What to Do? [Thistle]

[Zelda (DELETED 4403)]

The park was near the edge of the city. Cherrydale, maybe. Zelda wasn’t too sure, though she probably could check. She didn’t often move about the city with a destination in mind. No, she moved about the city in search of newness and spontaneity. She was rewarded, often. Such a tour of the city had found her Elijah, wasn’t that so? It had also got her turned into a vampire, but those were the breaks. She could deal, she would deal. Because that’s all that could be done. People had only to move forward and onward. Hurdles are sometimes leapt, and sometimes the legs are caught and one is sent tumbling in a jumbled, tangled mess. Best to just get up and keep on running.

Tonight she’d found no worthy distractions, however. Not yet. No spontaneous friends, no company, bar the stray dogs that gathered around the edge of the concrete hockey court that she currently occupied. She didn’t know why, but the creatures liked to follow her, given half the chance. One second they might be rifling through a garbage can, intent on only finding food. And the next they abandon their search for offcuts and instead trotting after the girl on skates.

Sometimes it was dogs. Sometimes, the feral cats, whose fur hasn’t ever been touched by human hands. She became absorbed in the lives of these orphan animals, showing them kindnesses that they’d never felt before. They remained wild creatures. She never took them home, never confined them within four walls. Sometimes she fed them. Sometimes she just talked to them, in lieu of nothing better to do. She asked them if they’d met Elijah. And then she laughed, because it was ******* ridiculous. She was going insane. She was talking to animals.

But not now. No, now she sung to them. Off tune, of course; she couldn’t sing to save a life. But she sung, regardless, uncaring if anyone heard, of if they should pass by. So be it. Let them. Let them question her sanity – maybe there’d be a fight in it, and she could have some fun. The adrenaline that came with a fight was unlike anything she knew. She went looking every now and again, but not tonight. Not yet. It was still early, anyway.

The skates thundered against the cement. Zelda’s hair was loose, a flame, sometimes, in the brightness of the overhead lights. Something by Lana Del Rey, maybe. Should couldn’t remember the name of the song; couldn’t even remember half the lyrics. So she made up her own. And as she went around and around that cement court, lithe and free, she juggled. Rocks, found in nearby garden plots.

Her bag was tossed over at the edge of the court, though she didn’t really have much in it. Soon, she’d give up this meaninglessness and go find someone to feed on. Maybe. Or maybe she’d go find Elijah. Or maybe she’d go crash a party. For now, she circled, and juggled, and sang very badly to a gangly audience of strays, while she tried to decide.

[Attire]

[Thistle]

Oh, Cherrydale. Sweet, innocent, Cherrydale. Where the cops roam in lesser numbers. Where chickens fly about their coops. Where resident homes were widely spaced. Where military guards ran twelve hour shifts. Where the she left the movies with popcorn in her hair. Where humans-not-perfectly-tasty humans stand low on the food pyramid. Where Thistle had new pit stops. Prior to her little, well not so little, masquerade incident. Thistle roamed and fed anywhere she pleased. And why shouldn't she so long as she stuck to the shadows. Alas, one too many nights of peeping-toms or grannies with nothing better to do. She could have taken the old hag down just as easy, however she had a soft spot for the women. Something about her skin. The olive bubbles, wrinkled imperfections, she would die of old age. Long before this shade would do. In her youth, Jannie (as she were then) would shriek and shrug. Moan and complain the entire drive to OLD Aunt Lucy's. Oh, the moth balls. Oh, the holy water at the front door. Oh, the agony. Funny how she thinks of the old now, appreciate them more than the rampant young crowd. That woman has one thing she simply can never have. A permanent grave. Thistle was Morbid when she wanted to be.

"What. What is this?" She rounded the corner. Stopped in her tracks. A curious eye on a flame.

It was not a flickering soft flame. It was flowing, alive in the breeze without reason to be there. Beneath it a vibrant distracted woman. On skates. Single ivory digit slunk through a loop on her jeans. She approached the court. One step at a time to not startle the singing scarlet. Long blonde locks waved o’re her shoulder, barely blowing in the breeze. Thistle grey-blues locked on a bag. Her grin grew coy, a sidestep towards it hanging there. Looked right. Left. Funny thing about this town, one moment everyone was everywhere, the next no one. As if by magic, she willed them all away. An automatic shroud of darkness where no light had been. Ivory digits poked about the bag. Prodding for anything worthwhile. She’d need a new phone soon. Her nose wriggled a bit as dust particles lifted from the material. Head canted. Eyes locked back with the women ablaze. Finger retreat. This did not belong to a human.

Thistle pulled upon the bottom edge of black sheer shirt. Brushed a few locks behind her ear. Round copper bracelets clanked together. Hips shifted weight upon one wedged heel. Mortals had a scent. A powerful implosion of dried skin, nail clippings, hair follicles, DNA in every item. Everything they touched was littered with it. No amount of spray could cover that up. Vampires had a scent themselves. A scent of death. Death in many levels of light to heavy. It all depended upon how young or old they were. Again, often times no amount of spray could cover that up. Thistle had perfected her skills to detect these things. It kept her clear of trouble. Trouble with her own kind and low profile, unseen, to those who are not.

“Nice bag!” She exclaimed during a low point of the girls sharp tune.

She had to say something. Had to appear innocent, even though she would be now. Had to at least try and fend off any hard hitting ball that would come at her face. If it did. Her limbs were intact, but reflexes not as quick, yet. That would take a few more days of healing.

[Zelda (DELETED 4403)]

This was home to Zelda. The skates. The smoothness of them, the way the world rolled by in a blur. She’d become one with the footwear; she should have been born with wheels, rather than with feet. Get her out of skates and she was awkward, and short.

Past the objects that she juggled, she could see the clearness of the sky. The winking of the stars in a Universe that was so large, it made her shudder to even think. How many other Earths could there be out there? How many other planets just like this one, where the occupants thought they were normal and that humans were humans and that there was nothing else, and if they claimed that there were ghosts or monsters or vampires they were thought to be insane, and insecure, and worthy of strait jackets. Or, maybe, the other planets out there had it all figured out. Maybe they didn’t live in societies that were divided and violent; where there were differences, but those differences were accepted and everyone got along.

Zelda scoffed. It was such a bright thing to imagine, and a reality so far away from this one. She didn’t really know where she stood regarding the rest of them. She was vaguely aware that relations with a human would be frowned upon, but she couldn’t care. At least, with her human, she didn’t feel quite so… lonely.

Maybe she should create a kingdom of animals. Have a house built out here, in the sticks. Not in the wilderness, because she didn’t have a death wish. But close enough to the wilderness, so she could lure the animals to her. But far enough from civilisation that the animals would willingly come.

A sharp voice pulled her from her reverie. One of the dogs barked. Just once. The juggled objects fell to the ground, and Zelda continued on around to the edge of the court, where she’d left her back. Dirt and stones kicked up beneath her skates as she came to a harsh halt, her green eyes narrowed a little in the gloom. She looked the woman up, and down, and back again. Sizing her up, maybe. Or maybe just assessing, for whatever reason.

”Yeah it is. I think so too,” she said, and licked her lips. She didn’t accuse the other of thievery. Why announce oneself if trying to thieve something? Zelda crossed her arms over her chest. The stray dogs had trotted after her, but kept their distance, pacing. Watching. Tongues lolling. The other woman wasn’t human. Zelda knew this, though she didn’t know how she knew. A woman with sharp edges, and a beguiling smile. Zelda tried a smile of her own.

”So what do you think? Could I win Canadian Idol?” she asked, smile turning into something resembling a smirk.

[Thistle]

Thistle was never the girl to run. Run away from home, away from rules, away from misery, or the law enforcement officers. Never from a fight or in lieu of done something she was not so proud of. Stand up and suck it up. In this world. A vampire had it perks. Many in fact that she had adoration for. In the former, well. Not so much. Jannie, as a human, was not as agile or quick footed. She’d been arrested for arson, destruction of private property, theft, defacement, breaking curfew. Anything that did not involve hard time. Dad, Mother or Maximilian (the families driver), bailing her out. She was a smart kid. Smart enough not to stay home and mooch off of the green bills that walked themselves into their home or grew on the backyard tree. She needed that rush of excitement of something she did. Something on the risky edge.

“So.. uh.. What kind is it?” Head nodded slightly towards the womans bag. Eyes drop to the dogs that had just fallen in line.

She was curious, honestly. As much as Thistle despised having the ‘world’ handed to her. She absolutely loved formal fashions when the mood stuck her. Perhaps some of her father’s rich tastes clung to the girls’ appetite. She did not always show it though. Too often she masked her voluptuous frame in over-sized coats, loose band t-shirts, flared jeans and untied Doc Martin boots. Her hair not always straight but in wavy bunches of a bristled mess. Bed head or something. Nails not always painted and if so, were most often chipped from her nervous picking.

“Canadian Idol?” Her tone questioning. “What’s that?”

Thistle walked along the edge of the court. She squat. Held out an ivory palm. Hopefully showing the dogs she meant not harm. She assumed they would be okay to her as they did follow the other vampire around to closely. There were a few times when she approached a stray cat in this town. It hissed, shown its claws, and ran. Thistle figured it was some sixth sense the feline had picked up to set it off.

[Zelda (DELETED 4403)]

The woman had a bit of scruff about her, that much could be ascertained upon first assessment. Zelda edged a little closer; a tuft of wind brushed past the both of them, winding in Zelda’s direction. She lifted her nose to the wind as she tucked into that sixth sense of hers, the one that she learned to use without being aware that she was learning to use it; the other woman was a vampire, just like Zelda. Maybe she wanted to figure out how she knew. Maybe she wanted to figure out how that sixth sense worked. Maybe she wanted to be like one of the dogs that tailed her; did it have something to do with scent? Maybe warmth has a smell, and the lack of it is what gives away the other undead. Undead. What a ridiculous notion.

Zelda shrugged.

”Fucked if I know,” she said, glancing at her bag. It was brown leather. It was cracking in some places, due to overuse. ”I got it from some op-shop somewhere. If it had a designer, maybe it’s on a tag somewhere,” she said. She’d never had much money growing up. Her parents weren’t made of money. They slaved away in jobs that hardly paid them enough money, but they made enough to be comfortable. Sure, they complained about bills and mortgages and barely scraping by, but Zelda would not complain about her childhood. She’d been loved, and cared for, with parents who let her do what she wanted and didn’t care that she didn’t get the best grades. They were just happy that she was alive and happy.

”Canadian Idol? I’m not sure it’s something that exists but it may as well, given every other bloody country has one. Reality TV show. Singers. You know the one?” she didn’t really care. She didn’t really wait for an answer to the question, either. She wasn’t really interested in the answer and nor was she in the mood to discuss ridiculous reality TV shows. She regretted bringing it up to begin with.

The dogs were wary. There were only three of them at this point. None of them seemed to have a particular breed attached to them. Mongrels, one small, and two average sized. The fur was matted and the eyes were anxious. They wanted to be loved, but they’d been kicked to the curb one too many times to expect any love. Zelda was curious to see whether they’d take to this new person as they had taken to her.

”I dunno why they hang around…” she said, arching a brow and standing absolutely still.