The Paths We Take
Summary:
There is a firm belief that every choice we make spawns two paths we must follow. That one choice will lead us down a path of virtue, leading us toward a brighter future. That the other will lead us down a path of chaos, leading us toward a darker abyss. That was what every has been lead to believe since the dawn of man.
It seems to me that I was born to blur the lines between the paths, to walk along the narrow line of good and evil. I tried to walk along a brighter path, to escape the dark confines of my past, to serve a great sense of Penance. When that failed, I found myself on the road of unrelenting Vengeance.
In the here and now, I find myself facing the only path deemed necessary for an abomination such as myself. An ultimate sacrifice, my final choice made by an act of Redemption.
This is my story, from the darkness of my beginning, to the bittersweet end.
Pairings: Main- Roy Harper (Red Arrow)/Rai Quincy(Quinn)
Author's Note: This story is going to be broken up into three different story Arcs. Part 1: Penance, Part 2: Vengeance, Part 3: Redemption. Roy Harper/Red Arrow, or any other YJ characters won't be seen until Arc 2, except for a small cameo appearance by a young Artemis. The first part of the story follows the development of my Original Character, known only as Quinn (for now, she doesn't take on the guise of Rai Quincy until Arc 2).
Due to the way the story is going to be written, I've put together a Text Key of sorts:
Text "Text" = regular narrative from Rai's (Quinn's) perspective
Text = Emphasis of word being said or narration thought.
'Text' = Inner thoughts
"Text" = French dialect
Text = Because this is my OC telling her story, this font is used to start the chapter before the narrative story begins.
Penance
-Part One-
Le Diable D'Argent Yeux
My story first takes place in Bordeaux, France, and I met the man that changed my life, for the better...and the worst.
The bustling port city of Bordeaux, France was alive with tourists and consumers moving through the market, a variety of fresh foods, accessories, and shopping stalls on display for those passing by. She watches, her face hidden beneath the shade of her hood as she crouches in the shadows of an alley, eyes watching intently and observantly as people move, pointing out different objects and laughing. She was waiting, for the right moment to strike. She was not stupid enough to reveal her position too early, waiting, scouting for her next victim.
Locating her target, a group of well-dressed, giggling young women, most likely just finished with schooling and taking a vacation before going off into the real world. Moving with practiced ease, she eases her body into a nonchalant, relaxed manner, as she walks toward the group. Her shoulder slams into arm of one of the girl, causing it to pull away from her side pocket. She murmurs a series of apologies as she catches the older girl's arms, stopping her from falling. The girl gives her a snobby brush off, but the hooded girl nods insistently feigning the innocence nature of most children. Without missing a beat, the small child walks off, hands slipping into her own pockets and after a few paces she ducks into an alley. Pulling her hand from her pocket, she opens the small wallet, revealing a few hundred in euro banknotes, a large smile forming on her lips. This would last her a couple of months at best.
"You're pretty good kid."
The sudden deep baritone voice causes the small girl to freeze, her fingers instinctively curling around the wallet she acquired. Glancing up from beneath her hood, she stares at the tall man leaning against the side of a building just a few feet away from her. The taut cord of muscles along his exposed arms tells her it would be foolish to try and rush the man. His face seemed to be carefree, almost with a sense of amusement, and a small tick along his strong jawline made her think he was trying to fight off the urge to smirk or laugh at her. His deep black hair, almost as dark as her own, falls just below his earlobes, a subtle shade of blue appearing in his hair.
"Don't worry kid, I'm not going to turn you in," She refuses to relax, having heard this line previously, "I actually found myself impressed someone so young could pull that off so well."
"Qui êtes-vous? Que voulez-vous?" she demands, trying to keep her voice strong, despite her nervousness toward the situation.
"My friends all call me Razor, because I'm quick and smart," he responds, his light tone slowly causing her to relax, "and I wonder why an orphan like you isn't in an orphanage?"
"Personne ne veut adopter Le Diable D'Argent Yeux," she replies bitterly, looking down at the ground.
"I'm afraid I'm not up to par on my French. Care to translate that last bit?" Razor asks, tilting his head at the small, hidden girl.
"The Silver-Eyed Devil," she answers, her English tongue slightly broken by her French accent, slowly pulling her hood down to reveal eyes of liquid mercury, the eyes seemingly glowing in the shadows of the alley, "I left the orphanage the first chance I had."
"Well, I'm going to be in the area for a couple of days. Why don't you come with me? I have an extra bed in my hotel room no one is using," Her silver eyes darken with suspicion, her head tilting slightly to look up at the taller man, "Think of it this way, you can keep that money you stole from that poor, unsuspecting American tourist and use it later, after I leave."
"Why would you help me?" she asks, wondering why this man would help her.
"I was an orphan too. I managed to get adopted into a family that taught me everything I know now," Razor replies, the small girl wonders what caused the man to suddenly smile, it was a smile she had never seen before.
"Y-you want me, un monstre, to come stay with you?" she asks tentatively, for the first time in years she feels a sense of childish wonder fill her.
"Only for the few days I'm here," Razor replies, "and if you want, you don't have to hide those unique eyes when at the hotel."
The hotel room isn't anything overly lavished. Simple and understated. The first night, the nameless girl kept her hood pulled up. By the second day, while in the room, she was surprised when Razor returned from the shopping district with a selection of clothes for her, stating that he figured she wanted a shower. It was the first time she revealed her small, malnourished body, the simple jeans and peasant top hanging off of her body. Her once dirty, mess of black hair fell around her face in soft, gentle curls. The dirt staining her cheeks had been washed away to reveal her soft milk-white complexion and round face. Razor had even gone so far as to get her a pair of darkly tinted sunglasses, so she didn't have to wear a hood all the time.
"You sure you're going to be alright, kid?"
She knew this time was going to come, but an odd sensation in her chest caused her heart to thud heavily. She swallowed the odd lump that forms in her throat, silver eyes hidden behind the tinted shades, a bag gripped in her hand, filled with the clothes he had bought her. She blinked back the prickling sensation along the corner of her eyes, the burning sensation spreading along the edges of her eyelids.
"Oui, I-I should be fine. Merci, merci beaucoup," she thanks profusely, shifting her weight slightly as her gaze turns to the ground, "I will never forget your kindness."
She turns on heel, inhaling deeply as her mind whirls with plans on what to do, when a hand lands on her shoulder, stopping her retreat, "What would you say if I asked you to come with me?"
She tenses. No one had ever wanted her. Not her birth parents, who tossed her on the step of an orphanage the moment her eyelids opened to reveal their silver depths. Not the other kids who teased her. Not the adults that were curious about her from afar, but once they caught a glimpse of her eyes, she would watch the flicker of fear and disturbed nature appear on their faces. Yet, here was someone that had taken her in, given her the comfort of a semi-normal life and he still wanted her around.
"Y-you want me to stay?" she stutters out in disbelief and when he nods, her fingers releases the bag and she launches herself a the man, hugging him around the waist, "Merci! Merci! Vous n'avez pas idée de ce que cela signifie pour moi!"
...
The first year with Razor, she found herself doing everything she could to please him. She often strived to beat his own record on an obstacle course he had in his backyard. She pushed herself to vault over walls, run across beams set over mud pits, climb robes and run through a maze of vertical poles she was supposed to weave in and out of, the poles no more than a foot apart. Each time she managed to knock seconds or minutes off of her previous record time, she would see a glint of pride appear on his face.
By the second year, the eight-year-old girl had started to learn self-defense. After getting into a series of fights, where she barely won with her scrappy street fighting style, Razor suggested she let him teach her a few things. At first it was learning how to walk, tip-toe, stand and crouch, teacher her how to keep her center of balance. Then came learning how to run without making noise, how to stay light on her feet and how to even break her fall without hurting herself. After that, she was taught the basics on combat, which began to grow more difficult with each passing session. Not because she was weak. Razor had told her she seemed to get a really good grasp of how to fight at a quick pace.
By the third year, the silver-eyed girl's training had become routine and had evolved from advanced hand-to-hand combat to using blunted weapons. At first, her weapon training had been simple fencing, but after picking up on that quickly, Razor moved on to using other weapons: a bo-staff, nunchuks, sai, throwing stars, and kendo stick. Her favorite had been training with the two twin katana blades -made out of wood- and it pleased her greatly when she noticed his pride only grew from there.
By the age eleven, her fifth year living with Razor, their training sessions had grown from necessity to a way for them to bond. She never called him father, and he never asked her to. He never asked for a name, always called her Kid, and even if she had a name, she felt as though she wouldn't have given it. They knew each other, their personalities, their likes and dislikes.
"Are you sure you're going to be alright, Kid? I should only be out of town for a few days at most," Razor asks, his dark eyes looking over at her as she held the door open, even after he crossed the threshold.
"I will be fine, Razor," she replies, giving him his own smirk in return.
Razor lets out a small chuckle of amusement and ruffles her dark curls, "If I ever had, or will ever have, a kid of my own, I hope they turn out like you."
Her smirk slowly softens to a smile, a smile that was rarely seen by anyone other than him. She watches as he climbs into the vehicle that had pulled up along the sidewalk only minutes ago. Giving him a final wave, her gaze follows from behind her shades as the car disappears and she shuts the door.
Even after everything I learned of the man, I still wish that I had taken the time to really tell him what I had thought of him. He was the closest thing I ever had to a parent. I just wish he had told me the truth...
"Qui êtes-vous? Que voulez-vous?" - "Who are you? What do you want?"
Personne ne veut adopter Le Diable D'Argent Yeux - Nobody wants to adopt the Silver-Eyed Devil
un monstre - a monster, or freak
Merci, merci beaucoup - Thank you, that you so much
Merci! Merci! Vous n'avez pas idée de ce que cela signifie pour moi! - Thank you! Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me!
Author's Note: On a finer note, I would like to state that Razor is actually a DC-canon character and not that of my own -Grins evilly- My chapters are only starting out short, due to most kids only remembering certain key points in their childhood. Not many people can remember every little detail of their childhood, and technically, this is her telling her story.
Next Chapter: Our nameless child receives bad news...meets the League of Shadows...and gets even worse news...things blow out of proportion...and...she gets a name? Interesting! Leave a review, please and thank you!