11I appreciate that Vince X OC stories may not be to everyone's liking. After all, everyone wants Vince! However, that's just how I want this story to go.
Disclaimer: If I owned, I wouldn't be here. I'd be making Vince cuddle me. I do, however, own Addison Quirk.
It was a bright August morning in London. Few cars moved along the small roads, as people had decided for once that they would rather walk than drive. The warm sunshine was only just reaching full warmth, and a glance at the time would have informed anyone that it was ten-forty-one. Two young children ran ahead of their parents, both dripping ice-cream behind them in a messy white trail. A blonde woman jogged along the street, ponytail swinging behind her as she moved. The children split to escape her path, and she gave their parents a dirty look, obviously believing she was the owner of the street and it was an offence to bring anyone under thirty into her realm. A tiny cafe, with a sign promising ice cream and cold drinks outside, was bustling. A queue of people buzzed steadily outside, eyeing the already-served customers and their multicoloured sorbets. Next door to the café, however, was a shop. A shop with a neon sign that looked suspiciously like a monkey's head. A shop run by a turban-clad shaman. A shop called the Nabootique.
The blonde jogger passed the Nabootique, giving the sign a distasteful look. Unfortunately, this meant that she wasn't looking where she was going. A moment later, she was on the floor with a sharp pain running through her head. Angrily, she glared at the other person on the floor with her; a young woman with short, spiky hair.
'Watch where you're going, idiot,' she spat, hauling herself off the floor. The girl looked at her helplessly, before giving up and turning away. The jogger started running again, narrowly avoiding stamping on the girl's fingers, which she had just managed to pull back in time. Disbelieving, she turned and burnt metaphorical eyeholes in the blonde's back, desperately praying for her to run into something large and solid. Preferably surgically-enhanced nose first.
Gingerly, the young woman stood again, swearing quite loudly as she noticed the bleeding, gritty graze down the side of her calf.
'Shit.'
With a couple of steps, she reached the nearest shop door. Wiping one hand on her scruffy denim shorts, she used the other to peer through the window. Inside, behind a counter covered in odd trinkets and a table full of suspiciously organised stationery, was a man with his back turned. Although she didn't think much of his dress-sense (brown, brown, brown, and a brown fedora), she decided anyone would do. Besides, a man that square was bound to have a first-aid kit, right?
Softly, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. A small bell rang, signalling the man to her presence. He turned rapidly, a broad and rather creepy smile on his face.
'Hello, and what can I do for you?' He took in her appearance, and visibly slackened. 'You'll be looking for Vince then?'
The girl frowned. 'Erm… no? Actually, I was wondering if you have anywhere I can clean up.' She turned her leg to the side, giving the man full view of her bleeding leg. 'I fell a bit.'
Immediately frowning, the man moved from behind the counter and took a couple of careful steps towards her.
'That's quite a scrape you've got there.'
She nodded. 'Yeah. Some jogger crashed into me and we both ended up on the floor. I came out worse, too.'
The man gestured to a flight of stairs, from which there was the vague sound of a techno beat.
'If you go up there and to your left, there's a bathroom on the right,' he smiled. The look was slightly creepy, but she could see he meant well. She thanked him gratefully, making her way over to the stairs. She climbed about halfway, before turning back.
'Sorry, what's your name?' she questioned.
'Howard. Howard Moon,' he replied, straightening out his abysmal brown shirt.
'Great,' she grinned. 'Thanks Howard.'
Howard gave her another creepy smile, then turned back to the counter. The last thing she saw of him was a panicked leap towards the stationery table, aiming for what seemed like a slightly out-of-place highlighter.
Slightly apprehensive due to the fact she had no idea what she was walking into, she headed upstairs. Thankfully, upon reaching the top, she found a relatively normal-looking flat. The bright red walls were decorated with many varying plates, posters and shelves, signally more than one person definitely lived here. A small monochrome sofa resided in the centre of the room, layered haphazardly with neon cushions and a startlingly orange blanket. The techno music was louder now, and emitted from a door at the end of the corridor. Remembering Howard's direction, she turned left and headed down the tiny hallway, finding a bathroom on the right, exactly as he'd promised.
She entered the bathroom, immediately noting the amount of hair products on the glass shelf. Howard's wife, she thought. Or girlfriend. She tugged some toilet roll from the holder and folded it, wetting it slightly under the tap and dabbing the drying blood on her leg. The icy cold water felt weird on her broken skin, but it was refreshing at least. She lifted her leg and placed the Doc Marten boot on the edge of the sink, so as to clean the wound easier.
Just at that moment, a man burst into the bathroom. A skinny man with incredible hair clad in a pair of sequinned pyjama bottoms. He lifted his head, suddenly seeing that he was not alone and there was, in fact, a stranger in his bathroom. An expression of confusion flickered across his pointed features.
'Urm… hello?'
She smiled, appreciating the fact that she had the power. 'Hi.'
And that's how Vince Noir met Addison Quirk.
And there you have it. The first chapter of my own little indulgence.
If you enjoyed it, let me know! If you have some constructive criticism, let me know!
If you're going to flame, don't bother.
