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Brandishing the Banshee

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Lydia loves Jackson if her infatuation with how good he is for certain things and particular occasions any indication. His presence makes sure that she gets the desired attention, dressed as both envy and lust, the eyes pressing into her skin in jealousy and want and it makes Lydia heady. For her, it is her due. She worked very, very, hard after all to make sure that people only saw what she wanted them to see and to create the illusion of the Lydia stand true, she was more in need of the people who looked at her rather than the people she was with.

Jackson was an ass, Lydia knew that, but since he directed most of his sneering countenance to others, she was not that concerned – it would have not bode well for her to show interest in the people she supposedly had no interest in. And when Jackson sometimes forgot his, station shall we say, she knew precisely what to do, and this knowledge had been gained via a dubious amount of trial and error on her part. So, she now had someone to hold up her honour in the metaphorically important world of such things and this was the better for her cover.

Lydia also loved shopping, to lose herself in the gaily perched creations for which she doled out lots of money. She was always the best dressed girl in the school and rarely did she made the mistake of repeating her clothes without a cause (she once went to a girl’s house in the same dress for three times, and when the girl insisted so to others and showed her picture, they just assumed the girl was lying. Lydia never cleared that). Lydia was also at the top of her class without seeming to give any effort or even the show of contempt – everything was always easy for Lydia Martin.

Lydia fought hard for that picture, she fought really hard, dimming her instinctive reactions so that she could fit into the mould that everyone expected her to inhabit all the time. And she thanked the moon and stars that the other people in her school were so obsessed with her image that she found the freedom in their blindness to do things that would have been impossible otherwise. I mean, playing the damsel in distress during heavy traffic was one thing, playing host to incorporeal entities so that they can cross over demanded an entirely different set of abilities.

See, Lydia was a banshee. A full blue blooded one with tilted eyes that saw every step that a reaper had ever taken and the skidmarks of souls leaving against their wish. Her voice was shrill and loud and blazing and people rarely got to hear it, she was so good. Her lineage was passed onto her by her father and his mother before. They had always been banshees, drawn to death more than life, screeching their wails and warnings to the four corners of the earth, and requiring on the side to have an unassuming life as well.

The knowledge Lydia gained thus, that the books her father coveted and mother looked on with distaste did not give, all helped in stabilizing her as one of the many, common in her wishes and terms, like how most people actually are. She would have gone on leading her twin life right into adulthood if not for one hyperactive classmate who found out about her because he was dating another supernatural being. Stiles Stilinksi was the sheriff’s son, and was usually found with his tongue down, much older to him and psychotic looking, Derek Hale’s throat, who by the way was no longer in school.

When you can see death and you get used to ferrying news of demise to all of creation, sometimes even giving a lift to certain beings who find it difficult to maintain their reality in the afterworld, you usually get to know all the secrets. Lydia knew that Derek Hale was a werewolf as was his whole family, who had been in the news years prior due to a near fire that would have wiped out his whole family. Lydia also knew that Stiles was Derek’s mate and thus the reason that the sheriff hadn’t hauled him off to the station after that disastrous experiment where Derek nearly went feral and Stiles ended up in the hospital.

Lydia is privy to more secrets, human and others alike, and she plans on using each only in a matter of need. Of course her needs don’t align much with rigidly held morals, but so long as no one ends up dead, she can deal quite well. Sometimes she will look at Jackson, his arms rising up and down as he pats his guys and talks stuff with them and then he would send her this look, that tells of his so called right on her and Lydia has to stop herself from laughing out aloud right then and there. Own her indeed. Death cannot be mastered, and she is but death’s distant cousin.

So Stiles found about Lydia because Derek was not as big a fool as he looked and knew how to read the stuff he had at his house as well as to ask elders when he got stuck and Lydia found that being found out by such an weird character was not bad. Her other lives did not overlap by talking with Stiles so long as she didn’t do it publicly. In fact, once she realized just how devious Stiles was sometimes, her respect for the human just went higher and she even began to regard Derek as someone who could be trusted in a pinch.

It certainly was fun, seeing Stiles and his friend grumble at Jackson while he put on airs and do maintain every clique stereotype ever and then to go out with Stiles and Derek in the dead of the night to look for monsters and scream them into submission. She would open her mouth wide and let out a slew of hypersonic sounds that would incapacitate anyone. It felt powerful, it made the silence that greeted her screeches more resounding and she could not help preening. So when one week a new girl stepped into their school, who Derek had identified as a hunter, Lydia had smiled at her with her pretty red lined lips and promise to herself to devour her whole.