Disclaimer: Not today.

Writer sighed dejectedly, staring at the barely six page long chapter. It was not nearly as long as she figured it should be, what for introducing something kin to plot, and all (or at least most) of the major characters before it was over. "Fiddle sticks," She murmured under her breath at the length, but figured it couldn't be helped. At the second chapter of any story, things would be going a bit slower than later on, after all. It was only natural, right?

Right?

Whit chuckled under her breath at this point, sipping her luke-warm slightly over sugared coffee. It would need to be micro-waved soon… She had returned full-steam from her 'family bonding trip' to Maryland that Sunday, but, while she had finished this chapter by then, she had been much too tired to update it yet. She wouldn't be offended if a reviewer kicked her.

Why was WAT speaking in the third person, you wonder? Has she finally gone totally mad? Her answer was not but another sip of coffee, a wild grin, and a glorious declaration of, "Yes! But I'm also doing it because this week is Prose Week, so I've been told. Just check out my DA if you want details."

Her reviewers (whom she adores to mention by name) were all given exuberant gifts of candy and glomps: ZemyxFangirl, and LittleLoneLiar. Writer would like her readers to note that she had enabled anonymous reviewers.

xXChapter Two: That One NightXx

Schemer turned the corner only to find himself face to face with a being he had truly wished he would never meet again.

"Going somewhere?" asked the obnoxiously tall vampire before Schemer, his crimson hair glowing almost as much as his acid-green eyes in the eerie glow of the nearest streetlamp. He had an even and almost tan skin tone, and two tiny tattoos on his narrow face, a symbolic upside-down teardrop like design under each eye, although Schemer knew not what they were intended to mean. He smirked wickedly down at Schemer, sizing him up no doubt, possibly for a fight.

The shorter vampire sighed irritably. "The significance in where I go to you is exactly what, Flame?"

Flame snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, dear old friend." He leaned against the light post casually, still smirking. "I am merely concerned as to the reason why you might try to clear potential prey from the streets the way you just did." His eyes hardened in a way that would horrify a normal person. Schemer, however, only rolled his steel-blue eyes, wholly unimpressed.

"There are others," was his only smooth reply.

"Well, yes, but that kid could have been a good appetizer, you know?"

Schemer shook his head, not even attempting to disguise his contempt for the man before him. "If hunting quarrels are your only business with me, I shall take my leave of you now, senseless madman."

"Oh, but it's not," The other insisted, stepping back between Schemer and his path. "I have a message to deliver from another old friend of ours." If the mischievous glint in the redhead's eyes could be any indication, this was not good news. "I have gotten word from a trusted source that Gambler is back in New York."

Schemer tensed. "That's preposterous. Ratify your source. What could he possibly need here?"

Flame grinned maliciously. "I haven't a clue. But this can only mean one thing for you little Schemer: discord."

The blue haired man growled, his eyes narrowing to little more than slits. "Be gone from my sight at once."

"Oh, I will," Flame replied lightly, bowing spitefully, "Just as soon as you tell me what I need to know, Schemer. If the others start trouble, whose side-"

"Do not ask for my loyalty, Flame." The other interrupted. "I will fight along with no clan, regardless."

Flame rolled his bright eyes. "It's because of those humans, isn't it?" He bent down the Schemer's level to stare at him seriously. "You know what they've done, don't you? They took one of my brothers and experimented on him for weeks unend, searching for a reliable way to kill us. And I'm willing to bet they found a few, for I could once hear his screams in the daytime, but of late he has been silent." His glare hardened venomously. "They have hunters now, Schemer, hunters! With crosses of silver and other unmentionable things that if they catch you, you will wish you were long ago dead." He hissed the last part urgently, as if attempting to sway the other vampire's opinion.

"This is America, Flame," Schemer replied evenly. "They have that right."

"To murder us?!"

"To strike back at those who have plagued them for centuries."

The taller man scoffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief. "So be it," He finally muttered, "Don't cry for my help when they catch you. Nor that of any of my kin." On that note, he shifted to one side, finally allowing Schemer to pass. No more words passed between the two.

xXThatOneNightXx

The girl huffed through the evening streets, blue skirts flowing behind her, matching in hue to the habit on her head that hid most of her light blond hair from view, save for the bangs that swept across her undecorated face, flushed from activity at the moment. She carried in her white gloved hands a quite large silver cross that normally hung from a long chain around her neck. At this moment, however, she clutched it to herself, ready to swing it as a weapon should the need arise.

Her name was Sister Namine Springfellow, of the convent that sat just on the edge of the city, unnoticed by most, but trusted greatly by the ones that knew of it. This was because the people there had recently distinguished a way to rid the city of the terrifying demons, the beasts, the (although they never used this word, for it was much too well known in fiction) vampires.

She shuddered at a crisp gust of wind off the dark waters, combined with her fear of the monsters she knew existed, and were probably out looking for a lone person like herself. She skidded to a stop, underneath a flickering streetlamp for a breath of air, pushing some stray hair away from her light blue eyes with a shaky sigh.

"Where are you, Sister Anne?" she muttered to herself, squinting through the darkness in a search she feared would turn out fruitless. The night was painfully silent, so Namine's instant reaction to any sound was a fearful jump, followed by a readying of her only weapon and defense. She wanted nothing more than to call out to her friend, but she knew much better. Those demons were doubtlessly on the prowl and it would be less than intelligent to draw attention to herself by shouting. She shivered again, wishing she had remembered to bring a jacket and rotated herself around in slow circles, so as not to get attacked from the rear.

A soft hissing sound rounded from her left and she spun about, gasping, searching for the source of the noise. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing further, the blond girl let out a shaky breath and began walking again, away from the sound, keeping her eyes pealed at all times for a sign of Sister Anne.

She let out a sharp scream when someone grabbed her from behind pulling her off the ground and throwing her into the side of a nearby building quite unceremoniously. Namine hit the ground with a grunt, but wasted no time twisting around to face her attacker, cross clutched desperately in her hands.

There was a man before her, relatively tall with paper-white skin and long blue tinted hair. He stared at her with demon-like yellow eyes for a tense moment before speaking, his voice cold and darker than the night that surrounded them. "What might a dame like you be doing out alone at night?"

Namine could barely breathe from fear, but none the less, she clambered to her feet and stood, knees bent slightly ready to flee at the first worthy chance. She glared at the dark man stonily, and replied in a tone of forced calm, "There was once a time when a woman could walk down the street at any time without getting attacked."

The man said nothing at first, but when he did speak again, it was only more frightening than before. "And when was that, Sister? Surely you are much too young to know with any certainty."

Namine gasped again, the beast was coming closer, ever so slowly, and it occurred to her that she could never outrun him. Hardly even eighteen years of age and she was about to die… In the most horrible way she could possibly imagine. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, and Lord knew, she wanted to run, even knowing she could not escape. It sure was a pity her legs refused to budge an inch.

He took another step towards her, smirking lustfully at her trembling lip. The young nun shrieked, pulling her fists in front of herself violently in an automatic form of defense. She was as surprised as the monster was when he sprung away from her hissing in pain and clutching at his face. The Sister looked at her fists in wonder, praising the Good Lord that she still had her cross with her. She swung it around threateningly, having regained her grounding and the use of her legs, striking at the creature once more, slashing a second burning red mark across his pale face, leaving him to scream in agony at the x-shaped gash on his forehead that would probably never fade.

She burst into a run sprinting as far from the beast as she could, finding herself in a well-lit courtyard, her heart still racing from the adrenalin of mere moments before. She took a deep breath and crossed herself abruptly. "Bring peace to the lost lambs, I bid thee give rest to the fangs of the wolf and call the hammer of death onto the devil." She took a slow, deep breath. "Amen."

Running footsteps somewhere behind her caused her to spin about, wide-eyed and ready to scream, silver cross held firmly in her shaking hand. She relaxed a moment later however, to see the familiar face of Sister Anne running in her direction.

Sister Anne was a short and rather stocky girl, about Namine's age, with very short, almost boyish brown hair and matching eyes that were currently shining with unshed tears. "Namine!" She called, looking like she was very nearly going to faint on the spot. "Thank goodness you're alright! I heard you scream and I thought-" She stopped shot at her friend's soft, slightly shaky laugh.

"The silver cross is effective." Namine said simply, placing the item back to its normal place around her neck.

Anne sighed. "The silver bullets had no such luck. It seems what we have read about the silver intolerance was wrong."

Namine nodded shortly. "Are you okay?" at Anne's silent nod, the blond Sister nodded herself, before saying, "Let's get a cab and go home. I've had more than enough excitement for one evening, I think."

"And how!" Anne agreed breathlessly.

xXThatOneNightXx

"Mama!" Demyx called, walking into his small, but quaint home. The interior was scantily furnished, with not but an old sofa courtesy of a neighbor and a rickety coffee table, one of the legs of which was so much shorter than the others, Demyx's mother had stacked two dime novels underneath it so it wouldn't tip. There was a rug on the floor beneath those items and another one in each of the tiny bedrooms, both of which had a bed and a dresser and not much else, for the rooms would not fit much. The kitchen was galley-styled and outdated, but it served its purpose faithfully. One modern comfort Demyx and his widowed mother took advantage of was heat, which poured from the wood stove all winter long.

The blond young man sighed contently, as happy as one could be with a home he could barely afford on a factory worker's salary. Demyx thought of himself as being quite fortunate. At least he never ran out of money to put supper on the table. He had met some children half his age in the factory that summer who were there because their mothers couldn't bear to see them starve any longer, yet could not make enough on their own to support them.

Madam Christopher, also referred to as Mary, was much younger than she appeared, as illness had stolen from her her health in the recent years, and still wracked her body with pain as her son worked for their food and house. She was a small and round woman, with very dark brown hair, speckled with grey prematurely. She had a wide and cheerful smile, even as she battled with the illness that would take her from her only son before she would see grandchildren. Her eyes were a bright and determined shade of green, not unlike those of her son's, whom she was endlessly proud of.

He had grown so well, so strong in mind and body, even without a father to guide him. Mister Christopher, a brilliant young man in his time, freshly married to Mary some twenty five years previously, had been killed shortly after she had come pregnant with the boy. He had been murdered ruthlessly on the streets in the dark of night in the wintertime. The culprit was never caught. For this reason, Madam Christopher could never rest until Demyx was safely home after work, for fear of waking in the morning to find him missing, and by that time, already dead.

Demyx smiled brightly at his mother when he met her gaze, having waddled out of her bedroom hurriedly, still clothed in her clean blue housedress from that day, her hair pulled from her pale face loosely.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked lightly, pecking the woman on the cheek before washing his hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink.

"Much better, thank you," said she in a very strong Irish dialect, tutting at the state of his shirt and trousers, which had grown to be nearly two inches too short. "What am I going to do with you?" She chided playfully, smacking his arm lovingly. "You grow like a weed!"

"Sorry, Mama," The son replied sheepishly, drying his now clean hands on a pale blue and white striped dish towel, tuning back to face the woman, whom he was already some four inches taller than. "I should be nearly done growing, though, so I'll just wear these things to work a little longer, and by Christmas, I'll have worked up enough for some new trousers, at least."

The woman sighed heavily. "Oh, the state my boy has got to!" She took up his hands strongly, smiling a supportive, very mother-like kind of smile. "But his father would be proud, I dare say. What with taking such good care of his ailing old mama!"

"You're not old." Demyx insisted stubbornly, at which his mother chuckled and released his hands.

"Go clean up. I'll warm up some supper."

Demyx did as he was told. Demyx always did as he was told when it was his mother speaking. She was simply his everything, his only thing. He had never known his father, and that side of the family, although he had been told were wealthy, were never to be seen themselves. He used to wonder what his grandparents would be like, as his mother's parents had died on the ship to this country many years ago when Mary had been a small child, but not anymore. He was now convinced and determined to survive without them. He didn't need their pity, or their money (regardless of what the hospital bills stated). He was a man now, and it was time to act the part.

But he had been acting the part. For nearly ten years. Every stage gets old. Even ones that mean so much as this line did. He sighed as he washed the filth from his face and neck, drying off, and then loosening and removing his suspenders, leaving them to hang uselessly from his waist. He sighed again, not because he was annoyed, but because he could think of nothing better to do and returned to the main room where Mary had heated his supper on the stovetop. At least the day was over.

Little did Demyx know that this would be the beginning of the end of everything remotely normal in what had been his simple, live-from-day-to-day life.

xXThatOneNightEndXx

Whit winked at her friends in excitement. "In any case," she added in one last note, "The next stop is PoS!" Then she sat in her chair for a moment, thinking deeply, frowning slightly. "Whoa…" She murmured under her breath, "We're going from this to current-day AU high school fic?" One dark brown hued eyebrow raised towards her hairline, matching in hue. "Brain going into shock, much?"