Mythfits

33-Steve

I picked at my palms nervously, scanning the crowds for familiar faces before the coach starts calling out our names and positions for the game, and my focus is drawn back to the situation at hand. As we file out onto the field, I shove my nerves to the back of my had, and clear my mind. Time to play.

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We almost won. I remind myself that it wasn't my fault, another one of the players tripped over the ball in the last few minutes of the game, and it didn't get any better from there. As we disperse, mingling with the crowd, a familiar head of black hair catches my eye. Great, Ella watched our oh-so-humiliating defeat, that's just perfect. Christine, seated next to her, catches my eye and gestures in a come over here motion, then pokes Ella in the ribs, points to me, says something to her that I can't quite catch, and disappears into the crowd, camera in hand. Thank you so much, Christine.

Judging by Ella's frown, she wasn't anymore pleased to be abandoned by Christine than I was. "Did you guys get the spell done?" I try to start a conversation so that the awkward sort-of-silence wasn't quite as overwhelming.

"You really are useless, aren't you?" Ella sneers, kind of out of character for her, and I frowned, confused as to what I had done to illicit such a response.

"What? What are you talking about?" I rack my brain, but nothing I had said seemed that offensive, and I was fairly sure she wasn't talking about the soccer game.

"God, Steve, you can't do anything right." She continues, snarling a little at the end, "You can't even stand up for yourself." I glance around, trying to see if anyone else was hearing or understanding what was going on.

Somehow, most of the people had cleared out of the bleachers by now, and they had been seated in the corner, so there wasn't really anyone listening.

"What's this about?" I ask, hoping she'd at least explain

She growls, barring her teeth at me, and Grandfather's words, about how werewolves were always picking fights, and how they'd leap at your throat the first chance they get echoed in my head. Suddenly, her posture seemed just a bit more threatening, and even though I wasn't sure what she was going on about, I got just a bit more nervous. Ella had always seemed like the type to stay silent then slam you into the dust, and I really didn't want to get slammed in the dust.

The rest of Grandfather's advice follows his warning, and with the way Ella was acting, I figure that following it might not be such a bad idea after all. "Stand down, there's no reason for you to be acting like this." I say as stoically as possible, attempting to mimic an authoritative posture.

"What's wrong, little bat?" she grins, all sharp teeth and dark humor, "Afraid?"

Little bat? What? "Not at all." I reply, and turn my back, walking away. As soon as I do, I realize that was a bad idea, and remember everything I had ever heard about how turning your back is a challenge, a way of saying, I'm better than you and you can't do anything about it.

"So you think you're all that, huh?" Ella chuckles, "Ha! You aren't even a proper vampire, weak! How do you think you'd stand a chance against me?"

Weak. Weak. Suddenly, I'm not faking cold rage. Every whisper, every sideways glance and comment about how I'm not traditional enough, not good enough, not right, how I'm somehow inherently wrong and weak for not being like everyone else, is brought to mind. It's not another family member this time, though. It's not someone I have to be respectful to at all times, it's not someone I have to defer to because they're two centuries older than me. And I find my voice, as cold and icy as the 'true' winters Grandfather reminisces about.

"I am not weak." I whip around to face her, standing as rigid as a board, and Ella steps up to meet me, her posture that of an aggressive street dog. With that thought in mind, I let my fangs flash as I speak, a not-so-subtle act of dominance, all the times that my family titles had been drilled into my head coming to mind, "I am not useless, I am not afraid of you, and I do not answer to you. You are nothing, a blip compared to the Clan. I am part of something far greater than you ever will, mutt. You claim I am not a true vampire, you are wrong. I am the descendant of Lord Eryk the All Powerful, a member of the Clan of Noc, Heir of the family Carne. You, Ella Mason, are a half-breed mutt, even lower than a full werewolf, forgotten by your family and powerless to stop a simple sickness. Do not presume to know my family or my mind."

When Ella storms off into the crowd of people with a low growl, I'm left standing in the early autumn sun, the slight breeze making my sweaty shirt sticking to my back suddenly chilly.

"Not horrible." Grandfather's low voice startling, appearing behind me from out of nowhere, "I thought you would never be able to assert yourself at all, but you didn't fail as badly as I thought you would."

I stare in awe as Grandfather also walks away- Grandfather who never ever, ever compliments me, just did, though it is difficult to tell if he's complimenting or insulting. What on earth just happened?