I know I know, I havent finished midsummer snow, but the next (longer) chapter is being worked on I swear. Anyways, here's something to tide you over in the mean time. Oh, and go show me some love on tumbler! asksyren . tumbler . com (remove the spaces!) Anyways, on with the show!


In the dark and quiet of some back alley, close to midnight on an early winter night the sound of running feet hitting the dank pavement is sharp and clear. A heartbeat of fear, a rhythm of panic, and then the calm steps of a pursuer joins, creating a symphony of dread. There was a soft, deep laugh; so gentle and patronizing, such a beautiful sound in the deep of the night. The frightened prey was cornered against a brick wall, scrambling and grasping for any escape, fingers bloodied as they were scraped raw by the sandpaper like surface slicked by a subtle coating of dew turned frost. The soft sound of footsteps drawing calmly nearer caused the frightened man to turn around with a terrified shriek that was immediately cut off with the sound of utter terror; silence. Not but an inch away from his face, eyes that were black as night with a burst of gold around each pupil stared at him with the unblinking gaze of a large cat about to consume its prey. A slow, predatory grin spread across a dark face, and a silent, mocking "boo…!" was the last thing that man ever saw and heard as pain blossomed like a crimson flower in his lower abdomen…


Kozmotis Pitchener was a patient man. There was very little in this world that could unsettle, surprise or otherwise upset him. It was the only reason he could wander these worthless, boring parties without throwing a childish tantrum. People who had not seen him before or did not see him often would pause to stare and gape at him like he was some sort of freak show, and while he would never admit to taking a bit of perverse pleasure in being noticed, he would admit that he enjoyed 'ruffling their feathers' with a sneer or other expression of disdain. Yes, he was a very patient man. Well, at least he had always thought of himself as such, until this night that is.

It was just like any other party, with him dressed in a fashionable and modern attire as he patrolled and kept watch for anything that would upset the guests in any way. His gold and black eyes were sharper than any other persons there, as they should be. They could pick up the tiniest detail, the most minute of hints that someone was or was about to be upset. It was those sharp eyes that caught a glimpse of white amid the crowd, and for some reason his eyes sought it out with the single minded aim of a predator upon his prey. His inky black shoes seemed to move him towards that fleeting glimpse without his permission; however he was not in much of a mind to care.

Finally he could see him clearly, a young man around 20-23 years of age. He looked utterly bored an out of place with his slightly punk-ish attire and heavy headphones. His hair was the color of snow beneath the moonlight, whiter than moonbeams with the slightest glint of silvery blue, his pale and thin figure making him look absolutely ethereal. Pitch could feel something in him shift, and he stepped out from his usual shadows, in plain sight. Those icy eyes were roaming, searching for something, and Pitch had every confidence that he would be noticed. How could the petite silverette not notice the 6'7" man with gray skin, black hair and tar black Armani leather suit? He smirked gently, waiting for that initial shock and curiosity...but it never came. Those piercing eyes swept right past him without so much as a blink, and he scowled in confusion.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something akin to aggravation rise like a bubble of heat in his chest.


Jackson Lunanof had absolutely no patience. None whatsoever. He wanted out of this place and he wanted out right now. With a barely contained glare he followed his father, Manuel Lunanof, towards another group of his associates. Manuel was done up in his custom silver and gold Armani suit with matching posh shoes, looking as radiant as ever. Looking his father over, he had to admit he was a handsome bastard, even at his ancient age. He had the face and build of a man in his early 30's, and was damn proud of it, the youth of his face only accented by his bright blue eyes and platinum blonde hair that had a light shine of sunlight to it when he moved. Jackson knew that he himself was a sight, and very obviously his father's son with his equally pale hair and complexion. With a heavy sigh and narrowed eyes he slipped away from his attention whore of a father and made a beeline for the nearest door. If he wasn't mistaken... there, halfway behind a long curtain was a glass door… yes!

Slipping outside onto a balcony he heaved a more relieved sigh, taking in the cold of the night with contentment. His dark, brand name jeans and white and blue shirt alone would be a bit too cold, but he luckily remembered a thin jacket. It was mostly blue with a white, upturned collar and white lined pockets and white sleeves. A ring of antique looking keys jangled on the front left of his hips as he leaned back against the balcony railing, bringing up thick teal headphones. He didn't get the chance to put them on as a man -a very old, white haired, wrinkly and obviously drunken man- stepped out onto the balcony with him. Jackson barely smothered a groan.

"Well-" the man hiccuped, "hello there, pretty boy!" Jack sneered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I saw you slipping away there… feeling too cooped up in there-" he slurred and hiccuped again, "with all us… old folk?" He gave a drunken laugh and lurched forward, nearly landing on Jack if he hadn't sidestepped quickly.

"Yeah, the point kinda was to get away from 'all you old folk'. Looks like that plan failed though." There was no shortage of sarcasm in that statement. Raising a single, silvery brow he hoped the man would take the hint and go away.

Yeah, that also failed. "Aw come n-" he hiccupped again, "now. Dun be that way." He staggered towards Jack, making a grab for his arm. "I can fun, real fun. I can show things you nev-never seen." He slurred through a laugh. "You would look mi-mighty fine in some…silver and diamond cuffs…wouldn'cha luv?" He made another grab for Jack, not noticing the utter iciness of his teal gaze. With a soft snarl he knocked the man's hand aside with an expert sweep of his arm, pulled back his fist and launched a furious punch straight at the guy's face…

…And connected with a gray – yes gray- palm. Long, elegant and strong gray fingers curled around his much smaller hand in a firm yet gentle grasp. Startled, Jack reared back but that grasp would not let him back up very far. Looking up he saw a man of at least, if not more than, six and a half feet with wide shoulders and a trim waist standing just beside the drunken man. Jack could only blink in confusion as the man very calmly leaned to the side and murmured something with a dark gaze to the drunkard, sending him scrambling away with a pale face. Finally, that gold and onyx gaze settled its full weight on Jack and he couldn't help but shiver.

There was a slight pause, a heavy silence. Those gentle fingers gave his fist a squeeze. "Are you going to behave now? That could have landed you in quite a bit of trouble, you know." Jack shook himself out of whatever la-la land he'd been in and snatched his fist back, glaring dangerously at the other man who held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm only saying, I don't mean to patronize you." He grinned when the boy leaned back against the balcony railing, crossing his arms with a soft 'humph'.

"Yeah well… thanks for that, and for chasing that creep off." Jack shrugged, frowning a bit and watching the tall man as he folded his hands behind his back. "So, what do I call my Argyrian savior?" He grinned impishly when the man's eyes rounded out a bit.

"What's this? Someone intelligent enough to recognize Argyria when they see it? Well, at least my silver poisoning will not be mistaken for a relationship to the boogeyman, oh happy day." The sarcasm and devilish grin paired with the raspy, slightly English accent had Jack choking back a laugh. He joined that laughter with a soft chuckle. "Kozmotis Pitchener, at your service, oh silver one, but please do call me Pitch." He sketched a slightly dramatic bow.

Jack let out a real laugh and shook his head, tossing his silvery spikes gently, revealing a tiny sapphire piercing in his left ear. He reached out and shook the man's hand. "Jackson Lunanof, friends call me Jack." That large, strong yet curiously gentle hand wrapped around his own pale one, giving it a firm shake. They both exchanged equally devilish smiles; it looked like the start of quite the friendship.