The Sheriff taps the open side of his police car trunk and a medium sized, bridle coloured dog with a red collar swiftly jumps in the back.
"Good boy." he compliments.
"Watch your butt. Watch your butt." he coddles as he closes the horizontal side of the trunk.
He was wearing his wide brimmed, dark brown Sheriff's hat, black-grey jacket and black pants per usual. His daughter comes up to her father and the police car in their front yard.
"Hey. Where you going with Elvis?" Taylor smiles as she asks, wearing a white shirt, brown jacket with red interior, green-grey pants and a black backpack.
"Just, uh..." her father had a hand on the side of the no-covering trunk, SHERIFF printed neatly in black on the back side. "following a lead on a case." he finishes, looking at his daughter.
Taylor furrowed her eyebrows. "You still believe there's a creature out there, don't you?" she asks her father. "I heard you and Santiago talking. You think it's a Nevermore kid?"
"Ran into your shrink." confessed the thin man. "He was kind of tight-lipped about your progress."
"Dad, it's called doctor-patient confidentiality." scoffs the girl, giving her father an uneasy smile.
"How about father-daughter confidentiality?" challenges the Sheriff. "What are you two yakking about?"
"Video games, cancel culture, oat milk versus soy, it's a wild time."
"I pay the bills, I got a right to ask." says the man as he walks off.
"We talk about dad. My real dad." interjects her daughter, frowning all the more.
The man stops, putting a hand on the side of the car trunk.
"Remember him?" Taylor says accusingly.
Elvis whimpers, paws leaning over the trunk frame.
"Better not be talking crap about your old dad." he retorts cooly as he walks to open the car door. "I'll be home late. You're on your own for dinner."
"Oh, damn. I...I was hoping we could fire up the grill and then catch the big game." she spoke to the back of the thin man.
The Sheriff's car roars out of the driveway.
"Love these warm, fuzzy memories we're making, dad." she throws a hand up as she calls after the car.
The side of the white car was painted SHERIFF and JERICHO COUNTY with a blue stripe in the middle. Its tires screech as it runs along on the road.
Taylor stares defeatedly after her foster father.
☟☟☟
"I have to get back to the woods, but Weems has been watching me like a vulture circling a carcass."
Saturday says cooly as he approaches the young, white-blonde man with pink and blue dyed hair, sitting, painting his team's canoe. Misaki was helping him, both wearing navy aprons.
The tall, black haired, pale boy looks around the premise. They were in a grassy green field surrounded by multiple tall tress which had yellowing leaves.
"And you want me to cover first so that you can return to the scene of a crime that didn't happen?" the handsome, pale werewolf couldn't help but tease the brooding boy standing in front of him.
"Mr. Sinclair, you shouldn't..." Misaki tried to defend her young Master but Ethan only smirked at her, putting a long white finger to her lips, silencing her.
Saturday looked at her long and hard and saw her shiver slightly under his scorching gaze. It had been a while now since he had felt a white hot burning feeling inside his chest every time he saw his petite maid. He tried to dismiss the feeling but to his dismay, it only seemed to burn brighter.
"We have beekeeping club this afternoon. I need you as decoy." Saturday says coldly to his roommate.
Ethan scrunched up his face as soon as the words left Saturday's lips.
"Sorry. Two strikes." the boy says deeply, looking back at his painting. "I'm busy and bees totally creep me out."
"Oh and, Misaki, have you asked her what she wants to do? Maybe she doesn't want to be in the beekeeping club. I can't imagine why anyone would!" says Ethan venomously.
"No." returned Saturday's cold reply.
Ethan glared at the tall, lean boy in front of him.
"Well maybe you should." the tall, muscular, white blonde boy scoffs.
The two boys glare poison at each other.
"It's okay, really it is. It is my duty to look after Master Saturday..." says Misaki softly in her melodic voice as she trails off, trying to defuse the situation but not knowing what to say. She eyes her Master carefully. Ethan admires her big golden eyes, then rounds on Saturday.
"Why don't you ask Thing? Oh wait, you can't because he's mad at you." taunts the boy, widening his crystal blue eyes mockingly.
"Why's he mad? He's the one who screwed up with Rowan." says the black haired, obsidian eyed boy, matter-of-factly.
"All I know is that we spent an hour giving each other manis, and he really opened up. He feels like you don't respect him as a person." came the deep, smooth reply as the young boy turned back to his painting.
Saturday's pupils manoeuvred routinely to land on Ethan. "Technically, he's only a hand."
"Saturday! He's your family. And so is Misaki." He looks up at Saturday, eyes pleading. "He and Misaki would do anything for you. Go apologise and I'll reconsider helping you. Woah~ Misaki you're such a good painter!" he reprimands Saturday as he pats Misaki on the head with his big, white hand. She blushes, giving her pale cheeks some colour.
Saturday furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly and looks at Misaki, as if expecting her to come. When she didn't look back at him, he stalks off without a word, leaving the werewolf and his maid.
☟☟☟
Saturday abruptly opens the black door of his dormitory and stalks inside. He looks at his side of the room, devoid of all colour with a gramophone, and a simple writing desk.
He hears the rustling of pages and glances toward Ethan's side of colourful explosion.
On Ethan's bed of colourful sheets, Thing flips a magazine as he takes in Saturday slowly.
Saturday stepped forward and said coldly and abruptly, "I snapped at you. I'll check my tone in the future. Now chop-chop, before all our leads turn cold."
The boy turned to go but Thing continued to flip his magazine, uncaringly.
Saturday stops and turns around. "First Misaki and now you." he snaps coldly. "What is it that you want? Hand cream? Nail buffer? New cuticle scissors?"
At the mention of Misaki, Thing seems interested and taps the magazine with all his fingers, one after the other.
"Consider it done." the pale boy finishes.
Thing immediately flips the magazine closed and tosses it over the bed. He taps expectantly with his long, pale, pointer finger.
Saturday sighs and then neatly sits on the bed with his hands one on top of the other.
Thing motions wildly with his fingers before it props itself up again.
"I know I'm stubborn, single-minded and obsessive." confesses the boy, looking down at the large hand. "But those are all traits of great writers." he finishes.
Thing plops down on the colourful sheets and makes a finger gun shooting motion. "Yes. And serial killers." agrees the floppy haired boy. "What's your point?" Thing frantically signals again.
"I have nothing to get off of my chest, and I am not submitting to your emotional blackmail." asserts the boy.
Thing taps the bedsheets with his fingers, one after another, like a wave. Then continues to tap only his pointer finger.
Saturday lowers his long black lashes. "Fine."
He reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out the fiery photo.
☟☟☟