So this was it. This was the way she was expected to die-in the back room of a pizzeria, a juvenile adolescent not yet in her prime, standing before a man with purple hair dressed in a purple uniform, of all colors. Purple. Like a fucking plum, but thinner, taller, wielding a glinting steel knife and an irritated smile on his face. Which was decorated with a strong jaw, a 5 o'clock shadow, and sparkling violet eyes so deep and crazed they were almost black.

Yes, she could see him just well, lurking in the darkness, slowly advancing, hand clenching the knife tightly. She could see him just fine in the pitch. It was a wonder he could see her, though maybe the green glow-in-the-dark necklace she wore helped with that... yeah, that was probably it. But she could see him easily enough despite this, and it was not because for the faint reflection on the knife or on the security badge or the belt buckle.

She moved, slightly, lifting her hands behind her neck and taking it off. Her heart pounded as it often did, limbs moving methodically and thoughtfully with the practice of a game master. Yeah, this was a game. She saw his composure slipping, as his eyes widened and his smile twisted and his limbs lurched himself forward with a grunt. A mere half-step to the side was all that she needed to evade the lunge. The knife hit the metal and she saw sparks, but the sound was drowned out by a well-timed squeal on the other side of the door. Turning, the employee looked around.

His eyes landed on the necklace, which was laying by his foot on the ground, abandoned.

"Where...?" he asked, eyes glaring, looking around with fury. The girl was quiet, watching, evaluating. The sound of her gentle, unaltered breathing was now his only answer. Her hand reached into her pocket after a moment, idly rustling an old candy wrapper that was in her jeans and had been for weeks. The kind that was plastic and clear, and made a lot of noise.

He turned in her general direction, appearing confused. "Do you have a death wish?" he asked, gripping the knife in a pale hand.

"No." She finally spoke, and her voice was dispassionate.

He huffed, irritated, biting his lower lip as he slowly sidled to the door. "I'm trying to kill you, you know," the purple guy hissed.

"The understatement of the century. Congratulations."

He blinked, recoiling, shock in his eyes. "Wh-what?!" he exclaimed, waveringly. Then, quieter, "Aren't you scared? You should be terrified."

"I am. Terrified that I'll be bored to death."

He just stared over her shoulder. Then he turned the light on, and she winced, shielding her eyes as her pupils adjusted. The safe room. They were in the safe room.

...Which was initially made for things like hurricanes or tornadoes or some other alien feature but was instead made into the employee break room, decorated with a snack machine and a drink machine and even an arcade game that was out of order because some kid probably slipped in and broke the screen. Or a very angry employee. Some chairs and a table, with a few papers and knickknacks assorted randomly, and Spring Freddy and Spring Bonnie tucked away neatly in the corner. Yes, she had her back turned to the murderer. If he were to kill her, he'd best do it now.

He didn't, and when she looked back at him, he was leaning on the door, arms crossed with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. The knife was still sticking from his grip-a kitchen knife, she realized, from the kitchen in the diner-unexpectedly loose and slack in his grip.

"You missed the opportune moment," she said, stuffing her hand in her pocket again. The plastic was crispy under her fingers, a likable noise in a nice, quiet place where chaos was dominant. "If you wanted to kill me, then why didn't you?"

"So you're not scared?" he asked, preferring question over answer. "Not one bit?"

"Oh, no. I'm terrified of a man with flower-colored hair dressed in a plum skin head-to-toe. Absolutely..." she paused, searching for a word. "...Mortified."

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, though despite his relaxed appearance, he was evidently tense, wary in case she ran away. Of course, she couldn't. There was one entrance and one exit, branching one on top of the other, and the purple guy was standing right in front of it. Besides, she'd heard it lock as short while earlier. She'd need his keys, which were in his pocket, and frankly it was awkward enough to be talking to a murderer sanely-sticking her hand where it didn't belong was just plain embarrassing.

Plus he was taller and stronger than her. Of course, there was that. Funny how she was (basically) flirting with Death, and she was more concerned with her pride than she was about the ride.

"Why aren't you scared, kid?" he asked when she finally looked away, surveying the safe room... employee's lounge... whichever. She walked up to the Spring suits, kneeling down, staring at them. Their eyes were closed, they looked asleep but they were dead.

"I've run my fear out years ago," she explained, not looking back at him. A finger brushed some dust fro the musky, velvet-covered suits, smearing it further over her fingers. The suits were old, she decided, like an archaic device long-forgotten. Why didn't they use these suits? "That's all there is to it. My fear battery ran out."

"It doesn't work that way," purple guy said. She heard him shift slightly, and turned her head halfway, though she still watched the golden suits. "Are you curious about those ones?"

Hmm? Curious? "I suppose I am," she admitted with a nonchalant shrug, running a hand over the rabbit's arm. After all, it wasn't every day you saw a golden animatronic crumple and rust away. How gruesome. "I mean, gold is heavy and fragile. Weak."

"Who did you come to the pizzeria with?" he asked, walking over to the table and setting down the knife. She heard it, didn't see it, but the question made her turn her head and tilt it inquiringly.

"Hmm?"

"You have to be accompanied by an adult if you want to enter Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. It's an establishment based around family. You can't be older than... what, twelve?"

"Ten," she corrected, standing up and brushing her hand off on her pants. Several long locks of hair peeked from beneath her hat, some golden, some scarlet, all wavy, and she brushed them to the side over her ear. "I'm a child adult. In a child's world, I am their peer-adult, just as adults are the teen's peer-adults. So I'm allowed in here by that logic, right?"

Purple guy whistled. "Wow. Weird kid. But it doesn't work like that."

"I know. It's how I work. No adult or kid thinks like that." She went over to a chair and pushed it so the back faced the table. She sat down in it in a rebel-esque fashion, arms draping over the back. Another chance for him to kill her, and if he didn't, she'd deduce that he wasn't going to anymore.

He didn't. He went over to the door and unlocked it before coming back. She felt his eyes on her, but she ignored it. "I'm a secret-keeper, by the way," she added, perching her chin on her arms. "Don't worry about me, purple man. Don't worry about yourself, either, actually."

"...Hmm. You really are a weird kid... my name's Vincent, by the way. You?"

"Clarence." A boy's name. What fun. His reaction?

He snorted. Clarence heard him running a hand over his mouth, grazing over his unshaven face. She always did like unshaved faces. "Wow. I've never heard of a more ridiculous name," he said before he laughed.

She said nothing.

"So where do you live, huh, little boy?" he asked, chuckling, rubbing his face as helpless giggles overtook him.

"I'm a girl."

He paused. "Huh?"

"I'm a girl," she repeated, a tone of irritation in her voice. To demonstrate, she lifted a hand and pulled off her hat. Her long hair, in a messy bun, stuck up, and she pulled it out and threaded her fingers through the tangles. Her eyes skimmed... Vincent, was it? Taking note of the confounded, curious expression on his face, the kind only a startled adult can have. "More specifically, I am Clarence Nightingale, who's lived in this area her whole life and has never been to this pizzeria all but thrice. That is who I am, Vincent. I am merely a macabre girl in a world of gore and guts."

He almost-almost-seemed to flinch. It caused a devious smirk to worm its way on her features, a feeling of satisfaction warming her gut. "You thought I was going to say gold and glory, heh."

"Sort of," he admitted. "Then again, 'macabre' doesn't really fit with those two words, does it? ...No, it does not." He answered his own question and chuckled, and the purple man pulled up a seat of his own and rested o it, leaning on the table with his heel against his knee. "Now I have a question."

"Shoot." She put her hands in a gun position and aimed it square at his forehead. Pow, she mouthed, and drew the gun back in recoil. And he was dead, just like that, laying on the ground in a spreading pool of his own blood. Eyes startled and lifeless, forever open even in death, limbs splayed all about. ...Hah. Yeah, right. Closer inspection, she realized, revealed soft, lavender eyes. Not black. Where did black come from? she wondered, thinking back to when he was trying to kill her minutes before.

"If I stabbed you in the back right now, what would you-"

"I'd scream in pain, turn around, kick you in the balls, pull out the knife, skin you alive, and leave you to rot."

"Hmm. And if I were to-"

"Where a tutu while doing it? Same, but I'd be laughing like a maniac because I killed a fairy."

"What?" He laughed. "You really are weird."

"So are you. I gave you two chances to kill me and you decided to toss it ou-"

Purple guy jumped when something thudded into the door of the safe room, and he glanced over at it, frowning. Clarence looked, too, but wasn't startled. Small hands slammed on the door, hollering, before happy giggles took form and the thudding stopped. A glance at the purple man, and she saw his mouth drawn into a frown; shadows in his eyes, irritation on his face. Eyes black, almost.

"One of the kids?" she questioned, tilting her head.

"Yeah." His voice was rather stiff. Worry creased his forehead-for himself, not for the children, and that made her curious.

"You look disturbed," she noted, perching her cheek on her hand as she leaned on the chair. Almost-almost-afraid, she sensed. Apprehensive, at least.

"I don't like the kids that come here," purple guy muttered, shaking his head lightly and scratching his hip. "They are, see... spoiled, selfish, ungrateful little brats. " A shudder in his voice, and he rubbed his arm. She said nothing, and he said nothing, too. Clarence found herself wishing she could read minds.

Purple guy finally looked over at her and offered a toothy smirk. Instinct told her it was creepy, her gut wrenching in her stomach, trying to warn her shockless mind, but she remained calm and her brain was clear. There was no fear in her mind, just in her stomach. "So, kid, I got another question."

"Yeah?" she questioned, tilting her head blankly.

"If I let you go, will you tell anyone what happened back here just now?"

She blinked, and then she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "That depends."

"Hmm?"

"Do you want me to?"

There was an awkward moment of silence, in which his 'creepy' smirk faded and the discomfort in her stomach faded. Finally he said, "Of course I don't."

"Then the question here is: How good is the pizza here?"

[Place Line Here]

So I've finally become a part of the Five Nights at Freddy's fandom, it seems. And it seems that my favorite characters are Springtrap, Purple Guy, and Foxy, of course. They always seem to be most people's favorites...

So, after a while, I started thinking on why Rebornica's Purple Guy hates needles and loves toast. So then I basically created my own AU Vincent, too, while I was attempting to explain this. He does take after Rebornica's Vincent a little (love of toast, hatred of needles, love of Scott), but other than that, I like to think he's my own character, with his own motives... which will be revealed as the story goes on. Also, he is a human. Obviously.

But basically I intend for this to be just a slice-of-life story with no basic plot, just a sort of quirky relationship between Clarence and Vincent to pass the time. Hopefully it'll be an enjoyable experience for you all to read.

Wait-I see you going to the comments. 'How dare you! That is pedophilia!', I see you about to type. Before you actually post anything, please finish reading: This WILL NOT be a romantic relationship. That said, Clarence and Vincent will go through some tough times, but not as a couple.

I do ship Purple Guy x Phone Guy, but that won't be the main idea of the story, either. So please, be patient.

If you wish to see more into Vincent's past, continue reading. If you want to see more about the fearless girl Clarence's past, keep reading. If you want to see what kind of relationship I'm planning on writing for them, keep reading. If you wish to read so that you can complain about how horrible it is and how it deserves its own special reserved seat in hell, stop reading. If you wish to read so that you can offer support and constructive criticism, by all means, feel free to do whatever you want. ^^

Now, to those of you that read my other stories-I know, I never finish any of my stories, and that you want me to finish them if you like it. And you also think that if I never finish them, then I should just take them down. But I won't. Because someday I might come back to them and continue. Because someday I may rediscover my passion for the fandom and dig up the fossils of my ideas and plots.

So, as I said before, if you're here to flame, please leave. If you do flame, I will ignore it and continue on my way.