Deadly Ever After

Archive for the tag “Kat”

Too Much Fun With Kat: Running Home Character Expo

TODAY’S BREW: It’s S’mores flavored!

by Julie

Running Home is almost real! In nine days you’ll meet all of the vampires, the doomed, and the fighters in person, but until then I will give you a character at a time.

Kat is a favorite of…well, just about everybody’s, just like the real life person who she ended up morphing into a bit; our very own Kristen Strassel.

She’s a red-headed kitten of a woman, with an unassuming heart, and a romantic sense of adventure that gets her into too much trouble. Kat will try anything, with a smile on her face that begs you to come along for the ride. That almost childlike enthusiasm is why she ran away to the big city, where she crashed and burned, sending her back to her hometown of Ossipee, and her forever friend, Ellie Morgan.

Ellie and Kat are opposites in every way possible, which always makes for the best friendships. But Ellie, being who she is, is a little suspect of her attachment to Kat, and feels there may be something bigger at play that keeps them together when they need each other most. (Bit of a spoiler.) Kat keeps Ellie from becoming a complete introvert, worrying at her complete disinterest in humanity, and constantly setting her up with some guy that Ellie just cannot click with. But, in that Kat way, she always gets Ellie to agree to her cooked up plans, which while not always safe, do always turn out to be interesting.

Childlike enthusiasm personified.

Kat is not a bimbo, but she plays one on TV. Not the conniving ditz who plays dumb to get all the guys, our Kitty Kat is a little insecure about how quick she really is, and tends to only show the side of her that is bubbly, outgoing to a fault, the life of the party, and a hopeless romantic, if not well-schooled in the ways of men. It’s the ability to see that there’s even more to this delight of a girl that makes Ellie so attached to her and the life she leads, makes Roman look at her like a little sister to be protected, and makes our resident psychopath, Chris Lynch, fall for her.

She’s quicker than she lets on.

When fate drives Lynch to the sad excuse for a law firm that Kat dominates as a receptionist, her search for Prince Charming sends her into his arms. But for a man that only equates love with the need to possess in the sickest ways possible, it is a dangerous road she travels, and one that Ellie, Nicholas and Roman bear the burden of to the bitter end.



The Love Abominable

TODAY’S BREW: Santa Nuts. Or, hazelnut mingled lovingly with Santa’s White Christmas blend.

By Julie

Here’s a little ditty that I have been dying to write.  The first short story based on characters from my beloved Running Home and work in progress, Running Away.  I am really excited to give a little insight into the mind of a secondary character, who also happens to be Kristen’s favorite.  Enjoy!  Jeffrey Donovan of Burn Notice, pay attention. You’re playing this guy in the movie.

The Love Abominable


Beneath me. 

This entire state was beneath me, with its moose and bears and flannel shirts and Live Free or Die license plates.  Boston was perfect.  When it was time to kill, there were just enough willing bodies ready.  Masshole women flocked to me like lemmings to the cliff.  Pathetic, how an Italian suit and the word “attorney” catches the heart of a woman with nothing to live for.

I kicked snow off my shoes in aggravation as I entered.  The “law office” was depressing.  A glorified old country house bristling with old men and the smell of mildew.  A surge of anger stifled the sadness as I recalled the office I left behind in Boston.

I had to get away from the other vampires.  Fate reared its ugly head when I was offered this job.  I was hoping it would be close enough that my Creator felt he could watch me intently, but far enough that I could do as I wished without his interference.

I could not handle any more stifling interference.  I was a force that needed to run free.

And here I was, a god among men, degraded into a petty job for the sake of running away. I was a child, desperate for freedom at any cost.  It was all I could do to retract my fangs, because I knew I would not be able to hold up the shield in my fury, to hide them from the useless mortals that would work side by side with me.  People with no fate, living without reason.

I knew my reason.  And it would be the death of them.

“You must be Chris.”  I smelled her behind me.  Peonies.  In the dead of winter.  She was strong and unassuming.  I knew this before seeing her.

I spun to see what creature could catch my attention in this beehive of worthlessness.

Fiery locks licked her shoulders.  Petite, with stunning curves and alabaster skin, she was a porcelain doll that I longed to break. Her eyes flitted with hummingbird life that I wanted to watch die.

For that briefest of moments, I didn’t hate moving to this hick New Hampshire town.

I didn’t give her the smile right away.  That smile sealed more deals than I could remember.  I wanted to savor this one.  I let her look into my eyes with her own chocolate browns, wanted her to fall for the intensity she would see there.  When I gave her the smile, she curled in on herself a little, lips twitching.

“I’m Chris Lynch.  And you are?”  Formal words, but with a secretive gaze.  It pulled her to me.

She gathered herself, and held out her hand.  Warm, soft, childlike.  I wanted to grow her up and make her mine.  I wanted her death to taste like pure need of me.

“I’m Kat, the receptionist here.”  Her lips moved with such frosting softness, I could tear them off and eat them.   She gave me a manila folder, telling me details of things I would never need to remember, and would not be able to.  Gorgonized.

Her softness was savage.  I would brand myself into her.

“Let me show you to your office, Mr. Lynch,” she said, breezing past me with the slightest whiff of hothouse flowers, peonies on fire.

I trailed her through the dingy “office,” nodding politely at the geysers who brought me here as they pored over papers on old desks.   Archaic all around.

“They gave you the good office,” she said with a toothy grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “This is the only office.”

“Well, there is that.”  Her smile was electric, stinging of vivid sex appeal.  Everything about her was dark pastels, creamsicle orange, jellybean lilac, spring grass green.  I could taste her sunlight.  I would eat her alive.

She sat in my chair, back to the windows overlooking yet more woods, grinning with childlike ferocity.

“Does your wife like it here?” she asked knowingly, meeting my eyes, twisting a strand of hair in her fingers.

I smiled wide, making her head cock to the side with a flirtatious vulnerability at my charm, and called her out.  “She likes it just fine.”

Her face fell, her fingers stopped moving, the slight rock of the chair stilling.

“Gotcha,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

The laugh she possessed was a work of art.  Honest, feminine, completely unselfconscious.  Gorgeous.  I would strangle it from her when we kissed.

“Did you leave someone behind in Boston?”

Images of screaming, bleeding, bruised and defiled women overcame me, bringing a smile to my lips and a song to my heart that I could not push away.  “I imagine I left several someones behind, but none of them mattered.”

She blinked, unsure.  I gave her the winning smile that made me the attorney I was, that made me ladykiller I was.  No pun intended.  I strolled to the desk, her scent getting closer with every step.  Throwing the file folder on it, I sat on the desk and watched her.  I watched her breathe. I watched her blood pump under the skin of her wrists, her lips pucker and relax, her eyes dilate and undulate.

“I live all alone in a great big house,” I said with mock sadness.  Her glimmering teeth answered me.

“You just moved here.  I’m sure you will meet a great girl in no time.”

“Maybe I already have.”

Kat’s blood flooded to her cheeks, brutally innocent.  Intoxicating.

“I—“ she broke off her sentence with a nervous giggle.  “That’s very nice.” Her tight lipped little smile was equal parts beautiful and unlike her.

I already knew it was unlike her.  The thought boiled me.  I imagined her head lolling backwards, almost severed from her body, soupy scarlet life bubbling and frothing all over her pastel perfection.

She giggled, snapping me back.  My fangs were pricking my lip.  She didn’t see.

“Sorry to be so—I feel like I am being very unprofessional,” she said, sitting up straighter.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“No, it’s refreshing.”  And I kept talking, despite myself.  “You have a certain natural sophistication that makes you both stand out and blend in.”  Fingernails on my soul to have said such a thing and meant it.  Vomit and torture and peeling the skin back.

Kat’s face softened to a heart-revealing realness that made her the most extraordinary fantasy creature that I had ever seen.

“Thank you,” she said, seriously and with a hint of sadness.

When she shifted, I could smell her peony perfume, flowers reaching to a heaven that didn’t exist, scrambling for a fate they would never meet.

“Kat, I have an invitation to extend to you.”

Want more?  Check out part two here.

What Twilight Means To Me: Sappiness With Julie

TODAY’S BREW:  Hazelnut. It’s snowing, so there will be a lot.

Countless times I have heard how this or that person read Twilight and said, “I can write better than that.”  And so, they tried, and hundreds of vampire books were born.  And for as many people who think they can write better than Stephanie Meyer, there are half as many who want to write the same exact book as she did.

It was February 2007 when I read Twilight.  It was days after I had my first baby, and I was wandering Walmart with my family, sleep-deprived and wildly happy.  Near the checkout counter, I realized I had nothing to read and grabbed a copy with a picture of Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson on the cover.   I was almost disgusted with myself that I was about to do something everyone did.  Read this novel that couldn’t possibly be good.

That February was very snowy, perfect for holing up with my new baby, both in our pajamas,  me drinking countless cups of decaf tea that did nothing for me.  And it was perfect for me to read that novel, with its overcast gloominess, discovery of so many new things, sparks of love that had never existed before. It was fresh, and made the ordinary extraordinary.  I still remember reading it, this baby that I was hopelessly attached to before I even technically knew I was pregnant sleeping in my arms, warm and cozy, bursting with happiness.  I remember driving him around to get him to nap, and pulling that novel out in random parking lots to read while he slept.  I remember it sitting on the table next to my husband and I in the middle of the night, when he would get up with me so I wouldn’t be exhausted alone.

Having my baby gave me a depth of emotion that I never knew was possible.  Reading Twilight when I was still in the thick of so much new emotion helped me love it, see it as a security blanket in this new world I lived in.  It comforted me with its simplicity when I was afraid, which happened often in those first few weeks.  I read all of the novels in succession, and couldn’t get enough.

It was for this reason, that I said, “I can do this.  I can create something both ordinary and extraordinary, exciting but everyday.  This is new territory that I want to stamp my feet on.”  I was floored by the power of creation, and ready to put feelings out in the open that I would never have allowed before.  It was the first time I had experienced really missing someone…that first night in the hospital when my baby had to be brought to Boston because he had been breach, and had trouble breathing.  To be so far from him, when I needed him so much was devastating.  Thank God he was brought back when I didn’t know if I could take it anymore.  This is a kind of loneliness that I had never experienced, and later was able to portray through Ellie’s agonizing departure from Nicholas that leaves her writhing in pain in her abandoned apartment.  I felt that every second.  The numbing fear that accompanies having children, and not being able to control every aspect of their safety, it helped fuel the love Ellie, Nicholas, Roman and Kat had for each other.  The otherworldly connection that Ellie has with Nicholas that doesn’t allow them to be apart is an extension of the arguably weird connection I have with my baby.  Reading Twilight at this time made me realize that I can open the door with these new emotions to create the novel I always wanted to write.  It would not have been possible before then.  I wasn’t strong enough.

I think I have read Twilight five times.  I read it when I am scared, when I am overwhelmed, and when I need something that I can’t put my finger on.  And I am brought back to this amazing time five years ago when I became a new person, and created a new person, and created Running Home.  Whether the timing was just right or not, reading that book gave me the idea of fate, perfect timing, all things happening to create a bigger picture, and for that I thank Stephenie Meyer endlessly.

Post Navigation