Somewhere in the remains of the southeast United States, Kathy's world
Raven hadn't spoken to another human being in weeks. Possibly longer. She'd learned her lesson in Texas, was reminded of it constantly by the thick, round scar on her shoulder where the bullet had passed through, that never quite shifted properly with the rest of her body. She'd been lucky, she knew: the wound was a through-and-through, and though it'd gotten infected, she'd been able to push through it and survive. That wasn't the sort of luck she could count on having twice, so when she came across other survivors, she hid. If she couldn't hide, she'd scare them off. And if that didn't work?
She'd lost count of how many people she'd killed. Or maybe she'd never kept it in the first place. It wasn't like she'd stopped long enough in Texas to check. She wasn't proud of what she'd done. She wasn't ashamed or guilty about it, either. Charles wouldn't have approved, but Charles was a distant memory, someone she never expected to see again. Kathy wouldn't have approved, but Kathy's heroic streak was what had gotten them into this situation in the first place. If she ever saw Kathy again, she'd let her lecture her however much she wanted, would promise never to do it again. In the meantime, though, Raven was going to survive.
It was what she did.
It was all she'd ever done.
She liked to sing softly as she walked, folk songs, pop songs, old marching chants she'd heard in movies. Sometimes she'd have whole conversations with herself, narrating the things she'd seen, rehearsing what she'd say if she ever actually made it back to Fandom. She'd rehash old arguments, shifting back and forth between her own form and Kathy's, or Charles', or Hardison's. She'd pretend to tease the boys with Jalian, or catch up on monster life and politics with Dracula. On one long, quiet afternoon, she'd gone through the entire plot of Left With the Breeze -- book, even -- complete with enormous hoop-skirted dresses and bloodied military uniforms. It was the day after she found the sign, scarred, soot-coated, and laying in the grass, welcoming her to Georgia. It seemed appropriate.
She turned north when she hit the mountains, where the population density was low enough that she didn't have to worry overmuch about exes or humans crossing her path. Bears weren't a worry when you could just turn into an even bigger bear, and there were streams and game aplenty, and when she found the trail through the woods marked with faded blue paint, she even had easy access to shelters and occasional stashes of long forgotten, non-perishable food. The mountains ran all the way up the east coast, so Raven figured she'd have smooth sailing for at least awhile. She could turn east again when she hit Harper's Ferry, and probably find road signs to get her to Baltimore proper. Which would come with its own set of challenges, of course, but she'd worry about that, later.
She was lying on her back on the edge of one of the open-sided shelters, watching the stars come out and working on deciding what her New Year's resolutions should be -- she had no idea what the actual date was, but the days were short and the trees were bare, so New Year's had to be around there somewhere -- when she heard the whistling. She froze, then rolled over, keeping low on the wood, ready to turn into a squirrel and dash up onto the roof at a moment's notice. She hadn't killed anyone in a good while now, and frankly she was a little tired. Maybe whoever it was would go a different way.
"Hey there," a voice greeted, and Raven cursed. The trees had bounced the whistle around, and the person had come up on her from the side. Going squirrel wouldn't work now, not after she'd been spotted. She sat up, grew fur and fangs, and roared.
The person, skinny and white and about Raven's age, sporting a long wool dress and a scruffy beard, tipped their hat back on their head and looked up at her. "Well damn. What else can you do?"
Raven blinked, dropping to all fours. This had always been the part with screaming and running or shooting. She didn't remember anyone in this world who didn't at least back up and gasp when they saw her shift.
Plus, you know, bear. This person had all the survival instincts of a lemming.
She shifted back, staring at the person suspiciously. The person lowered their hat and offered a hand.
"Misfit," they said. "Pleasure."
Raven didn't take the bait, or the person's hand. "Why aren't you terrified?"
Misfit shrugged. "Tried that," they said. "Wasn't good for my blood pressure."
"You're insane."
"You turned into a bear." Misfit hopped up onto the shelter steps, leaving plenty of space between themself and Raven. "Insanity is relative."
And for the first time in weeks, Raven remembered that sometimes, people could be kind of cool.
[NFI, OOC is cool. For once does not come with graphic violence/bloodshed!]
She'd lost count of how many people she'd killed. Or maybe she'd never kept it in the first place. It wasn't like she'd stopped long enough in Texas to check. She wasn't proud of what she'd done. She wasn't ashamed or guilty about it, either. Charles wouldn't have approved, but Charles was a distant memory, someone she never expected to see again. Kathy wouldn't have approved, but Kathy's heroic streak was what had gotten them into this situation in the first place. If she ever saw Kathy again, she'd let her lecture her however much she wanted, would promise never to do it again. In the meantime, though, Raven was going to survive.
It was what she did.
It was all she'd ever done.
She liked to sing softly as she walked, folk songs, pop songs, old marching chants she'd heard in movies. Sometimes she'd have whole conversations with herself, narrating the things she'd seen, rehearsing what she'd say if she ever actually made it back to Fandom. She'd rehash old arguments, shifting back and forth between her own form and Kathy's, or Charles', or Hardison's. She'd pretend to tease the boys with Jalian, or catch up on monster life and politics with Dracula. On one long, quiet afternoon, she'd gone through the entire plot of Left With the Breeze -- book, even -- complete with enormous hoop-skirted dresses and bloodied military uniforms. It was the day after she found the sign, scarred, soot-coated, and laying in the grass, welcoming her to Georgia. It seemed appropriate.
She turned north when she hit the mountains, where the population density was low enough that she didn't have to worry overmuch about exes or humans crossing her path. Bears weren't a worry when you could just turn into an even bigger bear, and there were streams and game aplenty, and when she found the trail through the woods marked with faded blue paint, she even had easy access to shelters and occasional stashes of long forgotten, non-perishable food. The mountains ran all the way up the east coast, so Raven figured she'd have smooth sailing for at least awhile. She could turn east again when she hit Harper's Ferry, and probably find road signs to get her to Baltimore proper. Which would come with its own set of challenges, of course, but she'd worry about that, later.
She was lying on her back on the edge of one of the open-sided shelters, watching the stars come out and working on deciding what her New Year's resolutions should be -- she had no idea what the actual date was, but the days were short and the trees were bare, so New Year's had to be around there somewhere -- when she heard the whistling. She froze, then rolled over, keeping low on the wood, ready to turn into a squirrel and dash up onto the roof at a moment's notice. She hadn't killed anyone in a good while now, and frankly she was a little tired. Maybe whoever it was would go a different way.
"Hey there," a voice greeted, and Raven cursed. The trees had bounced the whistle around, and the person had come up on her from the side. Going squirrel wouldn't work now, not after she'd been spotted. She sat up, grew fur and fangs, and roared.
The person, skinny and white and about Raven's age, sporting a long wool dress and a scruffy beard, tipped their hat back on their head and looked up at her. "Well damn. What else can you do?"
Raven blinked, dropping to all fours. This had always been the part with screaming and running or shooting. She didn't remember anyone in this world who didn't at least back up and gasp when they saw her shift.
Plus, you know, bear. This person had all the survival instincts of a lemming.
She shifted back, staring at the person suspiciously. The person lowered their hat and offered a hand.
"Misfit," they said. "Pleasure."
Raven didn't take the bait, or the person's hand. "Why aren't you terrified?"
Misfit shrugged. "Tried that," they said. "Wasn't good for my blood pressure."
"You're insane."
"You turned into a bear." Misfit hopped up onto the shelter steps, leaving plenty of space between themself and Raven. "Insanity is relative."
And for the first time in weeks, Raven remembered that sometimes, people could be kind of cool.
[NFI, OOC is cool. For once does not come with graphic violence/bloodshed!]