Sequinn Rose: Chapter One

**Work in progress...it takes time to type these things!!**And help would be greatly appreciated. I haven't updated in forever because I want to get this part situated comfortably. I don't know how I should tell things. If you have any format ideas, plese share, if you have time!!**

CHAPTER 1

I stepped into my steaming bathwater, coated with aromatic bubbles. A long sigh escaped me. It had been a while since I could do that, sigh in relief. As the water engulfed my body I almost felt as if I could relax, and maybe I did for a second or two. But then the faucet began to drip. I could have easily ignored it, but my paranoia got to me first. My eyes darted toward the leaking waterway. The thing I was seeing only suprised me a little. As a slayer I could have expected worse.

I sat up abruptly and touched the red liquid coming from the faulty faucet. My mind went cloudy and rather dizzy, as if I were getting fatigued from a long lasting hunger. Saliva began to gather in my mouth, and the red liquid was no less than a feast to me. I licked the new water, and instantly my throat burned as my whole system realized the blood. Before I could remove myself to somewhere more appropriate, I threw up. My abstract regurgitation lasted until I woke up in a cold sweat, my insides twisted, my throat still burning.

I had experienced this nightmare before. On an average of three nights a week I'd dream of me, a natural born slayer, being poisoned by blood, the thing I fought to keep instilled in society's veins.

Now, you're probably saying to yourself, "This is just some other Buffy knock off story, geesh." Well folks, sorry, I am no Buffy, but I do however kick vampire ass for a living.
I do not get paid for my work. Vampire slaying is the most underappreciated job in the world, but that is due to the fact that it is the most unknown, secretive, and unquestioned career in the world. Most people around the U.S. and Europe have met one of us before, maybe even been rescued by us. Most of the attacked go to the police with a mugging story, or attempted rape. They never really saw the thirst in the attacker's eyes. They never had time to think about what it really wanted, what it really was. The rescuer, on the other hand, is completely forgotten and unrewarded, if they are even mentioned.

That is how it should be. If everyone knew about the vampires lurking around the city, they'd be more vulnerable to attack. They'd just be powering the creature's already massive threat to all of the human race. You see, vampires feed off of any human negativity. Sadness and fear rank as the top provocations for their arousal, but anger and violence never fail to raise them from their filth ridden chambers in the dark, either.
My parents were killed by a gang of vampires shortly after the visitor came. I was about nine years of age when he came to me, telling of these things called vampires that were roaming the streets, and I was scared; I had only previously saw the creatures on television. He told my father how I was destined to slay. My father quieted me and quickly showed the tall hooded man the door. I got a lecture afterwards on the benefits of a sound institution for people like the Visitor. I went to bed unsatisfied, still thinking about the man. When I climbed in my bed, the Chronicles greeted my stomach and side harshly. I can still feel the shrill, physical cold of them, but the warmth and familiarity they gave my old soul reading of ancient slayers and darker vampires then I would ever face. That very night I became Sequinn Rose: vampire slayer.

The Visitor came one last time the next night. He carefully took enough of my supple blood to make five silver stakes. He also gave me money, more vampire information, and a list of all the names and addresses I'd ever need to know. I still remember every bit of our secret conversation.
He told me I had been born with a veil. I had a gift. I was able to block all the abstract things that vampires were attracted to and needed. "You see," he said, (and his voice still rings as powerfully monotonous and melodious in my head... like a god talks to his faithful prophet), "Vampires are just plain sick. They need blood to provide for their physical bodies, yes, but most importantly they need emotion-sad, horrible, nasty emotion- to provide for their equally negative souls. They can go on without blood for a month on out, but without emotion for a mere four to five days... they are nothing."he patted my bandaged arm. "It's all in here." he pointed to his hooded head. "The best way for you to survive is to be emotionless."

So here I am, ten years later, and I am still alive and kicking. Vampires are complete biological opposites of us. We need food to survive; we can go on with or without emotion. If our bodies have the energy (from food) to provide for our brains to be powered, we can overcome anything. But the vamps, they need emotion to power their bodies. Awful emotion. They can be happy, oh yes, but in their own, twisted way.
Freddy's mom was the one I went to when my parents were murdered. She was the first female on the list. I didn't cry, I just plainly stated what had occured through my spasmodic shivering.
She gave me a warm sile and a hug, not pushing the emotion deal, and quickly introduced me to Freddy. He was thirteen at the time, and she told me that he, too, was a young slayer. We didn't talk at first. We just stared. But when the vampires came to his house and fed on his mom, then we talked. We encouraged each other not to get emotional, and fled from his house without looking back. We had been partners ever since.

"Oh,GOD!" I mumbled after I looked at the alarm clock. All the times the dream came, I had gotten out of it at two twenty exactly. I turned on the lamp closest to my bed.

"Freddy!" I threw a pillow at him. "I had the dream again."

Freddy looked at me for a few seconds, waking up and taking in the news. "Well?" he said blankly.

"Well?" I exclaimed. "I don't know about it. I shouldn't be having dreams; if there is not conflict personally them I shouldn't dream. And I have no conflict. So why am I dreaming? It's going to turn me," I ran my fingers through some of my hair, using the phrase "turn me", meaning make me emotional. He sighed, and he was probably thinking of the last time I was "turned." "I think it means something."

"I do, too," he yawned and rolled back over. "But it can wait three hours." he signaled for me to turn the lamp back off. I turned his on along with mine that was already shining, and jumped on his bed.

"Are you going to protect me when I get emotional again?" I pounced back off of the bed and out into the parking lot. The cold made me shiver. Once, on the job, I began to think of my dream. I don't know what triggered it, but nevertheless, the thing called fear came. One of the vamps we were fighting sniffed the fear in the air, and tracked it to me.I was overpowered, feeling thier hunger seep into me, already sucking my lifesource out of my veins. Right before I hit the ground in given defeat, Freddy knocked two out of the picture with a garbage pail and his stakes. I could see good enough to get the other one off of me, and the other two ran, realizing who we really were. You see, Freddy and I were like the Sherlock and Watson of the slaying world. We were equal in power though, except for that once. Slayers looked up to us and the vampires had bets going to see who could kill or change us first.

I had to admit, I was still tired, too, but if I didn't figure this out so I could block it, I'd go crazy. We had previously concluded that this was a way for my mind to put my fears at bay, since I couldn't show them in my waking hours, but I just couldn't accept that.

"Never again, Sequinn," I heard Freddy say from the motel room's entrance. "Never, Sequinn. I don't want you to ever have another reoccurring dream. Okay? Now get in the car. I've got someone we can go see."

"Freddy," I snapped my seatbelt in place and looked into his green eyes, "If I knew what love felt like I'm sure I'd love you." He grinned and pulled out of the motel.


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I know I sort of changed history with the whole Taj Mahal thing, but that's why it's called fiction, right?



Chapter 2:"Invalid Item"