Joan Clarke shivered in the shadows. The winter was cold, especially that night. The wind blew hardly against her face. The coat she had didn't shelter her much. She thought of her parents. How concerned they probably were. It had been a week since she had ran away. She had packed her bag with some clothes, stole two hundred euros from Dad's wallet and took off. She could not stay there anymore.
Realisation hit her one morning after returning from a party. An orgy of drugs, alcohol and sex with half the people of her school class. At some point, she passed out. She could have sworn she had been choked to death. The striker of the football team had put a nylon bag on her face while he did it to her. She had liked it at first but then...
She knew things were not the same now. Something had changed. School was oblivious. Her parents didn't matter to her. She suddenly felt she did not belong there. Her first night on the street had been rough. A dude had tried to steal her coat, and another to rape her. But she had got by the week and found a nice space in an alley near the train station. The strangest thing however was those weird headaches she got every once in a while.
Like the one she had a while ago. Then the homeless little dewy-eyed blond cherub in the sports jacket appeared, looking for a place to sleep. She had embraced the child motherly and was falling asleep after he had.
-----
She woke up at some point in the night. The boy was not with her. She stood up and spotted him near. He had something in his hands. It seemed a stick. She rubbed her eyes. It was not a stick. It glistened and reflected the dim light of the alley. It was... a small sword. He went slowly towards her threateningly.
Joan tried to run, but where? She was cornered. The kid thrust at her and wounded her shoulder. She cried in pain. Her head spun. Not the headache again, she thought. The boy turned.
Someone appeared at the entrance of the alley. It was a woman. Early twenties, brown curly hair, beautiful fleshy lips, wearing a pair of old jeans and a wool sweater under a warm leather coat. He did not seem pleased at her appearance. She moved towards them.
The boy stormed towards her, swinging his sword. She grinned when she saw him come. When he was close enough, she extended her leg and kicked him in the stomach. He fell over his back. She kicked him again, this time in the face. He passed out.
"Are you OK?" she asked to Joan.
"I... I am. What...?"
"It's a long story. Have you got a name?"
"Joan... Joan Clarke."
"I'm Darla Hails."
"What was all that about? A boy carrying a sword?"
"He's not a kid. He looks like a kid but he's older than you. Even older than me."
Joan stood up, disregarding the comment about the boy's age. She spotted a golden chain on Darla's neck. What would that be? How much would it cost? It did not matter.
"I felt a splitting headache. What...?"
"You have no clue, do you?"
"Clue of what?"
"Nothing really." Darla looked backward to the entrance of the alley. Kenny was still unconscious. Joan thought she had attitude. However, she could see in her eyes some sort of emotional emaciation.
"Anyway... I should go back to sleep... if you take him away of course."
"No problem. Sweet dreams."
Joan lay down covered in her coat She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come. She heard the air being cut, and that was the last thing she ever sensed.
-----
When the brief Quickening was over, Darla stiffly picked up her sword and squatted beside the kid, who was slowly regaining conscience. He noticed her and tried to scramble up and run. She pushed him to the floor.
"Hello, Kenny."
"Let me go!"
"You almost killed me once. I was young and stupid, as that girl was."
"But your friend saved you."
"Even so."
"I'm just a kid!"
"Spare me the routine. There's your sword. Pick it up and we'll have a proper combat."
The petty sword was ahead of them. Kenny looked at her hesitantly, then stood up and went for it. She went after him and no sooner did he pick her sword than she struck hard, breaking his blade.
"You said this would be proper!" he cried as she put up her sword.
"I lied." She muttered before slicing off Kenny's head.
The Quickening blasted her insides. Energy flew vastly through her blood, making it boil. The painful pleasure it gave her was unexplainable. Kenny's 800 years of experience penetrated her as bolts of energy that shook her. Then it was over.
Her face was different. Sadness slowly began to appear in her face. She left the alley and headed to the station, where the train for Paris was waiting. Her bags already inside, she got in and sat down against the window. She stared at her own reflection, and burst into tears.