#bhsa starter

[agentderekhale]

Routines.

Good to be getting back to one.

Whatever that means around here.

[anastasiakrushevrp]

Pillow [Open]

Ana walked into her room, immediately unamused when she saw the new pillow on her bed.

"Really, guys?"

[anastasiakrushevrp]

Venturing Out [OPEN]

Ana hadn't paid much attention to what was going on with the other agents since leaving the infirmary.  She had heard the experimental cure given to the control group of volunteers had caused issues in all of them, but didn't bother to check on any of them.

She told herself it had nothing to do with still being bitter about her own team forcing her into the infirmary.

Since then, the fragmented memories of her family had haunted her ceaselessly, plaguing her with bouts of sorrow and anger.  One moment she was clutching something to her chest, seeking comfort in anything, the next she was throwing it across the room.

But she had seen enough of the four walls of her room.  She had had enough of being upset about something she couldn't change.

And so, sighing, she made her way from her room, her necklace hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt.

She was part way down the hall when she turned at the sound of her name.

[anastasiakrushevrp]

An Unwelcome Guest at the Library [OPEN]

Anastasia had never been very good at making friends. Maybe it had something to do with not receiving a traditional education at a normal school where she could interact with children her age. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was one of the few young spies in training that was strictly a tool.

The other spies had powers for the offensive side of things. They could attack, be used to gain tangible advantages over enemies.

She wasn’t able to attack, not really. She could push someone to do something to themself or someone else, but that wasn’t an effective method when others could take out an army—she was mainly a tool.

She was always the questioner, the information gatherer. And she hadn’t minded being that person until stepping into the Beacon Hills bureau.

Now, sitting in the library, gathering information, it just… She clenched her fists and exhaled, pushing her chair out from under the desk and standing.

She walked to an adjacent bookshelf and replaced the book she had removed, then climbed the stairs to the second level.

Her finger danced along the spines of the books—some old, some new—and her finger stopped when she came to a volume entitled “International Catalog of Supernatural Bureaus and Affiliated Members". The book was modern.

‘Говно, Говно, Говно!’ She mentally curses and quickly finds the page of the Russian bureau.

An introduction on the history of the bureau is typed in neat letters that her eyes barely catch as she flicks the pages to the list of agents. On page 487, she finds her own eyes—Anastasia Krushev’s—staring back at her. Her heart almost stops as she reads down the page. They know everything. EVERYTHING.

‘Should I tear the page out? Then burn it?’ She thinks in a panic. ‘No, not unless I can rid the book of my name in the index and anywhere else it might be written.’

She starts at the sound of someone behind her, frantically closing the book and setting it on the notebooks she was carrying.