Clarice stared out of the car, watching farm after farm after stupid farm go by as they passed.

"Are we there yet?" She asked, turning to look at her dad. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke curling up and out of the ancient dark blue convertible like a smoke signal to the locals saying new meat had arrived.

He grunted. She took that as a no. Her father, Eugene Shawe, was a man of little words when he wanted to be. He was also a man of fabulous mustache; one that the KFC guy would be jealous of and Tom Selleck proud of.

She groaned. "Dad, how much longer."

"Prob'ly 'bout...'nother twenty minutes or so, runt," Dad said, reaching over with one hand to ruffle her hair. She sighed and turned to look out again.

"Why'd they send you to Georgia, anyway?" Clarice asked.

"They needed me to train some guys down here," Dad said. "They offered a lot of money. Money that I'm putting away in a little something called 'Rice's College Fund." Clarice smiled at her dad before scooching over and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks, daddy," She closed her eyes.

"Welcome, hun," He muttered.

"Alright, lightning round," Clarice said.

Dad groaned. "Do we have to go through this every time?"

"Yep." Clarice paused for a moment. "How big is the town?"

"It's small."

"A lot of kids my age?"

"Probably."

"Library?"

"More than likely."

"Restaurants?"

"Mom and Pops, but yeah."

"No McDonald's?"

"No McDonald's. You'll have to go to the next town over."

"Damn-"

"Language."

"Oops?" Clarice mumbled. She took a deep breath and looked up at her father. "Am I gonna like it here?" Dad sighed and put his cigarette out in the ashtray before glancing over at her.

"Yeah. It's a quiet town but its...charming, I guess," Dad said. "You'll make a lot of friends."

Clarice sighed. That's what he'd said when they moved to Fort Hamilton. And of course, he'd been completely wrong then.

When they'd moved to Fort Hamilton – and even when they'd moved anywhere else, before they moved to the base – her father had been positive Clarice would make friends. And she hadn't. All of the other kids had already had friends, so she was left as an outcast. All of the movies that said the new kid would make a lot of friends and be really popular? Yeah, they were just that; movies. Fake. Fiction. It didn't help that her dad had been relocated multiple times due to the needs of the bases; once he'd taught someone on-base to do his job, he was immediately transferred to another base. What friends she did end up making immediately cut contact with her once she'd moved, and this time around had been no exception.

Hopefully Georgia was different. But it probably wouldn't be.

The rest of the drive passed by in silence if only because father and daughter didn't feel the need to break the peace.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of their new house, Clarice's stomach was growling like an angry animal.

"We got anything to eat?" She asked.

"There's some snacks in the glovebox."

"No, like real food, daddy," Clarice said.

"Well," Dad rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. "Maybe. Check the basket, we might have something left from lunch."

Clarice reached for the picnic basket and opened it up. Thankfully there was a container of potato salad that her best friend's mom had given them. She took one of the plastic forks, opened the bowl, and started to eat.

"I like the house," Clarice said, her mouth full of salad. "It's nice on the outside."

"Let's hope its nicer on the inside, huh?" Eugene climbed out of the car and stretched, tired from their long drive. "Stuff should be here in a day or two."

"That's good," Clarice nodded and shoved another forkful of salad into her mouth.

"Needs a new paint job," Eugene muttered. "Roof needs to be redone. Other than that, it's a good house." Clarice nodded and swallowed her food.

"When can we go in?"

"Well, you done chowin'?"

"Nope."

"When you're done."

"But dad-!"

"Hey, I said when you're done. Got it?"

"Fine."

Clarice filled herself up on the best potato salad in the world before climbing out of the convertible.

"Which one is my room?" She asked while her dad unlocked the front door. She rushed in and ran up the stairs, her dad following closely behind.

The upstairs had two bedrooms and a bathroom joined to the smaller room.

"Well, I thought you could have this one," Dad said, opening the door to the small room.

Inside, it was dreary. The walls were gray and peeling and the floor was covered with dust.

"Please tell me I can paint my room."

"'Course you can. Hell, go crazy with it, runt. Paint it orange with...green or some shit."

"I am not painting my room 'orange with green or some shit'," Clarice laughed.

"'Rice, language!"

"Sorry, daddy."

"And, since you get this room, you got your own bathroom."

"So...if I have to pee, I don't have to wait until you're done with the shower in the morning?" Clarice asked.

"Yep."

"Yes!"

Dad smiled. "Alright, you can look around for a few minutes, but then we gotta introduce ourselves to the neighbors."

"Do we have to?" Clarice whined.

"'Rice-"

"Fine. Just gimme a minute."

"Good girl."

Clarice spent a few minutes imagining how her new bedroom would look before her father finally pulled her from the house and down the street.

They went from house to house introducing themselves. She met a few kids her age, but all of them had been disinterested in meeting her and had given her a dirty look before walking away once their parents' backs were turned. Either that, or the boys had given her the look-over and had decided that their time would be best spent staring at her boobs and letting their drool make a puddle at their feet.

When they finally reached the last house – a foreboding, ancient looking feat of architecture, though the only feat being that it was still standing – Clarice was tired, cranky, and dispirited.

"This place seems creepy, daddy," Clarice whispered as they walked up to the door. The last house on the street was set far back on a very long driveway and was nestled next to an abandoned church. It had a very...haunted feel about it.

"Just knock, 'Rice," Dad nudged her. Clarice sighed but complied with her father's wishes. She raised her hand and knocked slowly.

The knock echoed and she winced. They waited a few moments before Clarice sighed.

"Probably no one-" The door creaked open.

An elderly woman with beady eyes and a hard set face stared at her from the doorway. She wore clothes that were at least two decades out of date and that looked to be held together through sheer willpower.

"Hi," Clarice mumbled looking up at her dad.

Dad smiled at the woman.

"Hi, my name is Eugene Shawe and this is my daughter, Clarice. We just moved into the house a few homes down. We thought we'd come and introduce ourselves."

"How thoughtful of you, Mr. Shawe. I'm Keeny. Sheryl Keeny," The woman croaked. Clarice didn't like her one bit. She reminded her of one of those creepy old ladies in church that always glared at her. "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, we'd love to," Eugene said. Mrs. Keeny let them pass into the house, albeit Clarice stepped reluctantly. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Keeny."

"Why thank you," She said. "Come into the parlor." Said the spider to the fly. Clarice felt like she was a bug that was going to be eaten by an ancient, creaky spider.

They followed the elderly woman into the parlor and sat down when she gestured to do so.

"How do you like the town so far, Mr. Shawe?" Mrs. Keeny asked.

"It's nice, but we haven't seen much. We probably won't have the time to look around for a few days."

"Yes, yes, the town is quite nice I suppose. Has your daughter met any children her age?"

Clarice glared at the old biddy. She wasn't a child, she was thirteen for God's sake!

"Well, we've met some but they've all been busy. I was hoping Clarice could make some friends or have someone her age that she knew before the school year started, but-"

"Oh, yes, yes. Of course. You know, if you'd like for someone to show her around, I could have my grandson, Jonathan, come down and show her the town. That is, if its okay with you, Mr. Shawe."

"Oh, of course, as long as your boy doesn't mind," Dad said. The old biddy seemed to bristle at the words 'your boy' but other than that, nothing seemed wrong.

"Oh, he won't mind, just let me get him, alright?" Mrs. Keeny asked before standing and slowly making her way to the stairs at the other end of the room. "Jonathan!" She screeched up the stairs. "We have company!" They waited a minute in silence before Keeny huffed angrily. "Honestly, where is that boy? Jonathan!"

Clarice groaned internally. She didn't need people to make friends for her. She just wanted to go home and go to bed in her sleeping bag.

A few seconds passed before the loud thumps of running steps reached their ears and a boy ran down the steps.

"Y-yes, Granny?" The boy stammered.

"We have company. You know the old Williams' house? They moved in there, of course."

"Oh."

"Oh? Well, would you mind showing around the girl?"

"G-girl?"

"Yes, girl, Jonathan. She's just about your age, I suppose. Show her around the town."

"A-are you sure, Gr-Granny?"

"Of course, I'm sure, boy!" She hissed quietly. "Now go show that girl around town."

He nodded quickly, rushed by his grandmother, and walked towards the couch where Clarice was sitting.

She looked up.

A boy around her age was standing over her. He was tall and gangly. His clothes hung off of him loosely, much to big for his lean frame. His hair was a pale orange-red, his glasses were scratched and hid eyes of a sad haunting blue, and he had a light dusting of freckles on his face.

She quickly scrambled to her feet, fixed her shorts, and offered him a small polite smile. "Hey, I'm Clarice Shawe."

"Jonathan Crane," He said, refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Well, Jonathan, are you gonna show me around or what?"

A/N: So, I finally decided to write an origins series for Reaper...whatcha think?