The Arrival
The life of an entertainer was a stressful one. There were so many things that could go wrong during a show. Deuce barely knew how she kept her head. That's what she would have said at least. The truth was, she was a complete drama queen. She was a singer and a bartender, the latter tended to make more money, by night and a beach troller by day. Most days she spent sleeping, but occasionally insomnia would kick in and she would go out looking for something to occupy her time. On this particular day, she hadn't even bothered to change out of her last shift's clothing. So, in strong contrast to the various colorful "morning people", she was wandering around clad in a pair of black knee-length leggings, a red plaid miniskirt, and a black leather bustier, hardly the norm at noon. She smelled like vodka and cheap scotch, but she hardly noticed that anymore.
It seemed like every time she walked the city in the daytime something had changed. A new street here, renovations there, and budding businesses all around. The beach was still the same, except of course the ever-moving sand dunes. As she wandered around, she took note of things, updating her mental map. Nothing along the streets really sparked her interest, until she passed a shop with the strangest things for sale. Locks of
hair.
Because of her bizarre curiosity, she had gone in. Two hours later she was back home, staring at a lock of ruddy brown hair held together by a string of pink beads. Why had she taken it home? Who knew? Maybe it was her superstitious nature, driving her to believe the tale the elven shopkeeper had told her. A lock of hair turning into a child? It was almost too much even for her. But then again, most people didn't believe in elves at all, or telekinesis. She considered herself proof enough that telekinesis was real. Grinning, she spun the lock around on the table without ever touching it. Sure, her own powers were fairly weak, just strong enough that she could do tricks for her friends and catch any glasses she dropped at work, but they amused her.
"So... What will I call you?" She mused, propping her elbows up on the table beside it. "That woman said you had a special gene, Bestia or something. So you need a good strong name. Something powerful but still feminine." She pushed her hair back with a smirk, "How about Calva? Calva... Denise! Yeah. That's a good name. Calva Denise Morrisey!" She nodded, even though the hair didn't respond, and eventually grew bored. Yawning, she glanced up at the clock,
3:30pm. Wow, that was late for her to still be up, or early, whichever way. Picking up the lock of hair, which she had strung up on a chain, she turned toward her bedroom, "Time to get some shut-eye. I'm working tonight; you can meet some of my friends." It may have been her imagination, but the hair seemed...
Happy.
