Oh, Look! Their's a Stick, and a Rock!

Dawn sits in a tree, as usual. Shade pants happily at the base, as dogs are unable to climb. A bit of music floats on the breeze, a simple melody with a complex snare beat. Her fingers drum on the tree, trying to figure it out. (Ha! Real life analogy time- I'm a drummer. Just ask… wait, you can't. No one from my school is on here. )

(Renner Middle. In Texas.)
"Aw, I'm not gonna hurt you. And neither is Shade. He's the dog. Well, my dog." The music stops, as does her drumming. Smiling, she drops from the branches, landing inches from Gail.

"Hello. I'd appreciate it if you'd put the sword away. As would Shade." As if on cue, the dog growls low in his throat, but stays where he is. Dawn's fingers instinctively find their way to her belt, where her dagger sits in a small pouch. Her crossbow is in a leather holster on her back, along with an apple, a bottle of water, and some dog treats in side pockets. In another pocket sits her bolts, arranged for easy use. Experience has taught the girl never to go anywhere without at least one weapon, preferably two.

(How do you know? Do you know someone that goes there?)
Seeing his master more comfortable, his growling instantly ceases.

"Thank you." Dawn says. She takes a step back, her hand slipping from the dagger's hilt to Shade's head.

(Ah. That makes sense.)

Dropping to the ground, she twists her legs underneath her body. She tilts her head, trying to read something in Gail's face. Her brow furrows in frustration, and concentration.

Shade reaches up and licks Dawn's cheek, and the girl smiles.

(Eighth. Et toi?)

"To answer your first question, I had… No one really knows. I just…" Anyone can tell it is hard for her to talk about this, but she knows she must. As much for her own sake as anyone else's.

"When I was seven, something happened with my brain. Something got messed up, and I turned, for lack of a better word, rabid." Her looks down, embarrassed, and whispers. "It was like I was possessed. I didn't have control of my actions, and I was taken to the Hospital. Many men in white coats restrained me, strapped my small self into a straitjacket. You know the padded rooms in movies? I was in one."

"When I was nine, they said I was ready to go back to society, to live a normal life. They were wrong." She looks up, a defiant flame burning in her eyes. "I tried to kill myself. And then it was right back to good ol' Saint Josephs."

"They wanted to keep me locked up forever. But my mother, she convinced them to let me go when I was ten. For years, I got monthly inspections. First sign of anything wrong, they would have sent me straight back."

"I'm still insane. But not a normal sickness. It's something to do with being a Demi-god. Most people have ADHD or dyslexia, but I'm mentally unstable. They never got it right. I learned to act. To convince them without a doubt that everything was alright, and I was a perfectly normal girl."

"The only thing that has kept me from committing suicide since then was Shade. He is my anchor, so to speak. My father sent him. My real father. My mother never remarried. I got him when I was nine, when he was just a pup."

"I'm feeling fine, actually. When I was at the Funny Farm, I learned to read people. To see which people I could trust, and which would stick me with a needle when I turned my back. I don't trust naturally. Especially doctors."

(Yeah. French for 'And you?')

"He's my link." she says, slightly cryptically. "And I'm not truly free. No one is. We are all slaves."

"Hi. How much did you hear." It's not really a question. More of a bland statement.

"Good." It is actually better, really, for Dawn, the less people know about her. Or so she thinks.

Suddenly, I jumped into view, a monster behind me. "Ha! Sucka!" I yelled at the sphinx.