Naked Girl Beginnings 3

Daria walked into the house, holding her bottle of Bacardi like a shield. There was a distinct feel of energy that was barely contained in the house, a time bomb just waiting to explode. She followed that energy hum into her living room, where sitting calmly on the sofa was a girl who looked barely sixteen, though she was nearly 25.
Savannah was a blonde blue-eyed heartbreaker. She was always getting into trouble, and more often than not used her looks to get herself out of it. She was chaos personified. For about 3 months Savannah had to share Daria’s room as hers was remodeled. In that time Daria stepped on and got a Barbie doll hand stuck in her foot, sprained her ankle on a tennis racquet, and was always walking out of her room as if it were an active war zone. Savannah did not understand the meaning of order. She was the type of person that used cluttered mess to organize her things. Where Daria was always the one that had the clean room, with everything in its place. Needless to say, the months that Savannah shared Daria’s room were fraught with fights, irritation, and parent intervention.
Not to say that Daria didn’t like her sister. She would do anything for that little blonde. They just were not compatible living partners.
Savannah looked at Daria wrapped up in a trench coat, and holding a bottle of rum like it was her lifeline. And in her eyes Daria could see intense happiness, grief, and anger. Anger was the one that won out in the end.
“Where the fuck have you been Dare? We thought you were fucking dead. But here you are, in the same house, same locks, same fucking phone number, alive. ALIVE, Dare. They had a funeral for you. I cried. Why the fuck haven’t you called? Are you in witness protection? Is that why you couldn’t tell your mother, sister, or your girlfriend that you weren’t dead?”
“Shavannah, I’m not the shame as I was. I did die, at least for a little while. I’m pr- pretty meshed up.” Daria slurred.
“God, Dare, you always were a lightweight. Gimme the bottle now,” Savannah got up from the couch and grabbed the bottom of the bottle. Daria lost her grip on it, but as she tried to grab it she made a fist with her left hand.
Out slid Daria’s claws. Three long metal blades slowly crept out of her knuckles. She gasped and tried to hide her hand behind her back. Savannah squealed, and dropped the bottle of rum, letting it shatter over the tile floor.
“Dare, your hand… give it to me.”
“No”
“Daria, give me your hand, I’m a doctor remember?”
“You treat fish, in an aquarium. You don’t have a clue when it comes to people,” Daria stated, losing the slur almost as quickly as she had gained it.
“Damnit Daria, give me your fucking hand,” Savannah punctuated holding out her hand and tapped her foot.
“Fine,” Daria said as she unclenched her fist and the claws slid back in. She then placed her palm on Savannah’s.
Savannah rolled her eyes. “Always have to be difficult don’t you?” She then proceeded to manipulate Daria’s hand, moving the fingers around and ultimately making a fist. When the claws slid out she made no sound, even her face remained perfectly objective.
“Does this happen with both fists?” She asked, with her inner science nerd coming to the forefront.
“No, the other one’s different.”
“Show me.”
So Daria lifted up her right hand and made a fist with her palm facing Savannah. The metal slid from the center of her palm up and around her fist, forming spikes at the knuckles and down about three inches from her wrist.
“Shit.”
Daria smiled. She should have known that Savannah wouldn’t be freaked out about her new parts. Really, she was the girl who swam with sharks on a daily basis.
“Wait till you see my foot,” Daria said with a smirk.
Savannah’s eyes got big and speculative. “Your foot does something similar?”
“No.” And with that Daria parted her trench coat at the knee, and there in all of its inhuman glory was her talon-like foot.