It was a sunny day. A typical summer day, in fact, and just one of those days when you (according to Yuffie) had no choice but to get ice cream. It was that, or the day was completely wasted. It was a little before sunset when she realized that, God forbid, THE DAY WAS ABOUT TO END, and SHE WOULD HAVE EATEN NO ICE CREAM.
THE HORROR.
Cursing like her rather vulgar, chain-smoking watcher, she 'borrowed' her best friend's boyfriend's cousin's (don't ask) motorcycle (which, for some reason she couldn't comprehend, was named after a Norse wolf-god-thing) and sped off without a helmet, which made her best friend warn her to be careful. Although, because the boyfriend was yelling something like "Don't you get a scratch on it, yo, or Cloud'll kick my ass", she didn't hear the warning.
"Yeah, Reno," she yelled, "Because I care about your personal well-being!".
Anyways, she borrowed the motorcycle and went to go get ice cream.

"Hi! Welcome to Yummy Yolanda's! Do you know which flavor you want?"
This was the choice that would change her life.
See, had Yuffie gone with plain chocolate, she would have been slightly less happy, and would have just bounced out of the store.
As it was, she decided to ask for the last scoop of double-chocolate-caramel-with-peanuts, hoping that there was enough left. It looked like there wasn't enough left, but, to her (maybe) luck, there was.
"Awesome!" And, having yelled that, she spun around victoriously, and spotted-
and spotted-
a total hottie.

As it was, the hottie was there to eat, but he wasn't there for the ice cream. No, his meal would come later. It just needed to finsih eating its ice cream, and then he could have a, er, bite.
Vincent, the vampiric hottie in question, was acting at the moment. The chatty blond across from him was talking about her ex-boyfriend, and he was nodding sympathetically, his bloody eyes watching her face. The girl was charmed by his pretended attention, and was blushing. Her eyes were sparkling, all that.
Well, at least she'll die happy. He thought, rather nonchalantly.
But suddenly he was distracted. Sensitive to everything (like all Vampires), he felt a small current of air go through the room- somebody had moved quickly and it had been a big movement. When he looked, he found it was a petite girl, celebrating the fact that she'd gotten the last scoop of some stupid ice cream flavor.
She looked delicious.
And, he realized, she was staring at him. He brushed it off as nothing. People tended to do that- even for a Vampire, Vincent was decidedly gorgeous. He had long, straight hair, black as the darkness Yuffie so feared. His eyes were, as mentioned before, a blood red with an orange tint. Most people assumed he wore contacts.

Not Yuffie. Yuffie knew exactly what Vincent was, as soon as she stopped swooning. Not human, she realized. Pale skin, hot, not eating- definitely a Vampire. She absentmindedly reached back for her stake, licking her ice cream all the while.

Something about the girl was off. That was what Vincent was thinking, and out of the corner of his eye he was watching her with interest. She noticed. She smirked, in fact, and her gaze compelled him to stare further. Then, she did something that made him even more suspicious. Hungry? She mouthed, and pointedly took a large, vicious bite out of her ice cream. In a Vampire-Slayer relation, there was a standard game. Its name? Spot-me. The first to recognized was usually the dead one. And, worryingly, he'd been spotted first.
There was a reason why Slayers had a definite advantage, if you could really call it that. They looked exactly like everybody else. They walked the same (maybe more confidently, though), talked the same, moved the same, ate the same, drank the same, acted the same, looked the same. They didn't have any constants except for that fact that they were always female. Color, size, attitude- it all differed. Sure, most of them wore sports clothing (or just stuff that was easy to move around in...) and were tempermental sluts, but there were a lot of girls like that. Slayers, unlike Monsters, could blend in. That was their greatest ability.
However, it was also a hindrance. They had to live in the normal world, because, to everyone else, they were a part of it. No slayer could ever do that perfectly. Eventually, you made a choice; secrecy and safety, or love and a risk. Most Slayers chose the first option. That was their curse. One of the only things they shared with those they hunted: the obligation to be alone.
At least, you had the choice if you lived that long.
Since it was her or Vincent, he decided to get into the fight right away. It was dark by now, so they wouldn't have any trouble with the sun.
"Sorry, I have to go. I know that girl, and I really have to talk to her." he apologized, flawlessly faking his way out of the conversation. He always did this. Just in case.
Yuffie was waiting for him, grinning widely. "Hey, you!" She smiled, using a rather amusing (to her) flirty tone of voice. Vincent was irritated by this- apparently, Yuffie reasoned, he didn't take well to other people faking.
Well, looks like she's a...hyperactive slut. To be completely honest. Vincent thought, taking note of the really-short-shorts and the top Yuffie was wearing (which just screamed 'look-boobs-and-tummy!' and may have been a kleenex or two in a past life). Of course, he had no idea that Yuffie considered herself too good for most guys and thus was still, regrettably, a virgin.
As he was looked, he took note of a few more things. The large, sparkly brown eyes, for instance, that were in the middle of a cute face on a delicious-looking neck. And, of course, the slim legs, which for a moment seemed to have no end whatsoever. The sudden surge of desire, deep in his frozen heart, was mistaken for hunger.
"Let's talk outside. It's nice out." He replied, smirking right back. Yuffie nodded, but inwardly cursed her raging teenage whoremones. "Sure thing, honey," She replied, giggling and looping a gangly arm over his (frankly nice-looking) shoulders. He raised an eyebrow, but was sort of amused. Though he wouldn't admit it.
He-
She's-
Kind of nice, they thought.
Too bad I have to kill 'em.