Today was going to be one of those days. She'd only just opened her eyes and already Regan could tell. This day had 'royally fucked' written all over it.

True to her early morning 'premonition', Regan had not had an easy go of it. She'd decided to move her stuff from her apartment in River Dale, to the Ark. That's when the skies opened up and a deluge had set upon the unsuspecting people of Sacrosanct. Regan included. It was bad enough she had to lug all her things around, it was another matter entirely to be taking them aboard a ship, aptly named 'The Ark'. Tell me that's not a fine piece of divine comedy in action.

Next on the list would have to be the argument she'd been unable to participate in. There she'd been, loaded up with a multitude of her weapon cases, standing in the pouring rain, no doubt looking like a drowned rat and being denied re-entry to the Ark by some muscle head. She'd ended up standing there, glaring, with barely restrained violence burning in her violet eyes. It had taken beef for brains about 15 minutes of hemming and hawing before finally allowing her admittance. Let's just say, he was lucky she'd needed both her hands.

Finally allowed on board, the relocating of her possessions was a rather easy and menial task. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Regan is especially anal about where her belongings go. Everything has a place and it needs to be in it's place. The rest of the afternoon and majority of the evening was dedicated to this task. Once she'd accomplished that, she'd decided on a nice, long, hot shower to relax her muscles. The shower itself was uneventful...the aftermath? Not so much. While Regan was drying off, one of the male were's had wandered into her room. Upon seeing her standing there, naked, he had proceeded to do as most males would given the circumstances. Stare. Now, Regan is not usually given to acts of modesty. In fact, she hardly cared that she was naked at all. It was the fact that this stranger had simply invaded her space, HER territory and had the audacity to STARE at her. The repercussions of his foolishness will likely leave a scar and a fear of entering bedrooms.

Then THAT happened. This was by far the worse event of the day. Beef for brains from earlier had denied her access into the Arena. Stating and I quote "It was not a place for little girls." To say that Regan left him in a broken, bloody and mangled mess that had then assumed the fetal position would be a kindness. It would be more than likely that beef for brains will end up with an incurable fear of 'little girls'. The thought of this both amuses and pleases Regan.

However, after the previous events, Regan decided to call it quits for the night. No use tempting fate. Well...more than she already had. This brings us to the present.

With a huff, Regan collapses on top of her bed. Eyes lifted to the ceiling, arms crossing behind her head. There was so much white noise filtering in through the background of the Ark. Regan was not accustomed to relaxing when she knew there were people moving all around her. Even if she couldn't see them. Years of being isolated and hunted had taught her to always be on her guard when she could sense others. Life aboard the Ark was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Hours melted away in strained silence. Regan was tense and fidgety. The bed was too open, the space too large. Light filtered in through the gaps by the door and through the open slats in the blinds. Everything about her room screamed uncomfortable inside her head. Her mind played tricks on her -- flashing memories of her childhood, which only increased her torment. Her hands fisted and she pressed them tightly against the sockets of her eyes. There was too much stimuli in this room. Too much and not enough. With a silent moan of defeat and a terrible head ache, Regan slipped from the darkness of her room into the shadows of the Ark's corridors.

The shadows embraced her as a mother would a grieving child. With silence and completeness. She became one with the darkness and vanished from sight. For long moments she wandered the bowels of the ship. Searching for the farthest recesses in order to find her solace. It was by complete coincidence that Regan just happened to look up at the perfect moment. High above her head was a rickety catwalk that had likely been unused for years. With a little climbing and a lot of shuffling she managed her way across it and with a graceful leap, landed atop a large ventilation shaft. A thick covering of dust rose and billowed around her, a sure sign that this particular duct must have been shut down or broken. Kicking out a fan, Regan slipped inside the opening and made herself a bed in a four square cross section. The space itself was no bigger than a 10 by 10 cell and with a mental laugh Regan thought the space was perfect and her description of it apt.

Removing her clothes, a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of loose sweats, she easily shifted into her tiger form. Regan could no longer sleep in human form, a lifetime of waiting for the other shoe to drop will do that to you. Better to sleep with or as your best defense as the case may be.

A long hour later, the insomniac that is Regan finally drifted into a fitful slumber. It didn't take long for the darkness in her mind to conjure images of terror. Silvery strands of nightmares wove together to form the intricate patterns of her memories. For Regan feared nothing else...nothing but the pain and terror most children cannot fathom...the waking nightmare that had been her life.

The sound of chains rattling in the darkness. Followed by the dull, almost forgettable ache in each wrist and ankle from the shackles attached to them. The flash of light, so bright it overwhelmed her senses. Her lids slammed down to shield her eyes. In the darkness it is easy to forget they were even open. A flare of pain across the sole of her foot...followed by the scent of copper. The sensation of heat and liquid. Blood. Her blood. No one ever forgets the stench of their own life as it seeps away. The harsh tone of voices. Angry, hateful words, that echo and cut deeper than any physical blow could ever reach. The soft sweep of fingers over the rough scars marring her back. The tightening of muscles as she waits for that softness to be replaced by pain. Always to keep her guessing. To torture her mind with the hope of kindness. But the pain was always worse after. Never hope. The laughing taunts of dying in her cage like the animal, no... monster deserved. The whisper of a girls voice, like music, turning shrill with glee after each blow. Blood. Blood. And more blood.

It never occurred to the now sleeping Regan that living upon the Ark, a home to Were's, that her Night Terrors might not just be her own...



"Thinks like this"

Regan Izumi

WereTiger -- Mute -- Played by Megs