Night's Omen

For all of you who won awards with certain characters, I'm sure you all remember me saying that we're writing a little fic or drawing a little response to the award, just sort of displaying why that character won the award.  Well, to keep it all organized and simple, you can all feel free to post those here in this thread.  That'll make it nice and simple for those of us who want to read/see without hunting it all down.

Award Response
April Lancaster - Most Likely to Sing in the Shower


   It was 6:15am on the first Monday of August, and April Lancaster had never felt so alive!

   The sky was a nasty haze of green and sickly blue as the sun struggled over the horizon; birds were screeching merrily at each other in the trees; the deck of the outdoor pool was cold beneath April’s feet, and the water of the pool itself looked damn near Artic freezing.

   So, as previously stated: April Lancaster had never felt so alive.

   April was a freak of nature in that he thrived on these mornings, instead of shriveling up into a fearful, quivering mass of jelly at the prospect of facing them. Such shriveling and quivering was reserved for the mass(es) of freshmen who would be facing not only this cold, God-awful early August morning and a two-hour Captain’s practice, but the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed visage of Ramsa High’s swim team captain himself: April. April had been crowned Captain at the conclusion of the previous year’s swim season and was taking the job very seriously, starting with holding the Captain’s practices a week earlier than usual. (He only wished he’d announced this to the team in person, instead of through email as he’d been forced to. It meant he hadn’t been able to hear his returning teammates’ and incoming teammates’ groans.)

   This would be the first time since last February that April would see them all assembled on one pool deck. He was looking forward to it immensely. This was his last year at Ramsa; he was a senior now, already looking at colleges and investigating scholarships and contemplating this new step in his life where he would, in Heather’s words, “pay a shitpile of money to be trained by the best to become another Future Starving Artist of America.” April didn’t think it would go that badly. He planned to work extra hard this year, in his art and everything else, from academics to swimming to whatever else he could find.

   Because after all that had happened last year… what with Andrew being- well… April needed this year’s distraction badly.

   It was 6:30am by this time. The sun was now showing its face, or it would have been if not for the thick clouds on the horizon that were steadfastly foiling its plans. April planned on greeting his teammates dressed and ready to go, so he made the short trek to the locker room where he stripped to his Speedo and stashed his swim bag and sweats in a locker. A blue-striped towel, his cap and tinted goggles he left on a locker room bench before heading to the showers. Most guys didn’t bother wetting their hair before getting in the pool, but April knew from experience that the damaging effects of chlorine respected no gender. It stripped and split his long hair just as it would any girl’s. He preferred to stick his head in the shower before every practice if he wasn’t running late, as it meant he didn’t have to spend a fortune on hair products just to repair the damage. It also meant he didn’t have to listen to Gerald, the ONE STRAIGHT MAN employed at the place where April got his hair cut, moan and groan in despair at April’s beautiful hair suffering such horrendous mistreatment. God.

   Someone had left a radio on an old stool by the showers. April was pleased to find that it worked. He fiddled with it until it volunteered the gritty sounds of a station he knew. The upbeat, jazzy strains of something-or-other were just finishing when April ducked under a showerhead and turned on the water, which was cold enough to make him think it was being siphoned in from the pool itself. It didn’t smell like pool, though, and actually felt refreshingly crisp on his scalp, even if it did cause goosebumps to break out over every exposed (and unexposed) inch of his skinny body.

   What happened next might or might not have occurred had there been anyone else present to witness it. April was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy who would often act the exact same way in public as in private. (Like, say, a complete moron.) April was the kind of guy who sang along to songs while in his car, regardless of whether there was someone in the passenger seat who would have to cover their ears. Similarly, he was the kind of guy who would clench his fist and pretend to sing into an imaginary microphone when he heard a terrific song on the radio. Even if he was wearing nothing but a red Speedo in an empty locker room at 6:30 in the morning.

“Mambo numba’ FIVE!”

It was just as well there were no individuals on the premise. April would have scared away every last one with his improve dance moves, which looked like a cross between the Twist, the Chicken Dance and the Macarena. The fact that Lou Bega was a black man singing about hot chicks didn’t help in the slightest, as April was a white guy and unwaveringly gay. Still, none of this stopped April from leaving the safety of the shower alcove and cavorting across the polished floor like a man possessed. He jammed and jived at leisure and sang along (poorly) at the top of his lungs.

Outside the locker room, freshmen Jeremy and Keith stood poised at its threshold, having re-evaluated their desire to enter upon hearing their team captain break into the chorus of Mambo #5.
“Dude, there is no way that guy is a fag,” Jeremy hissed as the both of them retreated to the other end of the deck, where the horrifying echoes of April’s singing could no longer be heard. “Only straight guys can sing that off-key.”

Award Response - Most Innocent

  Aurora stood before her mirror, trying to fix her hair for the fiftieth time. She was still so excited that she could barely contain herself. He'd asked her out - on a date! It was about time. He'd been in the library nearly every day that week, striking up small conversations with her here and there. Aurora couldn't determine whether or not he was genuinely interested in her, or whether he was just being nice, but when he'd asked her to go to dinner, she almost fainted.

She brushed a little gloss onto her petal-pink lips, glancing up to see her brother in the doorway through the reflection of the mirror. "Adam!" she cheered. "I was just about to leave. I didn't think you'd be home 'til later. Will you walk me to the door?" she asked, turning. Her dress was a lovely light peach colour, appropriate for summer and yet still modest enough that she could wear it without sending the entirely wrong idea.

Adam smiled, folding his arms and standing up a little more straight. "Your hair," he said, pointing to her blonde curls.

Aurora looked up, blue eyes shining, and then gave a sidelong glance in the mirror. "I know, they're just going wherever they want. I'll just pin them back," she said. She picked up a jeweled hairpin and wrapped her tresses in a quick French twist, securing it up. She patted it once, and satisfied, turned to step into her sandals.

"What time will he have you home by?" Adam asked, taking her arm as he escorted her from the room. Downstairs, the doorbell rang, and the sound of Angela's cheerful voice filled the hallway. "Come IN!" she cried, opening the door for Aurora's date.

"Oh, not terribly late. Eleven?" she guessed. She smiled a little to her brother as they descended the final steps.

Adam released her arm and extended his own hand towards her date, offering him a shake. "I'm Adam Valerius," he said. "I understand you met Aurora at the library?"

The blonde smiled a little, and shook Adam's hand firmly. "Stefan," he replied. "And yes. She's quite smart. I never would have been attracted to her, otherwise." His smile grew, and he held his hand out to Aurora.

"Ready, dear?" he asked.

"Of course!" she replied. She gave her brother the briefest kiss on the cheek, and then turned, exiting with Stefan.

"I promise, this is going to be a date you'll never forget," Adam heard Stefan say as the door shut with a click.

Everything in the room was silent.  He stood there, light eyes catching the moonlight, and all she could do was stare back.  She wasn't breathing, she had forgotten how, and not even the sound of her beating heart was there to comfort her.  It was just she and that man.  That man who entered her home so nonchalantly and smiled at her in a way that signified that he was not all there.

She didn't know what to do.  She felt like she was in a stale mate, lips parted and eyes wide, nothing but a table separating them.  At first she had ordered him to leave, then she had threatened to call the cops, but now she felt hypnotized, somehow, and she couldn't get herself to move.  He was just looking at her, smiling, frozen in place.

It felt like an eternity before he moved.  He was slow, exaggerated, as he stepped around the large wooden table.  "I see you've calmed down.  That's good."

She backed up as he neared her, moving until she couldn't anymore; until her back touched the wall.  He blocked her in, his hands sliding from her hips to her shoulders, pressing her down so that she was immobile.  He was still smiling wistfully, still staring down at her--he was so relaxed and she was so enchanted.

"Who. . . who are you?"

He released her with one hand to reach behind himself.  "Don't worry yourself with those petty details."  And when his hand returned, she saw a flash of silver.

And then she felt pain.

An agonized scream tore from her throat, her knees giving out underneath her.  She would have crippled and fallen to the floor if that man hadn't been holding her up.  That man and that knife that pierced through her shoulder.  Through her shoulder.

Tears sprang from her eyes.  "Why are you doing this?" she managed through horrified sobs.  "Why are you doing this to me?"

"To help you," he answered simply.  "I am your savior.  I've come to lead you to a better place."

Her eyes widened and her tears continued.  "You're crazy!" she yelled over and over until she was hoarse.

"You'll thank me when this is over.  Now smile, love.  This life may be over, but your next will begin soon.  You have much to look forward to."

No one heard her cries that night.  No one helped her.  No one came.  And as she took her final breath, she saw the man at her grand piano through her bloody vision, his fingers deftly working over the keys to play a song she had never heard before.  It was beautiful.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

And everything ended.

---

Connor's Top Five (Remembered) Head Traumas

The following are some of Connor's most memorable head traumas, though some are perhaps because of the situation rather than how bad they were.  They're done in chronological order.

---->ROUND ONE!
They both knew that they shouldn't be doing it.  Hell, Chase had told them both already that it wasn't going to end with anything less than someone bleeding, but they'd pushed ahead in spite of that fact.  Why?  Connor and Jordan were NOT afraid of a little blood.  They'd laughed it off, rolled their eyes, and gone on with it.

Shortly after, Jordan was distracting Suzie Flanagan while Connor snagged her most prized possession right from the pool chair she was seated in, then took off like a bat out of Hell down the length of the pool.  She shrieked and ran after him, yelling for her dollie, and the two ten-year old boys only cackled in response.  In fact, the whole thing was absolutely hilarious until Connor hit a wet patch along the side of the pool and felt his foot fly out from under him.  The doll also went airborne, and Connor was lucky enough to smack both his head and ribs on the cement before bouncing off and into the water.  At least the impact with the water didn't hurt.

He actually just sunk for a moment, dazed and hurting so badly that his ten-year old mind didn't know what to do with itself.  It was only after he bumped the bottom that he seemed to realize what was going on, and he could hear muffled sounds from adults, and a splash.  He kicked off the bottom, instinct taking over and telling him he was going to want to breathe in a moment or so, and by the time he reached the surface, there was an adult grabbing him and pulling him to the side of the pool.

Jordan watched while Connor's mom made her son dry off (out of the pool for the rest of the day!) so that she could put some gauze on the scrapes he had down his ribs, and when she butterflied the more impressive gash on his forehead.  That one was going to leave a mark.

---->ROUND TWO!
Shelby was a total babe.  Nobody could argue with him about that, and nobody could say that it wasn't a huge deal that Connor, who was two years younger than she was at only 18, had smooth-talked his way into taking her out to dinner.  Even better was driving her home, and finding out that her parents weren't going to be home all weekend. 

Score!

It didn't take a great leap of logic to understand what that meant, and he was purposely casual about accepting her invitation inside, setting his coat down on an armchair in the living room, and following her to the kitchen when she offered him something to drink.  He got maybe a swallow into that drink before she was in his personal space, and the drink was entirely forgotten by the time he had her sprawled across the (thankfully) sturdy kitchen table.  She pulled him up by his collar, attacking his mouth with hers as she pulled at his clothes.

That was fine with him, and he was only trying to get her hands off of him long enough to get her shirt off when she decided that she wanted more control over the situation and tried to roll him over.

Funny, you'd think she'd have been more aware of the capabilities of her own table.  I mean, she ate off the thing every night, didn't she?
Regardless, she didn't seem to take into account the fact that she was rolling Connor off the damn table, and his sudden flailing inspired her to let go of his shirt.  He threw an arm out to try grabbing at the china cabinet that didn't sit too far away from this side of the table, and found that it was actually closer than he thought.  He hissed as his elbow (funny bone not so funny) impacted the cabinet, followed by the back of his head.  Even better, he also hit the door handle for one of the lower cabinets on his way down, before finally impacting the floor.

Shelby stared down at him with wide eyes, her mouth forming a shocked 'O', and he stared right back up at her for a moment, trying to decide what the hell he was doing about this.  It was bad when it took a moment for the pain to set in.

"Oh, my God, Connor.  Are you alright?"

"Just...give me a second.  You'll know if I have a concussion, cause I'll probably forget your name or something, Sarah."

"Connor!  My name's Shelby!  Oh, my God, you're not alright!"  She was going to panic any minute.

He grinned, but winced when he tried getting up, deciding not to for a moment.  "I was kidding, don't panic!" he told her quickly, reaching around to feel at the back of his head.  Yeah, it was bleeding.  "Good luck explaining this to your parents.  Your dad's a cop, isn't he?  Got any ammonia?"

There was no way he was leaving his blood in a cop's house when he'd been in the process of getting laid with the guy's daughter.  Ammonia would mess up his blood enough to keep the guy from being able to use it.  Always practical, Connor was.  Now, if only he could stand without falling over.

----> ROUND THREE!
Unlike most young hunters, this one came from a fairly long line of individuals who lived and died in the business, and so he’d started early.  He’d been training at the guildhouse as a teenager, and at 18 years of age, he was taking his own hunts.  Sometimes, he worked with others, and sometimes alone.  Most 18 year olds were still being babysat by more experienced hunters, but he got his own jobs sometimes.  One could definitely say he was proud of himself.

This wasn’t one of those.  That, he wasn’t so proud of.  What made it worse was that his Uncle Victor, who didn’t usually hunt at ALL anymore, was with him.  He didn’t see the need, but Victor had demanded that someone go with him for this one, and he’d gotten a pretty simple answer: if you’re so sure he needs help, go with him.  Thus, Victor was with him, and Connor was NOT pleased with that.  He’d done his arguing and bitching earlier, however, and now that they were on the job, he’d shut up.  He’d complain more once the job was done without a hitch, which it would be.  He wasn’t a child that needed a babysitter.

Of course, Victor knew a few things he didn’t, which he was just too pig-headed to believe.  His uncle just made it such a habit of sounding like he knew EVERYTHING that Connor HAD to argue.  It was just that age, and Victor inspired that kind of response in others.  It was just hard to believe that he was really THAT smart.  Sometimes, it was true that Victor was just messing with him, but not always.  Whether this was one of those times or not remained to be seen.

Everything went basically as planned from the start.  Their mark arrived home with a ‘companion’, something they hadn’t been unaware could happen, and Victor waited until she vanished into the bathroom to incapacitate her.  He was quick and quiet, and she would wake up with no more than a slight medical hangover to explain her unexpected nap.  What they’d tried to take into consideration, and Connor had apparently underestimated, was just how much a shapeshifter noticed, especially about their personal living space.  He’d jimmied the window to get them inside, and pretty well, if you asked him.  The problem was that he couldn’t smell things quite like a werewolf, and so he didn’t know that he’d dragged alley smell through a window that hadn’t previously been open.  It had been on his shoe, was on the windowsill despite him wiping up, and the werewolf was instantly on-guard.  He turned around just in time to find an impressively silent young hunter turning the corner, gun raised for a head shot, and Connor would have had the kill if he’d been just a second faster. 

Human speed just doesn’t beat shifter speed.

That wolf was out of the line of fire fast enough that the window behind him shattered while he was still standing in front of the hunter, a bare miss, but that was all that mattered.  Once the shot missed, the wolf was on him, and the man didn’t even shift.  Seemed he wasn’t sure what shape his girl was in, and wasn’t risking her walking out to find a wolf getting shot at.  That may have saved Connor’s life, since he blocked a rather hard blow with his arms and impacted the door into the kitchen hard enough that he went right through it.  He hit the tile, smacked the back of his head off the floor with a sharp crack, and was whipping that gun back up for a shakier second attempt when a shot rang out.

The shifter dropped, and Connor stared blearily up at his Uncle’s smug smirk.  “You’ve got a little something…right here,” the man pointed out, gesturing to the back of his own skull.  Connor was going to be pulling the ammonia out for this one, to make sure he didn’t leave any DNA behind at a ‘homicide scene’.  Damn it.

“Go to Hell.” 

---->ROUND FOUR!
There was a reason that Connor had put off ever getting a motorcycle, and that was purely for the sake of not getting killed on one.  With the kind of work he did on a regular basis, he thought it’d be terribly inconvenient to deny his enemies the opportunity to give him a horribly painful death by getting totally destroyed in a motorcycle wreck.  He was trying to be ‘considerate’, and really, he thought it’d be a lame way to go.  Painful, but lame.  He wasn’t into the lame bit.

The bloodbond with Val had changed all that, though.  He now had less to worry about in the way of motorcycle wrecks, because his body was more capable of healing itself of bad things like that.  He wasn’t vampire fast, but he’d heal up a hell of a lot faster than a human would, with no scarring.  If there was anything that WOULD scar him at this point, he hadn’t yet found out about it, and that was fine with him.  Finding out about something like that would probably involve getting his ass kicked, so he wasn’t in any hurry.  Actually, he wasn’t currently in a hurry for anything, despite the speed he was pushing that bike to.  He and Capri had somehow managed to leave Anya’s bear at his house, probably because the girl had a habit of having it with her and then letting go of it on the couch or something, and he was bringing it over for her.  It wasn’t like it was a rough drive, so he hadn’t minded.

Even later, thinking back, he wouldn’t change his mind on that part.  He’d just hate the rest.
Being who he was, he really should have been more prepared for something to go wrong.  Really, he’d had such a rough year that he should have known it wasn’t over yet and that he still had plenty of room to earn that ‘luckiest, but unluckiest, hunter alive’ title he’d been working on.  Lucky, because he was somehow still alive.  Unlucky, because that wasn’t for lack of trying on everyone else’s parts.  This was just going to be another one of those days, and he actually did see it coming.  He had about three seconds to brace himself, but he had that instant of realization that his world was about to get very simplified and very nasty before it did.

Then, the vampire that had appeared in the street was out of the direct path of the bike, which he’d tried instantaneously to turn, and another was impacting him from the side so hard that both his body AND the bike went spinning sideways.  Unfortunately, he still had a hell of a lot of momentum from the bike’s speed working along with that, so it was still a forward movement, and not one that kept him centered on the road.  He impacted a parked car hard enough that he knew bones broke, and there was a cold feeling in the back of his mind that suggested he shouldn’t be functioning afterwards, even as he hit the pavement, bounced, then finally slid to a stop. 

Despite everything telling him to get up and move, he didn’t do any such thing.  For what felt like an eternity, he just laid there, the shock of the whole situation settling in while he heard his attackers stepping up to examine their handiwork.  Really, he’d have loved to just stay there and wait for someone to come help him, but he knew better.  If he didn’t do something, he was going to be dead.  That meant movement.  Unfortunately, movement made his whole world go from a fog that had made everything seem slow and distant to a sharp, painful reality that made it clear that everything, everything was hurt.  There were bones broken, there was skin raw and bleeding, and he was pretty sure he only had a skull that resembled one piece because he’d promised his mother that he’d actually get a helmet along with the Harley.

He hadn’t actually thought he’d get around to needing a helmet.  Who’d have thought?

Now, that was the first thing he pulled off, needing air and finding the wet heat slowly working down his face to be a bad sign anyway, and he assumed he’d smacked his head off of something a little harder than was expected even for a helmet.  Vampires hit hard.  He’d had weapons on him as well, but whether or not they were in operating order was up for debate.  He wasn’t so sure that HE was, even with the world seeming to gain its normal speed again.  He was hurt worse than usual if he couldn’t focus in a real-time setting, but he was used to bad odds.  The vampires seemed to think he was pretty out of commission, because there were only two of them that he could see, and they were approaching at a pretty leisurely pace.  That was good for him, and bad for them.

Why?

Because they’d forgotten where he was going, and that it really WASN’T a bad ride.  They'd forgotten who would be there when he got there.  Capri wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t likely to miss the sound of a motorcycle impacting a parked car outside her place.  She also wasn’t likely to step outside when her child was nearby without weapons, or to miss when it came to picking off two vamps who were too stupid to assume that a woman stepping outside her front door might be a threat.  Connor heard two shots ring out, and he smiled.  Forget moving, forget fighting.  Capri had this one in the bag.  He stopped trying to get a weapon free, and tilted his sore body enough to glance towards the bike.  The bag attached to the back was still in one piece, which meant two very important things:

Anya’s bear and Frankenphone would both survive. 

---->ROUND FIVE!
At 28 years of age, Connor probably shouldn't have felt as old as he did sometimes.  Being a hunter could do that to you, but he hadn't ever been particularly susceptible to it.  Perhaps it was everything that had happened in the past year, between Tabitha and her attacks, Val and the bloodbond, and Capri (and everything that came with her).  Easily the best part of the entire year had been Anya being born, though not necessarily the process, since that had nearly left him with a concussion.  Who was he to complain over a near concussion when his baby girl was born?

Hell, who was he to complain over a near concussion anytime?  He'd had enough of them.  He could only hope that Anya was years away from contributing to that, since his luck seemed to demand that, if there was something that he could smack his head off of, he would.  He didn't need any assistance with that.

"Okay, little girlie, no more Disney for you tonight," he told her as he scooped her up from the couch, leaving most of her toys behind.  She had her favorite in hand, an incredibly soft teddy bear that Heather had personally given her seal of approval on when he’d bought it, so he knew she'd be fine for the night.  Even so, she made some displeased sounds at being picked up and removed from her Lion King, even if he wasn't so sure she cared all that much about what was happening in the movie.  He thought she just liked the voices, personally. 

That Matthew Broderick, charming his little girl already.
"Shh, they'll be there in the morning.  You need your beauty rest, so you can start wailing at the crack of dawn and wake Daddy's sorry ass up," he told her, grinning as he settled her in.  She laughed, more than likely not understanding what he was saying, but she liked the tone and the smile, so that was all that was necessary.  It actually made his own smile widen to see her laugh, and he tucked her in like a little cocoon, wrapping the blankets tightly around her.  She was still in that baby phase where they liked being securely wrapped, though she wiggled her arms free.  It'd figure that he decided it was bedtime, and she was grabbing at stuffed animals in her crib.  Daddy says bedtime, Anya says playtime.  Perfect, she was picking up habits from her Mom already.

He shook his head, leaning down to kiss her goodnight, and WHACK!

Teddy bear to the face.

He blinked, then smiled again and gave her the goodnight kiss.  "You are going to fit in here just fine, baby."

Award Response: Most Emotionally Insane

---

Age 8; Varekova Residence; Milan, Italy

"And why can't YOU just once do me the courtesy of letting me know when you'll be late for dinner?" Maria screamed, throwing down her oven mitt. At the table, Capricia and her older brother Sergei sat, very still. They were afraid to move, to make a sound, lest their parents' wrath be turned from eachother and onto them.

"Woman, all you do is nag me! Can you blame me for not wanting to come home at all?" Konstantin shot back. He picked up the wooden stirring spoon and raised it to his mouth, taking a taste of what 'dinner' was. Instantly, he threw the spoon across the kitchen, raising his hand to Maria, cuffing her on the face. "How many times do I have to tell you that I HATE pepper? Why do you always put it in the food here? Are you TRYING to make me angry?" he shouted.

"Oh, getting any emotional reaction out of you is a gross overstatement, you useless excuse for a man!" she shot back. She took a step back when he hit her, and then grabbed the simmering pot of stew and threw it at him, scalding his face and chest with its contents. "Take your peppers and shove them up your ass!"

Konstantin screamed, grabbing the first thing his hands could reach. A ceramic tea mug was clasped firmly in his hand, and he threw it. He couldn't see Maria, but he could hear her voice, and he hoped to God it hit her square in the head. There was a sound of a smash, and the noise of a chair scooting up across a gritty, tiled floor a little too fast. Konstantin didn't care, he was concentrating on dunking his head in the sink, trying to get the burning liquid stew off of himself.

Capricia sat, eyes as wide as saucers, while blood ran down her face. The mug had smashed directly in front of her on the table, sending shards of ceramic shrapnel in every direction. Her mouth was bleeding so badly it looked as though she'd been hit with a bat, and a piece of that fine cream-coloured mug was effectively stuck in part of her lip. Sergei stood next to her, calling her name, trying to pull her out of the room so he could get her to the bathroom and stop the bleeding, but she didn't hear him....

Age 12; Abandoned Warehouse; Saint Petersburg, Russia

She could feel sweat rolling down her back, and the damp, warm sensation of blood on the front of her white t-shirt. Around her, the room was a blur - she lay on the cold, dirty floor of an old doll factory, eyes fighting to focus at least three dozen pairs of feet. Shouting, money being tossed at her - the noise was a buzzing in her head. That last blow had really put her down for a minute or two.

A swift kick in the ribs brought her back to her senses, and like a movie suddenly slowed down to a frame by frame, the 'play' button was hit, and time sped up to the current standing. She rolled over, latching her tired cut up hands onto the foot that assailed her side, and twisted as hard as she could. The yells got louder as the men heard the snap of her opponent's ankle.

Capricia jumped up and away ungracefully as he fell, and thrust her hand into her back pocket for something. She slipped a pair of brass knuckles over her swollen own, and then lunged forward, another hit connecting square in his face. They cheered and threw more money. Again. Again. Again.

Age 16; Friesland High School; Portland, Oregon

"Class, we have a new student. Capricia, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?" the teacher spoke.

Capricia stood before the class full of people, mouth firmly shut. Was this woman crazy? She couldn't speak English well enough to dictate a small essay about herself, let alone could she barely even understand what the teacher had said. She got the gist of it, sure, but... really? She looked at her shoes as the class erupted into snide laughter, and felt her shoulders roll into a shrug. She'd never been humiliated before - getting your ass kicked was one thing, but social humiliation in front of people her own age? She didn't know how to react, at least, not in the normal way.

She went to her seat after the teacher sort of just... stood there, and then opened her book, pretending that she could understand what the words said. She heard the girl next to her whisper something, and while she didn't get most of it, she definitely picked up a few derogatory comments. She might have even let it go, but then the girl pointed at her. She pointed. At her.

The desk flipped up and over, bludgeoning the girl square in the head.

Age 18; Bedroom; Sergei's Apartment; Portland, Oregon

"No, mom, I don't know why da--" Capricia twirled the curly phone cord around her finger and sighed, rolling onto her back on the bed. Her mother - drunk, complaining about her father and why he never sent her any money. Again. She closed her eyes, trying to wish her situation away. She needed to move, to change her entire life. Her father had become a womanizer, calling her and speaking down to her, talking to her only when Sergei wasn't around to answer the phone. He didn't even acknowledge the fact that she was his daughter, and most if it stemmed from the fact that she was female - she knew, he'd said as much.

Her mother was greedy, money hungry, and always willing to play the victim. She was overly-critical of everything Capricia had done, ever, which was why she hadn't sent her any photos for the last two years. She didn't think she could take being called fat anymore, and as she stared down at her stomach and pinched a bit of skin where she could see her hips so badly she felt emaciated, she shook her head again. She was surrounded by emotionally damaged people; even Sergei, with his 'white knight syndrome' - he did more harm than good.

She needed to move. She needed to get away from them, get away and not contact them, and not let them contact her. But where? She looked down at the ground where her rejection letter from the New York State University lay, with a dozen other rejection letters. Suddenly, she had an idea.

Age 21; New York City, New York

She'd been seeing Colin for a while, now. Almost six months. She'd been training during the evenings with Connor, who was friendly enough, if not a little silly at times. She still couldn't believe the world around her, how open he'd made her eyes. As she bounded up the apartment stairs, gym bag in hand, she found it a little absurd that she had actually found a job description that suited all her needs: kill vampires, kick ass. She felt like she was on top of the world - good job, good boyfriend, good apartment.

Vampires, speaking of. After that bar fight, after Connor had helped her out, she had begun to learn a lot about them. She learned, in doing so, that she hated them. She didn't like anything that could get into her head, walk around, make a mess of it, and more importantly, see all of her private thoughts. She kept her thoughts in her head for a damn good reason. It also didn't sit well with her that they thought of themselves as predators, which made her prey, because Capricia was not pray. She was not weak. She was not any of those stupid things that people had told her, those things she'd fought so hard to change, and she wouldn't be reduced to some begging, simpering idiot at the hands of any immortal creature, or mortal for that matter - ever. She'd die first.

She turned the key of she and Colin's apartment, and swung the door open. "Colin, I'm home!" she cheered. "The gym was really packed tonight, I ac...." and she stopped.

Colin jerked his head up. The woman who had been on his lap, face buried in his throat, also turned, trying to discreetly wipe the blood away from her mouth. "Capri, I..."

She saw red.

There were shots - two clear ones.

When her hearing came back, another Crimson trainee was at her side, putting a hand out on her arm to force her to lower the gun she'd quickly drawn from her gym bag. "Capri, we need to go. Clean up crew will be here in a minute, but so will the police, and trust me, it won't be pretty. Capri, please," she said softly, firmly, trying to lead her down the hallway.

She was silent on the car ride back to the Guildhouse, not staring out the window, not thinking, not blinking. She stared at her shoes in the back of the car, just stared, eyes wide, brows fixed in a permanent perch of disbelief. What had just happened? Six months - a vampire junkie? How had she never seen that coming? He'd lied, that was how. He'd been letting that disgusting, filthy leech into their apartment while she was away, and she never suspected a thing. How could she have been so stupid?

She was done taking anyone's word. She'd play by her own rules, and if nobody else liked it, well, fuck them. She was done being shit on by the world. It was time to start doing damage wherever she could, however she could, because she was starting to realize that the moment she stopped, something, somewhere, was going to come and just lay her out flat.

She wasn't about to go down without a fight.