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The one thing Velveteen did like about the **** sucking, cold weather was the fact that she could could hide her death like appearance more easily. With skin so pale that it was almost translucent and gave off an ashen grey appearance under bright lights, it was difficult to look anywhere near living let alone healthy. The necromancer curse. To spend an indefinite eternity looking like a walking corpse. Which is the exact reason that the woman avoided well lighted areas, especially in the warmer months when long heavy coats and gloves would raise more than a few brows among the warm blooded population.

Covered from head to toe in black, form fitting leather she looked like a gothic tribute to Underworld meets the Matrix but she gave as much care to how she was perceived now as she did when she relied on air to keep her alive. For the longest time very few in her field took her seriously. The only medical examiner in her country to rock up to work in knee high boots covered in skulls and steel spikes, looking like the bride of Frankenstein. That was the running joke where she worked. ‘They called her Frankie behind her back. They thought she didn’t know but she sure as **** solved more cases for them than they would have on their own. They at least gave her the respect she deserved when in her presence. As for the rest of it she was used to it. Something she had dealt with from family, kids at school, and the other...patients. Some things changed from one life to the other. Some things did not. She was a freak then and a freak now. Something she embraced.

The hem of the floor length coat caught at the thick, rubber soles of her boot with every silent step she took. Her gloved hands were buried deep in her pockets as she made her way to the platform that would take her to Wickbridge. Every now and then Velveteen would go to Beta Towers and let herself into the apartment that was owned by the first person she had turned. Tali. She still missed her though it was one of those things she kept very much to herself. Not even Micah knew that she would go there from time to time and just sit in the empty apartment with the dust as her only witness. While it was a reminder of the sadness that she kept buried deep it was also partly therapeutic. She felt closer to the younger woman wherever she might be. Tonight however, she wouldn’t make it that far.

The first thing the dark-haired, vampire noticed when she arrived was the single, solitary heartbeat that drew her towards the shadows at the other end of the station. The man who stood there was a secondary acknowledgement and she smirked crookedly as she took up a space nearby. Just another freak on the streets waiting for a train. She watched him from her peripheral and couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He looked like Superman’s alter ego Clark Kent. He had that whole nerdy, unassuming, wholesome thing going on from the way he dressed to the dark glasses that perched unobtrusively on his straight and rather perfect looking nose. “You look like you lost your phonebooth.” She said out of nowhere as her head turned on her shoulders to look directly at him. Mischief danced like an elephant in a tutu across her dark, red lips though the gesture didn’t reach the steely gaze that promised trouble.

The short, barely audible chuckle was more polite than anything else in nature and she shook her head in response to his question. The cool night air caught several long wisps of hair and lifted them giving the silken strands the appearance that they had taken on a life of their own. “No. Unfortunately I haven’t. They seem to be a thing a past though. Most people own mobile phones now and the cost of forever repairing the damage done by vandals...Makes the whole venture needless and expensive, I suppose.” The australian accent strong in every word spoken. She had felt his gaze and noticed how he kept checking the time. It seemed as though the only other person on the platform tonight, beside herself, was in a hurry to be somewhere. The Mickey Mouse watch? Now that did amuse her. A sign of sentimentality she assumed.

Velveteen’s observations found him to be the sort who likely kept to himself. The smooth, uncalloused state of his hands were indicative that he was not one for manual labour. The red scarf, style of glasses and lack of formality or a suit suggested he wasn’t a corporate man either. Again she thought of the mild, mannered Clark Kent. A reporter. This man standing not too far from her could be a reporter she supposed, but where was his briefcase? “It does make you wonder though, doesn’t it?” The woman paused and tilted her head as if listening to something in the distance. She could hear …. or rather feel the vibrations of the tracks and ascertained that the train had just left Honeymead Station. It would be here in roughly two minutes or so….maybe three. Her head swung around sharply as she looked directly at the younger male. “What is a superhero to do?”

The grin that crossed her lips was sinister in appearance. The dark crimson, stark against her alabaster skin, twisted in a rather peculiar fashion. The woman looked like she had a secret that she was dying to share. Black gloved hands appeared from her pockets and game up so that she could tug the tops downward. Her fingers then pressed between the digits of the opposite hand meticulously. All her concentration seemed focused on that one task as if right now it was the most important thing in the world that her gloves were secure. The action slightly reminiscent of a crazy scientist who was about to start work on his or her next macabre project.

“And they wonder why we have no heroes anymore.” She shook her head ruefully though that grin remained. One would wonder what it was she found so amusing right now. “It’s because they have nowhere left to change.” A deep, throaty chuckle followed and lingered in the quiet of the night.

A delicately curved and tattooed brow rose curiously. How could anyone dislike mobile phones? Personally she loved technology. The freedom and independence it allowed and the untapped wells of knowledge it supplied. It opened up a whole new world to those that likely would have not have known it via other means. People like herself, for example. Most of what Velveteen had learned before her turning was learned from those in the spirit world and the internet. To completely different mediums, both with their drawbacks. People often said that one couldn’t always believe what they read on the internet. Velveteen often said that you couldn’t always understand the messages sent from the spirit world. But none the less, both were abundant with information.

She watched the man from the corner of her eye. He appeared to be young in years but something about the way he dressed and his disdain for something that was intended to make modern life easier, spoke of someone much older. Yet again he checked the time. At a guess she would also say he did not like to be late though she expected he likely used the word tardiness like some old fashioned school teacher. This thought made her chuckle inwardly and tucked her hands back into her pockets. “It’s not the world itself that you need wonder about. What you see is pretty much what you get.” His spoken thoughts really sought no response from her but social proprieties were usually lost on her in most cases. “On the surface. It is those that dwell within it that should demand your ponderous attentions. The things you can’t see. The things you do not know. The things you wish not to know.”

Her grin curled at the corners as she looked into the man’s eyes, holding his gaze hostage beneath her own. “There is no sense complaining. No one cares. Not really. Life is just one big predictable charade. Death is where the adventure lies. Or so I have heard.” She shrugged and took a step closer, offering a leather encased hand, outstretched for him to take and reciprocate if he so desired. “My name is Velveteen. A tourist who got a bum deal and ended up…..here.”

The woman shrugged, dropping the hand that had been left hanging and instead used it to dig her pocket for the crumpled pack that she was sure stilled housed one or two cigarettes. “Dunno. I was adopted. Apparently that was the name given to me by my birth mother so I never really got the chance to ask.” Her Australian accent was quite obvious as she placed the smoke between her lips and cupped the flame that was sparked to life with the other hand. She took a moment to inhale the flavorsome smoke and exhaled it slowly as she watched the soft, white plume waft and eventually dissipate before returning her gaze to the only other person on the otherwise deserted platform.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the populations has increased as it has? I mean...It’s just another city, nothing special to write home about. I don’t recall seeing any huge new corporations going up...not enough to explain that sort of influx.” She snorted softly though her grinned remained steady, a permanent fixture it would seem. “And it sure as **** aint the amazing weather that brings them. So...doesn’t it make you wonder?” She paused then and allowed time for the male to answer, avoiding his last question. That was one he would find out soon enough for himself.

There was nothing about this guy that really stood out to Velveteen. No reason on earth that she would be currently considering turning him except for the fact that her husband had recently brought home a new addition. Female, of course. What was good for one....The corners of her mouth twitched in mild amusement. She was probably gonna end up in trouble but sometimes that had it s own merits as well.

Just as the train pulled into the station Velveteen stepped closer, her voice conspiratorially low as she muttered...”More than you can possibly imagine. ” Before he could move to board the waiting train she reached out to touch his shoulder, her expression one of faux concern. “Are you ok?” He was of course perfectly fine until she touched him at which point she was able to infiltrate his mind and fill it with images, so vivid that he wouldn’t be able to discern reality from illusion. He could close his eyes but still be unable to hide from the vision before him. Her chin covered in blood as she laughed and curled her ice cold fingers about his jaw. He would recoil from the cool breath that washed over his face, fetid with the stench of rotting corpses as she fucked with his senses.

Then would come the knife, appearing from nowhere and glinting menacingly before it was buried in his stomach and twisted brutally. He would see and feel everything as if it was really happening, physically crippling him, for in his mind it was very real.

Any curious passengers that happened to be watching would only see the man grab at his stomach and his female friend showing concern as she guided him to a nearby seat, completely unaware of what was to come once the train left the station and the pair were once again alone.

She shook his shoulder gently though that wicked grin had replaced any feigned expression of concern. “Fable? You don’t look so good. Everything ok there?”