What's all this talk of a notion?
I'd rather drown in the ocean...
What did you mean when you said no?
I only want what is best for you..
I won't ever let you drown.
Derry, Maine, was a particularly interesting town. Miczariel was aware of that much for sure. She'd heard many tales, but now she had actually been sent to the town herself- on official business, one might add. Mic loved business. She loved the thrill of the kill, the ability to roam freely when she was on mission... well, as freely as a human host would allow her to roam. Mic hated taking living hosts, so she didn't take the living ones. No, Miczariel wasn't a demon who particularly liked to invoke suffering- she had suffered enough herself. Instead, Mic would always approach a potential host who was comatose or dying. Usually, after she was done with a comatose host they woke up, but this particular host- a young female in her teenage years, with bright blue eyes (though with Mic's influence they would later speckle with gold) and little freckles over her nose- would not be waking up soon at all. Mic had found the host two towns over from Derry, already nearly dead. The said host had been nearly beaten to death by her father, and did not want to go on. Mic had offered the young lady a wonderful afterlife (after all, the Big Guy in the clouds would accept the host's soul), in exchange for Mic's free use of her body. So here Mic was, holding her vessel alive- perhaps now attached to it as well, given the host's soul had passed on-, headed to Derry by foot.
She ran her tongue over her new human teeth, still not used to the fact that she was alive once more. She had passed on many years ago, but now she was given the chance to experience humanity again- as she was with each mission. The feeling of actually being able to feel was simply pure ecstasy for Mic, she loved every ounce of it. Well, she didn't much care for pain though. Pain was not good, pain hurt more than anything.
Well duh, of course it does. It's pain, Mic chided herself, her lips quirking upward slightly. She even almost giggled. What a silly thought, for a demon to become absolutely, irrevocably human. "Human, human, human," Mic giggled softly to herself, teeth bared in a silly grin. A green sign began to appear in the distance, informing Mic there were only twelve miles left of her trek. She glanced up at the sky, watching silently as the sun began to set. "Silly human," She giggled to herself, "you'll never make it at this rate." She promptly posted herself at the edge of the highway she'd been walking alongside and stuck her thumb in the air.
It didn't take long for a semi to approach. The driver, a smelly human male, rolled down his window impatiently. A cigarette was clenched between his teeth, Mic noted, as he looked her up and down. Mic always found it disgusting, the behavior of the older male humans. They seemed to feel so entitled to a human female's body, which Mic hated. "Climb in, sugah." The driver grunted, the cigarette bobbing up and down. Mic smiled sweetly, flashing pearly white teeth, and went around to climb into the passenger side door.
"Derry, please," She said in her sweetest voice, batting her eyelashes.
"Thank you." Mic smiled when the driver stopped at a gas station in Derry, parking far enough away that he'd get a good long look at Mic while she wandered away. "Really, I don't know how I could ever repay you." She went to open the door, but felt a calloused hand on her shoulder.
"I ain't doin' no deeds for free." The driver grunted, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. "Yuh gon' gimme a good time 'ar wha'?" Mic bore her teeth angrily to herself, but settled her inner fire and turned to force herself to look into a grimy, ugly face which had too many missing teeth and smelled of cigarettes and vomit.
She smiled sweetly once more, batting the man's hand from her shoulder as though it were nothing. "I don't sell myself, mister." Mic informed him. "I definitely did not hop in to give you a good time." Almost as soon as the female had defied the human male (Mic had expected it, she had grown to expect it), a thick-skinned open palm slapped her across her face. Thankfully, Mic was not hurt. She couldn't be hurt, really, she was a demon. She felt the bones in the hand shatter, a wicked smile parting her lips as the demonic part of her began to crack through the human facade. Rows and rows of teeth began to fill her mouth as her eyes shimmered to their natural golden color. "Why, whatever was that for?" Her now distorted, heavy voice asked. She lunged forward, leaving splatters of blood on the windows and the dying screams of a human male in her wake.
Blood still coated Mic as she climbed out of the semi, humming softly to herself as the teeth disappeared and the eyes became blue once more. Her blonde locks were now tangled and matted with blood, which she would fix in the gas station bathroom. No humans inside the station paid her any mind as she walked inside, partly because Mic was influencing them not to. She couldn't have anyone staring at her while she was hunting, that was a no-go. She walked by isles of cheap foods and found the bathroom, letting herself in and locking it behind her. She hummed as she turned on the lights, fishing around in the bag she had brought with her. She stripped the grimy hospital gown (honestly, how had the semi driver not noticed the stupid thing? Or was that why he had picked Mic up?) off of her thin frame. "This is a little too thin for my taste." Mic muttered, but who was she to tell someone (even if they were dead) to have a body? She traced her fingers over the thin middle of her abdomen, allowing the muscles to redevelop themselves. She was a huntress, and she preferred to look as strong as one. She ran her pale fingers through the grimy hair, frowning in contemplation as she snatched the pair of scissors from her bag. She snipped the long, long hair choppily down to shoulder length- the perfect length, in Mic's mind- and pulled it back into a spiky ponytail. She pulled the dark leather jacket from the bag as well, along with a plain white t-shirt and a torn pair of jeans. She'd found them in a dumpster, but that didn't matter. She'd managed to get the trashy smell out of them, so they'd be fine to wear. Her bare feet longed for a pair of shoes, which luckily she had found, so she slipped on the tattered white- well, once white- socks onto her dirty feet and pulled the battered sneakers on too after pulling on her other clothes.
"There." Mic beamed to herself. "A typical teenager."