Member No.: 11
Joined: 16-March 11
alison katrina davies,
Light up, light up, As if you have a choice Even if you cannot hear my voice I'll be right beside you dear Louder, louder, And we'll run for our lives I can hardly speak I understand Why you can't raise your voice to say Slower, slower, We don't have time for that All I want's to find an easy way To get out of our little heads
hunter/waitress for money
ali, davies, alicat, ninjali
Lincoln, Nebraska; nomadic now
February 15th, 1985
I'm stepha, I'm one of the main admins we run dis shit here. I'm twenty one and I have... A lot of RP experience. I wasn't counting. All ways of contacting me are available through my member profile on all three of my accounts and I don't bite, so don't hesitate to talk to me! And yes, I am open to mature rp. Dur. I have one other character, Nina Avery.
I was born in February and therefore, I am an Aquarius. I daydream and live on rainbows, but I'm strange enough that I've taken it apart, examined it thoroughly, put it back together and I still believe in it. In reality though, I don't live on a rainbow. I wish I was so lucky that I could. Even if I could though, I wouldn't be able to. I wouldnít be able to afford the rent. Besides that though, I guess you could call me a social delight. I'm graceful, witty, bright as a penny, and extremely adaptable to all forms of society, high and low and in the middle. I blend. It makes life easier.
A conversation with me can be remarkable, to say the least. I have charming manners, and usually behave in a timid, almost reserved way. Then comes one of those sudden urges, and out will pop a remark with absolutely no relation to what anyone is saying. You'll be talking about something that happened while you were walking home, and I'll interrupt out of nowhere with: "Did you know that Woodrow Wilson, John Kennedy, Herbert Hoover, Harry Truman, Calvin Coolidge, Benjamin Harrison, Franklin and Theodore Roosevelt and William McKinley all have double letters in their names?" There's only one way to answer a question like that. Tell me I missed Millard Fillmore, Ulysses Grant and Thomas Jefferson. Then gently, but firmly, lead the discussion back to what happened when you were walking home. Other minds may progress in fairly logical steps, but mine rigs into tomorrow, and then zigzags back into today with no more sense of direction than a flash of lightning. Now and then I'll toss off an unexpectedly poignant phrase. You'll ask me what I think of space travel and I'll answer, "When I was a little girl, I thought the stars were holes in the floor of heaven where the light shone through." If I'm in a different mood, you could say that melted snowmen make you sad, and Iíll counter with: "A melted snowman is just a pile of slush." First misty, then practical. First timid, then rowdy. Iíll throw you for a loop all the time. Never talk down to me though. I'll resent not being considered your equal, and an unsympathetic attitude will piss me off. Do not patronize me. I wear steel toed boots and they hurt when they connect with shins.
You'll have to be constantly prepared for the unexpected with me. I'm generally kindly and tranquil by nature, but I enjoy defying public opinion, and I secretly delight in shocking more conventional people with occasional erratic behavior. I'm normally soft-spoken and courteous but I can suddenly short circuit you with the most amazing statements and actions at the most unpredictable times. I can be wearing sandals, boots, oxfords, or hush puppies, and I'll rarely bother to check whether they're appropriate for the occasion. Hell, I might even show up barefoot if I feel like it, and I'll laugh at you for laughing at me. I have deliberately adopted weird attire to show my refusal to conform. At least I have my identity, Conformist. I'm neither jaded nor naive, neither enthusiastic nor blasť. Continuous experimentation simply leaves me curious to penetrate the next mystery, and the next mystery could be you. It can be disconcerting to discover, after all my intense, nattering curiosity, that I'm just as deeply interested in the personal lives of the corner policeman, the bartender, the bellboy, the night club singer or the inmates of the funny house as I am in yours. Stories absorb me and children intrigue me. But then so do horses, automobiles, elderly people, medical discoveries, authors, astronauts, alcoholics, pianos, pinwheels and prayers -not to mention football and Glenn Miller. Join the crowd and toss your ego in the wastebasket, or my coolly impersonal approach will be sure to bruise it.
Because my nature is so impersonal, expressions of deep feeling won't come easily. Except for those sudden remarks that sound likes a combination of Robert Frost and Yogi Berra, I have few words with which to express myself, and my pattern of physical passion is woven closely with threads connected to the mind and soul. The easiest thing for me to do is be physical with my feelings. Trusting people doesn't come naturally to me until after I've scrutinized your motives, even your soul, if possible. It's easy to grow restless under my intent analysis of your every word and gesture. You get the feeling it's all being filed away in my penetrating mind for future reference, and it is. I may seem to be in a dreamy fog now and then, but don't you believe it. I can probably tell you how many eyelashes you have. Never expect me to take you at face value. My innate courtesy will never keep me from shining my mindís spotlight on you from head to toe. I want to know what's behind that face, and I'll ask some mighty embarrassing questions to find out. But it's comforting to know that once you've accepted Iíll be loyal and my friendship will be unshaken by malicious gossip. If you're my real friend, I won't believe the nasty whispers of your enemies, although I will undoubtedly listen to them out of sheer curiosity. Rest assured, however, that I'll make up my own mind in the final analysis. And itíll most likely be in your favor.
I am always analyzing situations, friends and strangers. It can be disturbing when I start asking pointblank questions, with a bare minimum of tact, as I probe into the heart of your private feelings. When I discover the puzzle wasn't so complex after all, I'll become bored, sometimes even upset. Nothing is more insulting than to have an Aquarian tire of their game of microscopic examination and turn to the next interesting person, just when they've convinced you they think you are the most important human being on earth. It stings. I'll apologize in advance for it I guess. You should expect me to probe into your heart until you haven't a secret left, or a dream that hasn't been analyzed. But, don't try to dissect my private thoughts. That's not the way the game is played with me. I keep my motives hidden, and sometimes take a perverse pleasure in deliberately confusing you. I'm usually truthful to a fault, but remember, with me, telling a lie is one thing. Refraining from telling the whole story is another.
I despise lying, and I avoid borrowing and lending. I'll give you money as a gift, but don't ask me for a loan. A broken promise or bad debt can put a wide crack in our friendship, so if you borrow money and I actually say yes, pay it back quick. I keep my word and pay my dues, and I expect others to do the same. It's comforting to know that Iím pretty cagey with a buck. That is, it's comforting to know unless you're planning to hit me up for a loan. I might say yes a time or two, but if you let your credit rating slip, I can be colder than the guy at the bank when you skip your car payment. On the rare occasions when I accept a small loan myself, you'll get back every penny with no stalling, excuses or feminine wiles. As for every man's nightmare of charge accounts, you'll have little worry on that score. Iím really uncomfortable with owing money. Bad debts don't fit in with my code. Money is never a prime consideration when it comes to me. I won't care if you're not the richest man in town, but I'll expect you to be respected in some way for your intellectual achievements. All this love of honesty, however, can sometimes be distorted into questionable behavior. As much as I hate hypocrisy and double-dealing, I can somehow answer questions so cleverly that I give a false impression. Yet Iíll be outspokenly indignant if I catch anyone else guilty of such a delicate nuance of deception. I'll rarely tell an outright lie, but I can fool you in very subtle ways, which is hardly the essence of the honesty I so constantly preach. You might be wondering how I can do this job if I don't like to lie. Well, answering the question "Are you a cop or something?" with "Or something" tends to make me feel better. As for pretending to be state officials, well, I just show my 'badge' and play the strong silent type.
A strange sort of isolation is associated with me, and I'm often misunderstood by people. They think Iím a loner and Ďemoí but in reality I'm so not. Thatís what they think though. I sense this, and it just makes me want to be alone even more. But just because others can't accept the fact that being alone to me is useful and calming is no reason in my opinion to go backwards. When I want to be alone, I want to be alone, get used to it. However, I haven't retired from the mainstream permanently, I haven't changed just because I don't want to deal with people. I can never renounce people for long. Ignore me and I'll soon be knocking down you door just to bother you. I can lead you west, then suddenly turn and march east, without warning. I have an obstinate way of not letting you know what I'm up to and proud of it.
Not to brag, but my power of concentration can be awesome. Yet, Iím also able to pick up things going on around and behind me when I choose to, like a radar screen. I can carry on a complicated discussion and still not miss an inflection of what's happening in the other part of the room, if I decide to tune in. Sometimes you could swear I paid no attention to anything you said, but the next day Iíll repeat it back to you like a tape recorder. Never underestimate my process of soaking up knowledge while I seem to be oblivious, even though now and then I get lost in concentration. Despite that small oversight, that radar screen makes it very easy for me to multi-task.
You can expect me to give my opinion frankly, but I won't try to dictate how you should think or how you should live your life. Conversely, I don't intend to let you tell me how I should think or live my life either. I have no desire whatsoever to hard sell my ideas to others. My philosophy is that everyone has their own thing, their special yearning. Each person dances to their own fiddle music, and individuality should be respected. Basically, everyone is their own person and all that. I'm not going to tell someone how to live their own life. That is, of course, unless it gets in the way of what I have to do. Then, well, I do what I have to, even if I don't like it.
My Sun sign, the Aquarius, is known as the sign of genius, and so it is, since over seventy percent of the people in the Hall of Fame are either Sun Aquarians or have Aquarian ascendants. On the other hand, a substantially high percentage of those confined in mental institutions, or who drop in for regular couch sessions with an analyst, are also Aquarians. There's a fine line, they say, between genius and insanity, and I can sometimes make you wonder which side of the line I'm on. I am a curious mixture of cold, practicality and eccentric instability, and I seem to have an instinctive empathy with the mentally disturbed. It's a curious fact that I Ėalong with almost any Aquarian- can substantially reduce the anxiety of the insane simply by talking to them quietly. I have a marvelous knack for calming hysterical people and soothing frightened children. Pretty cool, huh? And no, I'm not crazy. My sanity is intact even with everything I've been through. People have been through worse and if they can do it, so can I.
I was born on a freezing cold evening in February. It was late and my mother was actually already in bed when she started having contractions. My Mom didnít think much of them because they werenít that painful. After all, I wasnít due for two weeks. She thought they were Bramston Hicks contractions and nothing more. But when they started getting worse, she woke my dad up and he rushed her to the hospital. She wasnít in labor for long, I sort of hurried out. I did not want to spend another minute in there; I can tell you that, ha-ha. It was too cramped. I was born at 11:23 PM on February 15th, 1985. I like to think that if I had been two weeks later that I would have turned out different somehow. That I wouldnít have been able to cope with the strangeness of my life overall and would have ended up in a nut house or something.
My childhood, for the most part, was pretty average. My dad's a cop, so I didn't see him a lot, but I knew he loved me. And he was home enough to conceive another kid with my mom -who was a school teacher- two years after I was born.
However, When I was seven, my life changed forever. One night, my mom took my brother and I out with her to the grocery store. She had just picked me up from ballet practice. Mitch and I were sitting in the car as she put the groceries away because it was too cold out and she didn't want us to get sick. I was watching my mom through the back window while she loaded them in the trunk and Mitch was playing with a Power Rangers action figure. My mom was busy putting the food away and she didn't notice the figure in the shadows. Not until he jumped her. She screamed for help and tried to fight him off but... He wasn't human. The police report says she was stabbed -ribboned is a better term- by some sort of crazy occult worshiper. I knew that wasn't true back then because I saw her get attacked. No one listens to seven year olds though.
I learned what attacked my mom when I was in middle school. My mom had been mauled by a werewolf. The only reason Mitch and I are still alive is because we stayed in the car. I kept my hand over Mitch's mouth so he wouldn't make a sound because I didn't want what was hurting our mom to get to us too. It was forty five minutes before we were found, but it felt like forever while we were waiting in that car. My brother and I were changed by that night; we heard our mother die and couldn't do anything to stop it.
My dad though... My dad, he was devastated by her death. Since that day he took extra precautions when it came to Mitch and me. He enrolled us in self-defense classes and made sure that we got a lot of practice. My dad took me to the shooting range every once in a while to practice. He didn't want what happened to his wife to happen to his little girl. I eventually dropped out of ballet because I couldn't juggle doing all that at the same time as well as school work.
Elementary school was okay because we were all socially awkward then. I mean recess was one big melting pot of craziness and we were just trying to keep up. I had few friends though. No one really understood how I worked or why I did the things I did. Half the time I didnít either, itís just what came naturally to me. I didnít want to do what others expected me to do. And that either endeared me to my teachers or made them hate me because they couldnít understand what the hell was wrong with me. It was suggested to my dad often that I be put in ESC because of my behavior but my intellect usually shot that down. I was very observant and curious so I was always willing to learn more and I retained pretty much everything. I was a sponge. I was a sponge until I got to math class. Iím disgustingly horrible at math. So once we got to Geometry, I was out. Seriously, I suck at math. I passed Algebra with a C! And I was thankful! Every other class I had Aís and Bís but Math was my weakness.
And so was socializing. I told you that Elementary school was okay for me as far as social standing and that was true. But the worse part about living in a small town is that you go to school continually with the same people. And those people, if they didnít like you in elementary school, they still didnít like you in middle school. Such was my case. I was the freaky girl to most of my classmates. Mostly because I kept to myself and wore strange outfits (no, this isnít the movies, strange outfits donít give you the title of trendsetter. You get freak instead. When you graduate and have a successful clothing line then you were a trendsetter). And did strange things, of course. I learned about what really happened to my mother in middle school. You could say that I started learning as much about the supernatural as I could during middle school because I was convinced my mom was killed by something, not by a crazy satanist. The police weren't there when it happened, I was and I remembered everything. So I usually had 'weird' books when I was alone. Which I was.. a lot. Not because I didn't have friends, but because I wanted to be alone. Or, if I was alone at the studio, I could practice my dancing. I always practiced that more than my self defense and after a while, it started to show in my classes. Not my school classes, my defensive classes. I was always more flexible and my movements were very fluent. When I fought with someone, I wasnít just fighting them. It was like a macabre dance. My instructor told me himself that I was too graceful for fighting, ha-ha. That and I have awesome physical memory. Which is true, I mean, thatís how you learn and memorize dances. It just applied to both now. And helped in high school, believe it or not.
Now, remember what I told you about not getting along well with most of my school mates? Yeah, in high school, thatís worse than middle school and elementary school combined. I honestly did not think there could be so much drama in a small high school. As soon as freshmen year started it was like a soap opera. There were problems in cliques and in relationships and somehow in between all that, almost everyone had taken the chance to call me a freak. For no reason too. Now, Iím not going to say that I didnít have friends. I did, just not many. I hung out with the quiet kids. Enjoyed their company too. We were all just a little strange enough to out-casted by the rest of our peers and we didnít care really. That was, until we started looking like teenagers. I mean, growth spurts, periods, the whole works. Sure, it started in middle school but who really cared back then? Suddenly though, I had boobs and a nice ass and guys were interested in me. It was a very confusing time. So on top of my activities outside of school (wu shu actually helped me get out of a few uncomfortable places with guys though. Thank god for overprotective Dad) I had to deal with high school drama that I was never really interested in participating in too. Though, I did bring it on myself sometimes. I was never really interested in the guys I dated because I knew what they all wanted. That and I had known most of them since the days they used to finger paint. I couldn't wait to leave high school and when I did, that's when things got interesting.
Two weeks after I graduated, there was another murder in Lincoln that was... really similar to my mom's death. By similar, I mean that the victim was just completely mauled. And the only thing missing in whole was the heart. So, naturally, as a cop's daughter, I went to investigate the scene of the crime when it was empty... and almost got shot by Caleb. The first hunter I ever met.
He got annoyed with me, told me that I shouldn't have been there, yada yada yada. Long story short, I started tailing him. I wanted to know why he was at the crime scene and how much he knew about what I thought was really going on. As it turned out, he knew a hell of a lot more than I did. Which I found out the night that I killed the werewolf that killed my mom.
Yeah, I killed it. Plot twist, right? If I hadn't then Caleb would be one dead hunter right now. It's kind of funny, actually, a seasoned hunter saved by an eighteen year old. It was luck, nothing more and nothing less than. Caleb was lucky that I hadn't listened to him when he said to go home. He was lucky I followed him and lucky that when the wolf jumped him, I was there to pick up the gun he lost in the scuffle. He was also lucky that I knew how to shoot.
After meeting Caleb, my life sort of fell into place. I kept bothering Caleb and he eventually started teaching me the tricks of the trade, introducing me to a few other hunters and helping me get started. When he died in 2006, it truly hit me that I was on my own hunting now. And that I still wasn't satisfied. You see, I told Caleb, after the werewolf that murdered my mom was killed, that I didn't feel satisfied by just killing that one werewolf... because I knew there were more out there and no one deserved what happened to my family to happen to them. And that I wished I could do more. That was why he started training me. And it's years later, the Apocalypse is over and done with and... Well, I'm not satisfied now either.
The Apocalypse was the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life. One that -looking back on it now- I don't know if I was really ready for. I wasn't prepared for what happened back then. I don't think all the training in the world could have prepared me for something that I thought would never happen.
Well, okay, that's a bit of a stretch. I don't think I never thought that my heart would go through as much as it did. I knew that it was statistically probable that there was someone out there for me. However, I thought that the chances that I would ever find them was about as likely as pigs sprouting wings and flying. But I did. And it blindsided me.
I'd heard of Sam Winchester before. I'd never met the guy but from what I gleaned through the grapevine, he supposedly had powers and was the Anti-Christ. However, since that particular piece of information was given to me by a guy with Jesus figurines all over his RV, I was in inclined more so than ever to form my own opinion. Which is what I did when I met him... And slept with him. In the back of my Jeep.
Yeah, quick, I know, but so worth it because I actually slept for the first time in years without needing sleeping pills. Or Alcohol. Granted, we had been drinking a lot before then, but I even when I drink and have sex with guys, I never actually sleep with them. But, I just felt... Safe with him. And that scared the crap out of me. So, after we parted ways, I tried to not think about him. I went on with my life, did what I normally did and expected things to return to normal. But the more I tried not to think about him, the more I did. And then I called him. And we met up, hunted together a few times, had sex again (and again, so worth it) and so began what was in my mind, a vicious circle. And before I really understood it, I found myself falling in love with him. And for someone who's never fallen in love before... It was scary. I withdrew at first. But eventually... Well, we were in love. As corny as that sounds.
And meanwhile, my two worlds were slowly but surely colliding. My brother finally decided to tell me that he had Terminal cancer... After he had already dealt with it and gotten himself infected by a Loup Garou. My father ended up arresting my best friend when she was on a case in my home town- a case I had practically begged her to take. She was nearly killed by a bad banana prank and my dad pretty much found out that I hunted the things that go bump in the night. He didn't like it. At all. But, what I was doing wasn't up to him and I told him as much. I had been hunting since I was eighteen and I wasn't about to stop.
As time went on, the effects of the Apocalypse became more and more evident and I couldn't focus on my life as it was slowly crumbling. The end of the world was coming and even the civilians were starting to notice. With freak weather disasters and chaos building, all the evangelistic idiots were actually right on about the end being nigh. They were just way off about how it was going to happen. From what I had been told, God had taken a vacation. No one was getting their asses "raptured" to heaven and Angels? They were "Junkless Dicks with Wings". Leave it to Dean Winchester to come up with such a colorful nickname for them. However, the point was that the world was ending and that every living thing on the planet was going down with it. And the only way to stop Lucifer was to trap him in his cage again. But how that was going to happen was a complete mystery to most of us.
When it was finally figured out... Well, I can't say I was very happy with the solution. I ended up losing Sam. And a lot of my composure too. I finally understood what my dad had gone through when my mom died. And I couldn't be strong about it like I had when my mom died. So I took off. I left again before they could leave me. Because that's what I needed to do to survive it.
One person I did see though, was my brother. Mitch decided at some point to go to Tibet and, I visited him there... Which was good because I really needed him. It was like when mom died except backwards because he was the one taking care of me and I was so messed up that I didn't care. Tibet was also a pretty interesting place... He made me go out now and then because me moping around was depressing and I kind of, sort of stumbled onto a case while I was there. Which, he didn't want me to take. I wasn't in any state to take a job apparently, because I was mourning and therefore would be reckless because I didn't care anymore and he wasn't completely wrong about that. I didn't care anymore and I did want to be reckless, but for his sake, I didn't take it. And I left Tibet about a week later. Not because I was pissed at him, but because I did need to get back to the States. Seeing him had helped me, but I still had a job to do as a hunter. And for that I didn't need anyone babying me.
After that, I rarely talked to anyone. I talked to Bobby now and then, carefully avoiding questions about how I was doing and focusing on the reasons I called, which were cases; and I talked to Lissa now and again too, mostly because she was the only one who didn't really know about what I had lost. It was easier to pretend everything was normal when i talked to her and eventually, I built up a wall around my pain and hurt, using whiskey and abrasiveness to keep them strong and keep people out. And that worked for a while until I found Roxy.
Roxy was on the side of the road when I found her. A beautiful, six month old German Sheppard dog just... Sitting on the side of the road. Abandoned. She was covered in ticks and nearly skin and bone when I found her. I couldn't help feeling for her and just one look from the big brown eyes and I was caught, hook line and sinker. I took her back to my motel room, gave her a bath, took the ticks off of her (which took hours because tick shampoo is shit. The only thing that really kills them is alcohol and I wasn't about to rub that all over her), feed her and took care of her. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and before I knew it, she was better and I was driving around with a dog in my Jeep. It was hard at first- she was trained in the basic commands and was a very good dog, but not many motels allow pets. I made due though and she learned more. If she had to pee, she would nudge my side and whine until i got up to take her out.
Unless, of course, I was asleep. Which wasn't often, I still avoided sleep like the plague because after Sam was gone, the nightmares got even worse. Roxy made things a little better after time. She would hug most of the space on the bed and snuggle up next to me and after a while that helped me sleep better. Because she was there just to make me feel better and to be close to me.
Now, she's kind of like the partner I never had on hunts. Dogs have always been more sensitive to the supernatural, it's easy for her to sniff out shapeshifters, demons, ghosts and the like. I don't know why I didn't get a dog before. It's been easier to survive the sudden influx of monsters with her around and with that and the fact that my brother -well a version of my brother- has sort of gone AWOL, I've got to stay on my toes and make sure other hunters stay away from him... Both versions of him. I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt him and they'll be in big trouble if they try.