Demeter Sloane, or Sloane as she was more often called - mainly due to the lack of people being able to pronounce her name properly. She had arrived at Beacon Hills nearly three months previous, as her mother had passed away, and her father and herself needed a new start. And a new country. The plane ride from Scotland wasn't the most pleasant, but she had been in worse situations. Her mother had been ill all her life… and even though she thought she was prepared, it still hit her like a tonne of bricks.

Demeter wasn't very spectacular looking - taller than average, toned… but she was nearly blind, her glasses, which were nearly half an inch thick, nearly always found themselves at the tip of her miniscule nose. Her hair was also always an eyesore to her, which was a vibrant orange colour - if her accent didn't give her heritage away, the hair always did. More often than not, her mad, thick hair was flung into a messy bun, which sat atop her head, but even then, the orange curls still found their way onto her face. Her eyes were a rich, light brown - almost amber in colour, and they were her only saving grace, according to her. It was what hid behind those eyes that was her true insecurity.

Arriving at her school on rather warm ( to her ) Wednesday morning, her long pale fingers twirling the lock that held her books safe, she jumped nearly a foot in the air as her vision was suddenly cut off from descending hands. A sharp jab backwards, and with a smile, she recognised the low moan of pain that usually filled her school mornings.

"Mornin' Stiles. I thought you'd learn by now not to sneak up on me." Stiles shot her a small glare, a hand covering his ribs. "What do you have under there? Knives?!" Chuckling, she shrugged. Stiles and Sloane had become quick friends after their shared interest in all that was not normal brought them together for an assignment. And he didn't know it yet, but her father worked with the Forensic Science department of Beacon Hills department, which had just opened up in the wake of all the strange happenings going on.

They walked to their first class, Sloane's books under her arms, as she had ditched her bag in the locker. She hated that bag - it was given to her by her father as a new school present...and the very fact it was luminous pink didn't really bother her… it was the fact that he had obviously picked up a Primary school bag… not a High schooler's one. But she kept with it. She knew her dad loved seeing her with it.

Finally reaching the class room that held them prisoner for the next hour - English as it was. She perked an eyebrow as she noticed Stiles sitting beside her instead of Scott. "No, you can't copy." The teenager gave a look of feigned surprise, before leaning in, making his eyes wide and pitiful. Sighing, she shoved over the homework assignment in front of him, in which he smiled, and began to write down. She didn't mind - he usually did his own homework, and he had gotten her out of a few sticky situations herself.

The period passed pretty normally, Demeter knowing most of the questions the teacher decided to fling her way, hoping to catch her out. But what they didn't know was that their current book they were studying was one of her favourites - The Incident of the Dog in the Night Time had helped her sleep many, many nights.

But when the classroom's windows imploded into them, Demeter didn't scream. She didn't have a chance. Her brain hadn't came to terms with the glass in her arms, or the screams of the students, all she could do was grab Stiles by the scruff of his shirt, and drag him down beside her, hiding down behind the desk. The male let out a surprised oomph, but apart from being shaken, he seemed to be taking it in his stride. Noticing this, she hissed in his ear. "Does this happen a lot?!" Her mouth gaped at the reply. "More than you'd think." He turned to whisper back.

But his gaze was glued to her eyes. Which had now a strange blue ring hugging her iris, and sensing this, Demeter ducked her eyes aware from his gaze, rubbing her knuckles into them, trying to dispell the tingling sensation.

"We gotta get outta here… and then find out what happened."

"Sounds like a plan."