Another glorious day. The sun was warm, the air clear and fresh and the birds were singing. Rufus was always a little wary of days like these. On the one hand, it was very pleasant to listen to the birds, breathe relatively clean air and watch all the people who came out to enjoy the day. On the other, he wasn't very fond of sun. He preferred overcast days.

There was a distinct advantage to days like these: the children came out to play.

You would think that constant use would make the front door lock easier to work with, but every time Rufus used it he had to use some skill to jiggle the key around. As usual, he almost lost grip on his parasol and had to twist his legs around to stop it dropping to the concrete step he was perching on. Two years of this routine every warm day, yet he still couldn't work out a way to secure his lemon yellow parasol.

With a sigh, Rufus pocketed his key and collected his parasol. "I'm in a rut," he commented softly as he stepped out into the light and opened the parasol so the sunlight wouldn't strike his alabaster skin.

Stepping carefully so he wouldn't stand on his long, cream dress, Rufus began the short walk down the street to the park where the children of his neighbourhood played on the swings and threw a rugby ball around. Soon he was at the expanse of neat, vibrantly green grass and he sat in his customary spot on the park bench nearest the swings. It afforded him a good view of the field, of the street if he turned around and close proximity to the swings.

Anyone looking at him would see an attractive, demure woman attired in rather old-fashioned clothing, with a long cream dress, matching gloves and a pale yellow parasol. Anyone discerning would realise that image was wrong.

[[Familiar? I thought it high time we continued this story! xD]]

Mark was at the park, his park. It was his home, his territory; the children were his cubs, the mothers who looked after them part of his pack. He must protect them, look after them, make sure no harm could come to them. They were his everything, not that any of them would know it. Most were oblivious to him, those who did notice him would just assume he was an athlete out excersising. Broad shoulders trapped underneath a grey singlet, straining over pecs that seemed to scream steroid abuse. A pair of running shorts, black, the white line of ipod headphones trailing up his body, and a water bottle trapped in one fist.

He was sweating, leaving darkened patches on the singlet, a dark triangle over his chest. He had been jogging around his territory, assuring everything was as it was meant to be. And he finished at the park. It was part of his routine. It was a place where he could relax, and see people, and cubs, having fun without having to worry about the dangers this world could present.

And Mark knew all about dangers. He was one of them.

There was however another danger in this park, he could smell it. It made his nose wrinkle, his mouth pull into a snarl. It was a smell he knew well, belonging to someone he was all too familiar with. Someone who had no right to be here, not on his territory. He made his way over the the park bench where the smell was coming from, collapsing next to the man and trying not to act threatening. Not for the monsters sake, and the man next to him was a monster. For the children's sake, his cubs sake. They musn't be scared.

"What the hell are you doing here," he snarled, not even able to look at the...thing next to him. "You have no right to be here, this land is not yours," His fists clenched, a muscle twitched in his cheek and it wax clear he was doing his best to keep his anger in check. "Get. Out."

Rufus' nose recognised Mark's presence before his eyes did, although his eyes were capable of extraordinary sight. He had been watching the two girls pushing each other on the swings when a shift in the breeze brought the stench of a sweating werewolf to his notice.

With a groan, Rufus turned his head and watched as Mark came up and sat next to him. He must have some reason to actually sit next to him, for Rufus knew the 'man' didn't like him.

"Hello, Mark," he inclined his head as though the werewolf had just greeted him pleasantly and remarked on the weather. "Nice to see you again."

"Nice isn't exactly the word I was going to use," snarled Mark. "Interesting maybe. A nice work out opportunity for me. But nice was definitely not what I was thinking." He turned to face the man next to him. Man was hardly the right word however. He was disgusting, he was a sick twisted pervert and Mark wanted him gone from his territory. It had been a constant fight over the last two years and he was getting sick of it.

"You have no place here. You're a monster. You're disgusting. You're a man in a dress and you are a freak," he said, voice low and rumbling and harsh. He cracked his knuckles as he talked, not in an attempt to be threatening, but out of habit. It was like his bones didn't fit into his skin, his strength didn't fit his body. He was a monster wearing human flesh...but he still did it better than Rufus.

"Why do you keep doing this? This is my land, my territory. This is my pack," he gestured at the people in the park, the people living their day to day lives, the ones who had no idea about the clash happening right next to them. "Aren't enough sweet little women offering their veins, their blood to you? Need to prey on the innocent...or do children just taste sweeter?" His voice with heavy with disgust.

"Perhaps we have different definitions of nice," Rufus said in the manner that he knew confused and infuriated Mark. As always over the last two years of their strange acquaintance, his voice was hovering between politely interested and faintly amused.

"We've been over this so many times, my friend. It got old the second time you did it. But I am a creature of habit, as are you." He set his expression into one of frustrated pain, though he had long since learnt to hide the hurt he felt when Mark accused him of being sick and twisted. Tinging his voice with just the right amount of quiet indignation, he began their routine.

"I am not preying on them, werewolf. You know I come just to enjoy the birdsong and the happiness of the kids. I don't do anything to anyone."

This would go on for a few minutes, before Mark got too frustrated to continue. Unless Rufus was wrong and Mark wasn't going to follow 'tradition', it would all be over in about twenty minutes and he could go back to people-watching.

"It seems so," muttered Mark. Rufus infuriated him, more than he could possibly explain. He was always so smug, so relaxed, so convinced he was in the right. Mark never understood him. Never understand why any man would want to wear a dress, why he would want to look like such a pansy, why he would react to insults with such calm. Rufus was so far removed from anything Mark knew; he wasn't part of the pack, he wasn't human. That made him alien to Mark's understanding, and that made him bad.

Mark a soft snort of disbelieving laughter. There was definitely no humour in the sound he made, and again, it was more animal than human. "Yeah...happiness. Sure that's what you're enjoying...sick freak." Mark was just a tad limited on insults, words were not his strong suit. When he had lived with the pack, surrounded by those like him, he had been a grunt. All brawn, no brains. But they had died, slowly but surely the pack disintegrated, and he was left alone, having to adapt to this new status. Having to create a new pack out of nothing.

"Preying is what you do Rufus. It is what you were made for, it is how you survive. Don't sit there and tell me you don't want even a small little nibble. Just to feel your teeth break the surface of their flesh, taste their blood on your tongue, feel that strong heart beat weaken beneath your hands." He paused, trying to stop the muscle twitching in his cheek, trying to rein in the anger. "You're tempted, and one day you will give in to that, and I might not be here to save them, and you will do something so wrong, so disgusting. That's why I want you gone."

Rufus felt his temper rising at Mark's obstinate refusal to believe anything he said. He'd been coming to this park every day for two years and had never even talked to anyone other than Mark let alone gone near them or touched them. Yet every time they had this argument Mark accused him of being sick and disgusting. It was getting Rufus down to have such a constant reminder of the monster he was.

Yet he wasn't what Mark thought he was.

"If I haven't even moved from this spot for two years, Mark, what makes you think I will some day?"

He was almost vibrating with the effort of keeping the anger and pain out of his voice. The parasol above his head began to twirl as he twitched his fingers just to give him something physical to focus on that wasn't punching Mark in the face. Rufus wasn't naturally violent, but when you knew you were capable of taking on a werewolf it was sometimes difficult to refrain.

"Because people falter and mistakes happen," snapped Mark. He wasn't looking at Rufus, couldn't look at him. There was just something so repulsive about him. Something that made all of Mark's instincts scream for a fight, something that made his hair stand on end and his hands form fists no matter what. Every time they had one of these conversations Mark became a bundle of anger, and tension. Like a tightly coiled spring, a finger about to pull a trigger. Rub him the wrong way and he could explode.

"Two years isn't all that long when you think about forever, about the rest of your life...or half-life, or dead-life, or undead-life or whatever it is you want to call it. Two years isn't all that long at all, and whose to say your resolve won't break one day? Whose to say you won't do something stupid and hurt my pack?" He paused, taking in a deep breath, trying to relax his hands. Intense emotion and a werewolf were often not the best combination.

"And if you hurt my pack, I will, without a doubt or question, have to kill you. So you know what scum, leave. Just go, and create some little harem of women...or men if you prefer...in some distant corner of the world where I don't have to think about you, or worry about you, or even smell you. This is my land, and you are not welcome. You weren't welcome two years ago, and you aren't welcome now. I will not tolerate you here anymore."

"I thought I was a monster, not a person," Rufus replied softly. He didn't know why he did it. Normally he would be the last 'person' to try to aggravate or taunt another person, but Mark's aggression got on his nerves. Rufus was unable to do almost everything that a human being could do because of the prejudice against him as a cross-dresser and the gun-toting hatred for him as a vampire.

He sat silent through the rest of the werewolf's tirade and concentrated on breathing deeply. His parasol slipped for a moment and he felt sunlight strike his neck. When humans were told that sunlight burned vampires, they weren't misinformed. Although there was no physical damage to his neck, Rufus could feel the pain for that short moment as though someone had applied a brand to his neck. 'I used to love the sun,' he thought sadly.

"I will not tolerate you here anymore."

Three options were before the vampire. He could continue to ignore the werewolf and find out if he was willing to back up his threats. He could actually fight for the first time in his life (barring that night). Or he could try to explain properly.

"Mark, I will never hurt children. Not by my definition of hurt, not by yours, not by the law's. I don't drink blood." He'd never revealed that to anyone except his father - and his victims, of course. "I feed off lust, not blood. Even the monstrosity that turned me would not be able to feed off a child."

The odds of Mark believing him? If he was in a really trusting mood: zero. The way he seemed to be at the moment: into the negatives.