The year was 2010, early November, and it was already showing hints of winter in the city of London. It was after dark, and a gentle snow fell down on the streets of Whitechapel as the people went about their business. The lights were on, cars drove, and people spoke. The typical sounds of a busy city. One individual walked alone, a large black hoodie obscuring his face. One could see a cigarette in his mouth as he walked.
A loud caw drew his attention.
His silver eyes were visible as he lifted his head to turn his gaze to the source of the caw; a pitch-black raven, common in London, standing atop a street lamp. He chalked it up to his imagination, but it looked like the raven was actually staring at him. Birds did that to people sometimes, but something about this particular instance was… unnerving. It was almost as if the raven knew him. Shaking his head, he sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a big puff of smoke.
"Find anything interesting, fella?" 16-year-old Damon Azrail asked the small blackbird. He had to give a small smile as the bird tilted its head as if acknowledging him. He'd always been fond of ravens. With another caw, the bird flew off, making the teen shake his head in amusement. "Thought not." He said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.
He carried on with his walk, not entirely sure where he's headed. He was in one of his moods, just roaming about, not intent on going anywhere. He'd just wanted to get out of the house. That bitch who thinks she can boss him around was spending the night again, and he didn't want to think about what she was doing to his mother. He liked the girl-on-girl thing as much as the next guy, but when it involves his mother, it loses its magic.
Life had been a downward spiral for him over the past two years. First, someone he cared about greatly and looked up to as father died, then his mother dragged him and his sister to London a few days later, away from his best friend, she enrolls him a Catholic School, and now she's snogging with a lawyer with delusions of authority over him. He'd have run off by now if it wasn't for his little sister.
Shaking his head, banishing those thoughts. They only proved upset him more. With another depressed sigh, he took a deep drag of his cigarette and tossed it in a nearby bin. Even the cigarettes weren't making him better.
"Someone, help!" He heard a cry from his right. The scream was almost completely drowned out by the cars, so he wasn't surprised when he saw no one reacting. In an alleyway, he saw two shapes, one significantly larger than the other, pressing the smaller one into a wall. He could hear some muffled screaming as he strolled in.
"Don't be like that lassie…" He heard the man's sleazy voice. "I just want to have fun… You want that too, eh?" He chuckled. Damon rolled his eyes with a scowl. One thing he hated beyond all else was a rapist. With a shake of his head, he picked up a loose brick and tossed it. With precision, the brick hit that man on the head, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. The girl stood there, frozen in fear at what was happening. Or rather, what had almost happened.
Damon strolled over to the unconscious form and knelt, pulling the contents of the man's pockets out. Score. A small bag of weed, a pretty necklace that he was probably going to pawn, and 300 pounds. Nice. As he gathered all the stuff, he looked at the girl. She was still standing up against the wall, panting heavily in fear. Her skimpy dress had been pulled down, exposing her chest. Clearly, she'd been looking for a lay, and got more than she'd asked for. Damon enjoyed the sight for a few seconds before speaking.
"Look, I'm not saying you were asking for it…" He said, getting the girl's attention. "But next time you want to get laid, try a gay club. Douchebags don't go there, and there's usually a straight guy or two looking to get lucky." He told her, walking off. The girl watched him go, quickly covering herself up when she realized how exposed she was. She frantically looked around, hoping no one was nearby. As soon as she saw there was none, she broke down, sliding down against the wall to the ground, sobbing under her breath, the full impact of what had almost happened hitting her like a train.
It baffled him sometimes how bouncers were so easily fooled by appearance. All he had to do was let his facial hair grow out a bit, and he could easily pass for a young man in his twenties. It got him into clubs, bars, and all manner of places. He even got a lap dance from a stripper once when he managed to get into a gentleman's club. His mother was not happy with him when he came home covered in glitter. And a big fat kiss mark from a stripper on his cheek.
"White Russian," he said to the barkeep, an attractive young blond. 21 or so, he gathered.
"Nine quid." She said simply. He pulled out a ten from the money he took from the would-be rapist. The bartender nodded and got to work mixing the boy's favorite cocktail. As his eyes wandered over the menu he couldn't help chuckling. "I can't help but wonder who took the piss with these cocktails." He said, shaking his head. "How awkward must it have been when they first came along and people were saying to the barkeep that they wanted a Blowjob or a Slippery Nipple?" The bartender's lip twitched up at the boy's humor.
"My personal favorites are the Cock-sucking Cowboy and the Creamy Pussy." She responded, shaking the mixture in the shaker and pouring it into the glass, which she'd already filled with ice. "One White Russian." She slid the drink towards him.
"To inappropriately named cocktails." He said, raising the glass. The young woman rolled her eyes in amusement the boy sipped his drink. With a sigh, the boy put the drink down and pulled his hood back, showing his long golden blonde hair. "It's Friday night, that's open mic night, right?" He asked.
"A poet and you didn't even know it." The girl responded coyly, wiping the counter. "But yes, the stage is open in half an hour. Why? Planning on playing?" She inquired, rinsing the shaker she'd used.
"Maybe. If I get enough of a buzz going." He said as another customer on the other side of the bar ordered, funnily enough, a Blowjob. "Subtle." He whispered to the bartender, referring to the customer's ridiculous attempt at flirting. The bartender snickered at his remark as she prepped the drink.
"And the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls…" Damon sang serenely as he played the keyboard softly, all eyes in the bar on him. "And whispered in the Sounds of silence…" He ended the song, taking a deep breath. He was greeted to the sound of applause, rather than silence, as he opened his eyes. He got up with a smile and gave a bow. Some people could see his face was slightly tinted red, from embarrassment or alcohol, they couldn't tell.
"Whew…" he said as he slumped down on his seat at the bar.
"Got a pair of lungs there." The pretty bartender said as she approached. Per the cliche, she was wiping down a wet glass she'd just cleaned.
"Thanks." He said, massaging his temples. "Is a glass of ice water out of the question?" He asked.
"Coming right up." She said, amused. She scooped up some ice from the ice tub on the counter and even used a tap to pour the water. "One ice water. On the house." She smiled jokingly.
"Don't let me have too many of these," Damon said with a faux-serious tone, making the bartender laugh as he downed the water.
"So tell me..." She said, she said as she prepped a round of shots for one of the tables. "Where are you from?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "You have a mostly English accent, but I hear a hint of the states in there somewhere, maybe Canada." She told me, passing the tray of shots to a waiter.
"Perceptive," Damon noted, setting the empty water glass aside. "I was born in Oregon, but my mother was born here in London. Grew up with a wonky mix of Brit and American in my accent."
"And being around your own people is fixing it?" The bartender finished, refilling the glass with water.
"Almost three years in London and people still notice." He chuckled. "Have to work on that." He said. He and the bartender shared a chuckle. Their eyes met for a moment, and they shared a small smile.
The door to the apartment was kicked open. Damon walked in, his arms currently occupied holding up the bartender, who had her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. His hands were planted firmly on her bountiful rear. With the door behind him, he kicked it closed and pressed her against a wall, nuzzling her neck, eliciting a pleasured sigh escaping her. She pulled his jacket down off of him and threw it aside, sliding her hands up the boy's muscular arms. He had some natural muscle, but he was rather thin for the most part.
"Second room on the right." She whispered in his ear, nibbling in the lobe. Getting the message, he pulled back and carried her to the corridor, opening the second door on the right side of the wall. He walked through and pushed her down onto the bed.
It was going to be a long night for the two of them.
"Insomnia, thou art a heartless bitch." Damon thought to himself with a scowl as the naked woman cuddled up to him in her sleep.
It'd been a great night, for him at least. He hadn't heard any complaints from the girl, but she might have just been being nice. Damon was still new to sex, having only had one previous partner; a girl from his school who dumped him when he didn't want to meet her parents. They'd only slept together a handful of times. He was sure he at least gave his current bed partner an orgasm, but he doubted she would remember it as the best night of her life.
He checked his watch. 5 am. He should probably leave soon. He really didn't need another fight with his mother or the bitch for being out too late. Maybe if he got to his room without anybody seeing him, he could convince them they'd just missed him arriving. Fat chance, but it was worth a shot. That in mind, he squeezed out of the girl's grip and got dressed, making sure he had all of his stuff. He'd feel bad about just leaving her there alone, so he used her kitchen to make her some breakfast, a simple cheese omelet with some spring onions and bacon. After washing the dishes, he left the food in the microwave, leaving her a note in her bedroom. It just gave a simple thank you for a great night and an apology for leaving abruptly. He also left behind his number, in case she was interested. He doubted she would be, but it couldn't hurt.
He was surprised that he'd managed to do all that without waking her or her roommate up. Maybe he should have taken his chances with a shower too. He smelled like alcohol and sex. Leaving the apartment, he stretched. Even if he was insomniac at the moment, he'd had a good night, and was well-rested enough. The wonders of the female form.
Now to get home without being noticed.
"Too much to hope for." Damon scowled to himself as the living room light was turned on by a glaring woman. A tall, lithe individual, wearing a typical black lawyer's dress, a pair of ovular glasses, and a blanket of long bushy ginger hair on her head, extending down her back.
"Damon." The woman greeted with a glare.
"Yes, Satan?" He asked, turning his eyes to the woman. "Oh! I'm sorry Genevieve, you sounded like someone else." He said with the fakest smile he could manage.
"Put a lid on the smartassery, Damon." She said with a Welsh accent. "Where have you been?" her tone was just a step shy of demanding.
"Around." He answered with a shrug.
"Your mother was worried sick about you." She snapped at him. "She spent half the night calling and messaging you."
"Then I guess I had a better night than you did," Damon smirked darkly, making the woman scowl as he walked off. He heard her mutter under breath what a disrespectful brat he was, and couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Shower time." He sighed to himself, entering the bathroom. If there was one good thing about Genevieve, it was her lukewarm showers. She never took too much hot water.
Damon lay on his bed, a towel around his waist, and a cigarette in between his fingers. His hair was wet, and his skin was moist. He'd just finished his shower and wanted to unwind for a moment. His mind drifted to the previous night. He'd actually gone to a bar and picked up a woman. He even went home with her. It was a first for him. He never figured he'd be that kind of guy. Well, maybe he's not. He did leave her a note with his number after all, and he'd return her calls. If she called that is. It was up to her.
"Dami, are you there?" A small, female voice asked, knocking on his door.
"Don't come in, Jenny. I'm naked." He told her quickly.
"Oh, alright." Damon's little sister, Jenny, said. "Genevieve is working on her make-up and Mum's about to shower. Can you make breakfast?" She asked. "I'm really hungry." She added.
"Sure, sure." Damon allowed a small smile. If there was one soft spot he had in his life, it was his sister. Jenny was always cuddling up to him, praising whatever tiny thing he'd accomplished, smiling brightly whenever he entered the room, and always wanting to spend time with him. She even snuck into his bed whenever she had a nightmare.
Jennifer Azrail pretty much hero-worshipped her big brother. She thought the world of him and adored him. Usually, having a sister like that is a pain in the ass to a person, but Damon found it… Refreshing. Between Genevieve, his Mum losing faith in him, his teachers being religious nuts, and his peers being assholes, it was great having someone in his life who never saw any bad in him.
"Yummy!" Jenny chirped happily as Damon laid one of his perfect hashbrowns with an egg and some bacon. It was Jenny's favorite breakfast. She was a short girl, even for her age. She had the same golden blonde hair and silver eyes as her brother, but her face was more angular than his. She also had the classic innocence of a ten-year-old that Damon adored in her.
"Damon." Klare Azrail, renowned psychologist, mother of two, and open pansexual, walked into the room, wearing her work attire; simple black jeans and a white T-shirt with a peace sign on it. She also wore her favorite pair of Doc Martens. Purple ones, that Genevieve bought for her. She felt it important to have a calm environment when helping clients, rather than a business or formal feel. "Jenny, Mummy needs to speak with Damon." She told her daughter, who looked between them.
"Is Dami in trouble?" She asked innocently.
"That depends on him," Klare responded, her arms crossed. Looking at her brother worriedly, Jenny took her food to the lounge, where she sat on the couch and ate. When she was sure Jenny wasn't eavesdropping, Kalre glared at her son. "I called and texted you several times last night." She said with narrow eyes.
"Did you?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. He pulled out his phone and opened his texts.
Mum: Damon, where are you?
Mum: Your late-night walks are getting later and later.
Mum: Damon, answer me.
Mum: For fuck's sake, reply.
Mum: DAMON
"Hm, so you did…" He shrugged, putting the phone down. There were a number of missed calls from her as well. "Must have turned it off."
"Genevieve tells me you only came home at around 6 am. Care to explain?" Dr Azrail asked, her eyes narrow and her arms crossed.
"Take a wild guess." Damon snarked.
"Watch the attitude young man," Klare warned. "She mentioned you making a comment about having a better night than her." She went on. Damon sighed.
"Alright, I went home with someone," he said bluntly. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Is she really that upset that you spent the night worrying about me instead of with your head between her-"
"Hey!" Klare snapped loudly, glaring. "I can tolerate a lot, but that is WAY on the wrong side young man." She warned heatedly. Damon rolled his eyes. "Roll your eyes at me again, see what happens." She went on.
"Yes, mother." He sighed.
Klare too sighed. "Now, you know I won't object to smoking or sexual activity. I was the same at your age. But I need to be sure that-" Damon cut her off.
"Yes we were safe, no I did not force her, yes there was some alcohol involved, no I do not know if I'll be seeing her again, and yes I was a perfect gentleman." he listed his answers for what questions he'd predicted he'd be getting. Klare stared at her son for a moment before releasing another sigh.
"As good as anything else I suppose." She decided, slumping slightly. She opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit. The only things she could really do in the kitchen without poisoning someone was to make coffee, smoothies, and grilled cheese. That last one she's still working on.
Klare was basically an older, female, and (with as much love and respect Damon could muster) thicker version of her son. Her hair and eyes were the same as Damon's and Jenny's, and her face was pretty much identical to Damon's. Some people thought it was scary how much they looked alike.
"Back onto the topic of Genevieve…" Klare started, cutting up some of the fruit for the blender.
"You didn't answer my question." Damon reminded her, munching on his hashbrown. He'd have made for Klare as well, but then he'd have to make for Genevieve as well. But Klare's on a smoothie diet anyway, so the point is redundant. "I'll rephrase it then; is she really that upset that you spent the night worrying about me instead of worrying about her?" He asked.
"She's upset because you were making me worry," Klare answered, putting the chopped up fruit in the blender before working on the next piece.
"Or maybe she's put off by the fact that one individual in this house has a dick between his legs." Damon shot back.
"I know she can be a bit extreme in the feminist department, but-"
"Feminist? Try feminazi, Mother." Damon growled. "I saw it in her eyes when I first met her. She was not happy to see you had a son. And when I got home today, I could smell the judgment coming from her when she realized I had a fling." He shook his head. "She wouldn't do that if it was Jenny at my age. She'd be proud of the budding young woman she's becoming." He snarled, glaring at his food. "She's a textbook Misandrist, and I can't believe you of all people don't see it."
"Did you not think that maybe that's because you're wrong?" Klare suggested, quickly blitzing the blender.
"Or…" Damon trailed off as he shook his head. He hated loud sounds. "Maybe I'm right and you don't see it. Maybe, by some miracle, you actually don't know better for once?" He returned with his own suggestion.
"Look, we can sit here and argue about it all we want, but that's not going to get anything done." Klare sighed as she poured her smoothie into a glass. "You and Genevieve will have an opportunity to sort things out-" She stopped when her son snorted. She gave him a light glare. "-when she takes you to school today." She finished her sentence, sipping her smoothie.
"You can't be fuckin' serious." Damon let out with wide eyes.
"I can be fuckin' serious, and I am." Klare walked over to the kitchen door. "Finish your breakfast and finish getting ready. She's leaving in 20 min." She told him. Damon slumped into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"A shitty end to a great night." He groaned to himself.
With his backpack over shoulder, and his sister skipping at his side, Damon approached the car on the pavement, just outside of the townhouse he lived in with his mother and sister. He could see Genevieve leaning against it. An Audi A3, blue, perfect for a lawyer, in his opinion. Jenny, completely naive to the animosity between the teen and the woman, skipped over to the car. As Genevieve unlocked the car, he waited for Jenny to hop in before he spoke.
"Heard you were pussy-blocked last night." He commented slyly, making the woman turn and face him with a glare. "Sorry. I mean, it's completely my fault, right? God forbid a woman actually worries about her son instead of eating her girlfriend out, am I right?" He said snidely, passing by her.
"That's your own mother you're talking about, young man." She warned him.
"Yeah, which only makes the thought of you shlumping her even more nauseating." He shot back, smirking as she clenched her fist.
"If you were my son, I'd-"
"But I'm not your son." Damon cut her off. "And I want you to stop acting like I am." He spat, shoving past her. He slipped into the back seat of her car, next to Jenny, lay her head on his lap. He hadn't seen Genevieve's eyes soften slightly as he allowed a small smile on his lips. With a sigh, Genevieve popped into the driver's seat and ignited the car. She didn't say anything as Damon popped his earphones into his ears.
After dropping Jenny off at her school, Genevieve headed on towards Damon's school. The trip was spent in silence, courtesy of Damon's earphones. She could minorly hear some of the music coming from them, but it didn't bother her. She had her own music on the radio. As she stopped in the parking way of his school, she sighed.
"Damon." She said as he took his earphones out. She tried not to scowl when he rolled his eyes.
"What?" He asked, grabbing his bag and undoing his seat belt.
"You don't like me." She said. It was a statement, not a question.
"The feeling's mutual, I think." He snarked back. Genevieve sighed again, calming herself.
"You don't have to like me Damon, but you do have to respect me." She said sternly, looking at him through the rearview mirror. "I love Klare, Damon. I want her to be happy." She said softly.
"And I want you out of my home, but life doesn't always work out the way we want it to, does it?" The teen shot back, opening the door.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Genevieve asked, throwing her head back in exasperation.
"I'm not stubborn, I'm right." Damon shot back as he closed the door. She sighed and rolled down her window, facing the boy. "From day one, you've been overbearing, bossy, and obnoxious. I'm not the problem. You are."
"I've only ever acted unpleasantly when you act out. Weed in the house, getting into fights? And now sex!" Genevive shot back. "What's poor Jenny going to think if she's that side of you?" She demanded.
"Notice how I've made effort to ensure she doesn't." Damon pointed out in response. "And by the way, Mum doesn't do anything about all that, because she was the same when she was my age. She trusts me enough to learn from my own mistakes." He started walking away, leaving the lawyer to her thoughts.
Aaaaand, cut!
You all thought this was going to be the sequel? Didn't you? I know you did! No, this a prequel. Life is Strange Games already show what happened to Chloe before the first game, how she met Rachel, how things were for her when she was younger, etc. I thought it would be cool to do the same with Damon.
So, here he is, 16 years old.
This story will show his relationship with his future stepmother improving, how he met his sensei and a number of other things. I thought it would be interesting to write.
I'm sure you'll notice a few similarities to the actual Before the Storm game, but rest assured, this is not going to be a carbon copy. I plan on having several things go differently.
I hope you enjoy the fic!
Also, I'm sure you've all noticed how I've been slacking in writing lately. Well, it's mainly because A) work has been getting a little hectic lately, and I'm usually rather tired, so I don't write that much, and B) I've started my own book! An actual novel, not a fanfic or a short story. I'm not holding my breath on having my first ever original work published into a bestseller, but I do want to make a career out of writing, and that's the first step. Well, after five years or so of fanfiction writing. :P
C'ya!