[center][color=a2d39c][h1][i][b]Changelings Anonymous[/b][/i][/h1]

[h2]Chapter One[/h2][/color][/center]
[hr]
[center][img]http://blogs.artinfo.com/objectlessons/files/2012/05/lpc_warehouse_hpd-e1338390471888.jpeg[/img][/center]
The corner of Williamsburg and Bushwick. A little warehouse, cozy but not too small, private and safe. It had spent a lot of time planning this meeting, and it was finally ready. It smiled - or it would have, if it had a body. It liked when people smiled, and liked to pretend that it smiled sometimes, too.

It had watched the Changelings for a while, now. It still remembered the first one it saw all those months ago, the little green one - that was its favorite. It hoped that she would come. It hoped that they would all come. It knew that that was a long shot, after what they'd been through, but still. It hoped. 

They had all been contacted by it, in the last few days. The little green one, she'd seen a message spelled out on a foggy mirror. The angry one, the Beast, he'd found a note addressed to him, blowing down the street. Others had been addressed in other ways. It had gotten creative, and it was proud of the work it had put in to make this happen. They had all been given a time, and a place: Saturday, 4PM. The corner of Williamsburg and Bushwick, Brooklyn.

One of them was here.


[hr]

Nicholas didn't know what he was expecting, when he walked in the place. Actually, that wasn't true. He knew fully well what he expected - a trap, some snare left by the Princess to drag him back to the workshop and lock him in the darkness again. When some stranger handed him a note telling him to come to some warehouse in Brooklyn, he'd wanted to crumple it up and forget about it.

"But I didn't," he muttered, standing in front of the unassuming building door. "Not sure why. Guess I figured anything was better than living in a box and eating garbage. That's not true. I know that's not - talking to myself again." He clamped his mouth shut, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

Well, it didn't look like a trap. The inside of the warehouse was small, sparse, concrete floor, concrete roof, four load-bearing pillars. One of the walls was covered by a mirror, which Nicholas quickly glanced away from. He didn't need to be reminded of the tall, pale thing that would be looking back at him.

What was really interesting was what was in the center of the room - six metal folding chairs, arranged in a small circle, each one with a tiny scrap of paper on it. He approached slowly, snatching up one of the papers like it would burn him, and brought it up to his face, pulling down his sunglasses to read it.

[i]'My Name Is' Nicholas[/i]

Part of him wanted to run right then and there, but fortunately it was outweighed by the part that really wanted to see what was happening here. He swallowed sharply and lowered himself into the chair, pulling his thin knees up to be held in his too-long arms. "I'm not scared," he murmured softly to himself. "Not too scared to wait."