Nightingale (2012)
Genre: Mystery, Epic Tragedy, AU
Rating: PG for being an unofficial chapter and slightly disturbing
Word Count: 739
Summary: The Council of Elders are hiding a secret that could upset the balance of both worlds. They assign him to befriend or drag the Target to their society for sentencing. Relations prove to be difficult.

A/N: Drabble size. Nice.

Prelude (Optional)

Upon the rooftop a boy with keen eyes views the empty world below. He tilts his head as sirens fill his sensitive ears and tires screech in the distance. The faint scent of flammable fluid and sulphur have been in his nostrils for the past two hundred and fifty-four seconds, it’s in the next passing instant that he jerks when an obnoxious bell rung throughout the building and moments later the courtyard became flooded with hysterical bodies.

The ground vibrates under his feet as worried chatter and footsteps drown out the distress alarm; by his estimate the emergency vehicles are less than two kilometres away--that leaves him with less than enough time to find an individual body that of a girl with sharp features.  The authorities arrive on scene first, rushing through the crowd of students and barricading the doors while ushering out stragglers at the same time.

One hairless, dark head stands out immediately. The Chief has increased in muscle since last time and is barking out orders faster than human ears could respond; the lower ranks follow his commands without question. He sighs heavily, keeping an eye on the burly man in his peripheral and continuing his search; though now he wouldn’t be able to speak with the target directly.

This particular assignment has been shrouded with mystery from the beginning and he’s anxious to find her among the disoriented throng below. The sooner he tracks her down, the quicker the Elders will release more information. His eyes pass over the heads of people who do not meet the height or gender requirement; he picks apart jaw lines, lips and eye folds till he spots one that could be her--then makes a noise of frustration when someone calls her by the wrong name and her profile exposes. Too round.

“Where is she? Did she come out?” The guilt in that voice sounds promising. He searches for the quiet whisper. A small group of three cluster closely to each other and murmur the whereabouts of their missing limb.

“I don’t see her. She said she was going to the lavatory.”

“Do you think it was her?”

“She wouldn’t do something that batty.