Wenclair oneshots

Wounds, Murder Hornets, and Questionably Learned Skills

Summary:

After quite a long night, Wednesday returns to her and Enid's room soaking wet and exhausted. Enid is understanding.

This was not how Wednesday had intended to spend her evening. The bathroom floor was cold beneath her, and her chest hitched every few seconds, her hands gripping onto the edge of the toilet. Her body, normally an extremely durable vehicle for her mind, had decided that enough was enough for one day, and had forced her here after she had entered her and Enid's room through the window, soaking wet.

Okay, entered might not have been the right word. Fallen into was better. Thankfully, Enid had stayed asleep during the ordeal, and Wednesday's pride hadn't been wounded along with her body.

She let out a small sigh, her leg and shoulder pleasantly throbbing from where a knife had grazed them during her escape. Her stalker had been throwing them. Thankfully, he (or she) wasn't very good at aiming. Her breath hitched again and she wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her wet hair stuck to her face, Wednesday having taken out her braids upon arriving in the room.

She might have been poisoned. It wasn't very likely, though. Enid had randomly given her a small black water bottle at the beginning of the new semester, with only a smile and a brief, "use this, for the love of all things holy. Or unholy, I guess." Wednesday had used it. Though she would never admit it, it was quite useful. She had a tendency to forget to take a break to drink when there were more important things at hand, and fainting from dehydration had been becoming bothersome. However, having a specific container she drank from wasn't the safest idea. Realistically, she knew that she had likely not been poisoned, as she had been carrying her water bottle the entire time. But it was better than accepting the alternative. That her annoying human body had decided to be stressed and cause her trouble.

Wednesday's brain and body didn't always connect as well as they should have, though she had disciplined them to the best of her abilities. Perhaps that was part of the reason for the disconnect, the fact that she viewed her body as a separate entity. Kinbott, while she was still alive, had suggested that perhaps this was a symptom of a greater "neurological disorder." Wednesday had ignored her.

She pushed her hair away from her face, gritting her teeth as it stuck to it again. She really should try and change her clothes.

She pushed herself up on unsteady feet, walking out of the bathroom and checking the window in her and Enid's room for a few moments. The stalker realistically knew where she lived, considering the amount of information they had on her. But they also would probably know that Wednesday had weapons scattered across the room, and multiple alarm systems skillfully set into place, courtesy of Thing. It would be much harder to kill her in her room then it would be in, say, the woods.

She should probably stop walking alone in the woods at night.

The sound of quiet growls met her ears and she looked over at Enid's bed, the other girl rolling to the side in her sleep, her arms stretched out behind her head. She looked so much more... relaxed, then she had last semester. So much more confident. It had made her presence even more tolerable, and had stirred a feeling inside of Wednesday that she had mostly ignored, a pride, of sorts. Or perhaps something deeper. For the first time in her life, there was a person she wanted to succeed.

She swallowed as a wave of nausea overcame her. Her wounds, though shallow, started to ache fiercely. She procured the desired black nightgown from among her limited collection of clothes and limped back to the bathroom. She'd heard from a wide-eyed Enid before that most of the other girl's sharing rooms were fine with changing in front of each other. That had never been her and Enid, though. They always changed separately.