The night air hung heavily over the sparkling, fluffy layers of fresh snowfall. Clouds scudded over the face of the crescent moon, never quite living up to their promise of even more snowflakes. Light breezes conveyed to him a cornucopia of scents: the sweet, strong fragrance of the watery snow; sulphuric fumes from the highway to the north; the earthy aroma of a newly disturbed grave and its former occupant; the savoury warmth of a rabbit only a few yards away.

It had taken several hours of frenzied effort to free himself from his home in which he had found himself confined and he was hungry. The wind shifted slightly and he heard the sudden drumming of the rabbit's paws on the snow as it scurried back to its burrow. He didn't bother giving chase; it would take more than that morsel to sate his appetite. Besides, it would appear quite bizzare that a teenager would be stalking a rabbit when Connor could more easily take a leisurely stroll to a local fast-food joint. He prowled silently through the headstones, following the faint trail of a deer that had passed this way sometime earlier in the evening more for entertainment than for his appetite.

As he neared the wrought-iron gates at the cemetery's entrance, approaching
footsteps diverted his attention to another...

Graveyards are always so scary in stories, Violet mused, ambling along through the snow. But they're sad, too,... and pretty, but no one ever thinks of that... They just think of zombies and vampires and things. And those don't exist, anyway.

The teenaged girl's boots were encrusted with snow, as she'd been outside for a while now. Her dull brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the single purple streak in her hair barely visible in the moon's faint light. Violet's gaze was unfocused, fixed on everything at once as if she was trying to lock it into her memory. Her wiry frame was encased in a bulky blue coat that she thought made her look like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man out of that Ghostbusters movie. But it was a warm coat, and that was what counted - Violet's main pastime was taking walks, preferably in solitary places.

"Phfff..." she breathed out slowly so that steam hung in the air for a moment, and watched it disappear. It made her think of ghosts - which she didn't believe in, thank you very much. She might hallucinate faeries, but none of that stuff existed.
That was just crazy.

Connor eyed the teenager, noting how... well, remarkable it was he hadn't detected her presence here earlier. God, she smelled familar. Like a memory he couldn't seem to recall; he knew that he'd seen her, but couldn't remember why or where. Perhaps it was a memory he acquired in his secondary form, maybe from his latest venture. Connor's last transformation was one that included new feelings: the exhilaration of release and the surge of bloodlust as he searched for prey. He had no idea if his hunt was successful, though he thought he might remember if it had been. Not being able to recall a victim wasn't much comfort, however, and he couldn't push away the fear that he might have hurt someone - or worse.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the air, frowning. He
wasn't generally given to strong emotions, but he despised the thing that was inside him. The inconvenience of having to lock himself up three nights of every month wasn't important and he could deal with the aching muscles that came as a result of hours of battering himself against the bars of the cage. All that mattered was that he was still on the right side of those bars when he returned to himself at dawn. He had managed to escape several times in the past few years but, so far, he'd been lucky - he'd probably just spotted this girl. Yes. That was it. No hurt-y, aggressive emotions. Of course, lucky was a relative term. If his assumption was true, he'd probably scared the shit out of this girl. Of course, she wouldn't know it was him...

Okay, the Olympic medal for the high jump to conclusions is, without question, Connor Blevins. You probably haven't seen this chick anywhere. Stop being a paranoid loser, he urged himself.

"Um..." said Connor, making his presence known as he shivered. Unlike Violet, Connor did not have a heavy coat, and was the stubborn sort of person who believes he can go into a blizzard and come out without a single snowflake caking his red hair, only with this case, he assumed he could venture out into the bitter winter night with a light jacket.

Violet jumped, stifling a shriek by biting her lip, hard. Taking a deep breath, she turned around. "Who... who's there?" she said shakily, shifting her weight from left to right as if she couldn't decide which way she was going to have to run. All she could see was the headstones, and the long shadows they were casting over the snow. She half-expected to see dead hands bursting from the frozen graves, before she closed her eyes. That won't happen, she reassured herself. Don't be silly.

She forced herself to take another deep breath to slow her racing heart, and looked around again, more slowly this time - it wasn't the frantic, searching look of a moment ago. Aaand - there. A person. Just a human being. Nothing supernatural, she thought, relieved. She raised a hand and gave a quick, shy wave. "Hello?" she said, taking a few tentative steps closer.

Connor gave an awkward smile; one that started with just a single corner of his lip curving upward, with the rest of his mouth following suit. He lifted his hand lamely, doing a 'wax on, wax off' wave. Suddenly, he regretted making the feral noise. What if she thinks I'm a rapist or something? the insecure thoughts flooded his mind, and with that, his hand hardened by a cocoon of yellowing calluses fell limp once more. "Um..." the young man whispered. "... hi." he finished, his voice like a tentative Kindergartener who didn't want to identify what words started with 'A'. "... didn't expect someone else here. Other than, well, all of the gothic chicks who are all like 'ooh, graveyard!'..." Connor added, but 'rambled aloud' would be closer to the mark.

She managed to smile, but didn't come any closer. "I,... didn't really expect to see anyone either. That's why I came here. And besides," she gave a little nervous giggle,"I doubt any goths would dare come near somewhere with so much white, even if it does have dead people in it. I bet they hole up in their basements till the snow melts."

It was a lame attempt at a joke, she knew, but she felt she had to do something to try and lighten the tension. Her mind was speeding along at its own pace, trying to convince her that he was a muderer, here burying a body... a hitman... a serial killer... a serial rapist... a pirate... A pirate?! That was when she stopped her train of thought, realizing how completely absurd she was being. You're doing it again, she told herself, He's probably just out for a walk, like you. Go say hello. Make conversation for once, for goodness' sakes. Not everyone's out to get you.

A determined look appeared in Violet's eyes, and she walked over to where Connor stood. "My n-name's Violet, by the way. Violet Vendrédy." she said, and offered her mittened hand to shake.

He took the hand, staring down at his own and suddenly wishing he had one of those fingernail cleaners. Despite romping around in the snow practically all night, he still managed to have dirt under his severely clipped nails, and it probably appeared unclean. Good God! he thought. Why are you thinking about your freaking fingernails!

"Connor Blevins," he exchanged, surprised by the unearthly calm in his own voice. "And what brings you to the spookiness that is Saint John's Cemetery?" he added curiously. Wait... she said something like... she wanted to be alone, right? Oh. Lame question. Connor placed his free hand on his scalp and raked his profuse growth of hair, which he had the incurable habit of doing when he was nervous.

"Hm? Oh, just for a walk, you know? It's one of the quietest places in this whole noisy city. Sometimes I wonder why I even moved here if I hate it so much," she laughed (entirely unconvincingly). Then she realized her mittened hand was still holding Connor's, and hastily let go. She looked at the ground, hiding her nervous smirk in her scarf. After a moment's awkward slence, she looked back at him. For a few seconds, she couldn't think of single thing to say, despite her brain's screaming at her to Talk! Comment on the weather or something!.

"How about you? What are you up to?" she asked, feeling tremendously relieved at being able to continue the conversation. She definitely had to get out more.

"Me?" he repeated, though he was quite confident that Violet was directing the statement at himself. "J-Just wanted to get out of the house. It's not a bad place 'r anything, but it's--it's weird." Connor insisted, not quite ready to admit that he was out for a bite to eat... in a cemetery. It not only would make him look like some sort of cannibal gravedigger, but also, well, indicate a very heavy loss of sanity. He shoved his hands in the pockets of the faint olive hoodie, releasing the foggy breath of air and shuddering. "C-Cold night," he observed randomly, astonished by, quite possibly, the longest conversation he'd participated in a whole week. The last one consisted of his mother asking, "Can I have a word with you?" and his sarcastic reply of, "Malapropism. There you go, a nice big word for you."

He just realized that his naturally cheeks were probably as crimson as his hair.

"Yeah, it's, what, twenty below zero, with the windchill mixed in?" Violet said, repeatng almost verbatim what she had heard on the radio's weather report before she left. She liked to be prepared, particularly after an incident involving a blizzard that she had accidentally walked into. It wasn't an experience she'd like to repeat.

Violet pushed her hands deep into her pockets, straightening her coat. She eyed Connor's winter outfit with an expression of mild disbelief. Now that she thought about it, it was funny that he was dressed so inappropriately for such a cold evening. "Geez, you must be freezing... I guess you only planned on being out for a really short walk?" she said, in a lightly curious tone.

"I'd like to think I'm invincible," he admitted, chuckling. "Cold weather usually doesn't really faze me that much, so I thought... well, no marshmallow coat for me. A bit stupid, yeah..." Connor self-depricated, a common thing for him to do. "But... I usually didn't have much in the way of snow where I used to live." he added, recalling when he used to live in the eternal sunshine of California. In retrospect, it was maddening, living for so long with barely a change in the seasons. Living in an entirely new climate was actually quite enjoyable, especially during the winter. He hadn't seen a single snowflake prior to living here.

He rubbed his hands against his arms gently, creating a warm, pleasant friction that gave some assistance in the situation.

"I can't imagine living anywhere without at least three of the four seasons," Violet shook her head, smirking a little, "And you're not stupid, just... a little... incautious. You know... because of. um...frostbite, and hypothermia... things like that. Where did you live before Bayfield?"

Geez, just looking at him was making her feel the cold out of sympathy. Which was saying something, as nothing short of the temperature of an antarctic gale could penetrate her coat. It was likely that she could hibernate in it, if she so chose. So, maybe it wasn't the prettiest article of clothing in the world - bulky, boring, navy blue - but it certainly served its purpose.

"La Jolla," he chattered, pausing for a moment, realizing that the place wasn't exactly one of the most famous cities in the universe. Connor elaborated, "Southern California... in which we have three seasons," he held up three of his rather flithy, willowy fingers to demonstrate. "Fire, sunshine, and rain. All of which didn't really require being wrapped up in a mountain of coats. When I first came here," he chuckled. "I thought I'd walked into the headquarters of an Eskimo cult. But, yeah... still haven't gotten used to it. The cold, the snow, the flu season with projectile vomitting... but, it's a lot better than La Jolla."

Connor offered another tentative smile, realizing he'd babbled a lot. What could he do? He was an easily self-embarrassed kid, that was certain.

Violet grimaced a little at the mention of projectile vomiting. She knew that feeling far too well. She gave a faint, amused grin. "I guess it takes some getting used to," she nodded. "Every ... everyone always complains about the cold, and, um, having to shovel and stuff, but I think the snow's worth it. A snowstorm is always such an event. Especially the bigger ones."

She stopped. No, nothing more to say. The weather had been pretty peaceful, besides flurries. And besides, the weather was only a topic to talk about it you couldn't think of anything else. Suddenly she found it ironic that she wasn't even going to talk about it anymore.

"So," she piped up, hating the awkward silence. "... what do you do, when you're not strolling through graveyards?"

That sounded bad. It made it sound like she thought he was a cemetery-obsessed maniac. Crap.

"Oh, you know, the usual; slaying vampires, saving the world..." Connor paused, making a very forced attempt at sarcasm. "... just kidding. Um... not much. Lead quite the boring life, I do." he said, wishing that wasn't the only stupid thing he could concieve up to come out of his mouth. He slithered across the snow, gliding exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't. He kept on top of the crusty, icy surface of the snow, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing snowshoes or anything of the sort.

He drew a swift, deep breath that could have spawned some annoying hickups if he wasn't too careful about it. "What about you? You must have some kind of an amazing life."

Violet laughed - a real laugh - at his question. "Amazing? Hardly. I read, I study, and there's maybe some eating and sleeping in there somewhere, but essentially, that's my life. Oh, and I work. That's probably the most exciting part of my day, and it's spent behind a desk. Other than that, I don't really do much. "

She dug the toe of her boot into the snow, pushing a little circle into it and creating tiny snowbanks. About the right size for small insects to sled down, she thought absently. But they'd need little toboggans...

"D'you go to school, 'r work, or any boring stuff like that?" she continued, and then added, in a teasing tone, "Or maybe you're the party animal type?"