My Prey - Hawks x OC

Pilot [1]

The lights flickered and buzzed, slowly bringing in to focus an empty room. A spotlight flashed, and a boy with panicked jade eyes and curled green locks jumped up, looking around.

"H-Hello? Is anyone there? Why am I here, what is this place, how did I get there, is that a camera..." The fidgeting boy went off on a long-winded ramble. Off the screen, you could hear a shriek of a girl, and the raging stomps of her fury as she neared the stage.

"Excuse ME?" She yells, and the boy scrambled back, his wide eyes lined with vivid terror. "You are NOT the main character of this story, beat it, chump!", she barked, and kicked him out of the scene. She sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. She opened her eyes and glanced upwards, and her emerald eyes widened in shock when she saw a small red-light leering at her. "Wait- you already started rolling?" She stammers before clearing her throat and puffs out her well-endowed chest. She takes her hand and flips her curled ponytail, which was the hue of sunshine blonde fading half-way into a cherry-blossom pink. Freckles in the shapes of bubbles on her cheeks crinkled as she beamed.

The young woman slowly strides towards the camera in long steps, stopping just before the yellow line on the ground. She raises her hand to the air and smiles. "Allow me to introduce myself, lovelies; Bubbles Mesta, and no, that's not a nickname," she corrected, wiggling a tiny finger in admonishment. With a hefty huff Bubbles pulls out a meter-long stick, and strains as she reaches up on her tippy-toes to reach an off-screen projector and pulls down a grey sheet. She taps the screen and a picture shows up on screen. She grins.

"This is my workplace. It's a two-in-one, cute-patootie, double-stacked little shack that's managed to not only house a family of four but manage a cafe bakery as well," she explains with pride. "I work full-time there as a baker, and I literally could not imagine any other life for myself. At all. Nothing comes to mind," she laughs, However her expression darkens after the laughter fades. She shakes her head and her spirits rise again.

The screen flips over to a picture of two woman with cherry pink hair, one with short, spiked hair, the other with long braids. She points to the braided one with golden eyes, smiling softly. "That's my mother, Sakura Mesta. She has the Quirk Misfortune. She was never taught how to use it, so she can never turn it off. Let's just say it makes life... Interesting," Bubbles admits rather sheepishly, before tapping the screen on the one with short hair. "That's my sister, Aislinn Mesta, who inherited the less negative effects of my mom's Quirk. She's a hero, and of course, of fucking course she named herself Miss Fortune. Nobody would pass up that opportunity." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

The next slide shows a very 'Norman' looking man, with straight, dull, slicked back blonde hair and a thinning mustache. His green eyes were hidden by the perpetual flash of his round glasses, which were always staring deeply into a newspaper. "You thought his name must be Norman, right? Well, yeah, ding ding ding, you're fucking right. Norman Harold Mesta is his full given name, and he's as boring as one gets. Especially with a Quirk like his. You'd think having bubbles as a power couldn't possibly be boring, but it's my dad; he made it possible." She sighs, her green eyes downcast. "He literally just uses it to fetch his coffee. That's it. I could not tell you what else he uses it for- oh my god, to grab the newspaper, duh." She smacks her head and smiles dumbly, before shaking her head, heavy with disappointment.

"And then you've got me!" She exclaims, and tugs at her ponytail which bounces straight back up. "The 'misfit' of the family. My crime? Being born with bubble freckles. That's right. That's why my name is Bubbles, not just to torment me," she concedes. "But, that doesn't stop me from pursuing being absolutely badass! You know not to fuck with a girl names Bubbles, cause that chick definitely knows some kickass MMA," she boasts, the idea of being humble thrown out the window into a ferocious pack of dogs. "There is only one thing that is stopping me from being a hero, my Quirk! Well, that's to say, I have no Quirk. None, zip zap zatta. I ain't got a single lick of mutated genes in my teeny tiny ultra-minuscule body," she explains. "Not that that's a bad thing, per se, but... I have to work soooo much harder to even have an iota of interest. It's tiring, being me," she sighs wistfully, placing her hand on her chest daintily.