Post by Charlotte on Jul 7, 2004 10:26:30 GMT -5
Firstly, never call me Lottie, never. That was my name once but not anymore, not since I left England. I'm a red head but not your stereo-typical one and i've known about things that go bump in the night forever. That's really all you need to know about me but you'll probably want more, people always do.
It's not like there's some big secret or anything it's just hard I guess, having to relive it over and over again. It's something you don't forget easily-seeing your mother as a vampire, it's not something you forgive easily either. That's why I fight them, the scum that are the vampires and demons of this world, hopefully one day I'll stake the one who did it, who turned her.
So this is the part where you tell me I'm just human, i'm not a slayer so I shouldn't be fighting these things. Well screw that. Yeah I'm human but that just makes it better. No one expects what I can do, no one knows that I've been trained as thoroughly as any slayer and by a watcher as well. See my father was a watcher, was because he like almost all of them was at headquarters when it blew up.
That changed things. I had just finished school (I was always young in my year) and was headed for Oxford-my father's dream though he never saw it. I blew that plan out the window, i wasn't too upset about it to be honest, for twelve years, since the night my mother returned, i had been more focussed on fighting and my studying was mostly of the council libraries.
So that's my story, most of it anyway and you're left with me. I'm seventeen now, though I can easily pass for both younger and helpless. I'm nothing special, you wouldn't notice anything other than my flame red hair if you passed me in the street, but appearances can be deceiving. My only distinguishing mark is a scar that runs like train tracks down my back courtesy of the demon which inhabited my mother's undead corpse, the demon which I, in childish innocence let into the house 12 years ago only to see my father tearfully turn it to dust.
So now I am almost all that is left of the generations of watchers, though I am not one. I have what's left of their resourses at my fingertips though that is not much. The only thing i take with me from their stores is a weopon, one which accompanies me on all my travels and with which I am unbeatable. I have only one other posession which is of value to me-a photograph, just the one, of three people. You can guess who they are, and the first two guesses don't count.
It's not like there's some big secret or anything it's just hard I guess, having to relive it over and over again. It's something you don't forget easily-seeing your mother as a vampire, it's not something you forgive easily either. That's why I fight them, the scum that are the vampires and demons of this world, hopefully one day I'll stake the one who did it, who turned her.
So this is the part where you tell me I'm just human, i'm not a slayer so I shouldn't be fighting these things. Well screw that. Yeah I'm human but that just makes it better. No one expects what I can do, no one knows that I've been trained as thoroughly as any slayer and by a watcher as well. See my father was a watcher, was because he like almost all of them was at headquarters when it blew up.
That changed things. I had just finished school (I was always young in my year) and was headed for Oxford-my father's dream though he never saw it. I blew that plan out the window, i wasn't too upset about it to be honest, for twelve years, since the night my mother returned, i had been more focussed on fighting and my studying was mostly of the council libraries.
So that's my story, most of it anyway and you're left with me. I'm seventeen now, though I can easily pass for both younger and helpless. I'm nothing special, you wouldn't notice anything other than my flame red hair if you passed me in the street, but appearances can be deceiving. My only distinguishing mark is a scar that runs like train tracks down my back courtesy of the demon which inhabited my mother's undead corpse, the demon which I, in childish innocence let into the house 12 years ago only to see my father tearfully turn it to dust.
So now I am almost all that is left of the generations of watchers, though I am not one. I have what's left of their resourses at my fingertips though that is not much. The only thing i take with me from their stores is a weopon, one which accompanies me on all my travels and with which I am unbeatable. I have only one other posession which is of value to me-a photograph, just the one, of three people. You can guess who they are, and the first two guesses don't count.
'I could so save the world if somebody handed me superpowers.'
