Josephine had the Sight. She had had it all her life. Her mother had had the Sight too, but she died when Josephine was four. All Jo really had was a few fragmented memories of a vague face, leaning over her, the warmth of gentle hands, memories of love and laughter. And the stories. Her father's stories.
Josephine's father had taken to drinking heavily after her mother's death, and though he sometimes beat her, and more often neglected her, the sight, her mother's gift, was one topic on which she considered him to be a reliable source. She had no other. As a child, she'd sit at her father's knee and he'd tell her stories. They were her mother's stories, retold in his own words, and perhaps embellished upon, told with a mixture of pragmatic disbelief, and a sort of awed acceptance granted by inebriation.
Sure lets you see some interesting shit. Josephine observed, dropping her cigarette to the wet pavement and grinding it out with the toe of her stilletto. Sometimes she wondered whether she was just insane. A cozy institution would sure as hell beat this scene.
Josephine smiled her best sultry smile as the two figures ambled closer, her Sight was giving off warning signals, jangling her nerves and sending a shiver of goosebumps down her spine. She had long ago come to dread these flashes, they were what made her different, freakish. She had found that the best way to deal with her visions was to ignore them completely. Best not to draw anyone's attention. Best to let them think you're normal.
"Hey, boys." She called invitingly, eyeing them in what she hoped they would read as a speculative glance.
The boy in the lead was shorter, with a mane of thick curly black hair almost wild from the evening's damp. She had seen his like before. People like him seemed to have another image almost overlaid atop their bodies, and she could never tell which one was real, the human face or the one that she tenatively identified as 'elven'. Like in Tolkien's books. His eyes were his most striking feature, blue-violet. He retured her glance with one of his own, both cool and amused. He was young, perhaps younger then she, but she knew enough of the Others to know that appearance could sometimes be decieving.
She hoped so anyways, as her eyes moved to the second boy.
