Entry 001
This isn't exactly what I expected, if I expected anything at all. I barely remember the conversations I've had with the man in the suit, and I certainly don't remember what he told me to expect. Maybe it was nothing? I had been so enthusiastic to join the good fight. I'd just left. It was about a year ago, it seems, from the time of the trainee... trial? Initiation! Whatever it's called, it's been a year since the last time I breathed Georgia air, and who even knows where we are now. It's the same island, I think, but given time to look at the stars, I don't recognize any constellations. It could just be too long ago, or maybe we're somewhere else entirely. Seeing what I saw , I wouldn't be surprised.
I wonder what they think happened to be back home. As far as I can tell, I just packed up and left. I've never even been one to sneak out, and there I went running off with a stranger. It's a miracle I haven't been kidnapped and I guess I kind of was kidnapped, in a way. Can you be willingly kidnapped? I wonder if they think I'm dead. I wonder if I'm one of those faces on the wall at the corner store. I wonder if they cried for me. It's probably best to not think about those things. As far as anyone is concerned, Charlotte is dead. There's no more her, and I've taken her place I haven't quite taken her place, I'm not even filling the void where she was. I'm someone different entirely. She is no more her, but there is a me.
Consider this my last mention of the girl I once was. Being here, being a Hunter, is all I want, all I need, and is exactly where I'm meant to be. I will battle evil in every way, I will defend my fellow Hunters against it, and I will do the best I can until the event of my death.
She was not the most expressive of young women, especially not in written form; it was one of the things that she could be thankful for in her raising. Still, the lack of emotion in her writing belied what she felt inside. There was a thrumming pride in her heart, and she could feel it in her chest. Emma had never had anything to be proud of, not like this, but she was taking such an important part in the survival of the human race that most humans didn't even know about it. Indeed, did anyone who wasn't already invited to become a Hunter? There was an incredible, indescribable swell of emotion every time she thought about it.
On a whim, the girl summoned her weapon... her weapon. They were bound for the rest of her life to defend humanity. The yoyos appeared with their spikes extended, a bit of an issue they'd have to work on if they were ever going to do battle. Emma already planned to begin her training as soon as possible, now that she had settled in and grown somewhat accustomed to becoming a warrior.
<< Sssorry. >>
Zothikos' voice still gave Emma the creeps. It definitely wasn't something she'd want to hear in the dark. It reminded her of those that emanated from the stones in the graveyard.
"It's fine," she responded, watching the blood well minutely in the puncture wound in her palm. "We'll work on it." She sighed then and looked back up at her weapon with a little half-grin, addressing its runes as if it were eyes. Could the yoyos even see her, or did it exist solely as a weapon with thoughts and sounds alone? Seeing as to how they were once monsters, she assumed it was more of the second one. "I guess wurr stuck with each other now, huh?" There was a pause before Zothikos responded. If it'd had any, the weapon would have rolled its eyes.
<< It sssseems so. We have been placed in a defffensive class. We will have to prove ourselves in battle. >>
"Darlin', I don't have any other plans," Emma nodded, drawing her finger through the path of one of her weapon's runes. "Wurr gonna be the baddest Hunters there is."
Zothikos highly doubted it, but it stayed politely quiet. It wanted blood as much as any dagger, and fame. It would get what it wanted regardless of its wielder's aptitude.
Emma unsummoned her yoyos and picked up the belt buckle that sat on her bed, running her fingers over its intricate designs. It could have been a rodeo buckle, were it not so fantastic. How oddly appropriate.
The Hunter turned then to her assigned journal, tearing halfway down the binding and folding the first half of her first entry down, and then in on itself several times. It was probably against protocol to just rip the page out, but she felt as if it wasn't right to completely discard it anyway. They were thoughts, like breaths. They had existed, and there was no use denying them. Still, it was probably best to not have them lying around. Emma picked up her pen again, and began to write beneath the fold.
I am Emma. I am a hunter.
I am a defender.
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