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Oct. 27th, 2003 01:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliSome Buffyfic I've been working on, about a Slayer-to-be a long while from now. Not finished yet, but I should have the rest soon.
Chrissie Hubak is nearly fifteen, and sick of it. Fourteen has done her no favors.
She's teased at school, bossed at home, and looked down on by the world. It's no fun at all, and made no better when her mother tells her how much worse she could have it.
"Look at me, Chrissie," Mom says, pointing to her face. "I couldn't go outside in daytime until I was seventeen years old. You don't know how lucky you are."
Chrissie's mom is half Ano-Movic; Chrissie herself is one-quarter. Neither of them can pass for full human. Chrissie has ridges along her hairline and jawline, and pointed ears. Her mother has that, and a distinctly scaly cast to her skin as well. But they live in a world where that's not supposed to matter.
It does, of course. It's been less than twenty years since the world Found Out, as it's put, about magic and demons and vampires, since people like Chrissie began living alongside humans. Chrissie consoles herself with history textbooks-- it took a long time for other minority groups to be accepted. She should feel lucky that she can attend school, that she and her mother can live and work like normal people.
Chrissie still gets picked on, though. Her school is ninety percent human.
Even in a place like Cleveland, it's not easy. It would be worse in the small towns or the suburbs, where there's not even the infrastructure and the protection a city provides. The Slayer School is here, too, and that's a mixed blessing at best. The Slayers are idolized, celebrities, the lot of them, and Chrissie can't help but feel jealous. She sees Slayers on the street, from time to time-- perfect, beautiful girls, enjoying the limelight and their own strength.
Chrissie's mom keeps a framed photo of Buffy Summers on a table in the hall. She says they owe everything to Buffy, that if she hadn't told the world about herself, Chrissie would have had to hide her whole life.
Chrissie's skeptical. She's never seen Buffy Summers outside of the newspapers and TV.
She knew a girl who got Called to be a Slayer once, though. She'd been a real bitch, that girl, and Chrissie had decided to herself that if that's the kind of girl who gets Chosen, she wants no part of it. The next time Chrissie saw her, though, she'd apologized for being mean to Chrissie about her heritage. That was how she'd put it-- "heritage." Chrissie figured she must have said something about the part-human kids she used to pick on at her old school, and some more-enlightened soul made her go apologize. Probably gave her a speech to recite, even, or else she never would have heard a three-syllable word leave those particular lips.
Chrissie Hubak is nearly fifteen, and sick of it. Fourteen has done her no favors.
She's teased at school, bossed at home, and looked down on by the world. It's no fun at all, and made no better when her mother tells her how much worse she could have it.
"Look at me, Chrissie," Mom says, pointing to her face. "I couldn't go outside in daytime until I was seventeen years old. You don't know how lucky you are."
Chrissie's mom is half Ano-Movic; Chrissie herself is one-quarter. Neither of them can pass for full human. Chrissie has ridges along her hairline and jawline, and pointed ears. Her mother has that, and a distinctly scaly cast to her skin as well. But they live in a world where that's not supposed to matter.
It does, of course. It's been less than twenty years since the world Found Out, as it's put, about magic and demons and vampires, since people like Chrissie began living alongside humans. Chrissie consoles herself with history textbooks-- it took a long time for other minority groups to be accepted. She should feel lucky that she can attend school, that she and her mother can live and work like normal people.
Chrissie still gets picked on, though. Her school is ninety percent human.
Even in a place like Cleveland, it's not easy. It would be worse in the small towns or the suburbs, where there's not even the infrastructure and the protection a city provides. The Slayer School is here, too, and that's a mixed blessing at best. The Slayers are idolized, celebrities, the lot of them, and Chrissie can't help but feel jealous. She sees Slayers on the street, from time to time-- perfect, beautiful girls, enjoying the limelight and their own strength.
Chrissie's mom keeps a framed photo of Buffy Summers on a table in the hall. She says they owe everything to Buffy, that if she hadn't told the world about herself, Chrissie would have had to hide her whole life.
Chrissie's skeptical. She's never seen Buffy Summers outside of the newspapers and TV.
She knew a girl who got Called to be a Slayer once, though. She'd been a real bitch, that girl, and Chrissie had decided to herself that if that's the kind of girl who gets Chosen, she wants no part of it. The next time Chrissie saw her, though, she'd apologized for being mean to Chrissie about her heritage. That was how she'd put it-- "heritage." Chrissie figured she must have said something about the part-human kids she used to pick on at her old school, and some more-enlightened soul made her go apologize. Probably gave her a speech to recite, even, or else she never would have heard a three-syllable word leave those particular lips.
