Helena Bertinelli (shootsfirst) wrote in newalliance, @ 2013-03-15 00:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | [event] retro, huntress |
Who: A young Helena Bertinelli
NPCs: Sal Asaro
When: Circa 1994
Where: Sicily, Italy
What: A young Helena learns the meaning of vengeance
Rating: PG-13
Helena watched as her older cousin trained yet another day at the back of the estate. A dummy had been set up for the day and was currently being stripped of the arrows that had been pelted into it's canvas hide.
The Italian countryside was beautiful, the air clean and fresh and the days warm and welcoming, but the young Bertinelli did not feel at home. Her home was back in Gotham. A tomb of lost family and shattered dreams. As lovely as the country was, she wanted to go back to the cold, black nights. She wanted her family, not the concerned stares of strangers. Ever since her arrival, Helena had been treated delicately. The old woman poke and prodded at her daily for words, but Helena had none to give. The gray-haired man made comments about her mental health and well-being and both elders feared the worst for the last of the Bertinelli's.
It was their son who knew that the young girl would find her way. He offered no fake words to ease her suffering, just sincere smiles and the offer to watch him train. It had been three weeks since her arrival and every day had been filled with new actions from Sal. It had started with a rush of hands and fists against old trees and slowly turned into something much more deadly. Something that Helena wanted to know.
The small girl hopped from her place on the deck and shuffled her way over to the row of weaponry her cousin had brought from a secret place to train with. Her small fingers wrapped around the cool metal of a crossbow, the most damaging piece she had ever seen him practice with. It was half the size of her body, but she lifted it from the ground and hugged it tightly as Sal returned.
"Piccola, what are you doing?" Sal asked, giving no outward sign to his worry of the young girl wielding such a weapon. Her fingers were not around the trigger and the sharp point of the arrow was pointed away from them both.
Helena stared at the man with large, blue eyes. There were no more tears, no more suffering, only a fierce determination that only death could bequeath. "Teach me," she said strongly. "Teach me to fight."