I turn the music up, I got my records on
From underneath the rubble sing a rebel song
Don't want to see another generation drop
I'd rather be a comma than a full stop
-Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall; from Coldplay
Just Outside Charleston, South Carolina – 1927
Diana watched as the rising sun decorated the sky with an array of colors – the different shades of blues, pinks, yellows, and oranges merged together in such a beautiful way, it should have left the nine year old feeling breathless. The way the clouds were shrouded in such intense looking shading should have left her with a feeling of wonder. Diana should have admired the way the sunlight made the trees and houses look otherworldly. Sadly, that wasn't the case. What would have been a gorgeous morning was instead filled with the mourning of a small family and community. Diana's father, Alexander Kensington, had recently passed away. He'd been murdered. Rather violently, too. It was almost unbelievable, how quickly he'd been taken. His family hadn't been prepared, his friends were left speechless, everyone was stunned. Alexander Kensington was a very well known member of his community, having been known for his kind heart and willingness to help others.
To his daughters, Diana and Eugenia, he was their hero. To his wife, Franciszka, he was the love of her life. And he'd been taken from them in such a brutal fashion. Shot dead just outside his own home. In front of his youngest daughter, Eugenia. The five year old hadn't uttered a single word since.
A couple days later, a funeral was made for Alexander. Everyone in the community attended, and he was buried on the family property, a manmade cross indicating his gravesite. It wasn't the best, but it was something. Some people came out of respect, a couple others came to say their goodbyes, but a vast majority showed up in hopes of the whole thing being fake. Alexander Kensington couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. Why hadn't he been able to live longer? To see his daughters grow up? To live the rest of his life with Franciszka? It didn't make sense. No. In a way, it did make sense. Alexander's background could have contributed to his death. And no, he hadn't done anything to make him a target for violence, it was his racial background that made him a target. A native to South Carolina, Kensington was the eldest son of an African immigrant mother and a Native American father. That alone made him a target in such a racially divided country. That didn't make Alexander bitter or afraid, however. That made him more determined to prove himself to the world. He wasn't about to let himself get pushed around, to get attacked by those who didn't know him. He went on to teach those lessons to his daughters, as well. But in the end, just how useful would those lessons be?
In Diana's case, she hoped that her father's words would stick with her throughout the tragedy, that she'd figure out a way to make it out victorious. She could mourn the death of her father, but she wasn't going to let it stunt her development. She had so much to do in the world, and she had to make sure she was there mentally and physically in order to do it. That was the one thing she'd promise herself later on. But, in that very moment, she wondered how she'd get through the tragedy. In her nine year old head, she needed a plan. She needed to know how she, her mother, and sister were going to survive on their own. Maybe their community would be generous and help them, maybe they'd manage to get by safely on their own – it was hard to say. But Diana wanted to consider whatever options she could think of. She wanted to be prepared in case something else happened. So, during the funeral process, and long after it finished, Diana would try to come up with ways to keep her family going.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. The sun was starting to shine directly in her face. Franciszka's green eyes went down to her eldest daughter for a moment, gently turning the girl's head away from the light.
"Don't do that, miłość," she murmured; a soft accent lacing her words.
"Why'd papa have to leave?" Diana asked, her voice soft. "Why'd they take him from us?"
There was a long moment of silence. It was both an easy and difficult question to answer. Franciszka wanted to believe she had a definite answer, but she didn't. She wanted to be able to come up with something, but it wasn't easy. Letting out a sigh, the older Romani woman let out a sigh.
"I wish I knew," she murmured. "I wish I knew."
Brooklyn, New York – 1934
"Diana, Genie, we're heading out!" The voice of an older woman filled the small apartment the sisters lived in. After the death of their father, the girls' mother decided it'd be in their best interest to live with relatives out of state. Diana wasn't personally complaining – though she did wish her mother would have joined them – considering living in South Carolina had so many bad memories. As the years progressed, however, the developing young woman came to slowly heal and recover from the brutal loss of her father. That didn't mean Diana still didn't feel sadness whenever her father came to mind, Diana knew that she'd have to move forward from it. She wasn't going to let it define her.
Eugenia, unfortunately, was a different story. Being only five at the time, and being the witness to the murder, Diana's younger sister became extremely distant. She couldn't emotionally connect to people, she had a hard being physically close to anyone, she refused to speak to anyone who wasn't Diana – it was a rather sad sight. Franciszka thought sending her daughters to a somewhat better environment would improve Eugenia's condition. It didn't. It seemed as though Brooklyn worsened it. The unknown people and surroundings seemed to make the twelve year old feel out of place, which made her fall further into herself. For Diana, it was hard to predict what would happen to her sister. Eugenia refused to leave the apartment without company, she refused to do anything without someone – preferably her older sister – nearby. It seemed as though Diana brought comfort to her. That had to count for something, right?
So, as the sixteen year old heard the door shut, she let out a sigh. The sisters lived with their older cousin, Rosabel, and her two teenage sons, Logan and Zachary. While there had been an initial agreement the sisters be separated upon their journey to New York, the idea was later scrapped when the relative who was supposed to take Diana in took Eugenia in, as well. In a way, it seemed as though Rosabel's plan worked perfectly. The sisters didn't have to worry about separation, and they could both grow in a better, more loving environment. Well, as loving as living in the North could be for a person of color. While Northerners weren't as outwardly aggressive towards Diana and Eugenia compared to certain people in the South, there were subtle clues. The looks thrown the sisters' way, how people would whisper under their breath whenever they'd be seen walking outside. A few times, within the first few weeks after Diana and Eugenia moved in with Rosabel, a few brazen people had attempted following the sisters home. A couple local kids threw rocks at them, yelling racial slurs. The sisters didn't leave the apartment for a while after that, only choosing to do so when completely necessary.
Rosabel, on the other hand, refused to take that lightly. She did what she could to keep her younger cousins safe – her maternal instincts kicking a little at that – but it didn't do the sisters much justice. In the first couple weeks, they were mistreated any time they left Rosabel's apartment.* And it wasn't like the older woman could do anything about it, either. She was the girls' cousin from their father's side, which meant she and her sons weren't respected members of the community either. Simply because of the color of their skin. But, as the years went on, things seemed to even out somewhat. People stopped trying to physically hurt Diana and Eugenia. Instead, they opted for just avoiding them altogether. The sisters were of no interest to them anymore, which meant they could divert their attention to the next big thing. And so, the sisters continued to live their lives with Rosabel and her sons, trying to go for that normal life Franciszka was so desperate for them to have. "Trying" was honestly the one thing they did their best to do. It wasn't easy, but they made it work.
(A/N):
Not my best first chapter, in all honesty. I had an idea in my head, but I had such a hard time writing it down that it ended up like this. I'm just hoping you guys find something good in this. Chances are though, this chapter will be revisited and possibly even rewritten. I'm not entirely sure yet, though. Let me know what you guys think, OK? Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Nothing in the MCU belongs to me. All I own are my OCs and the subplots I put in. If you've got ideas for subplots or OCs, PM me or leave a review.
Thanks a bunch.
Bucky Smith