tv show.

"Hey, I'm y/n, y/n y/l/n. It's nice to be welcome" You say offering your hand out for anyone to shake.

The old woman shook yours gratefully, that was when you noticed a familiar face. This time for real.

"Coco St Pierre Vanderbilt," You practically spit in disgust.

Her family were the worst, they even went as far as trying to kidnap you when they were struggling for money.

"Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n." Coco surges, rising up from her seat and meeting your eyes.

You didn't know what she had against you.

You didn't do anything.

It wasn't your fault that Coco's ex used to fancy you.

You couldn't help that.

Besides, you thought Coco went on to marry his best friend so in a way it worked out well for her.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" A man rushes up to split the two of you apart.

He had bleached blonde hair and brown eyes but judging by his face he was worn and tired.

"Can we just forget whatever history the two of you had and calm down?" He asks and everyone else mutters in agreement.

"Yes, if anything, this is the perfect chance to start again with the world wiped clean and all." The old woman says, her name was Evie Gallant.

"True." You hear a man mumble.

"More like wiped dirty, with a load of bomb shells and dead bodies." You hear a younger boy say from the corner of the room.

"Come on Timothy! You have to be optimistic if you're going to survive." Evie says, walking over to him and giving him a light shove on his arm to wake her up.

That poor old woman clearly saw herself as the mother of the bunker.

She was delusional if she thought she could gain any sort of authority by that.

"When's dinner then?" You say, changing the subject.

"Seven." The blonde haired man says, "But you'd be disappoi-"

You cut him off, "You have cool hair by the way."

He looked offended at first and then grinned, ranting on about how he was a hairdresser although somehow you knew he was a hairdresser.

Nevertheless, you had acquired two things.

Respect and a free hairstyle from your new disciple.

"If you'd excuse me, it's dinner time." You hear a familiar voice echo around the sitting room.