A/N: Chapter two! God, I am so happy to be able to get this up while on vacation. Just... makes me happy.

ALSO: Important note about PFL! Listen up guys! (yeah, 4 exclamations. PAY ATTENTION.) Doma hasn't been able to get the chapter up because the site hasn't been letting her in. PLEASE, though, she's putting chapters on deviantART. Look us up! We need more attention there!

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It was a cool evening just like any other. And as much as Abner would have liked to stay home, where everything was clean and in its place, he knew he had a duty to the city- no, to mankind in general. As filthy as everyone else may have lived, he enjoyed their company far more then he assumed he would in a city overrun by the walking dead.

Disgusting, that was what it was…

It was beyond him how they could live with themselves. Didn't they realize how revolting it was, having to depend on drinking blood in order to survive? (The mere thought putting ones lips on some stranger's neck- the sweat, dirt, germs, sickness…) And how disturbing it was that their organs no longer really served a purpose anymore- so they just sat there, rotting. How gross their pale skin was- how eerie their dead set eyes were?

And the blood- the dead, unmoving blood in their veins!

How could they stand it?

So as much as he wanted to stay home, eat boiled vegetables, and watch some of his favorite reruns of Monk on his plastic covered couch with Para Para peacefully napping on his lap, he had an obligation to the good (if not dirty) city of New York to rid as much filth as he could as possible.

By means of blessed bullets.

With mask and goggles ready to protect himself from (ugh) blood splatter, he walked down the street of where he received a call of a disturbance. The caller was likely some old bat (haha, pun) looking out her window and had found his number in the phonebook- or some kid pulling his leg again.

..."This better not be a joke," he muttered to his faithful companion as he walked down the sidewalk- and soon enough, it turned out not to be.

Three Vampires- or was it two vampires and a human? (No, no, that was a Vampire- pathetic looking, but a Vampire none the less) He couldn't tell really, Vampires were like rats. They tended to stay in packs and rarely attacked one another unless there was a territory dispute or a shortage of food.

And as Vampires would never fight over such a low-class street such as this one, the former was scratched out.

And the latter, as there was no signs of a human.

He could recognize two of them right off the bat as Casimiro and Finas, but the third was obscured from view slightly. No matter. Maybe he could clip one from this distance…

He raised his shotgun and cocked it. They seemed distracted enough. He raised the gun and aimed it at the dark skinned on before applying pressure to the trigger.

Many things happened at once.

One- Finas's eyes were drawn to Casimiro's humanity, slipping away in the stagnant air, revealing the bone underneath, pale and ugly. His mind moved accordingly, quickly, faster than any human mind ever could.

Two- The victim beneath Casimiro's hand followed his other bony one, eyes widening and melting into an open expression of fear. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped it; it was an unflattering expression, but that was the least of anyone's worries.

Three- The older English vampire's sharp ears picked up a barely audible 'click'. Almost instantly, old familiar memories came to mind. The oldest were of England, hunting the deer long ago.

The more recent, however, were of a human being whose existence annoyed Finas mainly because he hunted Vampires and was actually good at it. His persistence knew no bounds, and his bullets were pesky buggers to get out.

But that click. Finas knew that click. He knew that gun like he had held it in his own hands. He knew that click was a very bad sign.

He acted accordingly.

Four- Finas threw himself at the changing Casimiro, pushing himself and the Italian out of the way, leaving the younger man to fend for himself. Said man slipped from the wall and crumpled to the ground, yelping as the bullet shattered the wall where his shoulder had been previously.

Casimiro's hand, much like his face had also gone through the change, morphing into sharp skeletal talons ready to slash through the fledgling's terror stricken face and end him with just a few fatal swipes. He'd be lying if he said he never enjoyed the process of doing such a thing, because if there was one thing Casimiro loved, it was the feeling of dominating something else, that feeling of utter power, giving him the illusion that he was in control when in reality he knew that was not the case in the least.

But before he could lay a scratch on the kid, Finas suddenly pulled him away quite forcibly. This was not only infuriating but also confusing- Finas rarely used such extreme physical force restrain him, so it was startling that he did so to presumably to protect some sad little failpire.

But through his good eye, before he could snarl out any sort of protest, he saw the shattering of red brick caused by the bullet that narrowly missed his would-be victim. He didn't need to look to see where it came from because by then it was already painfully clear.

They were now being hunted by that irritating man with the rat.

"Cazzo," Casimiro cursed under his breath- such glorious timing this hunter had! Undoubtedly he'd kill Conrad first- he was the weakest and seemed too shocked to remember that he had legs and could run. Which was good for himself and his companion- killing the kid would earn them some extra time to fly away and flee from an otherwise a time consuming pointless battle.

Though, he wouldn't mind a good fight at the moment…

Finas felt for the fledgling, truly he did, but he had his own hide to protect, plus that of the Italian in his arms. He gripped the Italian tightly, ignoring any squirming and fighting that might be occurring. He did not care that Cas was angry and half-changed, they needed to leave now, they needed to change into bats and leave, he would make him change if he had to.

Because despite their being old and powerful, despite their having years of experience, they could still die. And that human, that weak, mortal, human, could be the one to do it. And damn it to hell, Finas would never let that happen to Casimiro. No matter how idiotic the Italian was, Finas would not let him be so stupid to stay here for something as pointless as revenge.

Dragging the Italian along quickly, Finas tore them away from the scene, abandoning the fledgling to the annoying human VanSlyk. He did not look back, did not catch the slight betrayed, fearful look sent to his back as he fled, as the artist was quick to recognize the gun-wielding masked human.

"Come along, Cas," he muttered quietly as his tough pale knuckles turned to small black claws, coat sleeves turning to dark wings. "Whatever happened to being civil? Being the better man?" He said nothing about the Vampire Hunter; he doubted Casimiro was even aware he had been there.

Casimiro didn't want to answer that. That question was a joke. Why should he worry about being civil? He needed results, he needed her head on a silver platter- not a shiny medal for maturity. The burning sensation on his hands and face was already cooling down, as he was now getting a grip over his boiling anger for a few brief moments- moments long enough to allow him to focus well enough to turn into a bat himself. It happened so swiftly, one step, two steps, up and away.

But while his anger was now pushed aside (though it would be eventually released later into the night, in the form of a frustrated rant and the destruction of an inanimate object) his expression was still tense.

"We can continue this later, when your eye is not bothering you. Maybe then you will be in a better mood to 'talk'," the small darker bat muttered.

Talk.

That was all Finas really seemed interested in doing. Talking. He didn't need a talk. He already knew what Finas would say. He's complain about his rash behavior, and how he should think before he leapt and whatever cookie cutter advice he could toss at him- and Casimiro would have to pretend to listen and promise things he'll never keep. He didn't want to argue with his frie-

"Idiot."

Because that's what Casimiro was. Completely idiotic and angry and resentful and just plain emotional. Were all Italians like this? Had the man needed to breathe, he would have sighed.

Never mind.

Cas was going to kick his ass.

How was he the idiot? He was the only one doing anything- if it were up to Finas, they'd be sitting around coffee tables all night doing nothing but wasting their eternal lives away. This thought caused him to automatically flap his leathery wings even harder, gaining more air and speed, and easily over passing Finas. He didn't have to look back to know that they were more than a safe distance away from the Vampire Hunter- it was easy to cover large distances in a few short moments, especially if you were flying over large obstacles like fences and buildings. Because of this, he chose to land on the rooftop of the upcoming building, turning back into his human form just a few feet away from the top surface so when he landed he landed with his two good feet.

He rubbed at his eye and took in a breath- not because his body needed it, because it didn't, but because his eye still ached with that burning sensation, that sensation that only got worse when he allowed his anger to take control of him.

He wanted to be angry.

He felt he had a right to be angry.

But he couldn't go demonic on Finas. He was the only one that he refused to turn his darker side on- so the temperamental Italian was forced to mutter little things under his breath and sucked in one last breath. He held that breath for as long as he could before letting out a strained sigh.

"Odio vicoli ciechi. Cazzo li odio!" He turned around quickly to glare at Finas- whom he assumed to have landed to follow him.

"Your lack of support is irritating me, Finas."