AN: This ficlet contains no actual plot similarities to the Albee play, I'm sorry to say, and it's not nearly as depressing. It's more of just a play on words for what is itself a play on words. I don't own these characters or the world their from, or the play, for that matter.
Wolf inhaled deeply as he entered the hallway. One sniff. The next-door neighbors had just gone out through the elevator. Two sniffs. The little old lady at the end of the hall was cooking peas tonight. Blech, peas. Three sniffs. The Robinson's three doors away were about to come out of their apartment, dog in tow.
He sharply turned his head to the sound of their doorknob turning. One of them popped their head out of the doorframe before quickly slamming the hollow door with a crash. Wolf furrowed his brow as he headed for the elevator. Unfortunately (or, depending on how one chose to look at it, very fortunately), one quick pat over his pocket made him realize he'd forgotten his wallet. Huff puff, these newfangled Tenth Kingdom sort of contraptions were difficult to remember. As he opened the door to his apartment, the Robinson's flew their own door open once more and made a mad dash for the stairwell, not looking up at Wolf even once.
As he walked into the apartment, he frowned. His tail hadn't even been showing. He had yet to attack anyone's sheep here in New York. In the Fourth Kingdom, he'd understand, but why here? Why did they avoid him?
Virginia, who was lying out on the couch with her feet propped up and a book in her hand, lifted her head at the sound of the door. "I thought you just left for the store," she said, her voice filled with false concern that concealed a light laugh. Her belly was protruding just a bit, with her baby –his baby- beginning to grow inside of it. The corners of his mouth twitched up momentarily at the thought.
"I forgot to take any money with me. How many Wendells does milk cost again?"
"You mean dollars?" She laughed. In his defense, he'd only been here a couple of months. He had trouble remembering these sorts of things. That didn't mean Virginia didn't get a good laugh out of his occasional lapses in memory.
"Yes! Yes! Those!" His eyes darted over the kitchen counter, the floor, the coffee table, and he couldn't seem to see the wallet anywhere. Damn, that the thing didn't have a distinct scent. It smelled too much like him. He huffed as he shuffled his hands through his hair.
"Missing this?" Virginia held up the little piece of black leather with small bits of green shooting haphazardly from the edges. As he rushed over to her, her smile spread slowly across her face. It quickly faded, though, when she noticed that he wasn't all that amused. "What's wrong? It's not the wallet, I know that much. What's really wrong?" He could tell that she wasn't joking now.
Wolf took a deep breath. "Is my tail showing? Have I been acting too… too wolfish lately? Because, huff puff, people are hiding from me here. I understood it in the other world, because every now and then I just couldn't control myself, and, well, I'd eat a flock of sheep." He waggled his eyebrows. "But here I don't have any sheep to worry. I hide my tail. Nobody knows that I'm a wolf. Why are they afraid?" He glanced over at the book in his wife's hand, suddenly distracted. "'Who's Afraid of Virginia's Wolf?' Is that a self-help book? Huff puff, they're getting specific now!" He thought for a moment. "You aren't afraid of me, are you?"
"Actually," she said, putting the book down in her lap, "it's a play called 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf,' about living life without phony facades and all that. One of the neighbors lent it to me. It wasn't written for me, I promise. Although, it is admittedly a little bit weird trying to tell everyone that you're a perfectly normal human being." She smiled as she stroked his hair, calming him down.
"You still didn't answer the last question," he said, baring his fangs. He was ignoring the wallet she had held out for him now. Actually, at this point, he didn't have much intention of going to the store at all. "I asked if you were afraid of me." He had been comforted sufficiently, and now his normal self was coming out in exuberance. "Now, tell me," he asked, leaning down over the couch to wrap his arms around her, "who, exactly, is afraid of Virginia's wolf?"
Virginia threw her head back and smiled up at him as she laughed, and replied, "Not me."