[img]http://i1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/rubixon/slaya2_zpsqm0ecmjn.jpg[/img]

[b][color=DB7093]Name:[/color][/b] [color=#cccccc]Emelia 'Emy' Vance[/color]
[b][color=DB7093]Age:[/color][/b] [color=#cccccc]17[/color]
[b][color=DB7093]Specialty:[/color][/b] [color=#cccccc]Slayer[/color]
[b][color=DB7093]Bio:[/color][/b] 

[color=#cccccc]Emelia Vance never remembers the same normal as most people do. Even when life was at it's most stable, she still found herself moving every three to four years, a new home she could never truly get settled in to have it be a home. Her mother was the only true constant in her life with her Army father deploying to this theater of operations or that theater of operations seemingly every other year, and on the years he wasn't he was preoccupied with travel for training, or conferences, or "war games" with a group of countries that were never held in her backyard. 

A few years in Korea, a few years in Japan, years in Germany, years in Texas, a stint in Puerto Rico, Washington D.C. It could be exhausting, and it could also be quite the adventure; Emelia has done more traveling, and experienced more, than nearly anyone else her age. She speaks a handful of languages, is as aware of global events and trends as most global news correspondants. She wouldn't trade most of that in for anything in the world...but she cannot escape her desire to actually put down roots. To know a place as a home, not just a waystation in life. 

In Puerto Rico her mother was diagnosed with cancer. The Army allowed her father to be reassigned to Washington D.C. in a Congressional military liason capacity so his wife could get the best possible care in the most stable environment possible. Somehow that made the entire situation worse; Emelia and her mother had always been a tight knit team, their primary source of support and comfort through the stresses of being military dependents. Now Emelia's father was almost always present; while good in theory, in practice it was pretty fucking strange and destabilizing for both mother and daughter. Still, Emelia backed away, letting husband and wife reconnect with what little time her mother had left. 

A time in her life of impossible stress was further complicated by puberty, by being in normal public schools for the first time in forever, and by being 15. Just on it's own all of that was really difficult to navigate and stay above the waterline about. Throw in the impending devestation that was the loss of her mother, the complication of having to deal with a father she barely knew who was trying way too hard, and Emelia was past the point of being done. Yet she handled it, sort of. She could never quite figure out the "right" fashion choices and got tired of being considered either out of date for wearing the wrong style of jeans, or considered a dyke for not caring what she looked like. All in an age when some tights and a tank top SHOULD have been enough, but apparently it wasn't. Fuck Becky Johnson and her super judgey friends. 

Just saying.

But then the unavoidable came, and Emelia's mother died. As ready as she could've been for it, nothing else had ever quite hurt like that. Suddenly Emelia was alone. Her father tried, but she wouldn't let him. In part because she just couldn't, she just didn't have the emotional maturity to process it all AND do right by him, and in part because she was already losing her mind. Her mother's death had coincided with nightmares, with daydreams so vivid, so real, her doctor believed she was having passive seizures. 

She wasn't. Emelia was simply starting the process of becoming the Slayer. 

A title that explained nothing and meant nothing to her, yet she constantly found herself scribbling it in the margins of notebooks, even writing it in lipstick on her mirror with a giant fucking question mark behind it. "Slayer?" What was it? What the fuck did it mean? Was she just losing her mind? Was she just crazy? Her therapist thought so, her doctor thought so, her school counselor thought so. Fabricated reality to escape into instead of dealing with the trauma and pain of losing her mother--that was the clinical line on Emelia Vance. 

Her father called it bullshit, and pulled his daughter out of that public school, placing her into a small girl's only private highschool. They changed doctors, changed therapists. Anyone who didn't try to HELP his daughter was quickly dismissed, and replaced. He refused to not believe something was going on with his daughter, even if the Slayer stuff and all the nightmares were imagined. Even if they weren't real, institutionalizing her would solve nothing, and help Emelia not at all. But try as he might, her father couldn't alone win this war. 

Not when the monsters of nightmares and fiction were the enemy.

They found her; the first a Scottish sounding vampire who claimed to have killed "half a hundred" monster hunters in his time, but never a Slayer. He wanted to kill a Slayer. In a weird way, it made Emelia happy to hear this monster of fiction turned real calling her--HER!--a Slayer. It meant it wasn't all in her head. It meant, somewhere, somehow, it was real. And she knew he was real; she had the bruises and lacerations he provided her to prove it. You couldn't imagine blood spilled like that. And then...instinct took over, and Emelia Vance found herself going all Neo on the Scottish vampire's bitch ass. 

A man named Prescott stalked her, but it was hard to get to a girl that lived in the most secure gated community in the world--a US Army base. Turns out he wasn't a stalker, so he claimed, but instead a "Watcher." He was there to help her. He was there to train her. Prescott was brave, Prescott was wise, Prescott was dedicated to her...and Prescott died. Impaled by a second vampire that found her, an older, stronger one that spoke with a Russian accent and said he had killed "stronger, better, Slayers" than her. 

In the end the difference was a tactical flashlight she'd nabbed from her father on "blind the fucker" mode and quick thinking on her part that saved her and ended the second "Slayer hunter"--but in the process half her small girl's only private school was trashed. And worse, the vampire never showed up on camera. So no one believed her, and even her father seemed out of patience. He accepted "twilight tour" orders, his last duty station before retirement, to a small Army training base just outside Washington, Missouri. Washington wasn't as big as D.C., it was a great school district, and a steady town that nothing big ever happened in outside some gang violence and meth heads. So they moved again, this time living off base, in an actual house, one that Emelia helped pick out, one her father promised they wouldn't have to leave. 

A home, he said, if she could make it one without burning it down or trashing it. 

Challenge accepted. [/color]