Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
It was dawn before I would've liked. I could hear the relentless and unyielding buzz of my alarm and instinctively buried myself deeper into my pillow. When the buzzing became shriller and louder, I saw the futility and decided to get up, groaning first before smacking the bloody thing with my hand.
I had never liked mornings.
I pushed myself out of my bed and began changing into my gear. My uniform had arrived, along with strict washing and maintaining instructions, the night before. I considered putting it on, just so that when I went to the gym I'd get practise fighting and moving in the fabric, but decided against it. Shoving the neatly ironed black and white outfit into my gym bag, I put on my leggings and tank-top before making my way to the gym.
Unsurprisingly, there weren't many people up at 04:30 am. That didn't bother me. In fact, I was almost thankful for the peace. Besides, solitude allowed for absolutely no distractions, which in turn made for perfect training time. That time, I used to the full, easing open the door and immediately starting on my routine. It was one I had developed in the latter years of my education and something I did every morning without fail. In spite of the change of environment, that particular habit was about to leave my company.
And so, I pressed on: push-ups, squats, burpees, laps, sparring: hell, I even beat my record on the plank. I had always found great solace in training. It was almost an escape for me – like the world and all its tainted hope and tribulation just seeped away with every right hook at a punching bag. It was 05:15 before I knew it and I thought it best to embark on my trek now having already envisaged my getting lost along the way.
Surprisingly, I did not get lost. I quickly changed into my uniform and was approaching Guardian Base 34 within fifteen minutes. It wasn't anything fancy: a small, isolated hut located a good 300m away from the Court complex. Each Base was strategically positioned along the ward perimeter to ensure the safety of both the royal and non-royal inhabitants. A single Senior Guardian was assigned to each base with a team of around a dozen or so, who alternated on shifts. I had gotten all this information from my own Senior Guardian, namely Croft, and had spent most of my evening (and if I'm being completely honest, most of Harriet and mine's shopping trip yesterday afternoon) revising every detail on how the system worked. I was not the type of person who would just 'wing it'. No: I much preferred to have a solid and clear course of action that could be followed and any form of spontaneity was to be avoided at all costs.
"Hathaway." I jumped at the sound of my name. Turning myself in the dampness of the fresh morning dew I met the frowning face of Guardian Croft as he approached the hut tossing an apple in his right hand. "What are you doing?" he asked.
I frowned. "You said to get here early..."
He quirked an eyebrow and his lips curled ever so slightly in amusement. "Touché." He inclined his head and gestured for me to follow him into the now opened hut. I obliged but still was frowning.
The inside of the hut was about as enticing as the out but at least there was central heating. Guardian Croft swung his jacket and bag up on an empty hook and gestured I do the same before pulling a schedule out of a metallic filing cabinet that resided in the back corner of the hut and dumping it on the large table that occupied the centre of settlement.
"So," he said after opening up the ring-binder. "Since you're the first here you get first pick." He swivelled the binder towards me, giving me a clear view of the timetable that was currently void of any names. The day had been divided into 6 'periods', the first starting at 06:00 and ending at 10:00 and the rest following similarly after:
06:00 – 10:00 Period 1
10:00 – 14:00 Period 2
14:00 – 18:00 Period 3
18:00 – 22:00 Period 4
22:00 – 02:00 Period 5
02:00 – 06:00 Period 6
I scanned the timetable carefully before looking back at Guardian Croft. "Any recommendations?"
He smiled. "First, third and fifth. That's the ones most people are after, but some prefer others. Just don't get too comfortable with the ones you pick because they can change within a day." He said with an ever growing grin.
I looked down again and shrugged. "Alright: first, third and fifth."
"Excellent." He began writing my name in the binder when the door flew open.
"First, third and fifth!" The man who strode quickly through the violently opened door exclaimed.
"And good morning to you too, Harrison." Guardian Croft replied, not looking up from the task in front of him.
The man – Harrison – gazed at me with a somewhat dazed expression. His eyebrows were raised so that his forehead was scrunched. He was of average height and could not have been above twenty-five but he seemed equipped enough to know what he was doing. He had piercingly blue eyes and a scar that ran straight across the left side of his face which he – in one of our earlier shifts together – told me was from a legendary Strigoi attack in the Montana woodland. But I later found out it was from when he accidently run into a tree and one of the branches had left that scar on his face.
"Hello," he said, still with eyebrows high.
I nodded stiffly. "Good morning."
He lowered one and turned to Guardian Croft who had maintained the aura of disinterest throughout this little encounter. "Who's the newbee?"
Finally, Croft looked up from his writing and met Harrison's gaze. "This is Guardian Janine Hathaway. Hathaway, meet Guardian Andrew Harrison."
Harrison rolled his eyes. "Please, call me Drew. Everyone else does." He said glaring over at Croft who merely smirked.
"Everyone else isn't your boss." Croft quipped, taking a bite out of his apple.
Harrison turned back to me, "Look at him, all that power is going to his little head." I smiled as Croft resumed his bored expression. Harrison seemed to take this as a win and rested himself casually against the central table. I remained at the edge, still a little on edge at the whole prospect of my first day. "So, Janine Hathaway: what do they call you?"
I blinked. "Pardon?"
"Nicknames. If I'm Drew, who are you?" he spoke again before I had the chance to respond. "Oh, I'm a poet and I know it!"
I saw Croft roll his eyes and I could not help my lips curling upward. "I'm just Janine Hathaway." I said with a shrug. I had never had a nickname. Unless, you counted Emyl calling me 'Jenny', but that was only because he got my name wrong the first time we met and it remained as a sort of running gag.
"What? No nickname?" he said, the eyebrows up again.
"Nope."
"But, everyone has a nickname. Why don't we make one up: like...Lightening-Hathaway."
This time I raised my eyebrows.
"Congratulations, Harrison. This is a new low for you." Croft commented, tossing his finished apple in the rubbish bin next to the door.
Drew, on the other hand, just looked offended. "Excuse me; I'll have you know I'd love to be Lightening-Hathaway. It sounds like..."
"...a race horse." Croft finished.
Drew smirked. "Yes, a majestic stallion, nay mare. You'd be the strength of the regiment – the oncoming storm. Yes! We could call you The Storm." He said winking over at me.
"Wonderful. Does that then make you Wolverine and me Professor X?" Croft asked, folding his arms over his chest.
"Hey, don't mock the X-Men – they are brilliant." Drew defended.
"If you say so." Croft said shaking his head.
Drew now looked even more offended than before. "What on-how can you not like X-Men! Janine, please tell me you like them."
Suddenly all eyes were on me and I felt quite uncomfortable. "They're pretty cool." I replied awkwardly and Drew clapped loudly.
"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, Janine, for having taste."
"Who has taste?" a new voice joined the room. And so, it went on. I was slowly introduced to the Guardians in our unit. Ruth Gwynn was the new voice who joined the party and I immediately liked her; she was strong, independent and took no shit from anyone – including Croft and Drew. She too bagged the first, third and fifth shifts and made it her personal mission to make sure Drew behaved himself, not just around me but as a general rule. And so, this became my routine. Croft had told me not to get used to the shift schedule that I had, but it became clear that it wasn't going to change. Apparently, in spite of the option of changing it around, most of the guardians in Unit 34 seemed contented with their lot, like begrudging school children upon establishing a seating plan for the rest of the year. In total, there were fifteen guardians – including Croft – in the team. They originally had fourteen but two was reassigned to another team and three 'newbees' – including myself and two others who attended St Vladimir's, but whom I had never spoken to – replaced them.
For the most part, I was working with Drew and Ruth, with some others alternating in and out of our slots. They were lovely, a real credit to our profession and made the tedious and uneventful perimeter shifts slightly more bearable, but there was a small part of me – and I would never admit it to the smug bastard – who missed Emyl. The trouble with having a lack of friends is that when you do acquire one, you get particularly attached. Both Emyl and Harriet were such examples of this and it did make me a little upset that it was Ruth and Drew instead of them. I mean, meeting up with them daily was great, but it wasn't quite the same a working together. But I couldn't complain: Julia was always inviting me round for dinner with the family and it really was great to spend some time with Harriet and Emyl and that was something I was never going to take for granted.
However, within about a week of my life at Court something I already knew existed became very apparent: and that was the divide. By that I mean the divide between the Royal Moroi and everyone they considered beneath them, which was – coincidently – everyone else. Especially the dhampirs. Whilst Julia Conta had opened her house and kitchen to almost all her dhampir staff (and to me), she truly was in the minority when it came to achieving a sense of equality. Not a day went passed in which I was not disparaged, belittled or sneered upon by someone who deemed themselves higher in the social food chain that was Court society.
And one particular individual's torture trumped the rest.
It wasn't Tristan – thank the Lord! I say so as it had to have been some miracle from said Lord that managed to keep him away. No, the person to whom I refer was the delightful Mr Alastair Kravitz. Whilst not technically being Royal, or actually being particularly rude to me, he was relentless in his quest to win my approval; to be perfectly honest, I really thought he would just bugger off when I so uncivilly scorned him on our first meeting. Apparently, he was not so easily repulsed. In fact, he almost seemed more committed to the cause, which was unfortunate for not only myself, but Emyl too. In spite of Alastair's attempts to charm me into a change of opinion, his charm did not quite extend to my 6"3" friend who came to bail me out whenever the Moroi got too close. But I could not thank Emyl enough – Alastair was definitely someone you could only deal with in controlled doses.
Red 5 to Red Leader, over.
My radio buzzed against my hip, effectively snapping me out of my daydream. It was the start of the fifth period (definitely my least favourite) and I had entered my third week on the job: the boredom was really starting to set in. It was dark, I was cold and nothing ever happened. Like literally, nothing. I'd see a squirrel in a tree and immediately dart for my stake. It wasn't as though I was wishing for a Strigoi attack, just really anything to break this inactivity.
Funny the academy didn't mention this part in their training curriculum, huh?
Red 5 standing by, over.
I smiled as the radio buzzed again and Drew's voice broke the insufferable silence.
Harrison, please keep this line clear for emergencies.
That was Guardian Croft. I think even he would have to admit that the likelihood for what would be construed as 'emergency' was about the same as a lightning bolt striking an individual ant.
Copy that...over.
There was a long pause before the crackling of the radio came back on.
Ten green bottles sitting on the wall. Ten green bottles sitting on the wall. And if one green bottle should accidently fall, there'll be nine-
Drew, shut the fuck up!
Language, Gwynn.
Sorry, sir.
Hey, Ruthie.
Andrea...
What you wearing to the Ivashkov sham on Friday?
Uh...my uniform. Duh.
What! Are we not allowed to dress up!?
No, Harrison, you are not.
Jesus Christ!
I'm sorry, when have we ever been allowed to dress up?
Don't you remember that Zeklos bash last summer?
Uh...no...
That it because you were both allowed to drink at that party, Gwynn.
Oh...yeah...
Ah, love me an open bar.
Indeed...And which part of this conversation is an emergency, Harrison?
Ah, sorry, sir.
Mhmm.
There was another long pause.
Nine green bottles sitting on the wall...
For fuck sake! Can I slap him?
As exciting as this conversation was, and – trust me – at half ten at night when I was on my last leg of patience this was about as good as it got, my attention was diverted by something much more alarming.
Movement.
At first, I thought I had dreamt it. Then, I came to the sad conclusion that it was probably that damned squirrel. But when I saw it again, there was no doubt that it was human. Or vampire...
I put the radio back against my hip and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my stake. The metal felt cool, frozen by the falling temperature around me and chilling with the lack of use. I grasped it and edged forward, each step I took as silent as the dead. I could see the markers for the ward boundaries and continued to edge towards their own edge, each move a made was accompanied by my further tension and deeper concentration. No Strigoi in its right mind would come this close to the Royal Court. Then again, when was a Strigoi ever in its right mind?
I moved slowly into the shadow cast by a large oak and watched as the darkened abyss shifted. I opened all my senses and blocked out any lingering thoughts – completely focused on what was about to occur. I object moved again and this time came closer to the wards. I scouted the area and determined that there was only one: taller than me, of course, and strongly built, but clearly quite young as it was making little effort to hide its presence and no elder Strigoi would be stupid enough to come this close to quite possibly the most heavily guarded establishment in the world unless they were on a suicide mission.
The thing got closer. I braced myself for attack: palm firmly wrapped around my stake, knees bent into a slight crouch and eyes fixed on the beast like a waiting lioness who silently stalked her prey. The blackened figure came into sight, breaking away from the tree-line, and I acted: pouncing from my hiding place and slamming the creature to the ground. My stake unsheathed and locked onto the creature's heart before I saw the two brown eyes.
Holy shit.
I had attacked a Moroi. A fucking Moroi. Had this horrific inactivity permanently scarred my judgement? How could I have got this so wrong? I dropped the stake immediately. My eyes widened in absolute horror over my actions.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" I said as I scrambled off the poor man before attempting to help him to his feet.
I honestly thought he was going to kill me. Shout at me if nothing else. What I did not expect was a laughing fit. He lay with his back against the dampened grass locked in a fit of hysteria. He gladly accepted my help up and when I took in his features, the humiliation only grew.
"My, my, Guardian Hathaway: you can really pack a punch. You certainly don't need anyone else fighting your battles." He said with a grin.
I, however, remained in a profound state of shock. "Mr Mazur, please forgive m-"
Ibrahim cut me off. "Don't worry yourself. I actually quite enjoyed it. Strong, feisty woman on top of me: very arousing." He said with a wink.
I snapped out of my shock and glared at him for that comment before I realised he was joking. That only made me more irritated. "What are you doing out here?"
"Can one not enjoy one's own surroundings?" he asked in mock innocence.
My glare increased. "Outside the wards." I quipped.
"I do not care to be locked up and constrained into convention."
"You could have been killed!" I threw my arms up in the air in anger.
He smiled. "I am touched by your concern, Guardian Hathaway."
"Unbelievable."
He grinned. "I do try." I huffed and stormed around him, picking up my stake that I had dropped upon realising my mistake. I brushed off the wet grass that had stuck itself to the metal, acutely aware that I was being watched.
"What are you still doing here?" I demanded a little more harshly than perhaps I had intended.
Ibrahim, clearly now used to my temper, merely shrugged. "Well, as you so eloquently put it: I could be killed. Therefore, I am putting myself in what I deem to be the safest position."
"You are standing in an open field in the middle of the night." I stated flatly, faulting his logic.
He seemed unaffected, however. "I'm standing with you." I looked up to see if he was joking, but the countenance conveyed the unnerving notion that he was deadly serious. I suddenly found myself utterly lost for a response as I continued to stare at him, trying to work out what on Earth was going on inside his head. Whilst I was no expert on the matter, I had become quite good at reading people, but for the life of me, I could not work out Ibrahim Mazur and it irritated me beyond belief. In my silence, I noticed he too was studying me as his expression mirrored my own. I am not entirely sure how long we just stood there like we were stuck in some hideous stalemate, trying to work out what one another was thinking. Eventually, though, we were interrupted by the radio again.
Storm, are you still alive?
I broke eye contact and answered my colleague. "Yeah, all good."
Ah, goodo. Just making sure.
I smiled as I could picture perfectly the separate reactions to that comment from both Croft and Ruth. The former would have his face contorted into some sort of disapproving grimace whilst the latter would sport the exhausted eye roll. I put the radio back in its pouch before looking back at Ibrahim, whose signature smirk had once again reared its head.
"Storm?" he said with a quirked eyebrow.
"It's what he calls me – I don't get it either." I clarified with a sigh.
"No, I like it: very well suited."
"Thank...you..." I replied awkwardly, not quite sure how to interpret that one.
He frowned, inclining his head upon hearing my fragmented response. "You aren't complimented often." It was a statement rather than a question; I felt it was probably him just thinking out loud but even still, it made me blush. His smirk had gone and was replaced with a lighter, softer smile. It was barely visible in the moonlight, but even without sufficient lighting, I saw how it flattered his features.
"You should probably go inside, Mr Mazur." I said, nodding in the general direction of Court in a further attempt to hide my bashfulness.
"Please, do call Ibrahim. My mother gave it to me for a reason." He said, making no effort to leave and instead taking a step closer to me but turning to face the silver face of the glowing moon. "Do you see that, Guardian Hathaway?"
I looked at him sceptically. "The moon?"
"Aye." He replied, attempting to mimic my accent. I shook my head and he smiled before turning back. "So many come out at night to watch the stars: see how they shine and sparkle like rays of sunshine against still water. But don't you see, it is the moon the shines the brightest. Everything else pales in comparison." He broke his gaze and met my own as I continued to eye him warily. "You're right, I best go inside. It was a pleasure, as ever. Good night, Guardian Hathaway." He said with a little bow.
"Good night, Mr-" I cut myself off when I saw his challenging eyebrow. Smiling and shaking my head lightly, I corrected myself. "Good night, Ibrahim." He grinned, satisfied, and bowed again before beginning his trek back to Court. I watched him leave with an odd mix of emotions churning in my stomach. Rather ironically like a storm. Two parts of me were at war: one said I was relieved at his leaving whilst the other longed for him to come back. This not only added confusion the cocktail of emotions that I was experiencing right now, but also fear. That fear coming as a direct result from that part of me that longed for him to come back. I mean, what was wrong with me? I couldn't be pining over some charismatic Moroi in a suit (which, if you asked me, was an odd choice of attire for an evening walk). No. Whatever this...this...sentiment was, it needed to be shut down immediately. Jesus Christ, Hathaway, are you going to turn to a puddle of goo every time some member of the opposite sex compliments you.
But he seemed to actually mean it: a rare oddity amongst their species.
Great. Now I was talking to myself.
I exhaled loudly and looked at my watch, surprised to see that I only had an hour and a half left of my shift. My gaze returned to its surveillance before catching a glimpse of the glowing moon against the black abyss. As soon as I felt my lips begin to curl into a smile, I mentally slapped myself and forced my eyes to look elsewhere.
Damn. I blame the boredom for this lapse in self-control and, frankly, dignity. Well, at least I was going off timetable of Friday and if ever there was to be a little bit of drama, action and fun, it would definitely occur at an Ivashkov party...
