Artemisia

chapter 1

"Artemis is a born runner."

They're the first words she can remember her father saying. She can't be older than three, maybe four, pretending to be asleep on the couch with the hope that he'll have one of his unexpected bouts of affection and carry her off to bed; so far she's been disappointed. She can hear the rare note of pride in his voice echoing off the cabinets in the kitchen, the first time in weeks her parents haven't been arguing.

"You say that like it's a good thing." Her mother replies, snorting slightly. There's a familiar bite to her voice, and unbeknownst to her now it is the same sharp tone that Jade will adopt in the years to come.

There's a clink of glass against the counter and the smell of cheap wine fills the room. "Of course it's a good thing. If she can run she'll never be caught."

"Wouldn't you rather have a daughter who can face her problems?"

"I already have one of those."

Artemis feigns a snore and for a moment the kitchen is quiet. Then Lawrence speaks. "Let's not kid around here Paula. She's not like Jade. She isn't going to be able to cope with the kind of life we live."
"So what? You're just going to let her keep running away the second someone whips out a gun? You won't be doing her any favors."

"... I'm just trying to keep the brat alive."
there's more silence in the kitchen
________________________________
She can't place it on a timeline, she just remembers laughing.

The three of them are all piled on their uncomfortable couch, a mess of limbs and hair and the same steely grey eyes, all laughing at something they've seen on television. A mother and her daughters.

Her mother pulls back and strokes her bangs off her forehead, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
"Beautiful Artemis" She coos. Jade leans in, pushing herself on her mother until the older woman is pressing her lips against her skin too.

The door bangs open and the smell of stale cigarettes floats through the apartment. For a moment Lawrence simply looks at the three of them, exhausted from the evening's work and the blood caked under his finger nails. His face cracks into a rare smile.

"There's my girls." He grins, stumbling towards the couch to fall a little roughly on the three of them.

There's some squealing and they're all laughing and she wishes she could freeze time and live on the lumpy couch forever.

As time goes on she can't quite tell if it's a real memory or something she made up. Sometimes she'll recall it at odd moments and still wonder if that kind of happiness ever reached the four story Gotham walkup.
________________________________

Her knees are beginning to ache from sitting cross-legged for so long, but she knows she can't move now
—the string is nearly in place on her bow and the slightest movement could completely undo any progress she's made. Her father gave her the bow a few weeks ago, a finicky instrument that requires too much pruning to ever give her a hope of using it properly.
But he gave it to her and not to Jade, and she's decided that it's a sign that he has faith in her.

She's determined to master it.

"Brat." Is Jade's greeting as she enters their bedroom, flopping down beside her. The jostling movement combined with her halt-glance at her sister torces her to accidentally increase the tension, the string crackling as it snaps apart.

She swears under her breath, words too foul for a seven year old. "Jade!" She huffs, a few stray pieces of hair escaping her pigtails. "You made me do that!"

Her sister merely shrugs. At 13, Jade is already more beautiful than she ever will be; her ebony hair is beginning to wave with puberty, the first traces of make-up enhancing her olive skin and making her eyes-so much darker and prettier than Artemis' -look both entrancing and terrifying at the same time. "Not my fault you don't know how to use that thing."