DISCLAIMER: I, Claire Mavis Nicole (vladysgirl) wrote this fan-fiction. I DO NOT own Mr. Vladimir Masters-Plasmius. That right belongs to Mr. Butch Hartman, Billionfold, and the good people at Viacom Corp. I own Mavis Ankh Masters and thier (Vlad and Mavis') daughter Crystal Ankh Masters, and ONLY those two protagonist. Tell your lawyers to go away. . . --
The Winsconsin moonlight poured in from the open window and sparkled upon the hardwood floor. A man closed it nimbly as he turned on one heel, carefull not to disturb the tranquillity of the room's atmosphere. The place in which he stood was lavishy decored with the finest of things; from the imported figurines on the shelves to the priceless paintings upon the walls. A smile tugged at the corner of the man's lips; none of these could compare in price to the ones roomed in the stead.
She walked in. He slipped her a sideways glance from the corner of his crystal blue eyes in recognition of her presence. She walked past him and slid her hands on the oak railing of a crib. Thier child slept; the innocence of a child and a life. There was not a thing dubious of the little one's future, for the promise reflected in his fathers eyes. The man, Vladimir, reached his hand into the crib and caressed the infants rosey-red face. His wife slid an arm round the mans' waist and rested her head upon his shoulder. Crickets churped in the abyss of the night. Outside was another world. A world of darkness, confusion, and tumult, but in this room was a family. A family of three, whom no one could touch in thier eyes. In the furture, it is sure, that some mountains shall shroud them. Around the corners will be hardship. Unbearable stridents, places, beings, and spirits wait around every bend.
The two parents were different in almost every way. Vladmimir was adorned in the finest tuxedo. Imported from Paris, France and only the best. His companion, Mavis, wore a black kind of skirt. She was covered by a shirt that was decent and nothing too far, yet still something on the edge of 'todays' style. He listened to classical, while she listened to rock, punk, and easy. She read a book, while he sat and wrote one. Throughout the differences, throughout the times, they still find time to do what's best for the sake of the family. Vladimir Plasmius would watch the child, sure he'd cross no taboo with the world's supernatural alter-ego. the latter would watch with a mothers care, protecting her young from the dangers of both worlds and all who inhabit it.
The little one sat, sixteen years to the future. Eightteen years of lessons learned and a furture life earned. No blatant disreguard for rules on young Crystal's side; she abided her parents and stayed true to beliefs. Bright and cunning, she looked to the horizon; her furture was certainly no mirage. Her mother placed a hand upon her bare tanned shoulder, her father a kiss upon her still-rosey-face. She smiled in a familiar way and turned the keys in the ignition. She headed of into the milky light she had first set foot on sixteen years back. . .
FIN
Okay. . .I've only written one other piece without any dialogue. . .so, it's kind of a new for me.