OVERKILL.

Nova Commits Arson (Accidentally)

Nova, for all her vast intelligence, is one of the most accident prone shitheads one could have the honor of knowing. Aside from being morally gray and experiencing the innate desire to commit crimes, Nova attracts plenty of unwanted attention, and has for a very long time.

Starting when she was six, odd things started to happen around her. The first was the drachma. Drachma sold for quite a bit to the right collectors, and costed even more; she was extremely confused when they started following her. On the first day of each month, every container she opened held one golden drachma. It took time, but she amassed quite the large collection by the time she was thirteen.

The second was the darkness. At random times, she'd lose parts of her vision, seeing only in chthonic purples, reds, and grays. Eventually she realized she could control it, but it took too long. Her mother had spent a fortune on her medical bills and on surgeries that had done more harm than good. Said mother had, somewhere along the line, decided the child wasn't worth it and become distant, carefree.

Nova was sure there were more incidents; odd creatures following her, strange people, those around her seeing things differently; but she summed them up as large portions of the secrets her mother was keeping from her. The secret she was most interested in was her "father," whom seemed to be more of a sperm donor by that point. It was a rare night where her mother cooked dinner that she found her first clue.

"He smelled like danger," she reminisced. "Like alcohol and blood. We were both uninterested," she managed a smile, "only using each other as replacements for those we'd loved." Sometimes, she'd wonder how he was doing. On her twelfth birthday, Nova left home with her mother's wallet and got her hair all chopped off. It looked good, surprisingly. When she went home, her mother wasn't angry, but her face twisted as though she were. "You look a lot more like him, now," she'd commented absently. All she knew about him for the majority of the year were those facts; he was drunk, he was dangerous, and he had short hair.

It was already October by the time she'd learned anything else; her thirteenth was in another month and the odd occurrences were picking up. Her face had matured and she'd learned that the colors that grew in the darkness that rose within her allowed her a glimpse into the emotions of others. The purples were peaceful, like acceptance or comfort. The reds were angers, frustrations, denial. The grays were solemn, sadnesses and grief.

She was in the science room after school when it happened. In her hand was a cotton swab soaked in chemicals and lit on fire. She watched as the flames licked at the chemicals, flashing in coppers, reds, and blues. Her intent focus was disrupted by the sound of absent bleating and she jumped, the swab falling to the floor. In her haste to find the source of the noise, she abandoned the lit chemicals, allowing the long-burning flame to singe and travel up the table's wooden frame.

"Who the hell-?" Nova started, coughing when chemical smoke entered her lungs. She scrunched up her nose but had no time to act in getting help. A hand had grabbed her wrist and begun to sprint, dragging her along. The pace at which they ran was uncomfortably fast, but she quickly realized that not only was the school slowly catching on fire, but the person in front of her had the legs of a goat. Her lips spread into a smile. "Wicked."

A bleat escaped the goat-boy's mouth. "Wicked?! Yes, that sums this up pe-er-fectly!!" He stuttered. "You just set a school on fire!" Nova's grin only widened.

"Aw, yeah, baby! I've always wanted to do that!" He gave her a look as they slowed down.

"It's a crime."

"Yep."

"You could be punished."

"Only if they catch me." The goat looked extremely exasperated.

"Anyway, the commotion helped me find you - I'm a Satyr, by the way. My name's Aluminum, but call me as you will." Nova repressed a cackle. "I-...How much do you know about your father?"

Nova had seen enough movies to know where this was going. The energy she felt during her episodes of vision loss had begun to well up in her chest as if sensing the presence of a kindred spirit, another mythical being. It made her uneasy, but at the same time, focusing on the cool feeling calmed her. She let out a low groan and fell backward.

"That he's probably the reason creatures from the depths of hell chase me around in their free time and that he's also probably the reason I go blind occasionally." She paused for a moment. "Oh, and he's the reason I've got an absurd drachma collection." The goat - Ally, she decided she'd call him - gave her a look of awe.

"Yeah, probably. I don't know who he is, but for now, I'm gonna tell you this much because you seem like you can handle it." His brow furrowed and Nova focused on what he was going to say, listening intently. "Your father is a Greek God, and there are creatures out to get you. I don't know how you figured out what you did with the mist in place, but it's only a matter of time before they find you. It's my job to get you somewhere safe."

It didn't take long for Nova to register everything that was said and begin sprinting home.

In spite of what one may think, Nova did not in fact run away. On the contrary, she was simply gathering what she thought she'd need. Years worth of drachma were pooled together in her bag, topped off with some clothing, food and water. She packed six boxes of pop tarts just-in-case - a collection she'd amassed after the last sale. A brief thought of Ally flashed through her mind, followed by an extremely inconvenient bout of blindness. 

"Screw you, Dad," she muttered under her breath. She could sense life now, sure, as well as feeling, but that wasn't helpful in trying to find aluminum cans for her good Satyr friend. She wound up making her way into the kitchen and shuffling through every container her fingers stumbled across until she discovered the recycling bin. She gave up on sorting through it, deciding instead to just grab the bin and go. Thus, carpet bag slung over her shoulder and recycling bin in hand, she returned to where Ally waited.