This is a character backstory for Epona's Chosen's forum seen here; .net/forum/The_London_House_of_Night_RP/105511/
Theodora is all her own. Antony and Michelle "Misha" Hallaway are mine! All mine!
Love you all,
xHx
Michelle fluffed her light brown hair, letting the music blasting in her ears drown out all thoughts and worries. Though she couldn't understand every word of it, she enjoyed it thoroughly.
The music left her unaware that she was being followed.
By the time she was through the front door of the place she'd lived for six years now, the song had played eight times, from the bus stop to the foyer. She removed one earbud and began navigating the maze of alcohol bottles, both intact and shattered.
As she neared the wall, a half-full bottle of rum crashed against the plaster, flying past where her head would've been if she were just one more step forward.
"Where's my tequila?" the idiot roared.
"Look under the TV, Dad," she replied, turning to look at him. She was remarkably calm for the situation.
"Michelle Hallaway."
Both the girl and her drunken father looked to the tall, uninvited male in the doorway. The intricate navy tattoos framing his eyes made it obvious. He was a vampyre Tracker.
"Night has chosen thee," he continued.
Not now, Michelle thought with a sigh.
"Thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee: hearken to her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night."
He spoke slowly, deliberately, raising his hand with his last words, index finger extended to point at Michelle. Pain exploded in her head, and she collapsed as the song began again.
The foreign language spoken by the singers blared through her aching head, from one earbud, while in the other ear, she could clearly hear thudding blows and shouting littered with colorful insults. Had the Tracker's appearance and her new status as a freshly-Marked fledgling brought Micheal's protective paternal instincts out?
Michelle slowly sat up, checking her back for cuts and gashes that could have been caused by broken glass.
A loud, sudden cracking noise made her look over at the Tracker and her father, just as the latter sank to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"I hope you're all right with that. He wouldn't stop."
"He would have kept me here to die otherwise, so I suppose it's all right. Think you can help me pack?"
"I'd be glad to." He helped her up and carefully brushed off her dark blue jeans. The two then navigated the rest of the maze with little issue, reaching the stairwell. The walls here were covered in photographs of her mother.
"Where is she?" the Tracker asked softly.
"Dead. Suicide. I was three."
"I'm sorry, Misha," he muttered.
"Tha…what did you call me?"
"Is the nickname offensive?"
Michelle shook her head, silently easing into her closet and changing into a black top, a dark blue sweater, a fresh pair of jeans, and adding a wide-brim sunhat. No use hiding her fashion quirks anymore.
The only memory she had of her mother, the only way she really knew the woman in the photographs that filled this house, was from her third birthday. The woman had held her tight and told her a still-treasured secret.
"I am always with you, my Misha," she had said. "Hold onto that, and you will never need to worry for anything."
She returned to the main part of her bedroom, finding the Tracker – whose name she still didn't know – standing in front of her tall bookshelf, staring at her vast collection of both books and knickknacks. With a sigh, she started pulling the figures from the shelves and gently packing them into the Styrofoam packaging she had cut herself for each figure. She'd been planning on making an escape for years.
"What are they?" he said softly, moving to where her Lion Fairy ornament hung from the ceiling and gently detaching its connective line to place it into one of the packaging objects on her desk.
"Figurines and ornaments based off of the artwork of Amy Brown, Jessica Galbreth, and Jasmine Beckett-Griffith," Misha replied. "What's your name?"
"Antony. It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Michelle," he said, extending his hand to her.
She took it, smiling, until an unknown force tried to knock her to her knees. A wild, fierce protectiveness flowed through her, like that a tigress feels for her young. With the emotion came a vision.
She saw a younger version of Antony, before he was Marked, perhaps, and a smaller girl with the same hair, walking together. A tall, faceless man swept away the girl. Antony tried to follow. He found her after walking a while…dead. With a vampyre Tracker facing him in the copse where her body lay.
"You feel protective of me because you lost your sister the day you were Marked…" she muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I don't know how, but…I felt what you were feeling…and I saw the reason behind that emotion."
Antony released her hand and, glancing around, he sighed. "Finish packing. There's someone we need to go see."
About an hour later, after writing a note to her father that she'd had enough of his screaming, forging a second note on its back as though from her father, and planting evidence that he'd killed himself using a rope to twist his neck to breaking, Antony and Misha were on their way to the House of Night in London.
"Who do we need to see?" Misha asked, toying with her hair slightly.
"Theodora, the High Priestess at the London school. It seems you are already displaying strong affinities."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yes. Empathy, for sure. Maybe psychometry or retrocognition. You know what those are, I hope?"
"Nope."
"Psychometry is learning about someone through an object, or perhaps a touch. Retrocognition is seeing into the past," Antony said, weaving through the traffic.
"Oh."
The rest of the journey passed in silence, save for Misha's occasional, light coughing. Close proximity to Antony seemed to be delaying the negative effects of being freshly Marked.
Finally, the car turned into the driveway. Misha, who'd been napping in her seat, sat up and looked around.
"This place is beautiful."
"It is." Antony shut off the car and climbed out.
Theodora was waiting.
"Is she all right?" the High Priestess said, watching Misha carefully.
"She's fine," Antony replied. "There was a small issue with her father, but it's already been taken care of."
"Good. I'm glad."
"Misha," Antony said, turning and motioning the girl closer, "this is Theodora."
"A delight to meet you," she said, extending her hand. Theodora grasped her forearm, which, as Misha remembered, was the proper way to greet a newly-met vampyre in any location, whether younger or older.
"Antony, I thank you for the text alert you sent me. Take her things to the girls' dormitories and leave them on the front step. I'd like to talk to young Misha."
The male nodded, gathering Misha's things from the car and carrying them to a cart nearby, piling it high before wheeling it away. Theodora wrapped an arm around the young girl's shoulders.
"Empathy is nothing to fear. Neither is what you saw – a glimpse into Antony's past. It is dangerous, perhaps, but nothing to be afraid of," she said quietly. "You'll meet your mentor soon; I have things I must attend to. Until next time, Misha…blessed be." And the High Priestess kissed her forehead, in a motherly gesture, before virtually disappearing into the school.
And once again, Misha was alone.
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