Thia Fall's Questionnaire

Whenever I'm asked about where I live, I feel tempted to answer with one of the following: my apartment, my mind, my always-on computer screen. They would, after all, be rather accurate summaries of my day-to-day life, monotonous and cyclical. Not all, however, would be satisfied with just that; no, they need to know a location that is concrete, that they can pinpoint on the map, be it from casual curiosity or for something more annoying. For them I shall deign to answer this question properly, just this once.

I live at Ormond Beach. It is a coastal resort city with more tourists than sense, seemingly idyllic on the surface. I know better, though: the old guard, the long-term population, all the people not under the umbrella of seasonal turnover are largely rotten to the core with hatred and blind judgement. Were one to think of the stereotypical racist uncle, these are exactly the people that qualify. Smart people, on the other hand, never move here in the first place, choosing to dodge the stray bullet. The only reason I myself hadn't done the same and instead remained at this godforsaken paradise is because I am, unfortunately, still dependent on my father. Both the apartment I live in and the food I buy are paid for by his wallet. It would've been much better if father hadn't sold the house I had grown up in, back in another state more northern than this, because then I'd not have to deal with all these people... but oh well. Despite my current plight, anything's better than being homeless.

My apartment - called 'mine' simply because neither father nor mother stay here for longer than a month or so per year - has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and a kitchen connected to it via a bar. As far as living spaces go, it is rather comfortable. One of the bedrooms is designated for my parents and is covered in religious imagery, and I keep the door to it closed simply so it stays out of my mind. The other is, expectedly, mine - unlike theirs, though, mine is quite lacking.

I suppose that growing up without really having a room for myself, being always kept in sight through an arrangement of mirrors and discouraged from hiding away in safer places, had never really trained that 'customize-my-room' muscle others tend to have. Instead, I keep myself firmly planted in the corner of the living room at my computer. Unorthodox? Perhaps, but in controlling environments one takes all they can get away with. My parents being blithering idiots when it comes to technology just helps me escape the physical world without strife.

So, when coming back to the question of where I'm truly alive, I suppose I should answer with 'the digital world' instead. It sure applies to me more than some meaningless name of an overrated city. Under any other circumstance - particularly had I been as bigoted as my neighbors - I would've settled for staying here, enjoyed the warm beaches and walkable eateries forever. But whatever timeline that might've been, it isn't this one, because I have higher ambitions guiding me.

Though time may pass seamlessly in this Limbo of a life, one day I will find a way out of here. It is not a question of 'if', but of 'when'; it is set in fated stone. I will claw my way towards freedom, be it with father's reluctant help or by myself no matter what.

And, perhaps, somewhere along the way or at the end of the journey, I might even find family worth a damn. Dubious though my luck may have been so far, hope for contentment and safety keeps me going.

At the moment, I get most of my money from my father. Given he is quite successful in the entertainment sphere, he has a decent amount of funds available to him. He isn't... there much, exactly, so him letting me leech off of his wealth feels almost like an apology. Frankly, I'd rather take it than not.

I don't spend money on much, mostly groceries and the like. My wardrobe isn't too diverse either, and I don't feel the need to expand it. Various online transactions do sometimes occur, as do travel expenses, but both of those are rather random in when they happen.

I do enjoy various occult-adjacent curios, though...

The one motivation that springs out the fastest into the spotlight of my mind's eye is greed. How could it not, when glaring examples can be found all around us, everywhere we go? Corporate CEOs laying off their underlings on a whim while lining their own pockets with gold, corrupt police officers willing to take bribes in exchange for silence, common thugs gleefully plunging a knife into the gut of some hapless victim because it's the easiest way to get to his wallet. Greed, to a point, runs the world.

But I'm not controlled by it. Yes, I want to live comfortably, but I'm capable of adapting to my circumstances regardless of what they might be.

So, if not greed, then what else? Many people are also driven by, say, their lust for power. That one is much more relevant when it comes to me, I feel. Being powerless is, understandably, depressing, and having something - be it in your back pocket, or displayed proudly for all to see - to make you stand a bit straighter, to rely on when in need, is a comforting concept. Some turn to God, some turn to science, some turn to their friends... and some take pleasure in the suffering of others. Those are but several of countless different ways of capturing that feeling of being powerful; of gaining some control over your own fate.

The ability to punish my enemies is something I wish to have. Likewise, the power to ensure the safety of myself and others. Safety is a scarce resource, and guaranteeing it is difficult, but that difficulty begins to wane with power one accumulates.

Power is no guarantee of success itself, of course: the biggest monument to failure in doing just that is our beloved country's government. Neither I nor my friends have ever felt safe here, and I believe that at least half of all of our fellow citizens feel the same. Gangs, predatory companies - in a perfect world they wouldn't exist, but perfection is, too, nigh-impossible.

A more personal example of this negligence would be how, about half a year ago, a friend of an acquaintance had simply disappeared one day. Was he killed? Was he kidnapped? What happened to him? Nobody knows. That acquaintance of mine had mentioned to me in private once that this friend was a second-generation werewolf, knowing that I had an accepting attitude towards all things supernatural, and I suspect that the disappearance had something to do with that aspect of him. Either way, the police didn't last even a month before closing the case - possibly for bigoted reasons - and the acquaintance had since lost hope of finding any sort of news on the matter.

These sort of things both disappoint and infuriate me. Everyone deserves security, comfort, companionship and a place to belong. A proper community would notice one of their own being missing, and would march to the ends of the Earth to track down and rescue them instead of sitting back with closed eyes and deafened ears. It is, in a way, what true family should be too. And, now that I have signed that otherworldly contract, I aim to try my hand at making this idea real myself. It would require an enormous amount of effort - I would be a moron to presume otherwise - but the outcome is, ultimately, worth it.

Worth it, even to kill for.

Worth it to dedicate myself to it completely.

And worth it to put my life on the line.

Worth it, because I believe.

Father buying the apartment I now live in.

Originally, he intended for it to be a vacation home. We would drive down here from a more northern state every summer. As I grew older, though, one day I saw him packing things up in his office, and that alongside mother packing some stuff up elsewhere had me question him about what was happening. It turned out that he had made a deal to sell our old home, and that we were to move down to Florida permanently. I was shocked, of course, and ran away crying as I processed what was said, and soon we left that town for the last time.

I used to be more outgoing than I am today. Father essentially ripping me away from my real home, and mother not deigning to stop him, basically made me think that things were more transient than they are. I'm... better now, but back then, freshly after the move, I became extremely introverted as a result. My friends were gone, and I didn't want any new ones - especially since they'd disappear in the future too.

June moving down the year after that to the same Floridian city as we were in was the biggest reason for my shell beginning to crack. I don't know how much worse I would've been by now otherwise.

Melody, my mother, was a complicated person. Usually, when people describe someone else as 'complicated', they use that word in a negative connotation, and I am doing the same here. Mother was someone who could be warm one second and chillingly cold the next, someone who burnt bridges at the slightest opportunity, and someone who was a master at painting herself the victim because she was obviously a perfect angel. I have no idea what father saw in her.

Mother, before she withered and died, looked theater-made, with high cheekbones and striking eyes and an elegant figure. Her hair was a almost black - that was the one feature she didn't pass onto me. Though her passing made father deteriorate at a rapid rate, making him even more absent than he used to be, I'm just glad that I don't have to deal with her any longer. The damage she had dealt to my psyche throughout my life was quite substantial.

Edith, my aunt, is a botanist. She had always visited me every so often to help out and care for me when no one else would. Nowadays, though, she had found lucrative employment overseas, in Italy, and had ultimately moved there completely as a result. I kind of miss her.

Auntie dearest has a soft face, a button nose, hair a bit lighter than mine that is usually kept in a bun, and never wears the same outfit twice. Really, I should I take some inspiration from her tastes in clothing for my own future endeavors - she is able to make anything look good.

June, my best friend, is a sweetheart. Annoying sometimes, but it's alright as she means well. We both grew up in the same city as kids, but have only really clicked in middle school. Since then, she has never forgotten to include me in whatever silly schemes she'd think up next. It's... touching, how she managed to convince her family to move downwards to Florida to follow me. Should I confide in her about my new occupation? My new powers? My goals?

Bestie-Beastie often has a bright smile with dimples on her face, some absolutely adorable freckles, a bunch of ear piercings which she still keeps on despite not actively being all rebellious anymore - 'just a little bit' - and is half a head shorter than me. I'd describe her hair, but she changes it up in such wild ways so often that it's kind of useless to even bother trying. June's of hispanic descent through her father, and was never approved of by my late mother.

Honestly, mother can stuff it.

I have already shared a bit about my childhood in the previous question, but I suppose I can spare a few more details.

Before we moved down to Florida, I and my parents lived in a two-story house in Maryland. I grew up there, and it wasn't too bad. We were well-off - father was an at-the-time well-known talk show host, after all, and mother was an actress - so money wasn't an issue for us. What was an issue, at least for me, was how utterly controlling mother was all the time, and how she didn't really act like a mother half the time at all. When I was little, and encountered the concept somewhere - probably in a book - I started thinking that I was simply adopted as an explanation for her stereotypical step-mother demeanor.

So, having to be constantly aware of where mother at all times made me both vigilant and quite jumpy. Father never tried to intervene when mother threw yet another of her tantrums. It was stressful, but time marched on, and I grew nonetheless - and soon I was old enough for middle school.

Middle school was when I met my best friend, June. Though I was kind of a wallflower due to not liking loud noises, one day she came up to me and struck up a conversation about a drawing I was working on at the time, one of a dogbane beetle. She seemed to like me enough to continue chatting whenever we were free to do so, and soon we were practically inseparable.

I did make a few other friends over the years, but June would always be more important than any of them.

Ah, this question is a bit amusing. Yes, I have had crushes before - two in total, to be exact.

The first, back in middle school, was a boy named Mark Gravley. The thing that attracted me towards him the most was his genuine kindness towards the people around him. He also had an impressive amount of knowledge on the inner workings of all things space-related, and was quite easy on the eyes: dark skin, darker hair, a lean build, and a very charming smile. We got along well the few times we crossed paths during our education days, but I was too chicken to try flirting in a more noticeable way.

By the time I was about to give it a proper shot, I was already on my way to Florida.

My second crush came sometime later, in high school. I had a period where I was more reclusive than before due to the abandonment issues gained from us moving, but after June moved over too and started dragging me along with her to outings again, just like we used to in the past, one day we met Samantha Jackson. She was an... experience. Even now, as I think about how she used to grin in that feral way when she got a new idea on her mind, I can feel myself going weak in the knees. Likewise, that side-shave with her long, bleached-white hair, coupled with her collection of leather jackets and other streetwear and her everpresent snark just made her truly magnetic. One would never be bored with her around, that's for sure.

Turns out, she was straight. She did give me a kiss to see if she might like it, but it wasn't really meant to be. I, of course, was heavily disappointed by this, and haven't dated since as a result, but I was inspired by it in another way: knowing that Sam had some family in Washington - the city, not the state - June helped me engineer a meeting between Sam and Mark.

That, at least, was a great success, because the two caught on like a house on fire. They've been dating for about four years as of me writing this, with Samantha even moving upstate to live with him. Good for them.