Path of the Vampire forum

Mittens wasn't sure where she was or who she was. She wasn't even sure if that was her real name. The girl had woken up in an alley with a strange tattoo on her wrist. A barcode tattoo to be exact. All she knew is that she felt sick to her stomach. She also felt dizzy and cold. The only thing she had on was an torn hospital gown. There were what looked liked puncture wounds on her wrists and arms too. Bruises as well. What the hell had happened to her, she wondered. Maybe someone would be nice enough to help her, but who? She wasn't even sure who she knew and didn't know or who she could trust.

Other than the marks on her wrists and arms, she was an alright looking girl. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Though her hair was pretty messy and knotted at the moment. She had got a look of herself in a department store window. Maybe should go somewhere and get cleaned up. The girl stood at about 5'8", not a bad height she thought. If she could just remember who she was.

The Dead City raid was over and life was catching up with her. All of the little things you let slip when you’re sword deep in Mooncalf Titans and Treto… Terytron… something Bears. Pi’s sleeves were rolled to just below her elbow, the flowing champagne coloured shirt open at the neck and falling from her shoulders in a bias cut swath. Around her neck she wore the necklace Elliot had given her for Christmas last year, a shooting star with a diamond shining from its middle. She wore buff coloured pants fashioned after jodhpurs, paired with well worn boots to her knees. It was casual, comfortable and allowed for ease of movement. Pi had found herself inserting items into her wardrobe beyond her usual monochromatic lean, but rarely did she wear anything she wasn’t able to fight in.

The flowing shirt hid the handgun in its holster sitting snuggly in the curve of her back. She was right handed and the draw for this weapon allowed her the ease of reaching behind her back and drawing her weapon in a smooth and practiced move.

Tonight she was taking out the trash, the night turning from grey to full dark, clouds running across the sky, chasing the quarter moon. Opening the back poor Pi lifted the two bags on she threw into the skip the other, bottles clinking as they crashed against one another, went into the smaller recycle bin. Tossing the last bag she didn’t head back into the bar choosing instead to walk the alley standing still at the junction where dark shadows hid from the beam of street light.

Watching the blonde pick her way down the street, looking into store windows Pi arched her eyebrow. There was something not quite… right about her. She seemed disoriented and unsteady. The quandary for Pi being, did she even want to get involved with the woman. Altruism was all well and good, but you learn pretty early that it’s not always a good idea to get involved in things like disoriented bruised women. So Pi didn’t. She watched instead keeping very very still, observing as the woman passed her by.

She frowned, looking at the tattoo on her arm again. She tried rubbing it off then even licked at it to see if that would work. Still nothing. The girl sighed heavily and kneeled on the street. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach suddenly. Holding her stomach, she found herself throwing up on the ground. What the Hell was going on with her? Maybe she had just had a crazy night at the bar? People did that all the time. Once she was done throwing up, she groaned and sat there. If she had the crazy night then what was all the bruises and marks on her body or the gown? Where had she got those from. A pervert who had gotten too crazy with her? She frowned and tried to remember her name at least. It was then she saw a woman watching her. She didn't say a word though.

There was nothing about the night that was special from any other. She couldn’t look at the moon and divine a sign about how she should act or what she should do. This life, like any other, was defined by choices, paths that stretched out before you unknown, untraveled, uncharted. You stared down one or another, a crossroads of decisions not yet made and chose as best you could. You didn’t always get it right, but you lived with those choices. Pi chose to remain quiet, to watch, eyes sharp.

Pi had never thought herself a good person, not in the way others defined themselves. In her youth she has stylised what she had become as a necessity of survival. She celebrated her talent to adapt and embraced her pragmatism. She made her situation a strength. She had built on that strength and thought herself resilient.

Leaning against the wall of the alley, she wedged her shoulder comfortably along the curve of the corner. Half of her face was in shadow, the other lit by the watery light of the flickering street lamp. She wore the shadow mask, her gaze steady on the woman.

It was a clear night. If she wanted to stare up at the moon to divine that higher meaning all she needed to do was glance up. A waning moon hung above. Clouds moved, wisps of barely held floss dissipated by a sharp wind. If she had feeling in her hands they would be chilled. She clenched the hand at her side.

She made her decision and like many of the paths and choices she had made since her turning, she wasn’t entirely certain if it was the right one.

“Bonjour.” She greeted the woman quietly, her expression schooled carefully into one of polite concern. “Are you… okay?”

Mittens wiped her mouth clean of any vomit. A toothbrush would be lovely, she thought. The girl looked up at the woman who had spoken to her. She thought about telling her to buzz off but Mittens could really use help right now. She smiled a little as she looked the woman over. Not bad, she thought with a grin. If only she was feeling better. Then she would of flirted with the other woman. "Hello, ma'am." She spoke softly. Hopefully she would stay and help her at least. Maybe get some new clothes and something to eat.

Her reciprocal greeting was the short and sharp movement of her head. It could be termed a nod, but it really wasn’t. The movement was too abbreviated to be termed something so mundane and her eyes weren’t welcoming. They were flat and expressionless even as her earlier words belied the emotion that was meant to follow the query.

Pi, had said them for form and function, not because she really cared. Or did she? Shaking her head she moved into the street, knowing the light from the lit lamps illuminated her completely now.

She was slim, a willow of a woman, all sharp angles and lean movement. It was ingrained for her to move with economy as if excessive anything was a flagrant excess to be avoided. Except when she held a weapon, except when she pulled her hand gun and trained it on the target. She came alive under the scope of a deadly firearm and with that focus came the limber movement of a person whose additional appendage included the cold barrel she held in her cupped hands.

It was hard to drum up the requisite care for what was happening to the woman, since the woman had failed to answer Pi’s query. How were you meant to fake (or mean) concern for a person’s welfare if said person didn’t even answer the question that was asked of them. With a sigh Pi tried again, this time speaking a little slower, compensating for her French accent and enunciating her words carefully.

“Are… you okay?” Of course now that she said it twice the query begged for action on her part, as if repeating the question obligated her to do something about whatever it may turn out to be that bothered the woman. She frowned, a small one, just enough to pucker the smooth line between her brow and crinkle the edges of eyes.

Shana scowled as the bike under her guttered to a stop. You've got to be kidding me. She slid from the saddle and kicked a rear tire. She already knew the problem. Out of gas. Again.

Yes, okay, it had been a while since Shana had any kind of vehicle. But she didn't remember them eating up fuel this fast. And she didn't remember gas costing this damn much either.

A simple solution, of course, would be to keep an eye on the fuel gage. That didn't seem to be possible lately, not with the 200 other things she was trying to keep track of every night. Bank balance, numbers, investments, items for sale, items to buy, tricky fae words she was supposed to be memorizing, but which seemed to slip right out of her brain the moment she'd master one...

She blew out an irritated breath, wound a chain through Cary Grant's rear tire, and stormed up the alley she'd been driving down. Luckily it looked like there were some open stores around here. Maybe she wasn't too far from a gas station this time.

"Get your **** together, Shana," she muttered under her breath. Then she froze, because it appeared she had company. A woman standing in the street. Something about her posture, her hair, seemed familiar. But Shana couldn't see her face yet -- shadows fell across it as the woman looked down at something.

"Hey," Shana called out, her voice pitched to be loud enough to hear, but not so loud as to concern anyone. She knew from personal experience that it was a bad idea to startle anyone in this city, especially someone out alone after dusk in an otherwise empty street. "Know if there's a gas station nearby?" she asked, still approaching the other woman, but slowly. Then Shana's gaze fell on another figure, crumpled on the street between them. The sharp odor of vomit reached her nostrils at the same moment, and she repressed an involuntary shudder. Even when she'd still been able to drink, Shana had always been careful to stop herself before she reached the point of illness. She couldn't stand that feeling, having your insides turned out. It made her feel weak. Out of control.

Not to mention it stank.

"Uh... What happened to her?" Because now she'd drawn a few steps closer, she noticed the prone form was indeed another woman -- girl, really. Shana glanced up at the standing woman again, and felt a jolt of surprise and recognition. Wait a minute. Was that...?