Title: Risen From The Ashes

Pairing: Olivia/Natalia Doris/Blake ?/?

Rating: MA for strong language, adult situations, violence, blood, drug use.

Slightly AU most invents remain the same with a few concentrated changes to the Otalia storyline.

Summary: A mysterious stranger comes to town and changes the lives of Olivia and Natalia forever.

It was happening again. Somewhere n the deepest recesses of her subconscious she could recognize that, but it still changed nothing. Fear – cold and calloused wrapped its ugly hands slick and sticky with blood around her throat and squeezed. Images long since passed but never forgotten flashed before her eyes as the air was forced from her lungs. When the hands finally relented and her senses returned to her the situation was no better. Smell…the strongest sense she possessed was at times her greatest downfall.

Death – she could smell it everywhere as it stained the once pristine wall in front of her…she shut her eyes tightly against the horror it shown. The floor to her right was tinged with it as well; the literal pieces of her world were scattered across it…toys long since abandoned by her tormentors. Bile rose in her throat and spewed forth to the soundtrack of raucous laughter. She was choking on it unable to turn her head.

And the screaming…Dear God the screaming.

WHY WOULDN'T IT STOP!

Then she remembered them on the floor far from her vision but never from her mind. The screaming began anew louder, boulder, and more filled with pain than before. She wanted to cover her ears to block out the sound but her hands were tied – bound too tightly by the handcuffs that held them pinned and captive behind her back.

Her fingers had long since gone numb.

"Please…please God just make the screaming stop so I can die in peace." She'd given up begging for the torture to stop hours ago.

Another punch is delivered to her already cracked and in some places broken ribs. "I did this" she sobbed. "It's my fault." And as the blood curdling screams rose to a deafening pitch she realized…they were her own.

Gasping for air around the gag she'd meticulously placed around her own mouth the woman's head shot up from her pillow as sweat dripped from her body and, tears streamed unchecked from her emerald colored eyes. She yanked the gag from her mouth and let it drop to rest around her neck as she wiped angrily at the flowing tears.

"Goddamnit!" she whispers hotly; unable to yell as she would have liked. "At least the fucking gag still works," she mused to no one in particular.

The gag always helped to muffle the screams that would come in the night…every night.

The room was dark and smelled of its last occupants. Nothing she did could rid the place of the smell. Sex, cigarette smoke, and God knows what else lived in the carpets, was smeared across the dingy water buckled walls, and hung leisurely in the dust heavy curtains.

"Another brilliant choice to lay your head girl." She chuckled humorlessly as she rolled out of bed ripping the gag – her night's savior from her neck and throwing it into the open sea bag stuffed to capacity not too far from her on the floor.

Walking across the small almost inhabitable motel room she took stock of the things her eyes could not see. Sniffing the air she noted there were no demons lurking outside her grimy little haven, and with her ears she heard no sigh of approaching footsteps.

"Don't get too comfortable," she reminded herself after being satisfied that there was no immediate danger. She sat down heavily in a beat up desk chair that had one leg missing and balanced herself perfectly without any thought to the task. She opened her laptop.

Wiping a shaking hand across her face, tasting the roof of her own mouth, then pulling a face she checked her cameras. "No one has come snooping," she noted. "Good for them," she said as she idly began to do tricks with her balisong.

Zen Rollover to Cutlery Lover into Aztekia Swirl than back again. Her favorite butterfly knife was made of one of the rarest materials known to man even the smallest amount was considered to be priceless…she played with it like it was a toy.

She was pleased to see no one had come looking for her in the night. She wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. It wouldn't be smart to fuck with her so early in the morning anyway. She was always in her worst moods at this time. The dreams – night terrors that visited her every night without fail for the passed seven years made sure of that.

It was four in the morning she knew that without checking the time. It was the time she woke up every morning no matter what shithole she had hauled herself up in around the world. The most sleep she ever got was two three hours tops…she couldn't afford to sleep any longer than that so there was no point in even bitching about it.

Reaching for the unopened bottle of Jack that sat next to her laptop she unscrewed the cap and eyed the three identical empty bottles lined up neatly on the floor next to her perch. "Slow night last night…" She usually drank way more. After downing half the bottle in one go without so much as a grimace she sat it back down and unpacked her kit.

It held the basic essentials. Small hand mirror, razor blades, grinder, couple of crisp dollar bills, you know the usual shit. Pulling out her stash she eyed the three manila envelops stacked on top of the desk on the other side of her laptop. Curiosity was never an issue with her at least not since…

"No…definitely not going there," she ground out through clenched teeth – voice turning to hard steel and eyes flashing with a hint of pent up fury. "Got way too much shit to do today."

Instead of harping on her fucked up past in her fucked up little insignificant life she made her lines, snorted them, and then repeated until she'd had her fill of her poisonous habit…for now. She checked her camera's again green eyes a little more glassy than before as she finished her bottle and dropped it neatly on the floor so that it was aligned perfectly with the others.

"There you go…family's all back together again." The thought stopped her cold before she could expunge it from her mind. Then with the practice only the hard and calloused could call upon she buried it deep – to be used later – to fuel the rage. "That's not how Sensei taught you to use it." Not that she ever really used anything he had taught her the way she was supposed to. Students of the temple were supposed to be more peaceful – serene even and much less prone to…violence.

They weren't random though. No her actions could never be misconstrued as that. "Not like the sick fuckers don't deserve it." She clenched her teeth, set her jaw, and stood up from her chair fists tightly clenched and back ramrod straight.

The three legged chair toppled to the floor.

She showered quickly as everything she owned was in the corner on the bathroom floor carefully packed away into her sea bag and back pack. The clothes and other…items she had chosen to wear stacked neatly on top.

Jumping out of the shower she went to the mirror not bothering to cover herself with a towel. Carefully avoiding her own eyes she checked her face and body for any left over bruising. Seeing that all were properly healed she allowed her gaze to linger with a touch of pride to the large dragon twisting and curling – eyes flashing – claws and teeth gnashing tattooed on her back. Reading the Hiragana and Kanji symbols that accompanied it slightly below her right shoulder she closed her eyes and centered herself.

Time to put on the mask, she thought. Her face turned emotionless, her eyes dulled, her muscles relaxed yet ready to spring, her emotions…cold.

She dressed quickly making sure everything was in its place and hidden properly. Tugging on her tight black tank top she surveyed the damage that was her left arm.

Proof to trust no one.

She'd recently broken that rule but it was for good reason and it had been worth it. Then again if she hadn't she wouldn't be going on this fucking fools errand and could be well on her way to Rio by now. "Yeah and if you hadn't your God-daughter would be dead by now." She admonished herself as she roughly shoved her left arm into the hard confines of its customary sleeve to hide its ugly visage. No need to bring that kind of attention down on herself.

Doing up her spiked leather belt around the waist of her tight black leather pants that looked as though she'd painted them on she paid no attention to her own beauty. As far as she was concerned there wasn't anything beautiful about her. She was a monster plain and simple.

She made no attempt to fool herself into believing otherwise.

Combing her hands through her thick dark brown nearly black hair that hung well below her waist she went about the meticulous task of concealing its length with a simple black hair tie. She never cut it and never would.

That's what got Samson into all that shit in the Bible. Well…that and pussy.

She wasn't entirely sure her own locks held any supernatural strength, but she wasn't going to tempt fate. And pussy wasn't a problem. Yeah she liked it but had never had a chance to indulge in it.

One less thing to worry about.

Task completed – hair well hidden in a ponytail that hung a little passed her strong shoulders she grabs her leather jacket and throws it on. Double checking to make sure she has everything – mysterious packages included she leaves the room key on the toilet lid and climbs out the bathroom window.

Never go out the front. Slip out the back. You're less likely to get killed that way. Or at the very least less likely to get the shit kicked out of you…again.

Running full tilt passed the fucking-perved-out-motel-manager's office and across the graveled parking lot her footsteps make no sound. She prides herself on always being able to conceal her passing.

Move as a ghost in the wind…

…strike like a cobra.

Tugging her sea bag from her back and leaving her messenger back pack on she keeps stock of her surroundings.

Every rustle of the leaves in the night air. Every tire that passes by on the not too distant highway. Every nocturnal little creature scurrying about for food is cataloged, dissected, and weeded through for the hidden sounds of an attackers approach.

Sea bag firmly secured to the back of her Ducati Monster 796 (black like her disposition) she unfastens her helmet and looks at the picture affixed to the inside. It was the first picture she'd taken in what felt like centuries. In it was her best friend J…her only friend. They had met under some pretty fucked up circumstances months ago. After tiptoeing around each other (neither of them was really big on trust) they came to form a friendship she would cherish till her dying day…so probably until tomorrow. On his shoulders was her beautiful little God-daughter; her eyes alight with an innocence that had long since gone dead in her own. Her little hand was tugging at the length of her G-mama's ponytail. Couldn't get the kid to call her anything else. She paid no attention to herself in the photograph. She'd stop really looking at herself a long time ago. She knew exactly what it was she would see. She shoved the helmet halfway on to her head and checked her back pack.

Weapons of choice in hidden pockets in easy reach…

Check.

Envelops with the names of people she had never met written on them…

Elizabeth Spaulding.
Reva Shayne-O'Neil.
Olivia Spencer.

Check.

"You fucking owe me one J," she sighs. "Jesus, Phoenix just because you're crazy as shit doesn't mean you have to act like it. Quit talking to yourself." She shakes her head knowing she'd never stop. She only ever had herself to talk to.

Forcefully she shoves her helmet down and pushes her bike out of the drive without starting it.

Never give them a point of reference to know how much of a head start you have on them; makes it harder to search a set radius.

She knew that starting her motorcycle this early in the morning would stick out in the manager's memory. He wouldn't last five seconds under their particular form of interrogation. Even though he was a perv that stared at her ass way more than was necessary she didn't want the fucker dead. Wasn't like he was a demon; guy just needed some ass.

She couldn't fault him for that.

Waiting until she was far enough down the road she jumps on her bike and revs it to life. Reveling in all of the horsepower vibrating between her legs and her ability to control it as though it were just another limb. She takes off leaving yet another shithole behind in the dead of night with no actual sign that she had been there.

Never leave fingerprints.

Clean up any stray hairs.

Never leave behind so much as a single drop of blood…at least not your own.

Once again she travels to some new and strange place.

"Springfield here I come."