( Ive been sick lately so i was writting during that time so now im posting them all at once )
Agnes watched the storefront freshly painted with the words "Westview Academy of Performing Arts." A dance class had left a few minutes ago, but Monica was still in there. Agnes could see her through the window, practicing ballet moves. She'd gotten a haircut, a short pixie cut.
This investigation was ridiculous. Spending time with this enslaved of Wanda's might help her figure out the source of Wanda's power.
Bracing herself to act pleasant, Agnes crossed the street and entered the premises.
"Hi Monica. I heard you started teaching dance classes. How's it going?"
Monica turned off the music. "I just started this week. I don't have many students yet." She turned to Agnes. "I haven't seen you in a while. Have you been out of town?"
Agnes had spent a few days away to practice the spells she would need, which would have been weeks in Westview. This would be the first direct lie she'd have to tell the possible former assassin/spy. The first of many.
"I've been around," she said with a shrug. "If you've got some free time, let me buy you a milkshake. Milky Way Diner's got the best milkshakes I've ever had."
"Do I strike you as the milkshake type?" Monica inquired.
Agnes shrugged. "Who doesn't like milkshakes? But if you're not hungry, they've got some half-decent coffee."
"'Half-decent coffee'?" Monica repeated, her voice possibly bordering on suspicious.
"I'd go as far as to say it's three-quarters decent," Agnes joked.
"You know, I don't have any more classes today. I'll give these milkshakes a try."
"What kind of dancing do you teach?" she asked conversationally as they walked down the street to the diner.
"Ballet. I'm also offering acting classes."
"Sounds like you've got a lot of expertise to offer."
"I've worn a lot of hats in my time," Monica replied. "Passing on some of the skills I've learned to the next generation feels like the right thing for me to be doing right now."
"That's admirable." Agnes personally couldn't stand children and had trouble understanding people who would choose a career in pedagogy. It took a minute to think of anything else to talk about. "What's your favorite ballet?"
"Les Biches. Do you know it?"
"No. Honestly, the only ballet I ever saw was The Nutcracker when I was a teenager because my parents dragged me to it, and all I could think about was how much work it must have been. It made my feet hurt just watching the dancers go up on their toes."
"It is a lot of work. Professional ballet dancers train for years. But it's an art, just like painting or music. They do it because it's how they express themselves. It's a passion."
"Did you ever dance professionally?" Agnes asked.
"No, but I wanted to. It's what I dreamed of being when I grew up. But...life took me in other directions." She glanced at Agnes. "What do you do?"
"Journalist," she answered. "I used to work for a newspaper Company."
The Milky Way Diner was sparsely furnished but clean, with whitewashed walls, concrete floor, and faux marble tabletops in the booths. They both ordered milkshakes—strawberry marshmallow for Agnes, mint chocolate for Monica.
"So where are you from originally?" Monica asked.
"Salem. You?"
"Ohio. What brought you to Connecticut, Agnes?"
"It's a funny story, actually…" Agnes launched into her manufactured background story, a carefully rehearsed lie about her husband showing up to the wrong job interview by accident, getting offered the job anyway, and eventually accepting a promotion that relocated them to Westview, which Agnes had disliked at first until small-town life started to grow on her. She knew once she cast the truth spell she wouldn't be able to directly lie, so she wanted to get her story out of the way first.
By the time she was done, their milkshakes had arrived. While Monica took her first taste, Agnes, hiding her hands out of sight under the table, performed the gestures combined with the carefully controlled thought patterns that triggered the spell.
"What do you think of it?" she asked.
"This really is the best milkshake I've ever tasted," Monica replied, sounding confused. She shook her head, then put her hand to her forehead.
"Brain freeze?"
Monica seemed reluctant to answer, but after a few moments, she did. "'The Sun's getting real low'. That was the sentence. The tactile pattern was a combination of lines and taps on her wrist with the tip of my finger."
Agnes bit her lip. Even though the truth spell was weakening, and knowing about it made it easier to resist, Monica laughed, but her eyes still looked subdued. "Thanks for the milkshake. I'll buy next time."
"It was my pleasure."
As they walked out of the diner, Monica took Agnes's arm, her grip seemingly friendly but firm as steel. Monica soon slipped away, leaving Agnes to ponder her next move.
If Agnes succeeded in solving the mystery of this place, she might just have to destroy them all.
