"I'm sorry," Steve says, "I thought you were gonna be a woman. Does that make me sexist, that I thought you were gonna be a woman?"
The witch squints at him for a second, which might be a warning sign - on the other hand, it might just be that the guy looks like he's just rolled out of bed, hair long and wild and boxers hanging low on his hips.
"I mean, probably," the witch says. His voice is low and a little scratchy, faintly familiar, and Steve has the distracted thought that he really wants the guy to say his name. No reason. He just wants to know what that would sound like.
"Shit, sorry," Steve says, after an awkward second, and the witch shrugs, prompting a shrill complaint from the bat perched a little precariously on his shoulder.
"You're fine," he says. "Unless you were relieved - pretty sure that would make you a dick."
"More than most, and better than I expected." The witch grins at him, and he has dimples when he grins, and Steve has no feelings about that at all. "So what brings you to my door at the crack of - "
"Noon," another voice says, and a grizzled older man pushes out of the trailer, past the witch. He's got a crumpled lunch bag in one hand, a battered tin flask in the other, and he stops to give the witch a judgemental look. "You're not gonna dress for company, Ed?"
"When company comes over in daylight hours it takes me as it finds me," the witch says. "When you're up all night performing dark and arcane rituals - "
"Atari," the older man mutters at Steve, folding his arms, doing an almost-perfect impression of someone who's not the least bit amused.
" - and, okay, maybe taking some relaxation time after - "
"So that was relaxation I was smellin' coming from your room all night?"
Steve couldn't help snorting, earning himself a sidelong little twist of a grin.
"Alright, Wayne, how about you let me go back to earning a livin'," the witch complains, and Wayne reaches out to tousle his hair - earning himself complaining noises from both man and bat - and heads off towards a battered truck.
"Fuck it," the witch says. "Mystique officially ruined. That's Wayne, I'm Eddie, the little guy on my shoulder is Ronald James, you're Steve Harrington, and I'm guessing you're in pretty dire fucking straits if you've wound up in Forest Hills."
"Yeah, I - " Steve pauses as the witch turns and heads inside, then follows him in, ducking a little to avoid the splintered branches nailed over the door. "I think I might be cursed."
"Huh," says Eddie, and eyes him thoughtfully. "Well that's probably about damned time."
