If you're reading this, then I thank you for clicking on this story despite the small word count. I'm not good at drawing things out, so I'm trying to end each chapter where I feel it should, as opposed to ending it where I think it could. This means that my chapters might never be long, but they'll be detailed and, hopefully, flow correctly.
In any case, I'm worried that Raven is slightly OOC, so if anyone has any thoughts on the matter, feel free to let me know. Thanks for reading.
xXx
Violet eyes stared back at her from the mirror, watching as the brown dye flaked off her hair and into the sink. It was her fifth attempt at keeping color in her hair, and it, much like the other four tries, had failed. Purple peaked through from the areas the dye had vacated, and she grimaced at her reflection.
The T.V in the other room, one that was hardly ever used but served as a decent background noise to cover the shouts from the adjacent apartment, was set to the news and the caster was talking about how crime rates had been soaring.
She scoffed—preaching to the choir, as usual. Her voice had finally returned about two days ago, but it was still rough around the edges. She stuck her head in the shower and sprayed the rest of the flaking dye out, before heading into the kitchen to make some tea. The newscaster mentioned something about Batman, but she couldn't care enough to be bothered with it, and switched it off as she walked past. Even screaming was better than current events.
xXx
She crossed another listing off the page, and continued walking down the street. Most people that refused to employ her honestly felt badly about it—giving her sympathetic looks and radiating guilt; she found it hard to be mad with them, even when they chose not to hire her based on her looks. There were others, however, that baited her and treated her as if she were a villain or worse, making a show out of humiliating her to the customers in the store. She soon found that she couldn't stay mad at them, either, but for different reasons.
She sighed, looked at the address for the next listing and considered just using the pay phone on the corner to call ahead of time, though she knew that it usually made little difference. Once they saw her, they refused to interview, even if she'd been promised a chance.
The area she was in was better than the area she lived, but only slightly. You could tell the shop owners cared about their store fronts, but the large metal grates that kept the windows covered showed that they were also afraid of the people they catered to. The alleys were most certainly grungy, and the sidewalks could use a good power washing, but it was still cleaner than the place she called home.
As she made her way to the corner, where the light was still set to 'don't cross', she sighed, glancing briefly at the people she was passing—most of them looked obviously human, which doesn't necessarily mean that they weren't meta, of course, but she noticed that the ones that looked different, herself included, were given wide berth. She ended up reaching the corner as the pedestrian light changed to 'walk', but she paused, asking herself if she should even bother going to the next stop on her list—her pause saved her life, however, as a car went careening through the group that had been trying to cross. It stalled for a second, as if the driver was shocked at what had happened, before speeding off, down the street and around a corner.
She stood in place, shocked and horrified, as the people that had been hit moaned on the side of the street, unable to move from where they lay. The worst of them seemed to be a small child, around the age of seven—the fear and pain she could feel coming off the people nearest to her was almost suffocating, but she made her way over to the child, since he took priority, and placed her hands on the most grievous of the injuries. Blue light filtered out and into the wound, healing it before any substantial blood loss could be had. She looked him over once more, decided that he was no longer in immediate danger, and moved onto the next. Then the next; the fourth and last victim, however, had died, presumably on impact, his neck turned horribly to one side, eyes open and unseeing, staring at the direction the car had gone. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, before making her way back to the other victims, healing what else she could.
She wouldn't be able to track that car, its generic build and color making it difficult to find under even perfect circumstances. She punched the asphalt, once, twice, and finally a third time, wincing when her knuckles split. She had seen a pedestrian call 911 over ten minutes ago—where were they? What were they waiting for?
She calmed herself, the last thing she needed was to add to this scene and with the victims finally becoming responsive, and she had to start leaving. The boy tugged on her sleeve, however, and mumbled a thank you, and she forced a smile at him, if only because she'd have cried otherwise.
As she hurried from the area, the onlookers whispering to themselves about what had happened, a shadowed figure frowned from his hidden position on the roof across the street.
It was time to get to work.