How A Radical Dances:
New Evolution Supernatural Strains
a Twilight Fan-fiction
by
Alisha Quigley
Chapter One: What's in a Fateful Night?
'Should've left this place days ago... never should've come' kicking himself for not having left sooner, Alistair made his way back through the mansion forming few words to divulge news of his imminent departure to his only 'friend'. Sighting Carlisle, he paused, peering into the lower Gathering room without alerting anyone of his presence until he spoke "Cheers, Carlisle, but I'll be taking my leave of this mess. Good luck to your lot."
"Alistair, Wait..." Carlisle called, pursuing the rapidly retreating nomad through the house; Esmee, Edward and Rosalie close on his heel. Alistair paused on the gravel of the driveway.
"I've no desire to waste more time, Carlisle, I've seen enough. I'm leaving." he announced, angling half his face to view the growing entourage in periphery as he lingered.
Edward, being heavily invested in the outcome of the seemingly dire situation and instantly impatient with the tracker, started "Don't be a coward, Alistair-"
"Edward, don't." Carlisle cut him off with a warning look and some reasoning thoughts. It mattered little to Alistair what the mind reader, or anyone else, thought of his decision.
He chuckled "I'd rather be a coward than a fool, boy."
"A fool..." Edward smirked sarcastically, finding the Nomads audacity cynically amusing given the circumstances "at least I have a family to live and fight for. What do you have? What's so damned important about your life that you can't even stand by your only friend when he calls on you to help protect his family?" he growled. He was frustrated with the tracker, unable to find reason for his decision. Alistair, it seemed, was practised in controlling his thoughts. Enough, at least, to be able to prevent Edward seeing recent events pertaining to the preparations his own wife had been making moments earlier. Alistair thought only of making his way to the Cities of Washington for a quick meal before making his way home.
"As I said. Good luck to your lot." with this, he turned his face back towards the driveway clearing and began his departure at a human pace, nervelessly waving them farewell before disappearing into the late evening darkness of the trees.
"can I buy you a-"
"I can buy my own." Reaves's passionless tone, intimidatingly sharp and biting, cut the masculine voice short. Radical Red to her fans.., what few there were. Just Rad to acquaintances. No friends. No Family. No desire for any personal involvements. Relationships.
"I know, I didn't mean to off-" the stranger tried again but was cut short once more
"Ay!... Buddy!" She Snapped with ferocity, glaring a death at the man "I don't care a smidgen, Not even a tiny, fucken, lil' bit; what you mean in your approach right now. I've got what I fucken came here for-" She pointed stiffly to the half empty drink "-in me fucken Hand. Fuck. Away!" She finished, her face contorting viciously, aggressively directing the man with her left arm, hand dead straight, indicating the wall far opposite the spot at the bar where she was sat.
She stayed, threateningly still, staring the man down some solid moments after he broke eye contact and began to walk away, until she was satisfied he'd no intentions of becoming Violent after she'd turned her back. 'Seems like a decent enough guy. Poor bloke, should've picked a nicer conquest.' she thought, turning back to rest on her elbows and lounge tiresomely over the bar again.
Seeing the finish of her beverage approaching too rapidly, Rad hollered down the long bench she was leaning over "Caz, 'nutha." she shouted to the bartender, tapping her finger on the bar-top heavily. The pretty young Server, Casey, obliged promptly. Rad was a regular, and Casey liked her style even though Rad was very impatient with her at times. None of the staff worried about her being the cause of any trouble because she was often the reason they had none.
She hung out in their establishment after work, which, to those who knew, meant unofficial earnings like winnings or consolation prizes from hush-hush rap & dance battles, cage fights, battle of the bands - which she'd enter solo. She Kept to herself, not speaking unless spoken to, or ordering a drink.
The staff Couldn't fault her for her intense way of deflecting the unsuspecting Casanovas who occasionally tried to woo her, Rad did not dress like she wanted any attention. She never wore makeup, all of her clothes were too big and baggy, the only thing she wore in the correct size for her body was an old, cropped, hooded leather jacket; in combination with a thick denim vest, ornamented in iron on band patches, featured over the fading black leather jackets exterior. Rad looked a bit of a biker hoodlum.
She wore either a black, dark grey or deep crimson hooded sweater jacket under her leather jacket and sat in the bar with her large hoods up every time she came in. From the back, her cloth distorted body-shape gave no indication of gender, but the mirror across from her, behind the bar, left her face exposed to wondering eyes. Radical Schooling wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence for those who tried to strike up a conversation with the lone fighter. She'd always sit quietly, drinking by herself, until she began to sway on her stool, then she'd gather her things and wander twelve blocks through the city to her tiny basement apartment, alone. Always alone. Refusing any offer of hailing a Taxi, always walking at a stupidly early hour of morning; long before sunrise.
Tapping the bar for what was about her fourth JD & Coke, having started the night with her routine shot of Black Sambuca, Rad stood from her stool and Swaggered over to the digital Jukebox to pay for a short playlist to finish her night with and trudged back to her stool too the sound of the Ramones. "The KKK took my baby awa-ay, they took her Away... away from me-eh..." No one bothered her for the rest of the night. The establishment was slowly emptying and no new customers had stepped into the Bar since before Rad had shut that bloke down earlier. She got to listen to her songs in peace, dancing in her seat and drumming violently on the bar in front of her when she would get lost in the music.
Eventually Rad Finished her last drink for this night and Slapped the bar-top, a signal that let the Bartender know she intended to leave. Caz put down the glass she'd been wiping and tiredly reached under the bar to get Rad's bag for her, handing the large sack across the bar to its owner. Already standing and impatiently inching toward the door, Reaves grabbed the pack "Ta."
She languidly turned and started for the door as Caz halfheartedly tried to tempt the fighter into a taxi with an ominous proffer "You're a Tough Chick, I get it, but you really shouldn't be walk'n home alone at these hours with a gut full of liquor, you're seriously pushin' your luck, Rad."
"I has fire. Errg arrrg." She replied with an unnervingly sinister smirk, revealing herself to be carrying a tiny deodorant can and a lighter. Showing off its flammable combination, she burst a quick blow torch-like flame, standing at the doorway, then swung around, swaying slightly more than the sober swagger she walked in with, shoved the door open, stepped out onto the pavement and began her homeward venture for the night.
Not even a block from the bar, Rad's happy hour mood began to fade and she began to realise how drunk she was. She had over done it for sure this time, she could feel her traitorous stomach absorbing the settled alcohol faster now that she was on her feet out in the cold night air. Her fast paced swagger quickly became a languid, half-determined stumble ever forward.
Her head spun, her stomach churned, ever forward.
She huffed in muggy, fume thick breath and breathed deep, swallowing bile, ever forward.
Never needing to catch herself yet always correcting path, ever forward.
Head lolling, eyes heavy, rolling, flowing drunkenly into the path ahead without trying to keep herself moving in a straight line; ever forward.
Reaves Abbey Dawson was fucking shit faced and only half loving it.
The drunken stumble itself could be fun, at times, it was the moments in which her brain recognised the fact that if she couldn't sober up before she got home, she'd be awake the rest of the night trying not to lose the money she just drank via the hole she'd been dumping it in.
"Fucken Sloshie! Nine!" Rad bellowed a combative scream down the street before her, having calculated the number of blocks she had left to walk, clenching and straining as many muscles as she could activate, crumpling into something reminiscent of an angry flamingo.
"It's three o'clock, shut the fuck up you god damn retard!" a resident called from the open window of an apartment facing the street on which she'd merrily made a fog horn of herself. She'd do things like this to keep herself awake and focused as It did actually worry her that she may not make it home when she got this messed up."uhh... Play with yaself, cunt, wanna walk me home!?" she screamed sarcastically, flipping a middle digit in the general direction from which the voice had sounded.
"Shut up you obnoxious bitch, people are trying to fucking sleep!" Another resident shouted from another building.
"Get a fucking taxi, Whore!" the first responder, again.
"Ay, yo, You Fuck'n pay'n for it? Rich cun' are ya? Fuck y'all; I'd be fucken quiet by now if ya could've kept your mouths shut, It's fucking Saturday morning, Get the fuck over it!"
More people joined in,
"Shut up-"
"Fuck all you noisy assholes-"
"Shut the fuck up-"
"oh my god, fucking be quiet-"
"Will y'all please just shut the fuck-"
"Shut up bitch-"
The excitement on the street sparking some greater semblance of coherency back into her body, Rad began drunkenly dance, skip, hop, jogging, cackling manically as her journey homeward continued. Her happy hour mood was back for the moment.
Slow, uneven, unsteady, bottom-line 'inebriated' footsteps barely register in the mind of a feeding vampire. Drunk people aren't believed if they happen to see strange things in the dark.
Scrape, scrape, crunch... crunch... crunch, scrape... scrape, scrape, scrape, crunch... scrape, crunch, scrape... scrape, crunch, crunch -"Fucken Sloshie! Nine!"
A Raging nonsensical Battle Cry, bellowed with shocking ferocity, bombarded Alistair's consciousness. He'd been quietly enjoying the meal it had taken him hours to acquire deep in the shadows of an alley right beside this shockingly noisy female.
Being that Alistair had a particular talent, you'd think it'd have taken less time to catch his dinner. Pickiness is almost common among Vampires, however; Alistair's Specific tastes had little to do with what he had become. The people he ate were evidence of how deeply his remaking had scarred him. They were the choices of the man he should have remained.
How naive he felt he'd been then that he should find himself cursed to still be alive, here, now, and without a thing he could ever trust to Love for the rest of his too long life; outside memories of what he lost and who he was when he still believed in such notions as love.
The trackers eyes snapped up at the alarming sound, quickly focusing on the screaming woman, who was standing on one foot, barely, on the sidewalk amid the alleyway entrance, looking as though she would soon start stomping an extreme, rage induced dance.
Alistair's intrigue got the better of him as he listened to the woman's exchange with the residents she was disturbing.
She was clearly very drunk. Obnoxious yet endearing, he watched as she went from swaying heavily, barely catching herself after her one footed screaming match with the night air, too seeming reinvigorated by the stream of hostilities she'd provoked of the locals.
She had a thick accent he recognised as Australian, and if he'd not caught sight of her face, or heard her exchange with the residents of the street she was disturbing, the silhouette of her fashion choices would portray her a man.
She was tall and slim with broad shoulders and wore baggy clothes that hid the rest of her shape. The nomad silently observed the woman as she stumbled in small, generally backwards, circles while scanning the surrounding apartment buildings for the appropriate response direction.
No matter which direction she stumbled, it seemed the woman walked like her left foot was broken. Heavily favouring her right with casual swagger.
The number of annoyed residents screaming into the street swelled and the strange drunk woman started to chuckle and move down the street at a much faster and more coherent pace than she'd stumbled onto it with, her chuckle becoming a menacing cackle as she danced a languid hop-run to the end of the block and around a corner.
His curiosity outweighing much, Alistair guardedly followed her. He'd no greater reason for following her than this mysterious wonder, he couldn't explain the level of fascination her behaviour held, even to himself. Perhaps he followed her because she was casually intimidating. He certainly found it peculiar that the behaviours of a lone, drunken human could tickle any remote variation of fear within him.
Also curious, possibly, from the way the woman spoke and carried herself, as though she were completely lawless, partially broken, wholly alone. She carried on with all the gumption of an obnoxiously drunk banshee for such a late hour of night, but; she carried on alone, seemingly unheeding of every way she was endangering herself. Keeping a safe distance, the Tracker noticed the woman's footfalls began taking on a rhythmic beat as she went along her path home.
Rad began making up a beat to help keep herself functional on her lethargically intoxicated journey. Patting her hips, clicking her fingers, clapping and stomping extra hard at experimental intervals until she found a sound progression she liked, she then started to sarcastically spit bars at a decent low volume.
"ay, I hear facts don't care
Ain' a truer word bin' spoken
y'all just lost ya fucken minds
coz I went dig'n for some hope
I got a big fat sack of fuck'n baggage
ain' no joke'n
the only feel'n I got left, like,
damn, 'm run'n outta tokens
'ay
fact is
I dont fuck'n care
if ya wanna go to sleep
I'm try'n 'a keep myself awake,
drank the wealth to trouble, deep.
I wish you cared as much for me
to let me know when you were weak
if you don't question any speak
me gon' get loud coz eu de freak.
Ain' a truer word bin' spoken
y'all just lost ya fucken minds
coz i'm dig'n for some hope
I know ya couldn't help me, fine
I barely sleep now, buz, 'cause
I don't
like how your world works
it's the weekend, what'up, cuz
no chill? can't live with insane perks?
Don't ya see, deranged brains need
some fuck'n stimulation when they sloshed
Bub, spark me up
'n' i'll try'da keep it roll'n a few blocks
I know you'd help me get attacked
'n' you don't care if I get lost
I gotta look out for myself
because myself is all I got
ay, I hear facts don't fuck'n care
Ain' a truer word bin' spoken
y'all done lost ya fuck'n minds
coz i'm diggin' for some hope 'n'
I got a big fat sack of fuck'n baggage,
ain' no joke 'n'
the only feel'n I got left, like,
damn, 'm run'n outta smoke
I mean
i'm fuck'n sorry to ya
I ony got myself in this world
'n' I fucked up,
got too drunk
now I'm a weak little girl
I wish I wouldn't fuck'n do this,
it was not my intent
I just sat down at the bar
but then I got lost in my head
I swear I checked the fuck'n time
it was'a quarter pas' ten
had, like, four drinks 'n' in a blink
the fuck'n night was half past dead
ay, I hear facts don't fuck'n care,
fact is I know how to survive
ya gotta be some kind'a demon,
if ya wanna stay alive
slam dance on monsters, runt,
Wha'? Ain' got da balls ta fuck'n try?
don't fuck'n tell me to shut up
no hope, my tongue ain' fuck'n tied.
ay, I hear facts don't care
Ain' a truer word bin' spoken
y'all just lose ya fuck'n minds
coz i'm digging for some hope,
I got a big fat sack of fuck'n baggage,
'n' no joke
the only feeling I got left, like,
damn, 'm run'n outta tokes
ay, said 'm run'n outta dope
I meant I lost all fuck'n hope
god damn, 'm run'n outta focus
I feel like a fuck'n joke
ay, the facts don't care
I say,
'm run'n outta hope
Neck, if
I ain' got me smoke
could adhere
to the fuck'n rope
but they know this witch
comes prepared
Sick Tongue be deadly
make ya choke
ay, facts don't fuck'n care'fa y'all morals
y'all fuck'n found 'em on a joke
'n' you didn't fuck'n get the punchline,
Ouh! What?! Git da fuck-
Okay, can I get off me fucken high horse now, I fucken hate being a mirror – I'm nobody, who cares if I pass out in the bloody street coz I'm an idiot, hahahahahahaa"
Listening carefully as he observed the curious woman jogging in time with her rhyming, Alistair was not to guess her lyrics, so crude, would spark a flicker of camaraderie. She clearly shared his distrust of people. 'I know you'd help me get attacked 'n' you don't care if I get lost... I know this level of betrayal.' her words struck many deep chords within his ever still, venom frozen heart.
'What have you seen? What has befallen you so young that you've become so wearied and wise?'
He didn't recognise the compassion she provoked, this urge to at least watch over her for the rest of her crack early walk. 'Might it be that... I should entertain the concept of an endeavour to know you?' Alistair wondered, raking through her lyrics in the periphery of his mind space... and that self-depreciating comment she'd made when she'd concluded her thought provoking freestyle.
'Irrespective of the proximity of myself, You don't come across as much of an idiot... girl...' As he followed, he considered many things. He thought of the ever present danger of Vampire Law, all the things that can go wrong getting involved with a human, accidents... the lessons of old friends in uncharted, troubled waters. Carlisle. 'Carlisle's... Family.'
He'd known for awhile, at this point, that male vampires are able to father hybrid children and he'd not considered whether he might want such a thing.
In all this time, Alistair never really knew Carlisle. He called Carlisle friend pretentiously, the pretence of Alistair's understanding being that Carlisle had not slipped up and revealed his dark side... yet. He'd always reserved suspicions about Carlisle's collection of talented 'children', entertained the idea that the animal blood diet was a ploy to gain followers.
But now, with the possibility of creating his own family being what it is, this dancer he'd run across by chance had unearthed a long buried desire he'd not sought to experience again. The desire to protect what he loved.
Surely no, he did not love this woman. But he could see himself loving a person like her.
Just to bare the hope that he may learn to trust anyone was enough to know that he'd been the fool. He'd walked away from his friend because he did not want to believe in the sanctity of familial love. He'd forgotten those who'd not betrayed him. Those who had instead perished in the aftermath of a betrayal that destroyed his trust for all people. His sisters had not betrayed or abandoned him, they had been payment for what had been done to him, they'd been sold to a monster.
'I will meet you.' the nomad decided.
'fact is; I too know how to survive
Truly, you have to be some kind of demon, if you want to stay alive...
but do you... slam dance... on monsters, love? '
quite sure you've got the bollocks to try?
I think I'll test that theory, Girl, would you like to see my eyes?'
"hmhm." Amusing himself , he stifled a chortle. 'Obviously, this human cannot have met a 'real' monster before, or she'd not likely have survived.'
One should not presume to guess at the trials of another lest they be sorely red faced.
(Authors note)
Disclaimer: This is a FanFiction based on Stephanie Meyers Twilight Saga. The world is; Cannon, Movie-verse with my own additions, this will not interfere with the original story but will eventually include most of Our favorite Twilight Characters.
Thank you for reading this story.