74GOD WHY TF WERE MY AN SO CRINGY WHY WAS MY WRITING SO CRINGY HOW IS THIS MY MOST POP STORY?! Honestly you guys, rewriting these chapters makes me want to kms frrr
Disclaimer: you know the drill
EDITED 3.3.17
Going to try and get a bunch uploaded today/tonight since its finally Friday TGIFFFF
CHAPTER THREE
Jonathan
I fling out of the portal and land beside a reunion, the others already with their parents. My mother rushes up and hugs me before I even see her, but I know it's her. I squeeze her, closing my eyes as I hug her back. I didn't realized how much I missed her and especially Luke, my stepfather. I release my mother and give him a quick and tight hug. He's a werewolf but that didn't bother me any, he was a great man, way better than Valentine was ever to my mother and me.
"I'm glad you're home." My mom mumbles in my ear, hugging me again. She's protective, but I don't mind and I don't blame her for it at all. She definitely deserved to be.
" I am too." I reply, before pulling away. "I'm glad school's over." I sigh as Mom released me finally.
Jace nudges me and snorts, "That's an understatement, if I had to stay another day, I'd be showing Mr. Whitelaw a few of my favorite choice words."
"Sadly I don't doubt you would." Maryse said, sighing dramatically, but she still grinned at her adopted son. She was still standing with her daughter, playing with her hair absentmindedly.
I catch Alec's eye across from me and he nods his head at my mother. I suddenly feel reluctant, maybe we should wait until we settle in before we drop something like this on them. Jace and I share a look and he prods me with his eyes. Maryse narrows her eyes at us, ever the observant one, sees the exchange, "What aren't you telling us?" She asks suspiciously.
My mother looks at me with an eyebrow raised. I open my mouth, before closing it then opening it again, "Oh it's nothing real-Oof." I glare at Jace, the owner of the elbow that just jabbed into my ribs. I hit him back just as hard and he glares at me, "This is not my job. Do it."
I run a nervous hand through my hair and sigh, "We-I," I sigh raggedly before finally blurting it out. "We saw Clary. She's alive."
Clarissa.
Clarissa wakes up at her usual time to begin her morning workout. She glides downstairs, her mind and body fully awake. She's never drowsy, it's just not something that happens to her. When she wakes up, she's fully conscious and alert. Even when she's just opening her eyes, she's not disoriented either.
She trudges to the training room, she doesn't feel like training today, which is odd for her but she's curious still about the boy. Her nightmares crawled with the green eyes of the boy, his face on Valentine's body instead of his face.
Her nightmares usually are disappointing her father, him dying, and the demon that teared her body apart, the one that her father always casually mentions to her.
As she thinks the demon under her skin, her scars ache. She bites her lip, touching the one on her cheek as it trembles.
What makes her even more ashamed of the marks, she knows her father hates them, he tried everything to get them to go away. Atleast the one marring her face but they were there, stuck for good. Nothing neither they nor the warlock could do was removing them. She'd have to live with them for the rest of her life.
Clarissa walks into the training room and quickly begins her workout, stretching before getting to her weapons. It gets boring, the same schedule over and over, practicing the same thing. But she had no choice, her father had a certain workout and regiment for her and if he wanted her to train, that she shall do.
All the daggers land at the center until there are too many and the rest clatter to the floor upon hitting the other knives, she was bored of this before she even started. If someone hadn't walked in, she would've continued throwing them halfheartedly. "Clarissa." Someone calls, she knows it's her father before she even looks. She turns to see the large man standing at the top of the stairs inside the oak doors.
"Yes father?" She answers, walking to the target and picking up a few daggers in her hands.
"I don't remember telling you to train in the morning. You have a mission." He says gruffly, his tone was overly annoyed. She sighed inside her head with irritation.
She picks up a few more daggers before replying, "You never told me of a change in schedule."
She glances up at him just in time to see him working is jaw with slight anger, his temper was already wore down this early in the morning. "I won't have you speaking to me like that Clarissa." He snaps, "Now come." Clarissa obeys, sighing quiestly and putting the remaining daggers on the table, following her father out of the training room. She kept two daggers, putting one in her waistband and fiddling around with the other one in her tiny hands.
They walk in silence toward his office, her slightly more behind him just like he liked it. He opened the door to his office, walking in without a glance behind him at her. She shut the door behind him and her eyes caught on her gear. She raises an eyebrow, "My gear?" She asks.
"Yes, this one...You'll be going to New York." He forced out between his teeth, his hands picking at each other nervously, habit she obviously got from her father when they got nervous or agitated about something.
"But why? Why do I have to go there?"
"You'll be delivering a message to the Institute." He answers darkly, his hands clenching on top of the table.
"But why, Father?" She asks again, this didn't make sense to her. Valentine had men who delivered messages to others, she didn't understand why he needed her to take this to someone so badly. "I didn't know I was your messenger." She adds bitterly, mostly mumbling to herself but he caught everything.
He bangs his fist on his desk. "Clarissa, you will not speak to me like that, you will listen to me and obey." He shouts, she doesn't even flinch at his outburst. It was a usual thing and she'd schooled herself to remain stoic. It's the best solution when he's angry. "Now get changed." He commands.
She obeys, grabbing her custom gear and leaving to change in a small bathroom a few doors down from his study. She pulls the gear on hastily, bending around in it to try and get it to sit comfortably on her small frame. When she was done, she brushed her hair and pulled them into her regular two French braids. After long enough stalling, she reluctantly walked back to his study to get detailed and sent out for her mission.
"This is what you'll be giving." He explained, handing her an envelope with his signature seal on the outside. It didn't have any other writing on the outside. "Give it to a red headed woman, no one else." She tucks it into her gear pocket, careful for it to not get crushed. She could tell this was important, which was confusing on why she had to do it. Especially not with someone who was familiar with the streets of New York City.
"I still don't get why I have to do this." She mumbles, pouting slightly like a child.
Valentine lashes out, grabbing her face harshly. "Because I told you to do so!" He snarls, his breathe gliding across her face, it smelt of wine and mint. So that was why his temper was already slashed this early in the morning. He'd obviously either been drinking into the early hours of the morning or that's what was in his dark colored glass he'd spilt on his desk.
She yanks her face away, scowling and stalks out of the room. Her face was burning with his handprint, it would no doubt be red for a while, hopefully it wouldn't bruise. He didn't touch her that hard. She grabbed a stele out of her weapons belt and drew a portal rune easily on the wall. She was annoyed but that didn't mean she was going to disobey Valentine. That would not be a smart idea at all. At least she was leaving the manor and doing something exciting for once, especially if it got her away from that man.
"IF get to see New York," She mumbles to herself, smirking. "I may as well enjoy myself."
The portal glows blue finally and she hops through, bracing herself for landing. She's blinded as she lands stumbling, her knees skidding on the ground. She frowns, rubbing her eyes and jumping up, what the heck is this?
Light glow all around her, cars, something she'd only seem in movies that she watched when she was little, zooms around.
"Wow." She breaths, turning a bit and feel a hand latch onto her arm. She cocks her arm back, about to punch the shit out of the person holding her but she realizes it's just a mundane. Damn, why the hell was the mundane world so weird with people touching other people? Didn't they get anything about personal space?
A drunk mundane at that, with some friends. From what she's seen in the few, awful mundane movies, alcohol and friends were a certain way to bad news. She probably shouldn't interact with a bunch of stupid mundies though. The drunk man chuckles darkly, "What are you doing out so late, sweetheart." He stutters, his terrible alcohol breathe caressing her face.
She gags and rips her arm away, scowling. "I don't have a curfew, fuck off." She snaps, she didn't have time for this. She grabbed a small blade out of her weapons belt and began to twirl it in her petite hands.
The man's eyes widen and he backs away, even in his drunken state he felt the danger. The group of men stumble away, glancing back in fear and return inside the rundown bar. She rolls her eyes, "Idiots." Clarissa looked around again, this time she actually needed to get somewhere. To not get into anything else with any mundanes, she took her stele and burned a glamour rune onto her lower arm. She relished the ache and began her trek to wherever this place was.
She sighs harshly, having walked opposite to the mundanes for around twenty minutes now and not finding where she was supposed to be going. Until she hears the pulse of loud, obnoxious dance music. She rounds the corner and sees a building with bright lights, a large sign that had an angelic rune in the middle of it, declared the club as Pandemonium. She walks closer, then sees a boy who particularly catches her eye.
She stares as the glamour flakes away, she smirks slightly. This must be where all the demons come and play in New York to find a new toy. She walks past the sluttily dressed people standing in line and walk toward the back entrance, no way she's standing in line for some mundane dance club.
She slips in before anyone can see her, not even the lowly hobo sitting in his own filfth pays her any mind and is immediately rocked by the pounding of the music. She'd never been a fan of loud music like this, her father usually made her listen to classical music of some type, her father made her play the piano so that's another reason, but even then, it was nice for a change. She'd never heard such music like this before.
She surveys the scene, people grinding against each other, drunk or almost, their drinks spilling over their glasses and spilling on other people or on the floor. She curls her nose disgusted, how do mundanes and even shadowhunters and downworlds cray this sort of thing?
She looks around until a particular person catches her eye, this time it isn't a demon. A vampire, he looks at her though she doesn't break eye contact.
The vamp's eyes widen noticeably for some reason, he starts to walk briskly to the door.
She lets him.
Though she's curious, she doesn't want to get some nasty drink spilled on her gear, she had priorties and there wasn't any in her mind that had the importance of interigating a vampire. Besides, she didn't even want to touch it. She didn't blame the vampire for running though, she's aught to look pretty peculiar, most of her skin covered while all of the girls here have tiny slips of fabric covering their most important areas, plus I've heard that relations of Shadowhunters and Vampires, even all downworlders were iffy at best.
She senses someone behind her too late. The person hits her in the back of the head and she hits the ground with her knees. She growls, not missing a beat as she pulls out a knife and jumps up to face the person. How the hell did he sneak up on me of all people?
It's a man, dark hair and unique colored yellow eyes. Like a cat, she thinks. The man wears glitter and a full face of makeup, a complete turn off knowing he's as straight as a 'S'.
"A circle member? In New York?" He says, all but growls mostly. He looks like he's trying to keep his cool but he sort of looks panicked and angry at the same time. "I thought your kind were extinct."
She rolls her eyes dramatically, waving her hand around just as much. "Not a Circle Member, thank you though." She dips her head with a mock blush, she still had the knife locked in her hand.
He clenches his jaw, his fingers twitching. "I suggest you leave." He snarls, blue lights dancing over his knuckles.
It finally occurs to her that this man is a warlock. Of course that'd be the only way he was about to get past her defenses.
She sighs, getting more and more aggravated by the second. "Wonderful, an over dramatic warlock." She rolls her eyes, catching an angry look thrown her way by said warlock. "I'm not doing any harm, simply people watching."
"I. Suggest. You. Leave." He repeats, pronouncing each word on it's own and more harsh than before. Even she wasn't sure that was possible.
She purses her lips, she should get back to her mission. Clarissa finally shrugs, "This place is getting boring anyway. And loud." She turns away, not letting her guard down at all and looks over her shoulder. "Any idea where the closest Institute is?" She asks sweetly.
He bristles, she can practically feel the tension rolling off his shoulders. "If you aren't a Circle member, who are you? That isn't traditional shadowhunting gear." The warlock asks, ignoring her question and asking his own.
Clarissa rolls her shoulders out, "Clarissa Adele, at your service." She mock bows and before she knows it, suddenly strung up to the wall by her throat.
She claws at invisible hands, she silently curses herself, why'd she provoke him? Good job, Clarissa, you're going to die now. Her throat was closing and there was nothing she could do about it, she couldn't fight off the invisible fingers pushing on her throat.
The warlock looks shocked, not angry as she thought, her fingers twitch away from her neck and grapples toward her belt clumsily. She didn't know where the dagger she had in her hand before had went, but it wasn't there now. Her eyes start to water and black dots glided across her usually great vision.
The hands drop her to the ground finally and she fell like a sac of potatoes. She gasps and coughs not usually showing weakness but she had no choice, she stood up on her hands and knees, still trying to catch her breathe and ease the sharp pain in her chest.
She looks up to the glittery man, eyes watering and liquid sliding down her cheeks. "That...was a...bitch move." She growls out, continuing to cough even more.
He rolls his cat eyes, but his features are softer. "Oh little Clary. What happened to you?" He murmurs, kneeling so he could see her better.
She goes rigid, her dry throat forgotten. She flinches as he tries to touch her. "What do you mean?" She finally says, snapping at the man. How does he know her? No one has ever called her her nickname, only her mother and brother had before her father left with her. "You just strangled me." She cries out indigently.
"I'm so sorry, Biscuit." He says, ignoring everything she said, she notices it's a thing he does a lot.
She feels the seeping feeling in her muscles and bones, happening too quickly for her to do anything. "What the hell? Stop!" She croaked, but he didn't stop and before she knew it, she was paralyzed, falling into a colorless void.
SO here this is.
WORD COUNT BEFORE EDIT: 1,928
WORD COUNT AFTER EDIT: 3,004
LYSM
MIA 3