Fatima Merali (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dust_of_life) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2015-08-20 09:08 pm
dust_of_life) wrote in ten_fwd2015-08-20 09:08 pm
Entry tags:
Wishing you were somehow here again... [OPEN]
((OOC: Figure she's going through this routine every night this month. Feel free to forward-date or back-date tag-ins.))
Growing up among the Cainites of the Order, Fatima had picked up on mechanisms for coping with stress from all across the world and across time. But not a single one of them was making it easier for her to deal with the emptiness of the space next to her in her bed. She'd been stuck on this flying Hilton for months now. But sleep still didn't come easily. After knowing what it was like to hear someone breathing beside her on the pillow, Fatima was having more than a little difficulty letting go.
Fortunately, growing up among the Cainites of the Order had also provided Fatima with a few extra outlets she could use.
It was usually after midnight when she would slip into the leotard Beverly had given her. The halls were quieter at night. Fewer people. Fewer judgmental crew members staring after her like the invader that she was. And the training facility was usually empty.
First, she'd start with a few yoga stretches. Some aggressive chin-ups. Knuckle push-ups. And then the real work would begin.
Somehow, her iPod had managed to survive her ordeal in Zelien. Fatima had doubted very much that she'd ever be able to coax any music out of it, but it was working now. All of her songs were there. Well, they weren't exactly her songs. The classical music was from Liam. The rock-and-roll was from Denise. And the oldies were from Auntie Diana. Didn't matter though. She always listened to the same song anyway. Survivor's Eye of the Tiger on repeat, the earbuds shoved deep into her ears, like she wanted to block out the rest of the world.
The punches she threw against the punching bag were precise and powerful. Fatima had fused the martial arts styles she'd studied with street boxing. And despite the work-out clothes, she always trained in her high-heeled boots. As she used to argue to Arty, you never knew what you were going to be wearing when someone attacked you. Better to be prepared for anything.
If only her loneliness could be punched in the bag.
Growing up among the Cainites of the Order, Fatima had picked up on mechanisms for coping with stress from all across the world and across time. But not a single one of them was making it easier for her to deal with the emptiness of the space next to her in her bed. She'd been stuck on this flying Hilton for months now. But sleep still didn't come easily. After knowing what it was like to hear someone breathing beside her on the pillow, Fatima was having more than a little difficulty letting go.
Fortunately, growing up among the Cainites of the Order had also provided Fatima with a few extra outlets she could use.
It was usually after midnight when she would slip into the leotard Beverly had given her. The halls were quieter at night. Fewer people. Fewer judgmental crew members staring after her like the invader that she was. And the training facility was usually empty.
First, she'd start with a few yoga stretches. Some aggressive chin-ups. Knuckle push-ups. And then the real work would begin.
Somehow, her iPod had managed to survive her ordeal in Zelien. Fatima had doubted very much that she'd ever be able to coax any music out of it, but it was working now. All of her songs were there. Well, they weren't exactly her songs. The classical music was from Liam. The rock-and-roll was from Denise. And the oldies were from Auntie Diana. Didn't matter though. She always listened to the same song anyway. Survivor's Eye of the Tiger on repeat, the earbuds shoved deep into her ears, like she wanted to block out the rest of the world.
The punches she threw against the punching bag were precise and powerful. Fatima had fused the martial arts styles she'd studied with street boxing. And despite the work-out clothes, she always trained in her high-heeled boots. As she used to argue to Arty, you never knew what you were going to be wearing when someone attacked you. Better to be prepared for anything.
If only her loneliness could be punched in the bag.
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"Ah. I've always wondered how that worked," Trever said. "We both have."
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But even that understanding didn't stop her forehead from furrowing a little.
"What do you mean?"
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It's something that's so integral to and entwined in their daily lives that it'd be like trying to prevent people from knowing about... water.
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Well, not everyone. Anarchs and the Sabbat existed. But even they understood that in terms of raw numbers, they were outmatched.
Most of the time...
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Although it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. Demons existed, after all. But the thing about demons was that, unless they inhabited a human body, it was kind of hard for them to be in sync with the world. As it were. They were in the veil.
"Mileage may vary, but there's some social Darwinism at play. Supernaturals who aren't good at passing for human are easy targets for hunters. Or each other."
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From the way Trever says it, the romance stories are a bit... odd.
While he's not surprised that there are people who hunt "supernatural" creatures - after all that's what his mother's family does - but it sounds like... "They hunt down every magical creature? Even benign ones?"
Because Trever's friends with some very benign magical creatures.
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She herself could be very dangerous.
"Well, their primary focus is on the ones that aren't benign. But some hunters are so far gone that they'll cut down anything that's...different."
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Though what she says is clearly disturbing. But really, when your five year old's cousin's best friend for ever and ever is a little goblin girl who likes wearing pink sparkly bows in her spines, root beer jelly beans, is the size of a rabbit and very shy... and that someone would just kill her because she was different...
"It sounds like those people are more monstrous than some supposed monsters I know." From the sound of his voice, Trever would quite happily hunt down those bastards. And with something more lethal than a squirt gun.
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And be smart.
It had taken her a long time to learn those lessons. And she'd left thirteen corpses her in wake. She liked to think they all deserved it. But she would never know for sure. And it gnawed at her.
"Fortunately," she added, "they're few and far between. Certain creatures, like vampires, are far more efficient and taking out their own kind."
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And then there were those scary territories without any kind of Camarilla authority at all.
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He shook his head. "Your world is... strange."
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It was genuine.
"Yeah," she agreed. "My world is pretty messed up. But it's home, you know? Only one I'll ever have."
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"Sure. Yeah. And I mean, we're not saying our world isn't messed up in some ways, but it's home and it's just... different that an lot of people's here." Trever gave her a bit of a bemused look.
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And it would be an excellent way to get her mind off of missing Sam so much.
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"We're interested in the same thing."
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And maybe they could start a coven...
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The coven thing might make the twins a little bit leery as well... bad things happened in their world when a bunch of people did ritual magic together.
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Fatima's eye swept back and forth between the two of them. And their guns. She'd seen this movie. She knew how it could end.
"I'll let you guys get back to chasing each other," she said, quickly stepping back from the two of them.
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"Sounds good. Nice to meet you, I'm Trever by the way," he said before shooting at Kale and running off.