[b][u]Selena Wodan Chilver[/b][/u]

In general, you could count on a few seconds of irritability on Selena's end as her motorcycle ventures came to an end-there was just something so damned infuriating about reality sinking in, the sharp winter wind with nothing to break it petering out as the bike rolled to a stop. Selena always took backroads, stayed off the populated city routes as best she could-while she was generally a few minutes late to anywhere she was attempting to go, she always considered it a healthy tradeoff. Constant stop-and-go traffic just got her pissed, and Selena already had a few tickets for road rage. Dreadlocked woman with a bow of unidentifiable origins certainly made the magistrate perk up in small claims court, if nothing else.

But this time, Selena's irritability was a bit more justified. Selena wasn't a bitchy person, mind you-she didn't go looking for fights, per se, but was never afraid to back down from one. While she generally tried diplomacy first, Selena's brand of diplomacy and another person's were often...a bit different. Charging headlong into controversy was another matter entirely-when Selena's fingers curled up into knuckles, it was always after she'd given things a moment's thought. She didn't have her bow or gun with her, or even her hunting knife. A little pocket knife tucked into her jeans, but that was about it. So it'd be fisticuffs. The fun way of settling things. Selena left her hair tucked back into her jacket-she'd learned the hard way that some folks were discourteous enough to yank on her lovely locks during scuffles. Waiting for her scalp to stop oozing blood so she could drive home had not been a fun experience. 

But, that guy had gone home bald as a motherfucker.

Now I ramble about Selena's pre-fight rituals because, surprisingly, she was about to get into a fight. Generally, Selena was willing to offer somebody a chance to pack their shit and get out. A rather forcefully offered olive branch. The exception was when somebody fucked around with Selena's kin. And some little son of a bitch was doing just that.

"Not saying I blame you," Selena drawled, getting off her motorcycle as she sauntered towards the would-be car thief. He was gripping a tire iron with black gloves, a scarf tied around the bottom part of his face. So, not a total idiot, but still dumb enough to break into a car somewhere where the average person stayed fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. People would be streaming in and out regularly, And in broad daylight, too. Ugh. "Because that's the car I would break into, wimpy little thing that it is, but it is-"

Selena's monologue was cut short by a tire iron being redirected from Eva's car's window to her face. Throwing up an arm, Selena took the hit with her forearm, staggering back with a grunt.

Mmm. If you listened, over the drone of passing cars and the rhythmic grunts of the Mean Bean Machine's air conditioning unit, you could hear that olive branch getting snapped into splinters.

Selena didn't waste words after that. She kept her mouth closed, keeping this prick from cleaning her clock with an uppercut. Besides, she had the cardio to keep that up for a damned long time. Selena, within the span of a moment or two, debated the merits of getting her knife. No, she didn't want to kill him. Just beat the hell out of him. The rest was instinct-Selena's eyes widened and any hint of mellowness drained from her features. Selena's eyes went cold, her stance shifting into something that didn't look like anything taught in a martial arts dojo. It looked at home in the woods, in a bar fight, in a place where inhibitions were alien and instincts were apex. Selena grunted and darted in, the pain in her left arm fading beneath calm, bestial fury.

The thief was still recovering from his swing (which had scraped up the side of some other poor fucker's car during the follow-through) as Selena lunged, bringing it back up far too slowly. Selena threw out her arm, grabbing his hand by the wrist and smashing it against the car. With her other, she suckerpunched him in the nose. Vaguely, she noted an impact with her shin, a hand slamming against her right arm, but these things were irrelevant. Selena was focused on the metallic taste in her mouth and nose, the pores opened wide on what was visible of this fuck's face, the fear in his eyes and his scent. Selena roared and delivered two more quick rabbit punches. As she reeled back from the the third, she feinted-not out of any conscious strategy, but rather on gut instinct. Three in a row? That was predictable. Time to switch things up. These were not active thoughts Selena had-they were merely a path she followed as a train follows the tracks. Some primeval force that lurked in Selena's subconscious was driving her hands and feet, not any rational thought.

She slid under the thief's desperate counter-punch and stepped back, pulling the thief by the forearm. Selena's strength and the punch throwing him off balance? The assailant stumbled forward with a yelp of surprise, ended promptly by an uppercut to the jaw. There was the click of teeth hitting teeth and the clang of iron hitting pavement. Selena took both hands and smashed his head against the other car's door handle just to be sure. He slumped to the ground, only vaguely stirring. The same could be said of the dreadlocked girl-she felt as if she'd just jogged for a minute or so, nothing more. In her arms and legs blood tingled as it pumped double-time to her extremities, the cold more acute against her exposed skin, the feeling of clothing fiber more blatant. Every sensation, magnified. It was fun, a sort of blood-high that Eva never could understand, but that was okay. People like Selena could get out of control sometimes. 

It took a moment or two for Selena to break from her lapse. Kneeling, she placed her fingers against the thief's throat, slipping them under the scarf. A pulse. Eh. He'd be fine. Probably. "Don't fuck around with her car. And don't swing a tire iron at a girl? Come on man, how many metas are in this city? Be lucky I can't vaporize your ass or make you shit blood psychically or whatever." Selena stood up, kicking the tire iron out away from him with her boot. "Don't interrupt my monologues, either." Rolling her neck, Selena turned and walked back to her bike, pulling back her sleeve to check for injuries. Damned tire iron had broken the skin. Nothing too bad-he hadn't had the time to really deliver a strong blow, and while Selena had been caught-off guard, she'd pushed into it and cut off a decent amount of what momentum he did have. Slowly, it began to throb with pain, pain matched to a lesser extent by her leg. As the blood-high wore off, the aches of her battered body, the chafed skin and lips from motorcycle riding-they began to fade back into her conscious mind. Selena sat down on her bike and took off her jacket, rolling back the sleeve of her shirt as she opened up her saddlebags, drawing out a small medical kid. She dabbed the broken skin with rubbing alcohol (a brief grimace, but nothing more. She'd patched herself up often enough that the sting of alcohol didn't have the same potency it did when she was a child, and dad would tend to her many scrapes and bruises) and quickly wrapped it up with a bandage before moving on to her leg. Oh, hell, that was nothing. Probably bruise but nothing more. Man, the guy was even shittier at kicking than he was at picking cars to break into. 

Selena slid her jacket back on, the sleeve of her left arm bulging slightly with the addition of the bandage. Mean Bean Machine. Man, who would go here? Selena drank coffee black. She didn't understand putting sugar and cream and ice and stuff into it. There were two things on the menu here she could bring herself to order-that would be water, and black coffee. Somehow, she doubted they served either one. Selena moseyed into the restaurant, keys jing-jangling from the carabineer, no betrayal of the fact she'd just gotten into a fight present on her features. Well, that wasn't quite true. Selena's knuckles were busted beneath her gloves, and there were a few faint flicks of blood on the outsides. She walked in just in time to hear some slick looking dicksucker offer to buy a drink for her sister. Some may question how she heard this, given that the cafe was full of idle chatter, the whirring of coffee machines. Those who have such concerns are welcome to join with the deer ghosts haunting Black Fall's woods, who have formed a committee entitled "Oh, That Shit's Not Fair"

"If I have to beat somebody else's ass today," Selena muttered to herself, walking towards her sister with casual grace. Eva was always more graceful than she was, something which didn't bother Selena more than amuse her. Selena kinda meandered, cowboy style-never in any particular hurry, you could tell she was going to get where she was going when she felt like it. Eva, on the other hand, moved the other way-almost seemed like the world was shifting to her baby sister, as opposed to Selena's just rejecting it. Selena dropped down next to Eva, pulling her hair free from her jacket and letting it rest across her shoulders. "Ah, that's better. Good Lord, sis, you already got a free drink out of that bastard. You looking to take Miss Claus home?" 

[b][u]Holly Gabrielle Baless[/u][/b]

On the list of things that were lovely and brightened Holly's day and really helped with the Christmas spirit, random compliments from strangers were quite high up there. Perhaps even snagging the number one spot. "Why, thank you!" Holly replied to Eva, her general cheeriness returning as the brief lull in her optimism faded away. "Merry Christmas!" 

The table, now, was getting a bit too crowded for Holly's liking. Mrs. Claire and her husband (aha! She had been right!) were discussing the bloodlines of metahumans around Dr. Baron, and while science was of a passing interest to Holly, she quite frankly didn't feel like spending one of her few days off from school and studying discussing the subjects she labored over for hours on end during the week. She didn't wish to appear rude, but being present in a discussion about metahumans-especially compared to the brutal honesty offered by those two-made Holly almost feel like a liar by omission. She didn't wish to publicize her abilities, and always felt a little off-put by those who did so. For some, it seemed like it was a central part of who they were, that they couldn't function without their abilities. What a horrible way to live. There were so many joys in life that could be attained without being a metahuman, and from Holly's limited experiences, a lot of metas tended to disregard them. There was certainly a purpose to one's gifts, but there was no sense in building your psyche around something that wasn't yours to begin with. No sense at all.

Holly slid out of the booth, past the lumbering Ben, and quickly said, "I don't mean to interrupt, but I must be going. Pleasure to meet all of you-Mr. Ben, Mrs. Claire, Doctor. And thank you once again for the croissants." Holly left, humming softly to herself as she did so. Two guesses as to what kind of song.

Unfortunately, Holly's brief moment of self-absorbed Christmas cheer was broken upon heading outside-some poor vagrant was staggering from the parking lot, looking as if he'd just been thrown through a meatgrinder. Holly rushed over, concern widening her eyes and tilting her head. "Excuse me, sir!" Holly did hope it was a sir and not a madam-sometimes, she'd found, it could be difficult to tell, especially if they'd been living on the streets for quite some time. A normal safe strategy was just to avoid gender-specifics and directly address them. Fortunately, this man was a sir-he turned around, eyes wide and posture bracing to run before he relaxed. How odd. Who could he have mistaken Holly for? She wasn't exactly an imposing figure, and surely her voice wasn't alarming. Were teenage blonde girls just going around thrashing everyone senseless now?

"I can't help but notice you look hurt," Holly said, glancing him over. It was hard to tell with the winter clothes on, but the man was swaying back and forth ever so slightly, holding one arm gingerly. "Do you mind if I help?" He stayed quiet, viewing her with apprehension, but not backing away. Holly approached slowly, a disarming smile on her face. "It's okay. Here. Let me help you down." Holly brushed a post on the pavement free of ice and eased the man down-a somewhat difficult task, given that his knee buckled halfway through the descent. He landed with a thud, prompting a wince from his newly, self-appointed nurse. "Oh! I'm sorry." Holly knelt down beside him, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. In-between cars, they were somewhat shielded from passerbys, although they were far from total concealment-someone walking by would quite easily notice what was happening, even if they were obscured from the street. Holly took the man's hands (trembling beneath their gloves, one of his fingers was bent funny) gently and sighed. 

And then something rather beautiful happened. Holly's form began to glow, slightly, at first, but steadily pulsating with more and more energy, dispelling the shadows around them, even on the far side of the wounded man. Blue flames began to gently surround the girl, and while the man flinched back at first, Holly opened an eye, calming him with a "Shhhh". After perhaps five or ten seconds, the flames had reached their full intensity-although intensity isn't the right word. The fire wasn't intense. It was beautiful and gentle, but not intense, not painful or uncomfortable to behold. It was the perfect distance from a campfire, with no fear of sparks singing the clothes, the exact just-right volume of a favorite song, the absolute most satisfying position to sleep in. Above Holly's head, the light flickered into a brighter, more concentrated corona, one that drifted more towards pure white than light blue, one that hummed with quiet but nevertheless present energy. "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze." Holly said gently. As she spoke, the flames began to move through her hands, enveloping the man with the same aura. His finger reset, tendons and ligaments dutifully weaving themselves back into place in his legs, the jackhammer ache in the side of his head receding until it was all together gone. The process, however, was more thorough than merely patching up more apparent wounds. The splotches of acne on his cheeks (brought upon by stress-it was debt and not malice that had driven him to the unfortunate mistake of trying to break into Eva Chilver's car) shrunk and vanished, the smallest fissures on his lips and face as a result of the cold air were sealed back shut. Perhaps most comfortingly, the feeling or pure relaxation, something this man hadn't felt in quite a while, began to spread along the path of the flames, undoing the tension of muscles and mind alike. He very nearly fell asleep in the parking lot, warm, comfortable, at ease. After perhaps a minute, Holly let go, the glow fading away but still staying with him, for a little bit longer. Holly's own aura dwindled, resuming its normal state. Holly took a deep breath or two-this hadn't been particularly exhausting, but such concentration was always a bit strenuous. The Bible verses were as much a psychological crutch as they were an act of faith-it helped her to think about the words, to stay focused on something concrete while her unconscious handled the abstract.

"Are you all better?" Holly asked.

"Yeah, thank you, I..." the man drifted off for a moment, the feeling of relaxation fading as his connection with Holly broke. Oh, shit! That crazy blonde bitch might still be around. Hell, she'd probably be back out again. "I, uh, thanks, if I see you again I'll-" He stood up rapidly, somewhat surprised they held his weight. Huh. Metas had their moments. "have to go, it's a...sorry!" he stumbled off, not picking up into a run until he felt fully confident in his recently mended body.

Holly stayed on the icy ground for a moment longer, unperturbed by the cold. Hers was a warmth that tended to shrug off most winter storms. "Hm. Must've been in a hurry." Most people were far more grateful, but Holly didn't help other people for the gratification. No, it seemed rather senseless to be given abilities and not use them for some constructive purpose. Holly stood up, brushing off her pants (if we're calling leggings pants now) and the bottom of her sweater before mulling over what to do next. Come to think of it, she didn't have any real plans. Meeting up again with Deborah would be nice, of course, but she knew that she had her hands full taking care of her younger siblings, and the promise to reunite at the festival may have been a hollow one. And that was okay. Holly was fairly easygoing about not being able to see her friends-to her, there was no doubt of crossing paths again in the near future, it was merely a matter of time. One had to enjoy when you were together, not always moan about the times you couldn't be. Of course, Holly was a lot more likely to embrace this attitude on the weekends than she was the weekdays.

Where to next?