One Headlight [ThomasRHellsing & Cosmic]

Clothes, check.
iPod, check.
Breakfast, check.
Supplies, check.
A smile? Well...that was a bit harder.

Willow stared at the front of the school, the grey clouds overhead filtering down just enough light to give the impression that it was only twice as formidable of an opponent as she thought. She wanted to be hopeful, after all new beginnings were all about hope. She wasn't in the desert anymore...
She was in the icebox instead. She shivered in her jacket numbly.

She was pretty, despite her awkward appearance and borderline anti-social tendencies. Her hair was naturally a silky auburn, and it's light wavy curls went just over her petite shoulders. Despite how distant she always seemed, her eyes were never aloof in the teenage mediocrity so many others had to deal with on a day to day basis. The only real problem she found in her physical body--other than the fear of some days being too fat and others being too skinny--were the shiny purple scars that littered her arms as a reminder of her own personal internal Kristallnacht. She blinked away the thought and swallowed down such childish fears.

She wasn't about to screw up this new placement and family over so soon with that particular reminder. Swallowing her fears as bravely as she could she walked on to the campus as quiet as a mouse and felt the relief of being passed over as just yet another kid. It was too big of a place for them to recognize a new kid in the school. So what if she was far from her old home and a year and a half older than most of them. So she was eighteen? Most seniors were eighteen by the time they graduated...and even though she would be nineteen by then, it's not like it would be a big deal right? She could just tell them she got held back in first grade or something. Something that didn't matter. Plus, a school this size had to have at least a few students that were older than the rest for whatever reason.

She sat at a small dilapidated wooden picnic table in the concrete courtyard of the school, watching the teeming school population socialize with all their old friends, pick on the kids that weren't lucky enough to be ignored, or simply wander around and try to find their classes in the maze of hallways in the three story school. The smell of wet asphalt and ferns wafted off the table and she pulled out a simple spiral notebook from her small leather messenger bag over her shoulder and started to quietly dribble words over the blank lines as she thought about the current status of her life.

Thomas Richard Hellsing, or T-1000, strode through the halls like he owned them. Then again he pretty much did. Thomas had been born from a cheerleader and a low rent ass head. His story was pretty classic dad was an alcoholic who got himself killed trying to cheat the mob, his Mom was a meth whore. He'd been raised on the streets learned to see them and speak their language. Then when he'd been about twelve years old, he'd been eating dinner at a friends. The friend's dad had been a recruiter for the Devil Rejects when a rival gang had kicked his door in and started praying lead. Thomas who had never known compassion had no problem taking two five hundred Smith and Wesson magnums and blowing the three gang bangers to damn near pieces. He'd earned the name T-1000 then, since five hundred and five hundred equaled 1000, also because he had no problem walking in front of an enemies fire you fought him you ended up dead the simple truth.

By the age of 16 he'd been pulling a hundred grand a week in drugs and more selling guns out of the trunk of a sports car. He still had a good little bti of cash stuck away. All i cost him was hands so bloody he was surprised he didn't leave red had prints when he touched things Shaking his head he let his dark blue eyes scan the hallway almost with boredom. he crimson hoodie he wore had a black press on of his gang's symbol. A demoness and an angel locked in an embrace it was impossible to tell if the angel was in pain or pleasure "Devil's Reject" above it, his title and such below the image. He was wearing his cutoff under his hoodie.

White blond hair was also hidden by the hoodie. His very pale skin was obvious although his black framed red lensed sunglasses his his dark blue eyes. his hands were covered with black leather gloves with red finger tips and knuckles with reinforced metal.Black jeans tight enough to show his life left him tough and muscular but not so much so that his voice was higher than normal. Black steel toed combat boots clicked as he walked. He knew the crowd would part for him even if he wasn't a Devil, he was seven six after all, and weight about 300 pounds. Reaching the courtyard he nodded to the gang table. Spotting a new girl sitting where he normally sat down he moved over. His hands leaving his pistol for the first time he offered her his right hand, "Hello sexy, my names Thomas Richard Hellsing, what's yours?"

Willow stared at the hand, friend or foe? Did it matter? At least he was made out of flesh and blood. Which in all honesty was a massive improvement compared to where she normally was with--for lack of better term--people. She sat down her pen and closed her notebook, taking in his appearance cautiously.

"What does my name matter if all you see me as is sexy?" she half joked, having absolutely no idea about what his hoodie meant, or his reputation in the slightest.