/PLAYGROUND/ a Night World fanfiction by dashboard

In the Previous Chapter: Ash Redfern is sent on yet another mission by Thierry Descouedres. Ash decides not to tell Mary-Lynnette about the new mission, as it is particularly dangerous. Thierry suggests he enlist the help of an old "friend", Ayla Rousseau, who is the most prominent vampire slayer around since Rashel Jordan (previously known as "The Cat") withdrew to Circle Daybreak with her soulmate, John Quinn. Ayla is not a part of Circle Daybreak; she prefers to work alone. She is however, on good terms with Daybreak members, in particular, Thierry and Ash. Sometimes, she even visits their headquarters. Before she became a lone slayer, Ayla Rousseau participated in the activities of The Lancers, a successful vampire slaying organisation situated on the East Coast.


CHAPTER 2: Deadly Intentions

/And everything shattered into a million crystalline pieces/

The pizza boy chewed on his gum with an extremely bored expression on his pizza face, one hand holding three boxes of, she squinted, Domino's Pizzas.

Oh no, Ayla didn't intend to be polite to Mr. Pizza Face, not at all.

"Ya ordered pizza?" He managed to burp out between popping gum.

There was a brief, stunned moment of silence. Why, the disgusting little prick!

"Who the hell orders god damned pizzas at," she glanced at her wristwatch, "EIGHT THIRTY IN THE FRICKIN' MORNING?"

"Apparently, you did, Miss." The boy replied innocently enough.

Too bad he was going to have that oily pizza face slapped so hard that she doubted he was even going to have a face afterward.

After staring disbelievingly at the boy for a few moments (what a waste of her precious time), Ayla Rousseau slammed the door shut before she could do anything profoundly stupid, and ultimately, regrettable. She could almost see the headlines- mad girl pulls out pizza boy's hair in unexplained fit of rage.

Sucking in a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, Ayla picked her way between the piles of dirty laundry and three nights worth of takeaway boxes until she reached the door of the bathroom.

Half used tubes of toothpaste, old toothbrushes and toilet rolls cluttered the limited space near the sink. She swore again as she knocked over a bottle of what claimed to be "lavender hand wash". Hmmm, she didn't like the green, mouldy stuff growing on its sides.

Maybe she should actually try to clean the place up.

But seriously, who expects a vampire slayer to do such mundane, everyday things as washing dishes, laundry and vacuuming?

No, everyone just expects a Buffy look alike who somehow manages pay the bills, keep her room freakishly neat, do well at school and still have every strand of hair fall in place after kicking vampire butt.

Ayla nearly snorted as she observed herself in the soap filmed mirror- she didn't even come close.

First off, no, Ayla Rousseau did not, in fact, have endless, golden legs. She was short- barely reaching 160cm. Neither was her hair a lovely, sun-kissed blonde. And her perfectly ochre eyes definitely had no hint of blue in them. Heck, God hadn't even cared enough to spare a speck of green when it came to her assets. This was probably why, Ayla thought resentfully, she didn't like God much.

She brought her face closer to the mirror. She didn't look like a pixie, she wasn't cute or elegant, didn't have any to-die-for cheekbones anyone could actually see, and hell, she was as far away from a model as a sloth was from a cheater (apparently a motivated sloth is 440 times slower than a motivated cheater).

Other than being your average, girl-next-door type, there was nothing particularly spectacular about her. Scary, maybe, spectacular, no.

She liked to use one word to describe herself.

Ayla Rousseau was fierce.

And that's what Ayla liked to be. She was, and could be: fiercely protective, fiercely loving, fiercely loyal, fiercely angry, fiercely happy, and fiercely sad. She could be any of those things at one time. Heck, she could even be all those things at one time, but she highly doubted anyone would want to stick around long enough to see it

However, one thing was pretty much constant- her eyes would always be blazing, and her eyebrows would always be drawn over them… in a fierce manner.

That, and someone would always have to ruin the comfortable stance she took with herself by asking, "Why are you so angry all the time?"

Ash had been the last person who tried calling her a lemon-sucker. She didn't doubt that he wouldn't forget the lesson soon.

Ayla Rousseau had an extremely painful knee-jerk reaction, and an absolutely deadly aim.


Damien ignored the lustful gazes that lingered after him as he sauntered down the hallway of Larson High, one of New York's upper-class high schools. Though how any place filled with vermin could be labelled as "upper-class" was beyond the grasp of his plainly brilliant mind.

He'd lived on an enclave for half his life and spent the other, more recent half, making his way around the world. He had particularly enjoyed visiting Switzerland- the high plateaus and desolate, icy landscapes appealed to him in more ways than one.

Essentially, Damien was a cold person. His thoughts were always clear and collected, and he seemed to be perpetually detached from the rest of civilization.

On the enclave, any display of emotion had been inappropriate.

If he walked, they ran after him, always trying to catch him in an off guard moment of weakness in hope that they would get to punish him. If he fell, they would watch as he wordlessly picked himself off the ground. Then they would smile, and push him again. And if he screamed, well, they'd shut him up.

They'd shut him up real good.

Damn executioners.

But really, he should thank them.

After all, without all that he'd endured and they'd given, he would never have learned how to place reason and logic over emotion and sentiment.

Yes, that was all his mother had been to him- an ugly sentiment.

An irritating imperfection, a blatant flaw, and inevitably, a fatal weakness. But he hadn't allowed it to be.

Everyone knew that one had to either destroy their weakness or be destroyed by it. Like many things in this world, there was no room for two. An ultimatum was reached, and a decision made.

Now, he had his emotions well in hand- so well in hand that they were barely there.

No one knew what he was really thinking. In fact, no one came close to even guessing, and so, no one could imitate his thoughts. He was like a cornered jaguar; dangerous and unpredictable. Able to lash out whenever he damn well wanted to. But of course, none dared to provoke him.

It's a definite plus when one enjoys playing strategic games.

Damien smiled languorously at the thought.

Circle Daybreak had to have set someone on him by now, of that he was sure.

All he had to do now was wait for that someone to make a mistake. Weaknesses are like bleeding wounds, and he could find other people's weaknesses so fast that they would still be smiling as he brought the knife in for a second turn.

Oh, he would wait- if it was one thing he'd learned in his nineteen years of existence, it was patience. Waiting always brought the bigger, juicier prey.

And where better to observe the unfolding of the board, the setting out of the game pieces, but your average, testosterone filled human high school? There was no place safer. Not that he ever needed to be protected. But he was a cautious person who regarded the philosophy of "better safe than sorry" extremely highly.

Damien Redfern could defend himself very well, thank you. It came naturally with being a lamia.

No one would expect Hunter's most recent successor to be a mere boy, eloquent though his speech was.

Apparently the fact that no one else could bring a room of lethargic adult vampires to apprehensive fear with a single look didn't change the other, more annoying fact that Damien Redfern was still only nineteen.

Too young, many had argued.

It was almost amusing how they'd all shut up when he'd staked a vampire to the ground to make his point. Damien had always believed that actions spoke louder than words. Granted, he was a man of few words.

He had then reinforced their tentative understanding of what would happen if anyone ever brought up that particular topic of discussion again by driving a second stake effortlessly into the cemented top of the hard oak table.

He cherished the memory of how the discussion room, in that instant, became the silent room.

Over the years, he acquired that the best way for anyone to learn was by setting examples.

He'd looked slowly into every single one of their faces, enjoying how they turned away from his own impassively calm, aristocratic features, before turning his burning gaze to the elder.

"You don't want to die. Again. Now do you?"

No, Damien had no compassion whatsoever for his own kind, and even less for any other species. Frankly he just didn't give a shit about anything, or indeed, anyone other than himself. In Damien Redfern's world, there was only one person who mattered. All intruders, be they vampire, shape-shifter, witch or human resembled insignificant specks of dust.

Clearly disposable, utterly unnecessary.

Witches were just humans with a hint of psychic prowess. They were dabblers. Shape shifters, on the other hand… all brawn and no brain. And on the rock bottom of that ladder was vermin. Scratch that, they weren't even on the ladder. In fact, being crushed under the sole of his expensive leather shoe would be too good a fate for a human and rather unlucky for the shoe.

He despised them, loathed them, detested them and would gladly eradicate their whole population if it wasn't for the rather satirical aspect he'd rather forget.

Kristian Damien Redfern needed vermin to survive. Or, more precisely, their blood. It was almost laughable. He wasn't afraid to admit it, but that didn't mean he didn't resent the fact.

If he could find as rich a source of blood that didn't come from vermin, they would simply and irrevocably cease to exist.

The elders had branded him a rebel, and they'd put a stash of money on his head. Or, more accurately, for his head. Oh, they'd sent assassins and ninjas alike after him, but it had been like sending fleas to kill a tiger. He'd simply picked them off, and squashed them.

He was powerful, and he possessed no conscience. It was a lethal combination. Damien Redfern never gave second chances, and he never left his people room for redemption. If you faltered, you were as good as dead.

And all that unnecessary blood and guts just because the elder had wrongly labelled him "too young". Truthfully, Damien rather liked his age. Maybe he would stop the aging this year- it had been a good year. The slave trade was in full roar, he had built several new enclaves after the prominent Dark Kingdom enclave was destroyed by his traitor of a cousin, and he would, later this year, be known as the sole vampire responsible for single-handedly ridding the Night World of the little nuisances that liked to call themselves Daybreakers.

All the attempts at his life the elders had concocted to try and rid themselves of him had failed miserably.

Even the infamous Night World Council didn't dare touch him. What with his late great-grandfather, the highly respected patriarch of the Redfern family, paying off at least half of them in blood, and the other half in God knows what else, the Council didn't really represent an issue.

Yeah. Damien Redfern was feeling hellishly good. No pun intended.

He flashed a dazzling smile at the aging secretary, his light grey eyes smouldering under dark, spiky lashes.

"Kristian Renferd?"

What could he say- the last name wasn't exactly original. But it would do.

This might be fun. A perfect stage for his perfect performance.

Maybe he could fool them all into thinking that he was the nice guy. That way, they would never know what turned around and bit them in the neck, literally.

His acting skills were at an impasse. But he always thought to improve. The word "improve" in this sense taking the meaning of: to become more powerful.

Leaning forward slightly in his chair so that strands of his dirty blonde fringe fell into his eyes, he murmured, "That's me, Miss."

When the hopelessly dim-witted old lady didn't seem to catch on, he continued in a pleasantly soft voice, "I'm new here."

"Oh. Sorry, dear." The secretary blinked rapidly behind thick glasses, then handed him a piece of paper, "This is your schedule. Would you like someone to-"

Before she had even finished her sentence, Damien was strolling casually out the door, schedule in hand.

"I'm sure I'll find my way," he tossed back casually at her. Yes, it's perfectly normal that the pathetic human didn't even check his records.

The sweet aroma of blood was everywhere, but he wasn't about to go on a blood feast. At least, not yet.

The corners of his mouth deepened into something resembling a smile when the secretary mumbled a vague, "Enjoy your day then, dear," before looking down and shuffling her papers into a neat pile in front of her. Again.


It had been three days since Ash had gotten the phone call, and he'd rushed back to headquarters with Mary-Lynnette. Bad decision. Of all the people he expected to blurt about his mission to Mare, he didn't expect it to be Thierry.

He flailed his arms, mouthing a desperate "no" at Thierry behind Mary-Lynnette's back. When the older vampire managed to cast him a blank look, Ash gave up trying to send signals to Thierry that Mar-Lynnette didn't have the slightest clue about this mission. It was obviously a hopeless cause. Seriously, the guy must have lost more than a few brain cells since he was reunited with Hannah. Just shows that you can't judge by looks, because Hannah Snow definitely hadn't seemed like the abusive type.

Mary-Lynnette trembled with barely contained anger as she glared incredulously at the director of Circle Daybreak.

"Ah… darn," Thierry smiled sheepishly, "I'm guessing Ash didn't tell you?"

"No," she glanced back at her soulmate who was looking anywhere but towards her, "he didn't."

There was an awkward silence.

"Ahem. Ah… well. Right. I'll give you two a bit of private time, eh?"

Mary-Lynnette had never known Thierry to move so quickly out of his own office before.

Smart move, because this wasn't going to be pleasant at all.

Ash opened his mouth, reaching out a hand to pull her close, but she cut him short with a terse, "Don't."

He let his arm fall back by his side.

"I thought you trusted me," she stated, staring at the lush white carpet that stretched from wall to wall of Thierry's office.

Ash stood up in one fluid motion, and before she even had time to blink, he was standing in front of her. She hated how vampires did that, especially when you were trying to keep your distance from them.

"I do."

Finally, she looked up, her eyes a scorching summer sky blue, "I don't call not telling your girlfriend that you're about to travel to some random enclave and possibly be hacked to pieces with wooden KNIVES," her voice rose dangerously with the last word. Mary-Lynnette took a deep breath to calm herself and lower her voice (no doubt Thierry was eavesdropping shamelessly in the next room), "very trusting."

"It's not that important okay?" Ash muttered, trying to redeem himself.

Mary-Lynnette closed her eyes before she could do something she would regret later, such as kicking him very, very hard. And this time, she wouldn't be aiming for the shin.

Think of stars, stars sprinkled across a lovely velvet sky- Jupiter, Venus, Saturn… and what was the one that everyone always forgot? Pluto, that was it. But Pluto wasn't really even a planet anymore, not since they'd reclassified the whole system- oh screw rationality, she was allowed to be hysterical when her soulmate didn't think that telling her he MIGHT BE KILLED within the next week was very important.

Mary-Lynnette was so angry that she could almost cry in frustration.

"It is important," to her humiliation and surprise, her voice cracked and tears started welling up in her eyes.

One look at Ash's horrified expression and wavering hands made her sniffle all the more.

"I don't want you to die without telling me. I want to know if you're going to be doing something dangerous and-" she hiccuped, feeling rather pathetic, "I want to be there- here- for you and…"

Then he was holding her in his arms, wiping away any traces of tears with his hand and kissing her forehead almost fiercely.

And she was in his mind, a strange yet familiar place. Soft yellow edges and sharp grey planes angled this world. She touched a sharp shard gingerly, pleasantly surprised when it melted into iridescent sparkles beneath her palm.

Somehow, she knew that he didn't to tell her because he was worried that she would worry. It would have been amusing in a different context.

Silly boy. That's what girlfriends do. We worry.

She felt his almost aching need to be with her and yet, at the same time, to protect her.

His voice took on the unreasonable quality of a little boy, but I don't want you to worry. I don't want you to be hurt, ever. I want you to be safe.

Leaning her head slightly on his tense shoulder and feeling him relax, she replied.

Have you ever thought that, just maybe, I feel the same way?

It was then that they both understood each other. Completely, absolutely, perfectly.

And it also happened to be at that exact moment that the door to Thierry Descouedres' office slammed open and a fuming Rashel Jordan stalked in.


A/N: Well, the next update is here! I hope I haven't kept you guys waiting too long .:smiles:. Anyway, a longer chapter this time, and more of the original Night World characters make their appearance! Truthfully, I'm quite fond of all of Mrs. Lisa's characters so you might see them strolling through the story here and there… rather often. Heh. But back to my own characters… Damien is quite scary, isn't he? Hmmm, I certainly wouldn't want to make him my enemy! I'd be running before he came within a thirty meter radius of me! Okay… maybe not, since he really is quite delectable. We all enjoy the occasional(?) perv, right ;) ?

Cheers.

dash


I'm so incredibly touched that you guys actually thought to review .:tear:. and I guess I just wanted you to know that you're all gorgeous and the reviews really made my day :)

Dulce Ambrosia: Thank you very much for the thoughtful review, I'm glad I've intrigued you into wanting to read more. Oh, and you bet, Ayla definitely has a strong personality, but as for Damien, his lack of emotions seems to suggest that he has no personality at all .:sweat:. !

enchantednight84: Heya, don't apologize for short reviews oh wonderful reader- I'm just happy that you left a thought .:smiles:. Ash is one of my favorite male characters from the Night World series- the others being Delos and Quinn (I seem to have an affinity for the vampire males .:sweat:.). But it's hard to pick favorites with any of the characters. Really, I wouldn't be able to choose (and probably wouldn't want to either)! Anyway, you'll be seeing many of the original Night World characters taking a somewhat casual stroll through Ayla and Damien's story.

WalkThruTheFire: Thank you for the review, and I have also read your story .:smiles:. keep on writing pal! Hopefully you enjoy this chapter as well... heh, it's a little longer than last time and yet more characters grace the screen before you. Cheers!

Starfire-02: Well, many things will happen m'dear, and you better keep on reading and telling me what you think on those matters .:grins:. I'll take a look at Haunted Childhood when I next come on the net- I have a Chemistry Practical to attend soon .:sweat:. I don't like Chemistry... unless it's between the characters. Heh. Catchya next time!

Percieve: Thank you for enjoying the story! Actually, my characters are slightly cliche, but I like cliche! Well, hopefully this story will be cliche in a non-cliche way- urgh, that doesn't even make sense. But ah well .:shrugs:. please keep reading my story- I promise to improve .:smiles:.