Pixie, First Daughter of Anarchy

Pilot Episode: Chapter 2

Warning: Mention of Death.

Meggie had been watching the three pairs of eyes peering at her through the white metal blinds for about a minute before they disappeared, and movement could be seen. She could see the aftermath of a party from where she sat, empty beer cans and glass bottles littering the yard as well as discarded pieces of clothing and the odd shoe. Meggie ignored the pang of longing in her belly. It reminded her of home, of the parties she grew up with and eventually partook in, of the faces of fallen friends and family and the bloodshed that drove her away. She clenched her knuckles and felt her fingernails bite into her palms. Breathe. Lock the door. Walk away from the feelings.

The club door abruptly flew back on its hinges, blinds slapping violently against it and a posse of angry looking, sleep-deprived men spilt out of the door and towards her, black kuttes shining in the morning sun as they grouped themselves into a loose formation. The president appeared to be a burly looking man built like a brick house with short curly grey hair and a scowl, he had blue eyes, a rectangular head shape, and was around six feet tall. Meggie realised that this must be the famous Clay Morrow. Big hands decorated in thick gold biker rings opened and closed at his sides in a well-masked sign of aggression, but Meggie had seen that movement before in her own father and knew it to be a way of shaking off the morning stiffness and pain. The early signs of arthritis without raising the suspicions of his brothers. The pres' days were numbered.

"Can we help you, miss?" He growled as soon as he was in earshot of Meggie, his tone harsh like the bark of a guard dog.

"Needed to talk to you guys. First nine, right?" Meg said impressed, gesturing to the man's kutte.

"What's it to ya?" The president snapped, cold blue eyes scanning her up and down, Meggie could feel the judgement radiating from him.

She took a breath and pointed to the charter patches on the left side of her chest which read "Highton" and "W. LNH" for West Lancashire. And then to the right side with her "Vice President" patch and the "First Daughter" patch under it.

"I'm Meggie Barcroft, VP, from Highton, it's a small charter in the North West coast of England, near the Manchester charter." Meggie introduced, keeping her tone authoritative and calm, refusing to be intimidated.

"Whoop-de-do, get to the fucking point." The president growled, folding his arms over his chest. This fellow definitely had a hangover and some pent-up aggression obviously.

"My charter's dead, taken out by the IRA. I'm the only one to survive." Meggie ground out, trying to stay as neutral as she possibly could. Towards the back of the group, a man with shaggy grey hair and scars on his face looked up immediately at the mention of the IRA, his brown eyes boring into hers, searching for something.

"Why'd they take down yer charter, lass?" The man asked pushing past two men to get closer to her. She was surprised to hear a thick Scottish accent coming from him, she hadn't expected to hear that in California.

Meggie ignored the gut-wrenching grief in her stomach and told the story as flatly as possible. "My dad, Bruce Barcroft, was the president. The IRA blackmailed him into supplying them with weapons using the vantage that Highton is a tiny town on the West Lancashire coast with no police station for miles around, so the only law around there is...was the Sons. When we cut off our supply, they ended us. Stormed in during a birthday party for a member, killed everyone except me and two others. They took out the two Sons after hunting them down the next day. I couldn't get to them in time, so I left the country, came here." Meggie described, feeling the sting of emotions in her eyes.

"We're sorry about that, when did this happen?" A shaggy blonde-haired man barked, ton serious and compassionate. Meggie noted the VP patch on his chest. He must be Jax Teller, Pixie mused, slightly impressed.