Style doesn't matter...[closed after first, please.]

-2019-
Autumn was welcoming itself into every corner of West AliceCity, Kotuba. The breeze was strong, blowing the leaves off the trees too early and making the people walking the streets shiver. The pedestrians wore heavy jackets, not yet winter coats, but denim and fur lined overcoats.

Halloween was coming soon, not that you could tell when you walked through West AliceCity. The state of Kotuba had given up the holiday of Halloween five years ago, though the few people who had lived her before that happened were noticably itching to celebrate. No one could be sure if those same people secretly had a party in their home on the Devil's Night, but everyone else of West AliceCity was afraid to even acknowledge the day.

It was almost like going back in time, some years they ran the older people out of town, if they had suspicion as to them celebrating October 31. The last thing West AliceCity wanted was to call the demons from the ground; life was already hell.

-1:00 PM. Tuesday. October 15. 2019-

21 year old, Zylphia Ruth walked briskly down the street, not even bothering with the sidewalk. Unlike everyone else she wore no coat; but a t-shirt, jeans, and DC shoes. She waved to people she knew and smiled at strangers who smiled at her first. Getting home was the only thing on her mind right now, her husband had called. Something was wrong, but he hadn't told her what.

She threw herself into the house as soon as she could get the key to go in, her hands shook so terribly from worry that it was hard to unlock the door. "Zachary Samuel?" She called, but the house was silent. Too silent. Her cry of dispair echoed through the household.

She raced through the rooms, but everything was gone. Everything. The pictures on the wall. The pots and pans in the cupboard. The washer and dryer. The dishwasher. The photo albums in the attic. The brown boxes in her room. The bed. The table. The couch. The chairs. The dining room chandelier. The crib. The baby carriage. The stroller. The glass of water she always left by her husband's side of the bed in the morning. The camera. The TV. The computer. The DVDs. The cassette player. The stereo. The pens and pencils. The fridge.

Yet, somehow, it was spotless. There was no damage done to the house itself. Everything had just been taken out. Zylphia Ruth sobbed, where had everything gone? Had someone taken her husband, her daughter, her life? Why? Where? What had happened?

-5:45 PM. Saturday. December 3. 2025-

21 year old Zylphia Ruth sat on the front step of her porch, watching people scurry by, trying to get home before they got frostbite. They huddled together in groups, or hugged themselves when they were alone, they trecked through the snow, fell on their faces when they ran through the black ice. Zylphia Ruth laughed at them all.

She leaned back on the heels of her palms, her bare biceps flexed as she set all her 140 pounds on her arms. She yawned, her breath becoming fog as it hit the cold air. Her jeans rustled as she shifted in her seat. People looked at her as though she was crazy, but she was as normal colored as every. Fair skin, but not inhumanly fair, though she was inhuman. Not that anyone knew that.

She tossed her head, her bangs falling out of her face for a moment. Zylphia Ruth had done very little with her life in the last six years. She worked when she had to, but she had far more money than she needed. A job was simply to pass time, which she had a lot of now-a-days.

Zylphia Ruth didn't have too many friends, and even if she had wanted any, no one approached her who had lived in the town for a month or two. Anyone who talked to her, anyone she spent time with, disappeared. The police could not pinpoint Zylphia Ruth as a murderer, though, for the bodies were never found, and they had no evidence that she was the last person to see them before they went missing.

West AilceCity, Kotuba; WACK, as Zylphia Ruth had come to call it. Was a dangerous place, though not a soul living their knew it. Zylphia Ruth had a problem, of course, for she had a conflict with herself. She was a half-breed, twice over. She was a vampire, but she was also a werewolf. She was a witch, but she was also a demon. There was no human in her, none at all, yet having so many different breeds in her made her look completely normal.

Her husband, which still hurt her to think about, had been none of these. Zachary Samuel had been an elf. When he learned that Zylphia Ruth was such a cross-breed, he realized the danger he put their adopted daughter, Scarlett Dallas, in. So he fled, calling an old vampire friend to rid his old house of everything his wife could use to remember him.

But Zlyphia Ruth's memory was photographic, she remembered all the pictures she had seen of him. She remembered his face. His hands. His feet. His...his everything. There was nothing about their time together she could not remember. The thoughts, however, almost killed her, had she already been dead.

She returns to the present, when she hears people singing. Christmas carols, so early in the month. At least they've waited this long. She sighs and stands up, brushing the snow off her butt and turning to go back into the house. The moment she does her disposable cell phone rings. She answers, but says nothing as she presses talk.

"B12. 47T. Pronto." The dial tone.

-8:23 PM. Saturday. December 3. 2025. Washington D.C.-

"What took you so long!?" A large, black man asks as Zylphia Ruth passes through Security and exits the Airport. They both get into the limo that is awaiting them out front and the privacy, soundproof, window goes up before she says anything.

"I had to say goodbye to a few people, Perry," she says, her voice is like silk, with couple messed up stitches. While her tone is eternally seductive and smooth, it's slightly scratchy.

Perry Sutter scowls. "It's Perry Sutter, and It's a wonder you can stay in one place as long as you do." He shook his head, "down to business." He pulled his briefcase up into his lap. A complex set of numbers later he lifted the lid and inside was is laptop. He typed in a few passwords, gave his fingerprint, ad then double clicked the link.

"Four hours ago one of our best agents, Willow Thomas, was slipped from the radar. We have the cooridinance of the last place we had him, but when I sent other agents, they all returned to tell me there was nothing there. Nothing, Miss Waters. Nothing. Do you know what that means?"

"We've got a 4.22, sir." She scowled now, knowing he was going to send her in to find Saunders. "Willow Thomas Saunders and I do not get only Perry Sutter," she said. "You know that."

"And I also know you don't say no to your boss, or to some more money."

"Don't know where you heard that Perry," she smirks, "I've got more than enough money."

"Perry SUTTER," he booms, the driver looks up from the road and both agents in the back seat gasp. The driver could hear them the entire time, and when Zylphia Ruth looks at the man, she sees it is not the usual driver.

"You've got to be kidding me, Anderson," she tells Perry Sutter. She pulls up her pant leg, the businessy dress pants she's wearing had been hiding many a weapon, as they had many times before. She pulls a short, thin rod with a timer on it from the fold that is the back of her knee. Clicking a button she opens the car door and shoved Perry Sutter out of the car, which is hard to do because he is a big man and the car is speeding down the street now, the driver aware that the spies have learned his secret. he doesn't hear the bomb beeping, it's too quiet and Zyphia Ruth is shouting curses at him.

"Hosta la vista," she calls him one last back name, and jumps out of the car, which is now going about 95. She hits the pavement hard, but as she jumped from the car she pulled the string in her sleeve and her suit instantly inflated. She bounced on the pavement a little, but she had plenty of time to get it back to normal by the time the next car made it to her.

She stepped off to the shoulder of the road, scanning the area for Perry Sutter. He was probably a mile or two away from her. She cursed for the umpteenth time and bite her tongue.

-9:15 PM. Saturday. December 3. 2025. Washington D.C.-

Zylphia Ruth stepped into the Boutique and was immediately looked down upon. The clothing store was for very skinny woman, and Zylphia Ruth was skinnier than any of the women in, or working in, the store, but she didn't look at any of the clothes. She went right to the bathroom, disposable cell phone number 3 in hand.

~*~

Stepping out five minutes later Zylphia Ruth had stripped down from her business suit and was wearing a leather corset, with silver laces, the arm warmers that wrapped around her hand and traveled all the way up her arm, almost to her shoulder. Her pants were also leather, skin tight and flexible, slightly stretchy.

If the suit had shown off her perfect curves nicely, they didn't do her justice now. She stalked from the boutique, her suit still in the bathroom, shoved in the top of the toilet. She flipped her short, strawberry blonde hair, and licked her lips.

The new limo, with her normal driver, she made sure, was waiting out front. She stepped into the back, slammed the door, and hissed, "Step on it."

-1:15 PM. Sunday. December 20th. 2025. Washington D.C.-

Zylphia Ruth sat back in the hard, swivelly chair, sipping her McCafe Latte, which wasn't that great, at a locla McDonald's. She was recovering from the last mission she'd gone on, to save poor Willow Thomas. It's too bad Saunders was dead when she got there, but at least she got rid of the problem, if any more agents disappear, she knew what to do.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and sighed. She'd been shot three times, had a blade across her throat, been punched in the face, and had nearly been assaulted. She grimaced as she sipped to quickly and her fat lip got in the way. She spilled some of the drink on her sweater, which was cashmere. Cursing loudly she set the cup down, she didn't care that even more people were staring at her now.

She was terribly out of place, and she didn't really need the sweater, it was so even less people stared. Her pants, which were nearly satin, with how much money she had to pay for them, weren't very warm, but she didn't need it. She sat back down, sighing heavily, and thumping her head on the table. Then keeping it there.

She heard a voice, but she didn't look up. "Whatduwant?" she mumbled into her arm, wondering what random psycho would be stupid, or crazy, enough to approach her.

[Okay, I need the guy who just walked up to her. No one-liners. No mary-sues. No god-moding. you know the rules. at least a paragraph minimum, but at least three parapraphs for your first post. Please make it fit into my ending sentence.]