Chapter One:
A.N. This is my first fanfiction ever!! Yeah Me!! This story sucks. I'm telling you now. However I would like you to read and review anyway. And before anyone insults me I'd like you to know that I have a cold, so I'm writing it while I'm sick, during spring break. Thank you!
Chapter One:
The city was quiet… unusually quiet for Edmonton. Though the sun had just made its first appearance over the horizon, painting the sky with cloudy yellows and dusty blues, there wasn't an eye that was open or a voice to be heard.
There wasn't a car engine revving nor was there a footstep on the muddy pavement. Even the birds, which were usually singing and swimming through the air by now, were not batting a delicate, defined eyelash at the frosty sunlight that wafted over the horizon.
The bitter wind, of the Canadian mid-October, danced and dazzled through the delicately-frosted, auburn leaves of the deciduous trees that dotted the spacious cemetery.
The cemetery's gate was large, ancient, and made of black iron. Twisted among the vertical iron bars were Celtic knots and, also, a silver chain that was weaved around the great iron lock to reinforce the stronghold's defences.
Inside there were old wooden benches, chalky-white and inscribed with more peculiar Celtic knots, that lined many of the old cobblestone pathways with large metal waste baskets at their sides.
Even in the slowly ascending dawn, the lock was still shut tight, each seat was vacant, each pathway clear; from the entrance of the vast reservation, to the mountainous fountain, carved from white marble and depicting an elvin-looking woman pouring water from a delicately-crafted vase, near the center of the cemetery.
Though the deepening quiet swarmed about the morning, causing all life to be hushed for a few hours time –there was a slight sound. It was very small, very muffled, as if someone had cautiously laid a hand over somebody's mouth in an attempt to stifle their eternal drabble.
From the farthest corner of this uncommonly peaceful place, in a large, dense, cluster of trees that was concealing a jade and saffron clearing, there emitted a soft hum.
There was a tree in the centre of the small glade, a great and mighty oak with branches that reached towards the heavens and a trunk more knarred than an elephants'. 'Twas a tree that represented a glorious masterpiece of nature's creativity, a tree that stood many metres above all others, a tree that was … snoring.
There it was, in a little alcove of branches in the bottom boughs of the tree, where two young women had decided to take refuge for the night.
One, the elder of the two, wore clean, bark-coloured pants and a flowing, lavender shirt that plunged into a deep plum. She had ivory skin and her hair was a dark-brown that shimmered with manila streaks. Though her ice-blue eyes were open, they bore a glassy look which made this girl appear to be resting peacefully –a great contrast to her companion, who was nestled on a welter of branches opposite her.
The other girl's eyes were shut tight, her face contorted into a hellish grimace. She was shaking, though none could say if it was from the cold or from the dreaded nightmare she was confined to. Black and tattered rags, riddled with earth and ash, were the only clothing she possessed. Her skin was almost sickly-pale, with pink blotches in some spots, and her hair was tangled in a dirty-brown knot. Though there was the occasional, murky strand where the mud and grime weren't as thick and one could see a faded shimmer of brass, which revealed her to be a blonde.
As the wind blew another frosty breath, the blonde shivered and her eyes bolted open, a look of panic etched clearly onto her face. She steadied her breathing as her eyes settled on her best friend, who was snoring like a hippopotamus with a head cold, on the other side of their shelter.
"Lauren," she whispered, though she wasn't sure why. "Lauren! Get up!"
She had no patience these days so she did what any true friend would do in a case like this –she crawled to her sleeping friend and pushed her out of the tree.
Thud. "Ow!"
"Lauren! It's time to get up!" She called down to her friend, who was lying spread-eagled at the base of the tree.
Lauren blew a cocoa-coloured lock of hair out of her face and turned her head so ice eyes could glare at the deep-blue orbs of her annoying sister.
"Angel I am going to hurt you!" Lauren got to her feet and was preparing to climb the tree when Angel came (half-sliding, half-falling) down the trunk, nearly crashing into Lauren as she landed.
"Come on, Whiney," Angel said, hiking up their 'shared' supply backpack on her shoulders. "The Council will be starting in a few hours and Darian will kill us if we're late… again."
"Righ… Yeah… Waf id foor agaim?" Lauren asked, attempting and failing miserably to suppress a yawn, as the pair started traveling back through the underbrush.
"The-" Angel shuddered, "the Sues are practically taking over Middle Earth. Our council is making a team of the best Sue-slayers in the world to go and clean up the MarySue problem."
"Oh I get it. So why are we going?"
Angel looked at her best friend and briefly wondered how she could have been stupid enough to let Lauren live this long, before replying.
"We. Are. The. Best. There isn't a bounty hunter or assassin out there who can catch and kill a MarySue better than we can… except perhaps Darian and Khalon, of course."
"Don't forget Kaylie! She's one of the best! Not to mention Stella; she's pretty good too!"
Angel shot Lauren a dark glare before quickening her pace, forcing Lauren to jog just so she could keep up. The wintry grass felt like needles on Angel's bare feet, and she winced at the pain, but her hastened steps did not falter out of her anger at Lauren's mentioning of Stella.
"I thought I told you to never mention Princess Snooty around me."
"Come on, Angel. She's your cousin."
"I refuse to admit that IT is a part of my family."
Angel threw her bag over the iron gate of the cemetery, and then found her old footholds among the Celtic knots. Reaching upwards, she found the grips they'd been using since she and Lauren were seven, covered by frosted moss. Angel climbed the gate with practised ease, and at the top she crouched down, to hold her balance, before jumping to the pavement below.
Lauren scurried up after her and landed on the sidewalk with far more grace than Angel.
"Show off."
Lauren laughed as the pair started off down the streets toward the country roads.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Hmmm?"
"Your not really gonna' wear that to the council, are you?"
"What's wrong with the way I dress?"
"Nothing, nothing. It's just… well… sorta messy and… ratty-looking."
Angel stopped to give her friend a look (one that most know as the 'like-it-matters-you-meathead look') before she continued walking.
"Right, sorry."
Long moments of silence passed them by. The two didn't care though because they were both looking ahead, along the dirt trail. Neither one looking back at the childhood memories they left in that graveyard. The only thing that mattered was getting to the Centre for the Council.
Silence. Both of them were lost in thought at this point, thinking about their futures in slaying the MarySues of Middle Earth. Then:
"Angel?"
"Lauren?"
"Do you really think I'm whiney?"
"Uggh."