Violet and Deanna

Violet

Violet was pulling the phone from her ear, smiling, when she walked directly into someone. A big someone, in one of the cheapest materials she had ever felt. Violet bounced off him and onto the ground with a little squeak.

"I'm so sorry."

Violet knew that voice somehow. Deep and gravelly and with a special brand of sadness, like the person who owned it had seen the world collapse around them. Violet looked up slowly. A crew cut and a rigid suit met her eyes, confirming what she had figured out the moment that suit had scratched her cheek to death. A hunter. Deanna hated working with other Hunters.

" No problem. I should pay more attention," Violet said, standing up and picking up her pen and paper. Why did Violet feel like she knew this hunter? Suddenly it hit her. This guy seemed exactly like her twin. They both seemed like they could fight the world if given the opportunity and crack jokes the whole time their fists were swinging.

"Are you a journalist?" the hunter asked, his green eyes catching on the pad and pencil clasped loosely in Violet's hand. Hastily she angled the pad away from the Hunter's prying eyes, even though he would probably discover the same information in just a few moments time. His eyes narrowed slightly at her.

"Of a sort. Are you with the FBI?" she asked. Two could play at this game. His eyes darted to the Chief's office, the door she had just come from.

"Of a sort. Sorry again. Excuse me. I have an appointment with the Chief," the Hunter grumbled. This guy was lying through his teeth. Violet hid a smirk. He wasn't getting away that easy.

"I'm sure he won't expect you for a little while, when I interviewed him he told me he had to leave to go take care of something," Violet said. It was true; the interview had barely ended when the Chief had dashed out the door, white as a sheet. The Hunter stared at her with no emotion. Violet brought her pen to her mouth, twisting her face as if she had had a sudden stroke of genius.

"But while you're waiting... I could interview you," Violet said. She poised her pen over her paper expectantly and cocked her head at him.

"I-"

"I'm sure you're here about all these mysterious deaths. What does the... FBI have to say about all the murders," Violet asked, cutting him off smoothly.

"Animal attacks," he grunted, and Violet rolled her eyes.

"That's what the Chief said. But we both know the FBI wouldn't be here for a bunch of animal attacks," Violet said, pretending to write something o her pad. His familiar eyes followed the path of her pen across the paper.

"Look, kid, the FBI declines to make a statement to whatever newspaper you're from," the man growled, irritated now. Violet sighed.

"That's a shame, Mr...." Violet looked at him expectantly.

"Hetfield. Agent Hetfield," the Hunter said. Violet grinned.

"Oh, like James Hetfield? Lead singer of Metallica? I love Metallica," Violet said. The man was looking a little like he was about to wrap his hands around her annoying reporter throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw Connor pull up to the police station.

"That's my ride." Violet nodded towards Connor. The car was the final test to see if he was a hunter. Nearly all hunters seemed to be attracted to nice, fast cars. Just like her sister was. His face changed to admiration as his eyes fell on Connor.