Issue 1 Downtime

((Open Thread))

Regan sat on the roof of the school, singing to herself.

"Little Robin Red Breast sat in a tree," Regan sang, licking something off her claws, "Up went pussy cat and down went he."

It wasn't enough. Small cruelties and hunting vermin. Regan felt restless.

The school was starting to feel like a cage and Regan hated cages.

It had taken some doing, but Theresa had managed to get out onto the roof. She wanted to be closer to the sky for a better look at things and this was as close as she could get without going up the lighthouse. She wasn't exactly the most graceful climber though and she was being extra careful so she announced her presence well before she saw Regan.

Regan sits upright, looking startled when she sees Theresa.

"Oh, it's you," Regan says, "What do you want?"

"I came up here to get a better view," she said. "Didn't expect to find you up here." Her tone was actually somewhat conciliatory.

"I like high places," Regan says with a shrug.

"Don't worry about me. The roof is big enough for two people."

"Thanks," she said, finding a place to sit. Her eyes flared and she started scanning the sky.

Regan watches Theresa for a little bit before speaking again, "What are you doing anyway?"

"Watching the weather for lack of a better term. I see patterns in the clouds and things. I can tell you that the wind up there," she pointed, "is blowing that direction." She pointed in a different direction, "There's some sort of disturbance there though. The air is warmer."

"Interesting," Regan says, "So, should I bring an umbrella outside tomorrow?"

"That's always a good idea around here," she joked. "I'm not good enough yet to forecast the weather. I'm trying to learn, but it's complicated."

"It's probably all the butterflies," Regan says, scratching the roof idly with one of her claws.

"There is some truth to that, I think. Even just sitting here we're causing minor adjustments to the patterns," she said, turning to look at Regan. Her gaze made it difficult to tell whether she was looking *at* Regan or not.

Regan stretches her wings out and flaps them once.

"There. That should cause a couple dozen hurricanes then," Regan says, smirking.

"That's probably overestimating your importance just a bit," she noted, but her eyes followed the gusts created by Regan's wings all the same.

"That's hard to do when you're the center of the universe," Regan says.

Theresa's only response was an amused snort.

Regan smiles, her sharp teeth showing, "I can see stuff too, y'know."

She looks around the sky for a moment before pointing at some invisible thing in the sky, "Man. Forties. Heart attack."

"And over there is a car crash," Regan says, gesturing in a random direction, "Quiet night though. Mostly."

"Unpleasant things to be able to see," she commented noncommittally.

"It's a wonder I manage to keep my sunny disposition," Regan deadpans.

"You are such a cheery individual." Her voice was beginning to sound distant.

"Right..." Regan says, "...Did you take something from the hippy? You sound...off."

"No..." She shook her head violently and the light in her eyes died. "Sorry, was getting lost in what I was seeing."

"Careful," Regan says, "It's easy to lose yourself like that."

"I imagine you have similar problems."

"Not so much, recently," Regan says, "There's something about getting a body back that makes you feel free."

"Like you could do anything."

She looked down at the grounds, "And you have been doing anything it sounds like. If half the rumors are true."

"Mmmm, there are a lot of interesting ones," Regan says, "When I was still alive, I limited myself. Every way I could. I was afraid to touch people. Afraid to take what I want. Afraid to be happy."

For a moment, Regan looks troubled. Then her cruel grin returns.

"Now, I just take what I want. And my life has never been better."

"Is it really?" Theresa asked honestly. She propped her arms and chin on her knees. "Is wrecking everything around you a worthwhile price to pay for your own happiness?"

"Why not? Why should I care about anyone else? They never cared about me," Regan says with a shrug.

"Did you really give them the chance?" Her tone wasn't accusation, just simple curiosity.

"I gave them every chance," Regan says, "I'm sure you know how it is. The second you let someone in, they take what they want from you and then just leave you."

"So the appropriate response is being worse than they were?"

"Please. I did the suffering nobly thing for most of my life," Regan says, "It just made me miserable."

"There is a range between those two extremes though. It may not always be a happy medium, but at least it doesn't rain destruction around."

"Destruction can be fun," Regan says, "Come on. Haven't you ever just wanted to watch everything burn? Just to see what happens?"

"I'd be lying if I said no. But I also know that wouldn't accomplish anything. And it would only end up hurting me in the process."

"So, then what do you want to 'accomplish' that's so important?" Regan says, "Why are you staring at the sky with no one to talk to except for someone you hate?"

She pondered for a moment. "Because the only other high place is the lighthouse and that place is just weird. And I don't hate you... well... not anymore."

"You should," Regan says, "You want to know why?"

Apparently it was rhetorical because Regan just kept going, "Because when I look at you all I see is prey. And I'm pretty sure the only way you'll be safe is if you completely and totally hate me."

"I've got more than enough hate directed at me from outside this place. We all do. But hate... hate makes people do bad things." As she talked, she was less careful about her accent and her Southern drawl bled through. Her initial comments didn't seem directed at Regan, but as she continued, she obviously shifted aim. "Do I like the things you do? No. Do I hate you for doin' them? I... I don't think I can. Not anymore. If you see me as prey, if you want me to hate you, then that's your desire and I can't do a thing about it. But I've had my fill of hate. I've lived through the ugliness it causes. Nothin' good ever comes of hatin' another human bein'."