MONSTER

“If you ask me, it probably is,” Kennedy snatched the flyer back, instead shoving the clipboard in Tuesday’s direction. “Sign. It’d be a great publicity stunt for everyone at BITE. You’re welcome.”

( “You say that like I have anything at all to do with BITE.” ) Tuesday commented, shoving the clipboard back towards the witch. ( “Which I don’t. Nore the Red Cross, nor any of my families investments.” )

“Because you just seem like the type who wouldn’t like shoes such as combat boots.”

( “That is the very definition of judging a book before you’ve even so much as looked at the cover.” ) Tuesday pointed to the very beat up, warn out but incredible comfortable vans she currently wore. 

“But what about our moral duty as occupants of this particular space—actually, you know what, I’m more than happy to walk away. That security lady looks very scary, and I don’t deal well under such situations.”

( “I don’t really have any morals, so I’m more than alright with walking away.” ) Turning to look at the security lady walking towards the scene, Tuesday laughed. ( “Her? I could definitely take her on.” )

“Mmm, yes. Some just have more of an affinity for it.” Mallory hummed, taking her newly made beverage and paying the vendor. “So, how was your vacation? I don’t have to compel any small villages, do I?”

( “Well, we can’t all be as good at trying to be good as you are.” ) Tuesday didn’t even really want the hot chocolate she had stolen from her sister, and so chucked it immediately in the bin after Mallory had paid. ( “Oh no, of course not. I cleaned up my own messes, and by that I mean I left no survivors to compel in the first place.” )

“Miss Bordeaux…” Alexander exclaimed with a faint smile on his lips as he lightly bowed his head in respect “It is a pleasure to see you once again, but surely my shoes is not the reason for you stopping me, now is it?.” Alexander asked looking into the eyes of the young Bordeaux, her face as unreadable as marble stone.

( “I know you don’t know me very well, but if there’s one thing you should know about me by now - it’s that I don’t beat around the bush. If I had alternative reasons for stopping you, I would have stopped you outright with those reasons. Now please; answer the question.” )

“I never thought you’d be one for heels. Or for pardoning your manners.”

( “I can make exceptions for both.” )

“You like combat boots?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

( “Why do you sound so surprised?” ) Tuesday questioned, she wasn’t exactly wearing jimmy choo’s in that moment. 

Rory was at Whole Foods, in attempts to restock her pantry and refrigerator after she had guests over for New Years. As she was deciphering what type of pretzels to get, she sensed someone approach her. Looking over, she was surprised to see Tuesday Bordeaux of all people talking to her. Rory looked down to her feet at her raggedy red vans. “Seriously? How can I help you Tuesday?” 

( “Can I not merely show a friendly interest in your footwear?” )

“Um,” Elliot glanced down at the boots, surprised that anyone would be interested in them. They weren’t exactly fashionable by any stretch, designed more for comfort and practical use. “Size eight.” 

( “Pity. I guess you can keep them then.” )

“Really, is it unlike you? That is certainly news to me. Why do you care about my shoes?”

( “There you go again, assuming that you know anything about me - just because you’re friends with one of my siblings. Yawn - Boring. I ask because a homeless man was crying to me on the way here that someone stole his shoes; I’m doing a good deed and on the look out for them.” )

Amelie was in line waiting to purchase concert tickets as an early birthday gift for a close friend when she heard someone behind her compliment her shoes. “Uhh, thank you,” she looked down at her Jimmy Choo her grams gifted her over the holidays. Glancing back up at the young woman who greeted her with kind words, unlike most New Yorkers, Amelie went on to say, “Isn’t that a question more commonly geared towards men?” 

( “What does asking the size have to do with men... Oh.” ) Tuesday’s face lit up with genuine glee for a fraction of a second. ( “If only I had of meant it as a pick up line.” )

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try to take them from me.”

Tues threw a hand over her chest, and feigned shock. Pretending to be mortified by the suggestions. ( “Who do you think I am? What kind of person steals another’s shoe’s from their feet?” )

“My God, you have the worst fashion sense, Tues.”

( “I could say the very same for you. Comfort over style, Cantaloupe.” )

“Thank you. I actually just got them on sale the other day, and I love them. They might still be available. I’m a size eight.”

( “An eight? Shame. I’m a five - so looks like you’re in luck.” ) Tuesday shrugged, looking down at the shoes disappointingly before shooting the girl a rather false smile. 

Lorena was in line waiting for order of lavender chamomile tea on a rather cold day in the city. Scrolling through the remainder of her schedule of the day on her phone, she heard someone behind her compliment her footwear. Turning around, Lore couldn’t help but smile at the site of the Bordeaux. She’d been MIA, probably frightened by all that has occurred. Good. “Well, you’ll have to thank Steve Madden,” she glanced down at her Chelsea boots. “Wouldn’t you prefer the style over shoe size?” she tilted her head pondering at the strange vamp before her. 

( “If I’d of wanted to know the style, I would have asked about the style.” ) Tuesday replied, rather curtly and impatiently. ( “But I don’t, and I didn’t. I asked about the size.” )

         She was aware of what the other was implying with asking the size, shooting them a pointed look, “They’re a perfect fit for me, thank you.” Her tone was now curt, hearing all the horror stories in which Tuesday Bordeaux inspired. 

( “That didn’t answer my question.” ) Tuesday frowned, she might have been the master of avoiding the question herself, but she hated it when others did it to her.  ( “What. Size.” )

“Yeah, I can see her as more of an Ursula drinking the youth and talent of other, better singers?” 

( “A modern day succubus. It’s the only way dried up has-beens know how to survive.” )