the girl in red

i. america

Friday, December 5th, 1975

Lafayette, Indiana

Lafayette was covered in a thin white blanket of snow and water slowly dripped from dingy rooftops, clinking against drains in a soft, steady cadence.  Those that weren't sitting inside were bundled in thick fur coats and colorful scarves knitted by their grandmas and given to them for Christmas.  Heaters rumbled loudly inside houses, working overtime to keep the kids that ran around warm.  The snow was still gentle, though the morning was long gone, and the yellow glow it cast was heavenly, the same shade Dimitra thought the golden gates were.   The cold wasn't yet sharp, the ice yet to set in, and it was enjoyed before ice covered the roads and the snow turned to ugly, brown mush.

Dimitra reveled in the snow and the cold; it was a stark reminder of home.  The strongest reminder, perhaps.  Her long, steady breaths left her mouth in small clouds before they were whisked away by the wind that snaked through the shed.  The crappy hand-held heater by her knee rattled quietly as it kept her white skin from turning a brilliant purple.  It was failing already, but not much attention was paid to it.  There were other things more important than possible frostbite.

She looked down at the wood plank held up by her hand, the wood digging into her icy skin like a million newly-sharpened daggers.  The numbness creeping up her spine didn't help much.  She cast a glance down at her watch, icy blue eyes scanning the tiny digits printed under the glass.  It was only 3:30 p.m, yet there seemed to be barely any day left to enjoy.  Her sigh formed in front of her lips and she pushed it away with her breath, turning back to the task at hand.  Her hair hung loosely over her back, the ginger strands rubbing loudly against her old puffer jacket as she shifted from foot to foot.  Why she didn't sit on her knees, she didn't know.  She picked up the drill off the ground and checked the drill bit before slotting it into the screw of the wooden plank.  The drill shook in her hand as she bolted the plank to the wall, sealing the crack as best as she could.

She bolted the other planks to the wall, her ankles screaming in agony before she tossed the drill aside and sighed.  Her hands pushed against the ground and she stood, her knees nearly crumbling beneath her.  Pain pricked her muscles with every minuscule movement, slicing at her with the strength of a lion.  Her lips were tinged an ugly purple, overshadowing their natural bright pink with overwhelming strength.  Her hands reached far above her head, the muscles along her back rippling as she stretched.

Her head turned when a fist hit the door of the shed, followed soon after by a loud, agonizing creak.  She would need to fix that, too.  A boy no older than 16 stepped in, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and he grinned.  It was shining and toothy, tinged with strong charisma.  His hair was dusty brown, holding a ginger shine under the golden light that flickered from the ceiling.  His jaw was sharp and his nose long and pointed like a dagger.  The bridge was bumped in an identical fashion to Dimitra's, the only thing tying them together.

"Hey," Dimitra said, her voice scratchy and deep from over an hour of unuse.

"Hey," the boy returned.  His voice was thick with an accent - Russian - and deep, tinged with velvet much unlike anyone Dimitra had yet to meet.

"What do you need?" she asked as she knelt back down, a wince passing over her face at the pop of her knees.  She needed to work on that, too.

Maxim leaned against the shed and retracted a hand from his pocket, running it through his wavy hair.  "Judith wanted me to come and grab you."

Dimitra hummed and stood, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.  The tool bag was gripped in her hand, turning her paling knuckles pure white, and she shifted from foot to foot.  "Go tell her I'll be in soon."