Pigment (Millard Nullings X Reader)

This is War

(F/C)-Favorite Color

When we got to the house, everyone seemed ready to go. Olive was holding a wicker basket full of food, and teasingly kept it away from Claire, who was trying to steal a roll.

Heather quickly ran to the loo to change into a one-piece swimsuit, and came out giggling. She left her curly hair down, and wore a cardigan over the white swim suit.

"I don't think I've worn this since '69! Does it look bad?" Heather walked in a little circle, and waited for a response.

I gave her a thumbs up and winked. "Looks great."

She gave me a blinding smile, and left to go talk to Victor. Emma explained to me that the rest of the group didn't change until they actually got to the beach, due to there being a room with bathing suits closer to the area.

"None of the swimsuits being as pretty as Heather's, of course," Emma said with a twinge of jealousy. She turned towards our crowd. "Ready?"

Everyone agreed in their own way, and the cluster of kids started to make their way outside. I watched Heather cheerfully chat to Victor, so I no longer needed to worry about her being nervous. Emma stayed inside the house, however, to go grab a camera. I waited for her, then we made our way to the beach.

To get to the little beach, we needed to cut through the village. A hot, white sun stood in the center of the sky, and I began fanning myself with my hand. Emma stood next to me, aiming her camera towards the villagers, who just lazily waved her away. They seemed so bored, and I wondered how the bomb to come would change them forever. I wondered if any of the villagers had even known any of the peculiars by name.

"You see that man with the bushy red mustache and the potbelly?" I heard someone ask me.

When I turned around, no one was there. I looked at Emma, but she was still busy playing with the camera, turning a bunch of dials that I never knew cameras had in the first place.

"Millard?" I asked. "Is that you talking to me?"

"No, it's your subconscious," Millard said flatly.

"It's nice to see that you're still not wearing any clothes," I responded.

"I'm trying to be discreet!" Millard argued, but then he sighed. "Anyways, you see the big man with the ginger mustache?"

A couple blocks down, a large man sat on a crate. His younger son with a mop of bright red hair ran around the street joyously, as the father tried to get him to calm down. I began slowing down a bit to watch.

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

"Just watch in three.... two..... one!"

The kid pounced onto the man's lap, and the crate underneath him collapsed. A dog from the other side of the street began barking hysterically, and the man began yelling at his son.

"How'd you know that would happen?" I asked, bewildered.

"It happens every single day at the same exact time," Millard answered. "And it's hilarious every single time, too."

"Then how come you aren't laughing?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe I'll laugh later."

Our whole group were a couple meters ahead of us, and Emma turned around. Millard and I were so far behind from the rest of the group, that she had to cup her hands around her mouth to speak.

"Catch up, slowpokes!" She yelled. "Otherwise it'll be midnight before you even get to the beach!"

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