Here it is: Beauty, the sequel-ish of Fate and Faith (well, to put it better, Fate and Faith was more of a prequel. I just wrote it BEFORE all this.) I's trying to make the chapters longer than F&F, and more chapters. I don't have an official plan of I want to happen, but I'm shooting for at least a trilogy. So, if you want something to happen, or for a character to say something, send me a PM. Who knows, I might get a writer's block and take them up!

You may be surprised at what's to happen. That's why I made it T. Don't want to scare the kiddies.

And I own NOTHING! (Well, the basic story I own, but still).

Chapter 1 ~*KURT*~

I saw your face in a criminal sketch

Don't be alone, cos you don't know me yet

I'm on the prowl now, sniffing around this town

For you...

I sigh as I make it toward the knocking on the door, which was barely audible over Sara's blasting music.I wonder if the neighbors like Owl City. Well, now that I think about it, they probably don't care about the actual music, but the volume, which probably makes it heard down the block.

As usual, I opened the door, which can only be open a few inches thanks to the chain lock, and hide behind the door. "What do you want?!" I yell over the music, trying my hardest to sound American (although Sara has pointed out many times that my American accent sucks, blows, and sounds like I'm wearing a pair of giant dentures).

And, as usual, the person on the other side tries to push the door open further (happens every time, no matter the person). They say something I can't understand, thanks to Sara's loud love of Adam Young.

So I yell, "Wait a sec!" to the person on the other side of the door, and run to Sara's room. Throwing open the door, I find the room a mess (as usual), with her on her bed, reading, of all things, These Boots Were Made for Stalking, while her stereo is still blaring.

I cautiously make my way across the room, avoiding three books, five magazines (including Girl's Life and Nintendo Land), and a box of lip gloss (one of her many weaknesses) I got her for her birthday a few years ago. Just as I'm about to pull the plug (literally), the song changes. Apparently it's one she doesn't like today, which I can tell by the way she whines, "Shut it OFF!"

I do so, and turn to face her. "Sara," I say, starting a lecture I have given her several times before. Sigh. She doesn't listen. "Sara. You can not turn you stereo on full-volume,"

"Yes, I can," she replies without taking her eyes off the page.

"Well, don't. It upsets the neighbors, and they don't really like you in the first place. And it's loud, so loud I can't hear my own thoughts... OH! The person!" I rush out of the room and back to the door.

"Sorry about that," I say, resuming my hiding spot behind the door. "Now, I didn't hear you. What did you want?"

A pair of hairy arms make their way through the door crack and hurl something into the room. "Just keep your cat out of my apartment," a gruff voice says, and the door closes.

Then keep your door locked, I can't help but think as I pick up Zazzles (the cat) and head toward Sara's room. It's her cat, she was the one who decided to take it in, she might as well deal with this. Last time Zazzles ended up in Mr Angry Voice's (We don't know any of our neighbor's real names) apartment, she was convinced the cat picked up a bug. Three vet visits and two hundred dollars later, she was finally convinced the cat was fine. Me, on the other hand, swore not to let it happen again. We couldn't afford the two hundred dollars before, and we still can't, despite her new singing gig.

All this time... five years have passed since I met Sara, and she took me in. Well, let me stay ('took me in' make me sound like a stray cat). Back then, she was a sweet little fifteen year old. After she found out her dad was involved in a car crash and died, her mother tried to take her in. I, of course, secretly came along, and found out through Sara how their relationship wasn't going good. Her mother was still a drug addict. Sara didn't admit it, but I could tell her mother would hit her by the bruises and scars that she tried to hide. Eventually, one night, we ran off in the night and found ourselves in New York City by morning. Now, she's gained ten pounds, ten inches (height-wise), and ten new personalities. Also, she dyed her hair purple on a whim. However, she somehow did it wrong, and now it looks like a pukey shade (but everyone else likes it, including her).

I toss the cat into her room. It lands on top of her. She screams and drops her book on the floor, losing her place (she's probably gonna bitch about that later).

"Cat was out again," I say, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. Probably won't work, since she knows my trying-to-keep-a-straight-face face.

She tosses the cat on the floor. It disappears under her bed. "This is not funny!" she exclaims, getting up. "That is my cat-"

"Then treat the cat like your cat," I interrupt. "It wasn't my idea to take that cat in from the streets, and I remind you that every time that cat gets in trouble." I walk out of the room and close the door behind me.

X-MEN~X-MEN~X-MEN~X-MEN

The next day, there is a knock at the door. Since Sara isn't up yet (she likes to sleep in on her days off) I answer and hide behind the door.

"Open up!" says a familiar voice.

"Sorry, there's a big mess," I lie. I always say something like that when someone demands to come in. "I could barely get to the door." Well, it wasn't really a lie, since the whole place is a mess. Sometimes I wish Sara would get organized.

"I'm here for the rent!" says the voice, which I realize is the building manager. "You're late!"

Dammit, Sara, I think as I rush away from the door and grab The Envelope, which is buried under a bunch of crap. It's her job to get the rent in. She always forgets. No matter what. I should just tape The Envelope to her forehead and put her on a bus heading to the post office.

I go back over to the door and slap the envelope into his open palm (which was really beefy- wish I knew how he forced it through the crack). "Sorry 'bout that," I say. "She's really bad at-"

The hand quickly squeezes back through the crack and the door slams shut.

I turn around to find Sara coming out of her room, in a tee shirt and sweat pants, rubbing her eyes. "Who was that?" she slurred.

"Just the building manager," I reply. "You forgot the rent. Again."

She takes her hands away from her eyes. "You spoke to him?"

I nod.

"I was down in the lobby the other day and overheard him telling some other dude that he's on the extreme lookout for mutants!"