Warning: VAMPIRES. This is a definite AU fanfic, but if you like Zutara and/or vampires, then go for it. If not, then click the dandy little back button on your browser.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, especially anything Avatar-related. One day, though, I hope to own Bryan.
He had watched her for days, for nights.
Out of the oversized obsidian flaps of his overcoat, the boy watched with a surreptitious eye. She had an easily understandable- highly predictable- daily routine.
The town was small; the people were scanty. Her chestnut hair would always glisten in the early sun as she emerged from a quick dip in the stream. He liked how the dews would slide cautiously down her neck as she piled her hair into an inscrutable bun. She would then proceed to the market, gliding serenely through the windy, sticky streets of the village. The girl always seemed strikingly out of place: a rose in a bouquet of weeds, if you will.
Then again, she had always been destined for other things.
The same strands of hair would always fall into her eyes as she bent down to carry the goods back from the marketplace, and she would always huff, drop her things, and refasten the renegades.
Her clothes were much too big, much too loose, for her slender body. The folds would settle hopelessly around her waist, and her sleeves would billow lethargically in the wind.
She was unquestionably out of place, but he could change that.
He usually watched girls with an insatiable hunger; the blood that rouged their cheeks would always incite a feral desire within him. He always controlled himself, of course. He would only drink when he was starving, when there was no other way.
The victims were largely virgins, largely inane, and largely beautiful. But he wasn't all that interested in the physical attractiveness of the girls; their ignorance simply intrigued him.
And he followed a general order when tracking each one: stalk, flirt, beguile, hunt, feast.
Each one had begged to be his mistress, and he had refused them all. No, he always responded (he usually licked his lips as he said this). She will not choose; she will be chosen.
He would take one final gaze into their eyes before his tongue, his teeth, his mouth, took the reins.
He could smell, taste, hear, see, touch the blood coursing through her body. Each pulse called him forward, but each step drew him back. The urges were becoming unbearable. He had to talk to her.
Plop.
An apple had rolled off her basket and onto the dusty road.
As he bent to pick up the apple, he found a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.
Well, they weren't exactly blue.
He couldn't quite place what they were, but the eyes were predominantly cerulean. In the light, however, he could make out faint traces of silver. If it were at all possible (although he was almost certain that it was not), the colors swam within themselves; eyes were never such a maelstrom of a mess, really.
Eyes were also never so goddamn entrancing.
"Thank you," she muttered as she took the apple out of his hand.
Without a second look or another word, the girl sidled as unnoticeably away as she could.
In all his years, he had never seen anything quite like it.
The smoke winded airily out of the little chimney as the girl prepared the midday supper for her grandmother.
After her mother had died and her father had left to fulfill his foreign obligations as chief of the town, she had been left to care for the remnants of the family.
Her brother had "gone fishing" for the day with the daughter of the town's most affluent merchant, leaving the girl with a multitude of chores.
"Gran-gran, would you like oolong or ginseng tea?" The girl called through the door from the kitchen.
"Either would do just fine, darling."
The girl came out of the kitchen, bending a strip of water that careened and veered after the little flicks of her wrist and waves of her fingers.
"Katara, you know that that is not wise," the old lady reprimanded as she sighed and leaned back into her wooden chair.
"Gran-gran, you can't tell me that you believe in all that junk!"
"Four deaths in the past two months. All waterbenders. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"
"Well, it doesn't mean that they did it! In all honesty, I don't even think that they exist."
The old woman closed her eyes. "Then you believe that your father is a fool on a fool's mission?"
The young girl, Katara, straightened up. "Gran-gran, you and I both know that he's out for diplomacy reasons. Diplomacy has nothing to do with black magic, necromancy, or, God forbid, vampires!"
"Diplomacy has everything to do with vampires!"
"Vampires are just myths to scare the children from staying out late at night. They're complete fabrications!"
"Well, whatever your delusional beliefs, I forbid you from using waterbending."
Katara sighed and went back to the kitchen. "I take it that you believe in Firebenders, as well?"
Gran-gran raised an eyebrow. "Of course I believe in Firebenders! They're the vampires!"
A young, bald boy arranged himself at the head of a long, oaken table. Fidgeting at the stiffness of his chair, he leaned on one hand as an unctuously dressed man droned on at the other side of the room.
The boy stared at the chandelier that hung over the middle of the table, spreading an ethereal glow over the otherwise stagnant room.
"And, of course, we must have the caterers from the other town. I don't quite remember the name of the place, but we must have them!" The slick-haired man licked his lips as he read from a piece of yellowed paper.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure that you have this all covered," the bald boy interpolated.
"Pardon, master?" The man raised his head from the paper.
"We should move on to the invitations! We need to make the guest list! This thing is in two days!"
The man nodded and cleared his throat. "I take it that Sir Arnook's family will be invited?"
"Sure."
"And the family that runs the oiling business, I presume?"
"Tenzai's family? Yeah, okay."
As the man jotted down all of the invitees, the young boy strummed his fingers impatiently on the table. After forty prominent names were suggested and approved, the boy finally piped up.
"You can't forget Katara! Um, the chief's family, that is."
The man flashed a quick smile. "Master, you know I need never ask about them."
A knock came on the door as Katara was preparing to leave the house. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find a man in dress robes standing solemnly before her.
After a quick bow, he handed her a frilled, shimmering card. "Master Aang would be honored if you and your family attend his ball on the 20th of this month."
"But that's in two days!" She stammered.
"He apologizes for the short notice."
After perusing the sumptuous card in her hand, she smiled at the man. "Tell Aang that my family and I, if he could be so kind as to excuse my father from the affair, happily and graciously accept the invitation."
The man bowed and walked briskly back to the mansion of his master.
Out of some obscure corner, the boy in black watched as the girl received some sort of invitation to some sort of ball.
Perfect.
He loved to dance.
AN: Review! Do I continue? Do you like it?