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Jacinda Cross
Topic Started: Oct 25 2014, 08:30 PM (655 Views)
Jacinda
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Age: 45
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 150 pounds
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde
Build: Athletic

Jacinda was born Jacinda Nolan to Dorothy and Jack Nolan. They were normal parents though they did try to live off the grid mostly. America was in decline by this time, and it just seemed safer that way. While living in southern Colorado outside of South Fork, they were met by an Atharim hunter, Regan Cross. Regan was a pretty good hunter and spent most of his time in the south west, with rougarou and chupacbra being his primary prey. He also hunted wolfkin where he could.

He was an outdoors' man who, when not hunting Atharim prey, went after animals. He relished the hunt, the slow process of stalking and closing in prey, and then, finally, trapping and killing it. He preferred trapping and the slow death by hand, feeling the life leave the body as it twitched and fought. Wolfkin were a particular challenge, given their abilities. But he relished that part, pitting himself against them. The contest and survival. Life and death.

And sometimes, occasionally, a girl hiking with her boyfriend would go missing. The boyfriend would be killed quickly and the girl would disappear for days and weeks. A body might sometimes be found in a snowdrift that melted early, or when something disturbed the land, revealing a shallow grave, always in much worse shape. They weren't as challenging prey as the men might be, but the payoff was so much more fun.

Regan cozied up to Jack and Dorothy, went with Jack and Jacinda on hunts, helped around the place, and seemed to be a good ally. Life off the grid took work and Jack seemed happy to have another man about.

Regan, though, had a thing for Jacinda. Already a loner with a touch of anti-social tendencies, he found himself drawn to her even though she was only 12. While out hunting with Jacinda and her father, he saw his opportunity and killed Jack, making it look like he had been killed by a rougarou. Not his usual style, but he had a goal- Jacinda.

Coming home with her, he stayed to help Dorothy around the place and pick up the pieces. He also spent more and more time with Jacinda. He wanted her but she couldn't know what he'd done. He began taking Jacinda hunting with him. They would sometimes split up while stalking. On one such hunt, he left her alone and went back to Dorothy's cabin. He raped and brutally murdered her.

In order to tie Jacinda to him completely, he mutilated the body in the way a feeding rougarou might. When he and Jacinda returned, they discovered the horror he'd planted. Jacinda, overwhelmed with loss and anger and hatred and grief, accepted his explanation of what had killed her mother. He revealed what he was- an Atharim hunter- and that they could track the creature together.

With a desire for revenge and feelings of rage and powerlessness, Jacinda went with him until they came to a lone man living in the woods. The man was not a rougarou, but Regan lied to her. Together they stalked, tortured, and killed the man. Jacinda relished the feeling of revenge and power she felt in that moment, mingled with the horror and fear and sorrow and loss.

That night, in an emotional rush and turmoil from the day's activities, Regan raped her, though she didn't see it that way. She was only 12 years old. Consent was not something she'd even heard of. Nor did she realize how he'd manipulated her. In her loss and rage and power and satisfaction, it felt like love to her.

It was the beginning of a strange sort of relationship. Regan viewed her as his daughter and wife. He treated her as his partner, though he manipulated her, limiting how much she interacted with people, what she saw and read- everything in her entire life. She depended on him as the only family she had. He was her god and world and her life. That was when she took his last name.

They hunted other creatures over the years. Despite any appearance of humanity they might have- especially in the case of wolfkin and (later when they started cropping up) channelers and their families, she had no compassion. The truth was, the gaping sucking hole in her heart was only filled when she was hunting and killing. It was the only power she felt she had.

She never knew of, nor would she understand, Regan's occasional hungers for more. She needed a reason for her hunts. She was a soldier in a war, protecting humanity from darkness and enslavement. And usually, she was so aroused it all that she and Regan had frenzied sex afterwards.

Regan was killed after he'd been caught by a nest of rougarou. Jacinda was only 20, but in many ways, was still only a child. And with his death, she was completely and totally alone. It was a terrifying time for her, but eventually she found her way.

By then, Regan's reputation as an Atharim hunter was pretty well established and she had been known as his 'neice', a fierce hunter on her own. She continued the work and discovered her own skills.

She was able to ferret out the smallest details, to latch on to rumor and whispers and hints, and then piece the clues together to paint a complete picture of her prey and where they had gone. She stayed at a crime scene for hours, developing a sense of what the creatures had felt and seen. She got in their head. And she was very good.

Unlike some Atharim, she had no problem making sure the kin of those who died of 'the sickness' were also put down. They weren't her favorite kills. The creatures, chupecabras and rougs, wefuke and queztals, she had more fun with and took her time. If the Atharim wanted them alive for study, she was able to get them, though the takes weren't always clean.

As the years went by, her reputation grew throughout the country among the American Atharim.

She was the person who always got the job done.
Edited by Jacinda, Jul 2 2018, 11:41 AM.
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Once Jacinda nodded, Jill rolled the sleeve back down, covering the tattoo. "My father taught me the ways of the Kitsʼiil. And I went hunting with my husband, before he died."

Jacinda looked puzzled. "Kitsʼiil?" She guessed it meant Atharim, though she wasn't really sure what that meant either. Their history and lore had not been something Regan had ever taught her. What she had learned was the types of prey they hunted, their habits, their weaknesses and strengths. In the years since, she'd learned from other hunters of things she'd never heard of.

Hosteen spoke up. "Kitsʼiil means 'fragment'." When she didn't respond with recognition, he shook his head before he went on. "Not surprised Regan never told you. He never seemed to care. Atharim means 'remnant' in the ancient tongue."

She nodded. It made sense. Well it didn't- remnant of what?- but hearing his name made this hard for her. "Alright. So what do we hunt?"

The room was quiet now, the only sound coming from the girls in the living room watching tv. Jill held her cup of coffee in her hand, staring into it as if there were answers there. Her grip seemed tight, too. Hosteen glanced at the girls and then lowered his voice so she had to lean forward to hear and even then, just barely. "Skin walkers."
Edited by Jacinda, Jul 5 2018, 08:38 PM.
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Suddenly Jill stood up and clapped her hands once, and Jacinda was taken aback. But before she could say anything, Jill was in the living room. "Come on girls. Bed time." They looked up at her with surprise. Jill dropped to her knees, gathering them into her arms. Her voice was soft and tender. "It's ok. Shhhh. Your mother needs you tonight. And you need her."

She stroked their hair gently. "Ah, my poor daughters. I know this is hard for you. But it will get better, shiyázhí." And then, softly, she began to sing.

Chíí’ dóó chíí’. Yázho dóó yázh.
Hazhóó’ígo íłhosh.
Hazhóó’ígo íłhosh shiyázhí....


Jacinda watched, listened, entranced. It was barely audible, and yet she could hear it as clearly as if she were on the couch too. She didn't understand a single word of it. And yet, somehow deep down inside, she could. A lullaby, a mother's song to her daughter.

The voice she heard wasn't Jill's, though. It was a memory, from somewhere else. Someone else. Another time. Another place. Maybe her mother? But her mother had never been overly affectionate, at least that she could remember. Nor could she remember her singing either.

She tried to follow the memory, to coax it from its hiding place, but it dissipated, smoke passing through her fingers, steam rising from the cup in her hands. Only a lump in her throat remained, though. And yet, there was a quietness here. Peace. And something stirred within in her. Something he barely recognized.

The song ended and then Jill was business again, helped them get their coats and shoes. They gave their grandfather a hug and waved shyly at her, and then they were out the door.

The silence lingered. Hosteen seemed to like the quiet. She almost didn't want to break the mood. But...

"Will they be safe outside? If there are skinwalkers...and if it killed their father...."

Hosteen shook his head sadly. "No. He wasn't killed by the yee naaldlooshii. It was just an accident. Driving late at night. A cow on the road."

Jacinda was confused even as she felt tension- she hadn't even realized it had krept up upon her- drain away. She looked at the door again. "Oh. I had thought, well, with what you said. And your son-in-law..."

He smiled slightly at her. "When my daughter returns, I will explain. Jill doesn't know the whole story. And speaking of these things invites evil. I will only do it once."
Edited by Jacinda, Yesterday, 5:36 PM.
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Jacinda couldn't help the chill that ran up her spine. And then, realized she wasn't sure why. It's not like she hadn't hunted any number of what people called monsters. And yes, during the hunt, there was fear- terror even. A lot of it. But along with that came the adrenaline. The pleasure of the contest. The sense of power and- especially- victory, at the end.

But this was different. Hosteen was old- at least in his 60s if not older. Hunters did not often die peacefully in their sleep. All of which was another way of saying that this man had seen a lifetime of hunts and creatures.

And still, he was wary, his talk of evil cloaking everything in a shadow. It was something she had never experienced before.

No matter how bad it might have been at the time- how pants-shittingly terrifying it might have been- Atharim usually traded stories of their hunts with pleasure and bravado, playing up the size of a roug, the viciousness of a pack of chupes, the alienness of a person under the control of the wefuke, and most of all, the carnage of the fights. Camaraderie and competition all in one.

But no one ever spoke in hushed tones or held back, not that she remembered.

The unspoken hung in the air over everything, though Hosteen seemed at ease with it. At least, he didn't fidget or seem nervous.

He offered her some of the mutton stew. Jacinda realized she hadn't eaten in hours and she was hungry. She agreed and then, while he spooned up a bowl, excused herself to use one of the bedrooms to remove the flannels underneath her clothing. It wasn't likely that they would be going outside this evening anyway.

The bedroom must have been belonged to Jill. Definitely a woman's room. Small twin bed, nightstand with a lamp next to it. A picture of a woman- maybe in her 40s- smiling. The resemblance probably meant her mother. There was a dresser with a jewelry box on it, along with various carvings.

Jacinda picked one of them up. It looked like juniper- smelled like it. A branch, an eagle flying past. The intricacy of the work was what struck her. The feathers looked individually carved, the wings stretched in flight, as if it had been frozen in a dive zipping by the branch. Beautiful. Alive.

Another, the bark all removed to reveal pale yellow, an inlay of two wolves bounding through the snow, haunches bunched, reading to jump. The lolling tongues spoke of play, rather than hunt.

There was a knock at the door and Jacinda was startled and put the piece down as it opened. She turned to see Jill with a towel and wash cloth.

Her eye flicked from the things on the dresser to Jacinda, though with what, she did not know. "Here. You will need this." For some reason, Jacinda felt guilty, as if she had been snooping.

She looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. These are beautiful."

Jill regarded her for a moment, her black eyes hiding what she was thinking. Finally, she nodded, setting the towel on the bed. "You can stay in here. I will sleep elsewhere."

Jacinda felt horrified. "NO!" she said in a shout and then felt embarrassed. Loudness just did not seem to fit this house. More quietly. "No. Please. The couch will be fine. Or even the floor. I have camped out many times. I do simple just fine."

Something flashed in Jill's eyes, though she had no clue what it was. It was gone so quickly she could have imagined it. "Please, it's fine."

Jill finally nodded. "Would you like help bringing in your things?" Jacinda was about to shake her head but stopped. She knew she had put her foot in her mouth- maybe offended her by rejecting her offer of hospitality. She could carry her bags. She didn't travel heavy.

Instead, she said "Yes. Thank you. It's only a few bags, but I appreciate it." She thought she caught a ghost of a smile on Jill's face.

They put on their boots and went outside. It was freezing, the cold wind cutting through her ears and hair, beating her face, slashing through Jacinda's jeans and making her wish she had kept her flannels on for this part at least. Ahh, suck it up. Wasn't like she was gonna sleep out here. Or that she hadn't spent many other nights sleeping out in the cold.

Despite that, the cold night air was refreshing. And in the dark, the night sky opened up to her in a way that was very different from back home. There was no range of mountains jutting up to hide part of the sky protectively. No glow of city lights to drown out the stars.

The Milky Way lived up to its name, like someone spilled a pail of milk across the sky. She'd seen it many times, but the desert always had a way of making it stand out. Maybe it was the clear air, or the absence of any clouds tonight. The moon was gone too. Whatever it was, it was unavoidable.

She was standing by her vehicle looking up. Jill looked at her and then looked up. She didn't say anything for a while. Then "Yikáísídáhí" Jacinda looked over at her.

"What?"

Jill looked her her, voice coming from her shadowed face. "The Milky Way. Yikáísídáhí. 'It waits for Dawn'. Changing Woman taught us to pray each morning, sprinkling the tádídíín, the corn pollen, as an offering. She cast out the tádídíín across the sky to remind us. Each night, we see it and remember, for the coming dawn."

Jacinda wanted to say something. Only she didn't know what. This place was alien to her. She knew she had already offended her once. And for some reason, she didn't want to do it again. They did have a job to do, after all. And she had no idea how long she'd be here.

"That's beautiful." And then, words spent, she got out her bags. In the cab light, she saw Jill's eyes shining, studying her. She handed one to her and took the other.

They went back inside and placed the bags by the couch. The warmth of the room enfolded her. They had been out longer than she expected.

And a steaming bowl of mutton stew sat on the table, potatoes, sage, pieces of meat and fat glistening and calling temptingly. She wasn't sure what the tradition was. She said thank you and then fell to eating, though not ravenously. Jill was making space around the couches, making a bit more room for her, getting pillows and blankets and making up a bed.

Hosteen had disappeared into the back room.

Stomach satisfied and warm, she took the bowl and washed it out, placing it in the rack. Jill was just finishing up and Hosteen came back into the room.

They all sat down.
Edited by Jacinda, Today, 4:11 PM.
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