Badgeless

OOC: History (In other words: Mun cannot write novel-length things)

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 21:11:09 GMT

Lupeias’ Journal

Entry One

I realize, as I sit to write this on my nice, neat printer paper with my black ballpoint, that this may be a futile effort. I have never been good with recollection, and should thus avoid writing my memoirs. But a few friends insisted, so I am. We should get a few things out of the way first.

Item one: This is not a diary. This might be a journal, or an autobiography, but never a diary. Diaries insult my pride.

Item two: This may be inaccurate. I am old, and can’t remember like I used to. But I’ll be checking facts with those still alive.

Item three: Inaccurate it may be, but it is also largely true. You may not want to acknowledge this. Feel free to read it- and indeed publish it, if that time comes- as fiction.

Item four: I may seem insane. Many people tell me I am mad. In my mind, I am sane. But that is, of course, in the mind of a possibly insane woman. Perhaps I am as psychotic as they tell me.

All understood? Good. We won’t have to interrupt this. Where should I begin…? Of course- at the beginning. Well, that’s a bit far. I can remember as far back as when my dad died.

I was…eleven. A long time ago… My father had been sick for almost a month. We weren’t sure with what. You didn’t really know in those days. I went in, and there he was, dead. I remember something breaking…I had probably dropped what was going to pass for his breakfast.

I had always liked Da. Mam was never keen on him. She’d always regretted marrying a stablehand. Mam always wanted the higher things in life. I think maybe two months later, she’d married the blacksmith. And in a year, I had a baby sister. Christine.

See, I was Catherine back then. Matching names. Cute, huh? Yeah, I didn’t think so either.

When I was 16, I started working in the stable like my Da. You learn a lot in a stable with a bunch of guys. My vocabulary certainly was shocking my parents when I was 18. I always thought that was a hoot.

By 25, I was still working there. Maybe here’s where I went crazy. I can’t rationalize what I did, running away. But I ran. And I made more bad decisions. I became a werewolf. That same night, I killed the blacksmith. And really ran away from home.

I suppose, in a way, Satan always looked after me. He was like a surrogate father, the father that the blacksmith couldn’t be. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? But he always looked in on me and looked after me. That’s what makes a father, isn’t it?

We’ve got another call. I have to go. I’ll store this in my pack. It’ll get a bit messy, but who cares? Not you. Not anyone in the world.

Entry Two

I apologize for what I’m about to do; there’s a lot of time between where I left off and where I’m going. I’m skipping how I learned to shift, my first theft, and my first real murder. I moved a lot. Pitchforks were involved.

But anyway, I found this place. Satan found this place. I don’t know. But it was nice. There were...nice people. Werewolves. Vampires. Zombies. Pitchforks were for plays or barns. Torches stayed on walls. Great place. Met some good friends. City Girl, Red, Ducks. God I loved ‘em. They were werewolves, like me; changed by other werewolves, though. Great pals. Red and City Girl were…I’m not sure what they were. They mighta been married, or getting married, or just...together.

Ducks was…my first serious relationship. He was such a sweet, calm man. Looking back I know nothing could have really come of it; he has stayed so laid-back and sane these past centuries. I’m not sure how Apollo and I are working out; work certainly means we hardly see each other. But I digress. Ducks. Great man. Left him behind three hundred years ago. Might be some unresolved issues in that relationship. I’m no good for him. (Fuck, gotta go to work)

Entry Three

I don’t know what happened the night it all went wrong; god, there were so many hunters. When we first heard the gunshots, we thought it was the play. Red went to look when the screaming started. City Girl went when Red…well. Ducks made me run. Smart man. Kept me alive that day. The day that so many other people died. Maybe I stopped being so sweet and kind and innocent then. Mass slaughter changes people.

There’s one thing I’ll always remember about that escape, besides the ache of losing my friends. The vampire. I found out years later that his name was Ivan. He was a beautiful man with blond hair and gray eyes; funny what you remember about things…He had pulled us up and out of the escape stairway. He told us to warn everyone, to send out a cry. And then...he jumped back down. For once, it was the hunters screaming. He died that night. It seems so unrealistic now; they have a plaque for him and the others who stayed and died that night. The zombies eventually got rid of the damn hunters. But that one leech saved so many others. And killed so many that deserved death. Perhaps that is morbid as well.

I was...so mad at Satan that day. I asked him if he could of done something. “Yes, I could have.” Bastard. …Heh. I’m still mad about that. He could have, but he didn’t. Well. Everyone has their little rows, yeah?

Anyway, I got into the criminal bit of the world; assassinations a specialty. Ironically, that hasn’t changed in the past two hundred years. I was damn good at it, you know. One of the best. The goddamned best. Killed so many people I can’t even remember how you’re supposed ta feel about it. I feel satisfied. Job well done. Food, even. Clothing. Sweet smell of blood in the air…thieving, too. That was good.

I dragged friends into it…Humph. Had no friends, until I met Sang. He wasn’t Sang then. John McConner. Good boy, he is. Son of a grocer. He’s bloody curious, though. It’s a fatal thing. He ended up a werewolf, too. I just...dragged him along. Taught him languages. Things like that, y’know. He’s a sweetie. Like a brother or a son, I dunno. I didn’t have any pups of my own; I’ve kinda adopted all my friends. Gwenny calls me mum, the silly bird.

Well, we traveled, we visited my sister, (Who, thanks to Bones, was also a werewolf) we said hello to the ghost-of-Ivan… (weird) and we eventually headed back to Scotland. (Sang’s a Scotsman. So is Gwen, but she comes in later.)

Entry Four

Ahem. I need to fix that alarm. Anyway, nothing much happened for a long time. We traveled, we killed people, we ate things…it’s funny how insignificant things seem when you’re writing them down. Anyway. We got into a lot of trouble those days. Broke out of a lot of prisons. Got into a lot of fights, too. Can’t be bothered to remember specific ones…bunch of upstart bounty hunters who got the ‘silver’ bit of the memo but not the ‘makes bad weapons’ bit. Silver plating, kids. Make blades out of silver and you’re just asking to constantly be sharpening them. Idiots. Got a few good scars, though.

Somewhere along the lines we got peircings…Hmf, I swear Sang’s make him look like a pirate. I should probably stop being so fascinated with poking bits of metal in myself...but I want a tongue piercing. We didn’t get the matching tattoos until later. ...Ahem. On with the story.

We hit the American scene right at the turn of the century. 1900, time of…nothing much interesting to us. Wars, sure, we fought in a few. Anything we could sink our teeth into. By 1920 we were wanted criminals in the city of Chicago. Met a odd girl in a speakeasy. Her name was Gwen…she was kinda interesting. Cops found the place. We hopped in the car and blasted outta there. In theory, we were escaping to Canada. (With Gwen, of course)

We…kinda got arrested. Well, we got arrested, no ‘kind of’ about that, but we did escape and hop a train. Can’t keep good criminals down, eh? Especially not the supernaturally strong ones. We’re really far too amazing for our own good. (I have been informed that I am being insufferably arrogant again. Let us rest a moment while I kick the shit out of Sang and resume writing… Back. Crazy teenagers these days.)

Anyway, the Great Depression wasn’t as bad for us…but we were of the stock that could go weeks without food or snack on humans, so there was no doubt we could handle it. Sang served in World War Two, but of course Gwen and I didn’t. We did, however, head over and get into all kinds of trouble. But trouble sort of follows us wherever we go. I seem to remember being pushed out of a plane. That was interesting in itself.

Well, despite our charm and good humor (Sang is sniggering behind me, I can hear him) we often got into lots of trouble. Lots. Like ‘Most Wanted’ posters and things. And bounty hunters. And…yeah, well, it wasn’t always fun.

We had this hiding place in the woods. Nice house. Lived there, the three of us. It had either been forgotten or condemned long ago, so free range for us. Or, well, we lived there until a rather random and unfortunate amount of police searching forced us to abandon it in five seconds flat. We left food on the table.

And here I am now, working in this gray building with hundreds of other psychos and never getting enough rest or food or aspirin. I do it anyway. I must be crazy. But they let me play and kill, so it’s not that bad.

It’s all very hush-hush, top secret, I have an online journal if you want information…no, seriously. It’s quite useful. If hardly updated. Sang and Gwen have one as well.

Entry Five

Now that we’ve covered most of the bases of my history, we can talk about my relationships. (Won’t this be fun?)

I have two best friends, whom I have mentioned often; Gwen is a werehawk who molts uncontrollably (We think it’s an allergy) and Sang is a werewolf with some serious intelligence issues. They’re both Scots…lord save my ears. Ear. Whatever.

I’m married to a very lovely blonde man named Apollo. We’re having issues. Don’t ask. It’s a rough relationship.

I have a few other casual friends I mostly see in the lounge. They’re all either crazy, or they have severe interaction problems. Or both. You never know. One enjoys strangling people, so what can you say?

Suffice to say my friends and I are all batshit insane. And struggling with our social issues. And really, either we’ll all end up killing each other or ourselves. So basically, my life has become a long, drawn-out tragedy. Drama. Comedy? Dramedy? I’ve no idea. It’s stupid, anyway.

I have just summed up my soul and my life in six pages on Word. With other people, they can get a fuckin’ novel out of this shit. Me? Six. Pages. I’m concise and pathetic. Why do I put up with myself? I’m just sad. Well, one of these days I’ll dance too close to the fire, and wind up burned. Or just dead for once. God, how I wish I could die.

Sat, 04 Mar 2006 19:20:17 GMT

*A BIT ABOUT YOU*
Basics
Name:	Catherine Delgada
Age:	451
Birthday:	Sept. 21, 1554
Where were you born:	Italy
Where do you live:	I move around a lot
Height:	5'1"
Tattoos:	666, pawprint, cross, moon.
Piercings:	Yes.
Siblings:	Half-sister, Christine.
Hair color:	brown
Eye color:	red
Righty or Lefty:	right
Weakness:	silver
Fear:	cages
Love/ Friendship
Are you single:	yes
If so, do you have a crush:	no
How old were you when u had your first kiss:	16/17
Have u ever kissed someone of the opposite sex:	yes
Have u ever kissed someone of the same sex:	possibly, if I have I can't remember immediately.
Who is your best friend:	Sang and Gwen
How long have u know this person:	Sang-150 years +, Gwen- since the 1920's
Have you ever been in love:	yes
Have you ever had your heart broken:	several times
Do You
Drink:	yes
Smoke:	yes
Swear:	yes
Want to get married:	not anymore
Want to have kids:	not really
Go to school:	no
Get along with your parents:	I got along with my dad, and my foster-dad ain't bad.
Believe in yourself:	sometimes.
Trust other people easily:	no
Think you are attractive:	definitely not.
Like thunderstorms:	yes
Play an instrument:	no
Consider yourself tolerant of others:	no
When was the last time you
Got drunk:	ages
Made yourself food:	dinner
Read a book:	about a week
Watched a movie:	yesterday
Watched t.v:	right now
Hugged someone:	I don't
Got mad at someone:	I can't measure time that small
Made your bed:	I don't
Bought something for yourself:	last time I bought weapons
Bought something for someone else:	christmas
Take this survey \| Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

OOC-Past 2

Sat, 26 Nov 2005 04:44:25 GMT

1598

Catherine ran hard. She always ended up running, it seemed. And this time she was running from yet another mob. Apparently people weren’t fond of demons anywhere.

“Hello again, Catherine.” Satan smiled. It was disturbing, and not only because he was hovering with her as she ran.

“Hello, can’t talk now! Bother me later!” She slowed down a little and glanced behind her.

“You’ve lost them. The dogs don’t want to follow you.”

“How nice.”

Satan sighed and actually stood on the ground. “I know somewhere you can go, Catherine.”

“Is that so?” She leaned against a tree to catch her breath. “I can go a lot of places.”

“Don’t be so negative. It’s a nice underground village. Plenty of people like you.”

“Like me. Like me. You certainly spread the love, don’t you?” She scowled at him.

“Come along, Catherine.” He took her hand and led her along as she growled unflattering comments. “You’ll need a new name.” He interrupted her.

“-What? What’s wrong with Catherine?”

“You’re leaving the past behind you.”

“Agh. Fine. Be mystic. How about…I don’t know...something to do with wolves?”

“How original. Lupus?”

“Kind a male. Lupis? Lupeis? Lupeies? Lupeias?”

“The last one was all right.” He tapped on a sycamore tree, and pressed a knot.

“Yes. Lupeias. All right then.” She stared as the tree opened to a set of long, rickety looking stairs. “Oh. That’s new.”

“Welcome to Utopia, and all the rest of that long speech I’m supposed to give. Watch out for the vampires, they aren’t fond of werewolves.” He disappeared.

“Vampires? Hey! Hey! Satan! Come back here!” She looked about frantically before giving a resigned sigh. He did like being mysterious.

She began the long descent into the hidden city. There were...people everywhere, and most of them were not human. Actually, there were no humans she could smell. Several were a bit too furry, and at least had an odd greenish cast to their skin. She wandered a little, not sure what was going on. She got jostled by all manner of creatures. A couple of them nodded to her in a vaguely polite manner as they hurried past. She looked around at the buildings. They were surprisingly normal- A blacksmiths, Apothecary, a few different taverns, a Grocer. She went into one of the taverns. The sign above the door said that it was the Wolf’s Tail- probably a good place for a werewolf to go.

When she walked in, the pub quieted. She blinked. They blinked. Then a few sniffed the air and grinned. Before she knew it, she was enveloped in a sort of happy, furry welcome. They knew she was new to Utopia. They could smell it, they told her. Most of them smelled like alcohol, dog, and general cheer. She shied away from most of them- so much happy in one spot was slightly intimidating. After names- most of them highly strange and impossible to remember- were exchanged, they slowly drifted back to their seats.

A few remained. One man who had shaggy red hair, a goatee, and brown eyes (smelled like pine and winter and courage, her brain told her.), a woman with long, pale blond hair and blue eyes (Warmth and hunting and cinnamon.), and man with dark brown hair and gray eyes who was quieter and more reserved than the rest (Blood, medicine, rubbing alcohol, kindness).

“Sorry about the ruckus.” Said the redhead. “They’ve all had a few drinks, and are feeling overly cheerful.”

“They’ll leave you alone now, unless they have something to say.” The woman grinned. “And to give you a nickname.”

“A nickname?” Catherine/Lupeias asked.

The dark haired man nodded, and spoke in a quiet, soft voice. “Everyone has one.”

“What’re yours, then?”

“Well, I’m Red. Not much creativity there, I’m afraid.” He gestured to his bright hair.

“I’m City Girl. I’m from London, you see.” The woman had a pleasant British accent.

“Ducks.” Said the calm man sheepishly. “It’s short for Doctor, you see. I didn’t like Doc very much. I’m the one who stitches people up when they’ve done something foolish.”

Lupeias grinned. “I’m Ca- Lupeias. It’s Lupeias.”

“Ah. Changed your name, did you?” Red tilted his head. It was a very puppyish gesture.

“Well...yes. Bad memories, and all that.”

“You smell like brimstone. Brimstone and fire. Why’s that?” City Girl asked curiously.

“Uhm. Friend left me outside.”

“Smell of Satan, that. You’re friends?” Ducks had only polite inquiring in his voice. Well, that and a bit of inquisitiveness.

“He’s more like a constant annoying presence that checks up every few years.” Said Lupeias.

“Ah.” Red nodded. “Hmm…Lupe can be short for Lupeias, of course, but a real nickname describes more…Imp, or something?”

“Imp sounds good.” City Girl said. “Short and sweet, like.”

“Imp? Imp? My new nickname is Imp?” Lupeias sounded incredulous.

“Better than Ducks.” Said Ducks. “And probably pretty accurate.”

Lupeias sighed. “All right.”

“Do you want the tour?” Asked Ducks. “It’s a big city.”

“Sure.” Lupeias grinned.

City Girl and Red watched them wander out. They were both grinning faintly.

“Well, they hit it off.” Red said, smirking.

“I think it’s cute.” City Girl smiled. “Come on, we’ll lose them.”

The other two werewolves headed out to catch up with Ducks and Lupeias. They were talking quietly. ‘Imp’ had wanted to know where Ducks was from, and they were exchanging stories. Red and City Girl caught up, and they all bantered playfully. As they showed Lupeias around the city, they introduced her to other werewolves, a few zombies (including Zechariah, an odd gray man who ran the large weapons shop.), and a small number of werecats.

They quickly explained that yes, there were vampires-‘leeches’- but werewolves and vampires tried to stay separate to avoid fighting.

The werewolf names were interesting. Scruff and Sniffer, Digger, Muds, Wildcard. A thin young man was named Scrapper and the tall, burly woman who was talking animatedly to him was Bounce. It seemed, all in all, like a nice place. A place she could get used to. Why leave? Everyone here didn’t mind extra fur or a tail. She could live here for the rest of her life. It would be so easy to become a homebody.

1608

Lupeias laughed at something Red said, his hands flying wildly. She leaned against Ducks, who took the oppertunity to hold her face still and check the long line of stitches down her cheek.

“Honestly, did you want scars to look like tear tracks? Those stitches are holding up nicely, though. Stay away from the leeches, already.” Ducks glared at her admonishingly.

“God, Ducks, I’m just fine!” She glared back and squirmed away.

He laughed and pecked her on the opposite cheek. “I know, I know. Invincible Imp, right?”

“She did get slashed open pretty bad.” Said City Girl, shooting Lupeias a worried glance.

“Ah, it’s our Imp. She’s fine. Nothing to worry about, yeah?” Red grinned. “Nothing keeps Imp down for long.”

Lupe nodded, and opened her mouth to speak. There was musket fire in the street. Someone screamed. The four wolves looked at each other.

“I’ll go look,” said Red. “It’s probably nothing. Theater people, you know.” He got up and walked out the door.

“Hey friends, what’s going on?” It was Red’s friendly, crowd calming voice.

Gunfire. Red roaring wildly. More gunfire. Red snarling. Someone reloading. Shots. A terrified, pained yelp.

The remaining three stared at each other in horror.

“You don’t think-” City Girl began.

“I do. Run.” Lupeias stood up. “I’ll hold them off.”

“No! They hurt Red.” City Girl snarled. “I’m going to tear the skin off of their bones!” She changed into the werewolf battle form- at least eight feet tall, bipedal, and with a huge maw of razor-sharp teeth. She loped out the door.

Lupeias got up. “City Girl…”

“Come on, Imp.” Ducks pulled lightly on her arm.

“But- Red, City Girl…”

“We can’t do anything, Imp. We’ve been invaded. We need to get out now.” He pulled her up. “The zombies will take care of it! Just come on!”

They ran out the back of Red’s home as a flaming torch was flung through. They headed to the nearest exit, alerting other ‘cats and ‘wolves as they ran. Humans got in their way. They didn’t stay that way for long. What got into Lupeias’ way was knocked down and didn’t rise again. Ducks was more careful. He left a wake of unconscious hunters behind him. They made it to the emergency exit. Lupeias was soaked in blood- not hers. She flung the door open, nearly tearing it off of its hinges. A blonde man grabed their wrists and hauled them up and out.

“Run!” He screamed. “Run and don’t stop, pups! They have silver bullets!” His long, sharp canines flashed in the dim light.

“They have wood, too, leech.” Lupeias said, panting. “You’d best hurry as well.”

“I am not afraid. I will die while my home goes up in flames.” He stared down the tunnel. “But the rest must get out.”

“Good luck” Lupeias said. “And good hunting.”

“It will be a sweet hunt. And a filling one, before I die.” He grinned at them.

Ducks nodded. “Help the wounded. Guide the dying.”

“I will help as I can.” He said.

Ducks and Lupeias ran. They shifted into wolves and sent up a howl. The message was Run. Run Away. Intruders. Run. Death by silver, death by fire, death by wood. Death.

Ducks and Lupeias stopped a few miles away. The shifted back and caught their breath.

“I will miss Utopia. Evidently it wasn’t much of a utopia.” Lupeias crouched on the ground.

“I will miss Red and City Girl. But Utopia can be rebuilt. Lives cannot be.” Ducks stood and looked back grimly. “We had a home there. We had a life there.” He was sad- she could smell it. She was too.

“We’ll have lives again. Ten years, I was there. Ten can be fixed easily for a werewolf.”

“I was there for fifty years, Imp. Fifty long years.”

“You’ll have fifty more.” Lupeias said simply.

“I certainly hope so. I will miss you. You are leaving. I can tell. But I’ll stay and help rebuild.” He looked reproachfully at her.

“I can’t stay, Ducks. Please don’t ask me to stay. You know I can’t.” She looked at him sadly.

“So the Imp is really a lone wolf at heart.” He said sorrowfully.

“She always has been. She’d hoped to be cured of that. I will miss you, Ducks.” Lupe got up and walked away.

Lupe padded through the falling snow. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair, but Utopia deserved better. Red and City Girl deserved better. Ducks deserved better than to bury two dead friends and watch one walk out of his life. Humans had caused this. Humans were evil. They were lower on the food chain; they shouldn’t be able to ruin her life.

“Horrible, isn’t it? Human intolerance.”

“Hello, Satan. Long time no see. Were they churchmen?”

“Hello, hun. Churchmen employed them, yes. You are demons, you know.”

“Hun? And I know we are. But we’re nice demons.”

“I feel like being a in a fatherly mood today, so sue me. And you are still demons, and to them that’s all that matters.”

“Since when are you fatherly?” She turned to face him, and incredulous look on her face.

“I look in on you, I pester you about your life, I got you where you are today…” He grinned.

“True.” She scowled. “But I had two father already. I don’t need another one.”

“You always need a father, Catherine.” He smiled faintly.

“Maybe. And my name is Lupeias. Or Imp.” She smiled the same way, for a different reason.

“Lupeias, then. I fear that many who called you Imp are now dead.”

“Yes. Keep Ducks safe. I’d like to see him again. In one piece.” She gave him a pointed look.

“I’ll do my best, Lupeias. I’ll do my very best.”

“Do better, Satan. Do one hell of a lot better than your very best.” She scowled, and hurried away from him into the snow.

He watched her run off. “I will, daughter. I will.”

1610

Lupeias snuck through the dark house. A beam of pale moonlight flashed over her knife. What she was doing was against human law. Probably supernatural law, too. Not that she really cared anymore. She’d gotten a letter from Ducks last week. He wrote every month. It seemed that he’d trained a raven to home into Lupeias. He missed her. They’d buried Red and City Girl with honors for defending their home. It seemed...odd somehow, or it had when she’d gotten the letter. Red was a curious little bugger and City Girl followed him wherever he went. They were mates, and one looked out for the other. They weren’t making brave last stands, like the vampire. Red was just curious and quick to anger. City Girl had always been vengeful, as well. The only thing they wanted to protect was themselves- and their two friends.

She and Ducks had something, before the raid. He still wrote. He probably still loved her. But she wasn’t the same girl she had been in Utopia. Killing for a living played havoc with your sanity. She didn’t have time to dwell on the past anymore. She’d broken down and sent him a short note saying that she was employed, healthy, and perfectly fine where she was, thank you so much. He didn’t need to know she was an assassin. He didn’t need to know his Imp was a killer who was slowly losing emotion and sanity.

She snapped her mind back to the task at hand. One last job, here in Germany. She had to do it right. Dispatch the target silently. Bring back his ring. No problem. Ridiculously easy, really, which stirred up a small bit of apprehension. Who was she becoming, what kind of person found murder easy? But that wasn’t the point. Money was. And she’d finish this up quickly. She needed a drink.

Lupeias walked into a tavern. She ordered a drink in sharp, accented German. She felt a few eyes flick towards her and turn back to stare at their drinks. Most of the regulars knew not to bother her. Sometimes the newbies thought they could harass the foreign girl. They were usually held back or given a stern reprimand- if not by the regulars, then by her.

She’d have to work on her accent. It was thickly Italian with a little bit of the peculiar growling lilt that came from both being a werewolf and generally spending time with them. Foreigners were stared at and got picked on. You could start a brawl just for having the wrong intonation.

She normally didn’t kill the kids, not anymore. She’d gotten into trouble while beating one’s head against a wall. Stories got around. Very few even approached her anymore. The bartender was even a little wary of her.

She stared into her drink. She wondered where her sister had gone. She’d find her soon. Lupeias should leave Hamburg, anyway. People knew her here. That was never a good thing. She’d leave tomorrow. Start looking for her past tomorrow.

1614

Lupeias hadn’t been having much luck. Christine was a hard girl to find. As hard as herself, even- except Christine didn’t do it on purpose. Lupeias didn’t think Chrissy spoke more than one language. She had to be in Italy. Lupeias would keep looking for her for as long as it took. She needed to look after her sister. Lupeias didn’t know why she had so much loyalty to her sister. Chrissy was mildly annoying and a complete ditz. Lupeias supposed it was a last kick from her familial loyalty. She’d take care of her sister, and then she’d leave. Get your sister set up with money and a home and food if she needs it, and then go to Scotland or Ireland or somewhere. And never, ever look back again.

1621

Lupeias sighed. She was definitely ready to ditch this annoying, whiny brat of a sister. She never stopped talking, and couldn’t even hunt for herself! Wouldn’t work, and wouldn’t steal. Completely helpless. She was ready to say the hell with it and leave. It wasn’t like she’d die of starvation, after all.

She was surprised Chrissy was still so...innocent, sweet, and naïve. Werewolves, it seemed, either got violent or went crazy. Except Ducks and Chrissy. She wondered what kept some people from letting the evils of humanity and the few evils in a wolf’s mind mix into the pure fury of a werewolf. Lupeias knew that she herself was always ready to fight, to break things, to break people. Ducks just wanted to fix the damage done and move on. Chrissy seemed to idiotic to even feel malevolence.

Theological debate aside, she’d wait a few more years and leave. Someone like her could only live with someone like Chrissy for so long before they had to get away.

1626

Lupeias packed her bag.

“Why are you leaving again, Cathy?” Her sister asked for the tenth time.

“I’ve got business, Chrissy.” Lupeias lied. “And it’s Lupeias.”

“You got a letter, Cathy! From the same person as last month!”

“I know, Chrissy.” It was from Ducks. He was still writing after all these years. He had asked her to come to the new Utopia. She was going, if only to make sure he was in one piece. There were memories in Utopia she didn’t need to recall. It would be painful. Even more so, because everything would have changed.

“I don’t get why I can’t come.” Christine followed her to the door of their home.

OOC-Past

Sat, 26 Nov 2005 04:41:36 GMT

1580

Italy

Catherine was running. She was running from home, running from a family that didn’t need her and didn’t want her. A perfect family with a bad daughter, a daughter of a man who had been dead for some years. One extra daughter who wasn’t needed, not like Christine. Christine would grow up pampered and loved. Catherine just wanted to be with the horses. So she ran.

Catherine tripped and started to cry. Not pretty tears, like a lady, but rough sobs. She missed her father. She missed him more now than she had the day he died.

“I want someone to need me, someone to want me…” She didn’t expect an answer. She got one anyway.

“What’s wrong, child?”

The voice was soft, and cruel. It masqueraded in kindness, but the cruelty shone through. The voice of someone who pulled wings off of lies, and then offered them better ones...for a price.

“Who’s there?” She sniffed, and angrily rubbed her tears away. “I’m no child! I’m five and twenty. I’m an old maid.” She scowled into the darkness.

“I hear a mere petulant child, lost and whining.” The voice was admonishing.

“’M not lost. ‘M not sure where I’m going. There’s a world of difference.” She brushed the mud off of her brown skirt. Her mum wouldn’t want a muddy skirt to deal with…but she wasn’t going home. It didn’t matter.

“Whatever the lady says. Do you require...help?” The voice seemed happier at the idea of ‘helping’.

“I- I suppose I do.” Catherine stood up.

“You want to be needed?” The voice was all honeyed poison.

“Yes…I guess I do…” She furrowed her brow. This was more than a little worrying.

“Prepared to face all consequences, are you?” Persuasion, controlling, happy that someone would take the fall and do something stupid.

“Um. Well. ...Yes?” She really shouldn’t.

“Good! For you will be needed by me and by the demons of your future, but never by humans, not for over a hundred years.” There was a sense of movement, a whoosh of displaced air, and Catherine knew the voice was gone.

“Wait! What did you mean by that? What did you do? Hey! Hey! Come back!” Catherine slipped in the mud. She struggled back up. She hadn’t noticed the rain earlier. Now she was cold and wet…

The voice was probably nothing. You met crazy people on the road at night. She sighed and began the long, lonely walk home.

It was a long walk. It had been a long run. For some reason, it seemed like she was walking faster than she had run. She could see better as well. It must be nearing dawn, she thought. A whisper in her head told her that it wouldn’t be dawn for hours, and it wasn’t any brighter outside. She could just see better than she had. She heard the animals moving in the forest. It was decidedly odd. She’d be fine when she got home. She’d get food, and she’d talk to her sister. What had she been thinking, running off like that, in the middle of a rainy night? It was silly. Her mother would worry.

She got home just before dawn, in the gray light of morning. The town was stirring, waking up. She padded quietly up to the home and knocked on the door softly- there was no point in pretending not to be gone; she normally got up before dawn to eat with her stepfather.

He opened the door. He was a handsome, tall man with wavy black hair he cropped short to keep out of his forge. Her sister took after him. Catherine’s father had been a small man with muddy brown hair and a quick smile. Catherine looked like him.

“’M home.” She shifted a little under his gaze. She looked up to meet his eyes.

What she didn’t know was that her eyes were glowing red in the dim pre-dawn light, and that coarse brown fur was growing from her fingertips to her elbows, and that her ears were inching up her head, becoming more wolfish.

“Demon! Get away from my home, and leave my family alone!” Her stepfather swung a poker (Silver plated iron with inlaid vine designs, her mind reminded her uselessly. It’s for the nobles up on the hill. Part of a set.) and stabbed her through the fleshy part where torso and arm meet- it went straight through.

Catherine stumbled, and when she regained her footing, Catherine was gone. A snarling, horrible beast had rose to the front of her brain and seized control. She ceased to look remotely human, and lunged for her stepfather. He yelled. She…tore him apart. Drawn by the yells, her mother and sister ran down the stairs. The beast stared at them for a second, fur dripping with blood. Then her sister screamed and the beast loped off into the night.

Hours later, pain drove the beast from her mind and Catherine resurfaced. She slowly became human again as she ran. She tripped on...something. She tumbled into a stream, the cold water making her more aware. She shuddered. Her arm…She ripped a piece of cloth from her skirt, and tied it tightly around her hurt arm. She gritted her teeth. It hurt, but she had to stop the blood flow. It didn’t hurt as bad as the time she’d dislocated her shoulder falling from the hayloft. Mario had set it back, and that had hurt terribly. This wasn’t so bad.

She crawled out of the stream, shivering violently. What had happened? She remembered lots of blood…

No.

Oh no.

She shook wildly to dry off- that was odd. Why had she done that? It was strangely doglike…

Not important. Her stepfather was…dead. Oh no, no, no. She’d killed him. No, no, no. Not happening, couldn’t have happened, not to her and her family.

…Oh lord. Had, could, did. This was…horrible. Very horrible. This was worse than…a very bad thing. Very bad. Yes.

…Rationality. Apply rationality. What happened? She remembered flying into a rage, flinging the poker away from him. He’d...picked up a knife, after that. Steel; he’d made it himself. It was a good knife. He’d slashed her, stabbed her.

It hadn’t worked.

It hadn’t worked.

Oh no. What was she? How could-

The Voice.

…Well. She’d been taught to avoid deals with strangers. So she was an idiot. ..Oh God, a murdering idiot. What could she do?

“What do I do now?” she whispered.

“You could always travel. See the world. Get some culture. Culture is nice.”

“What?!” Oh, this was not happening. Not. Happening.

“I hear Greece is wonderful this time of year.” She could practically hear the smirk.

“Are you going to show yourself, or just lurk like some demon of the night?” She glared into the darkness.

“Don’t insult yourself, dear.” A tall man with horns, dusky gray skin, a tail, and wine-colored hair stepped out of the shadows. He was smirking. He had a goatee and was oddly handsome.

Catherine couldn’t move her mouth. It simply wouldn’t work. It hung open, occasionally opening and closing. She looked a bit like a fish.

He stepped closer and closed her mouth. “Gaping like a simpleton doesn’t flatter you, Catherine.”

“Wh- how do you know my name?” Stupid question. But it seemed like all her higher brain function was stuck on eternal loop playing ‘It’s Satan, It’s Satan, Oh god I made a deal with Satan.’

“I know most people’s names. It was a bad idea to kill Dominic. Not well thought out at all.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Well, not really. Something else in her had wanted to.

“You didn’t mean to? Interesting. It seemed to me that you were enjoying yourself. You never liked him.” He grinned.

“That’s not…” She began to shout.

“Don’t sat it isn’t true. He loved Christine more than he loved you. He thought you were a bit odd anyway, playing in the stables, mucking stalls…”

“…That is just creepy.”

“Hm?” He shot her a puzzled look.

“Knowing people’s lives. It’s creepy. I wouldn’t advise advertising it.” She grinned shakily and looked for an escape route.

“Don’t change the subject. And stay put, I’m not done talking to you.” He glared.

“Sorry. What am I supposed to be responding to?”

He sighed. “You’d deny it anyway. Everyone does. Never mind.”

“…All right then. …So what did you do to me?”

“Nothing you didn’t ask for.” He said, grinning. “Sort of. In a round about way.”

“Real answer, please.”

“Well…I’d advise to watch out for fleas, be careful about your temper, and you may be a bit furrier.”

“…I really hate you.”

“Most people do.” he shrugged. “Job hazard.”

“…You’re not really…”

“Satan? Yes. I am. And you, girl, are now an official minion. I’m afraid I forgot the cake.”

“I’m nobody’s minion!” She snarled at him.

“See? A little more animalistic than normal already.”

She covered her mouth. No real fangs, but her teeth were definitely sharper than normal.

“Lycanthropy isn’t that bad. Nothing like the myths, of course. Well, maybe a little. They got the wolf bit right, and the sometimes human bit right. That’s about all.”

“L-lycanthropy? What’s that?”

“Ugh. Peasants. Weres. Werewolves, like you. Werecats, Werehawks, etcetera.” He waved his hand idly.

“…This can’t be happening.” She was having trouble wrapping her mind around the concept.

“Believe it. You’ll be this way the rest of your long life.”

“So...Full moons and silver?”

“Nah, no moons. The moon’s nothing mythical anymore. Silver, however…”

That reminded her. Her arm. She checked the makeshift bandage. It was soaked in blood. She swore enough to make her fellow stablehands proud.

“Hmm? What do you- that poker was silver? Damn. Come here, I’ll try to fix that…” He beckoned her over.

She slunk up to him warily. “You can heal?”

“Not very well. But enough.” He placed his hand on the bleeding wound.

A dim red light flared up briefly. The wound sealed, but a nasty-looking black, burnt circle was still there.

“That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. I’m a destroyer, not a healer.” He grinned at her.

She nodded slowly. “I still don’t trust you further than I could throw you.”

“That’s probably a great deal father than you think, Catherine.” He stepped back.

“Right.” She sighed. “So what do I do now?”

“I have heard that Greece is nice this time of year.” He smirked.

She shook her head, dumbfounded. “You’re different than I expected.”

“Everyone expects an evil, monstrous tyrant. It’s nice to surprise people. Sometimes it’s a pleasant surprise for them, too.”

She grinned weakly. “I’m certainly surprised.”

“Ah good. My goal is complete. Souls may now rest in peace.” He deadpanned.

“Speaking of souls…” Catherine was nervous again.

“Yes, I own yours. I’m not doing anything with it until you die, and that’s a long way away.”

“…I’m going to go with noncommittal right now.”

“You do that.” He inspected his hands. “But you have to pick a direction now. Back to your home? On to your future? Verona, Rome, Venice? London? Paris? You’ve reached the fork in the road where you have to pick a road. Keep going to adventure, or stop the story right here.

“It’s time for your journey to start. So pick a direction, and start walking. You’ve got pages of a story to write.”

“You’re getting mystical on me, aren’t you?”

“…Shut your mouth and get that rear on the road, kid.”

“Yessir.”

1592

London

Catherine ducked out of the rain and into a dry alcove. Stupid rain. It was always raining. Eeuck. She didn’t like the rain too much. Cold, made your clothing uncomfortable…

Catherine had cut her messy brown hair short. It was more convenient. People tended to mistake her for a boy. She’d never had the most feminine face anyway. The rags she wore and the fact that she didn’t eat nearly enough didn’t help, either.

She was bored. Rain made her smell something awful- apparently wet wolf is even worse than wet dog. She hated the smell herself, and tried not to get wet. She’d wander around with the strays occasionally. She’d learned how to shift at will a couple years ago. But dogs got about the same amount of food that street rats did.

Speaking of rats, she was hungry. Maybe one would scurry by soon. Rat was good eating. She didn’t catch diseases, so she could eat almost anything.

She smelled sulfur, fire, brimstone and the odd scent of damned souls. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too. Long time no see, how’s your life, like your powers?”

“Hello. Not long enough, life is horrible, not really.”

“I’m hurt. I really am.” Satan stood by her. “I at least expected you to miss me. It’s been twelve years.”

“Miss you? I laugh at the idea. Ha-damn-ha.” She glared at him.

“Miss your sister?” He asked innocently.

“No. She dead?” Glare.

“Seems she had a little run in with...” He raised an eyebrow. “…Yowler. Werewolf names. I’ll never understand.”

“Now I have to spend eternity with her? God, sure, she was an all right sister, but...Ugh!” She scowled. She didn’t want her whiney younger sister along with her forever!

“It’s done, I can’t change it.”

“You damn well better!”

“What’s done is done.”

“That is such a back-out line.”

“That isn’t the point, Catherine. I can’t do anything.” He shrugged.

“Some all-powerful devil you are.” She scowled.

“I’m not. Deal with it. Even I have limited powers.”

“…That’s no fun.” She was a sympathetic as she could be.

“Yeah, it does.” He agreed.

They sat there awhile, watching the rain fall down, washing over the streets and the few passerby who braved the storm.

“How come nobody’s freaking out about you?” Catherine asked.

“They see what they want to see. A beggar boy and a man under an overhang, rather than a demon woman and the devil himself chatting idly. Why see the truth when fiction is more comforting?”

“…Humans are idiots.”

“That they are.” But there was a touch of irony in the statement, and he gave Catherine an unreadable look.

They sat awhile longer in an awkward silence.

“Nasty weather out there.”

“Yep.”

“Like this all the time, then?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.”

They sat awhile longer. It stopped raining.

Satan coughed politely. “I should probably get home.”

“See you.”

There was a small clap of air, and Satan was gone.

“…Weird man.” Catherine stood up and slunk along the street. She could pick a few pockets and maybe buy some food. London wasn’t so bad, when it wasn’t raining and you were away from the posh people.

Catherine sighed. Who was she trying to fool? She couldn’t stay here. She’d been here for twelve long years. Catherine had found that she wasn’t one for staying long in places.

Maybe she’d head to France. If she kept her head down and didn’t kill anyone, nobody would notice her, hopefully. Maybe she’d head to France…

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 21:28:01 GMT

If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would be your first thought?

(Post this in your LJ and find out what mine would be.)

Mon, 03 Oct 2005 23:35:02 GMT

Boredbored.

I want to SMASH things and Break things...I have waaaay too much excess energy.

Tue, 20 Sep 2005 00:44:08 GMT

This is my new Journal. It's a calmer color scheme...

*siiigh* Freelance. Oh yey.