Roses are Red
by Marchioness

One. An Introduction


Strange people have come and gone to the run-down bar in the middle of New York. People who are in fact not people, but beasts. Those who stand in the shadowy side of things and those who would hurt your eyes if you looked too long upon their disfigurements, and those who were perfect beyond belief. They all came. They all went. No one put a word edgewise about them. No one questioned who, or what, they were, and what right they had to be there. No right, actually. None of them had any right to be there, in the archaic side of the city, but they still came. As said, no one cared. It was a place where no questions were asked at all; no talk passed anyone's lips. It was a place only for those who wished to drown their sorrows of their life on a glass of alcohol.

Which was why he was so surprised when someone completely foreign dared enter. Her hair fell in black curls past her shoulders, run with the golden stripes of an animal that didn't exist naturally in this world. She was dressed in the flaring gold of someone who was sure of themselves and their purpose. To some extent, at least. She carried herself lightly, a small smirk always resting on her lips, slightly dabbed with red. Yet she was not the first of her kind to grace these floors. He, of course, recognized her immediately, just as she did him.

Her smirk grew as his frown deepened. He turned away and sipped nonchalantly at his wine as the sharp clicking of her heels on the floor. She took a seat beside him; it's former occupant had moved away quietly and without resistance as she approached.

"Aubrey," she breathed.

He cast her a forbearing look and returned to staring at his cup. Those enough in the room still somber enough glanced up suspiciously at her. No one came here to talk, just as no one came here with a real purpose. The barkeeper edged nearer, ready to stop whatever trouble he sensed was to come. The troublemakers were always the one who wanted to talk.

"Aubrey," she repeated, raising her voice slightly. More sodden looks were cast their way, but no attention was given from the intended recipient.

Aubrey. Get up and step outside with me. Now.

He stood without expression and walked out, an air about him clearly stating that he was doing this because he wanted to, and not in response to her silent instruction. She smiled all the same and followed. The barkeeper continued to watch in suspicion.

"What do you want?" he all but spat out at her once they were out in the grimed alleyway and the pollutant-filled air.

She shook her head and continued to smile. "I sometimes forget, but aren't you usually with Jessica?"

He gave a bitter laugh. "'Usually' was quite a while ago, Risika. You are getting behind on the news…Or is it just that disappearing for a couple of centuries has dulled your most excellent wit?"

"Ouch. I'm sorry I trod on those thoughts." Risika laughed lightly. "And we were never one to combat in wit—no, just in everything else. What's changed?"

"I've read Shakespeare." It was impossible to tell his tone of voice.

"I'm sure you have," she humored. "Much Ado About Nothing seems to have made a permanent mark on your mind, I see."

He ignored her. "What do you want?" he asked again.

Risika consulted her red-coated nails for some time before looking back up again. "Nothing much. Just wanted to check up on old friends, that's all."

"There must have been something else," he pressed rather sardonically.

She pretended to give thought to this for some time. She snapped her fingers. "Now that you mention it, there has been that annoying tirade Fala's been going on about. I'm not sure, but I think it concerned you." She looked at him pointedly. "And me," she threw in as an afterthought. "And Jessica."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He felt a flare in her aura, but did nothing to defend himself. He couldn't have even if he tried; he knew she would have batted it down within a thought. But nothing happened expect the calm continuation of their conversation. "Don't be pretentious," she told him. "You returned before I did."

He tilted his head to the side, regarding her carefully with his own set of gleaming eyes. "I returned to find what the pitiful mortals used to call 'supernatural' slaughtered. That was the twenty-fifth century. By the next, there were tracking devices on a third of those who remained and the rest in hiding. Now, we're this." His voice had turned harsh. "I forgot to mention that Jessica was one of those so generously put to sleep, didn't I? Oops."

"There was so much sarcasm in that that I won't even bother thinking it over." She glanced around at the towering building around her, bathed in the darkness of the night. No moon or stars shone through the thick mass of smog hugging the great city. "I admit that's its changed. But no more so than from the time I was made to the time I had my revenge on you."

"You just love rubbing it in, don't you?"

"Perhaps." She paused. "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You in general. Why do you spend your time in a run-down bar in the company of werewolves and witches? Why are you, well you?"

He snorted. "Did I every compliment you on your way with words?"

"No."

"It was a rhetorical question and a sarcastic one at that." He sneered. "There's nothing you need to know about me and nothing that I'd tell. Willingly. I know you can extract all you need to know from my mind already so why bother to speak it aloud? If you still hate me so much why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

"You know very well that I could have and would have that night in Los Noches…but you don't want to live anymore do you?" She gave a wry grin. "To think, the Great Aubrey, reduced to this state. I wonder what all your fans would say if they saw you like this. There wouldn't be many left, would there now?"

The Aubrey of centuries past would have retorted that he'd have fans no matter what, but the Aubrey of this century made no comment. Risika sighed. "You have changed haven't you? Come one then, there's things we need to catch up on."

And so the two remaining fledglings of Ather, in the line of Silver—once tearing at each others throats—walked calmly off, supporting each other in their silence.


Author's Note: I'd haven't been seeing a very large variety of fics around here, so I decided to write one containing a bit of sci-fi mixed in with Amelia's supernatural genre. Hope you didn't hate it too much, it is just an introduction. Everything will be revealed in the next chapters.