ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

Survivor

by J Falconer

Disclaimer: Xena, Gabrielle etc belong to MCA/Universal and Ren Pics, and anyone else who has an interest in Xena Warrior Princess, not me.

Copyright © 2000: The characters in here belong to me. All rights reserved. No part or whole of this work may be copied or used in any shape, form, or manner whatsoever without the author's express written consent. If you want to use them, all you have to do is ask … nicely.

Violence disclaimer: Little bits and pieces, but nothing that’s really in yer face yucko.

Love/Sex warning: This story depicts a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live - move along, move along, nothing for you here ...

PROLOGUE

“MynameisBronwynHunterandI’mfiveyearsoldIliveat7GeorgesRoad.”

I looked down at the little figure puddled by the side of the road. It was early evening and I was starving, just out sort of cruising for a bite to eat. I dismissed her; she was a bit young for my liking.

Her green eyes were wide and tear stained as she looked anxiously up at me, silky blonde hair disheveled dirty pink dress pooled around her upper thighs, feet scratched and filthy in her once clean white sandles. There was a bubble of snot under one nostril, a testament to her distress.

Did I want to bother with a human child? Nope, I don’t think so. So I tried to keep walking.

From behind me, the little forlorn voice continued on. “Please? Missus? MynameisBronwynHunterandI’mfiveyearsoldIliveat7GeorgesRoad.”

My legs betrayed me and stopped moving. I tried to stop myself from doing it, but I had to turn around, go back to her and squat down in front of her. So much for being a cold blooded killer, I guess.

“Well, BronwynHunter,” I said, my voice soft and low. “Why are you sitting by the side of the road?”

“Because I’m tired.”

Kids. Glad I never had any.

“Why are you tired?”

“Because I’ve been walking.”

“Where are you walking to?” I hoped I’d finally hit on the right question.

“I’m trying to go home. I’m – I’m – I’m lost.” This was punctuated with a fresh bout of tears from her swollen and red eyes.

“Hey,” I said awkwardly, and dug into the pocket of my black jeans searching for a clean handkerchief to get her to blow her nose with. Personally, I don’t need the things, but Mum always told me never to leave the house without one. That and the good underwear – we all know the joke about how you should always wear your best underwear when you leave your house, because if you get hit by a bus, then at least you look good for the paramedics and hospital staff (not to mention news cameras).

I leant forward and gently took her small head in my large hand and held the hanky up to her face. “Blow,” I instructed.

Like the obedient child she obviously was, she blew her nose into my hanky, and sort of helped me clean her up.

“There.” I smiled at her, putting the most gentle expression I have in my eyes. Her answering, hesitant smile let me know that I’d succeeded.

“Okay.” I blew out some air from my lungs. I don’t need to breathe, but just the simple actions of pretending I’m alive sometimes just let me think more clearly. I guess I just haven’t been undead for long enough, though forty years should be enough for anyone to get the hang of it. “Your address is 7 Georges Road, right?”

She looked at me solemnly and nodded her head.

“You want to go back home to Mummy, right?”

Again, the head nodded.

“I think I can help you with that. Take my hand.” I stood up and held out my hand. She reached up and took it, and I was struck by the warmth of her soft child’s skin.

“Your hands are cold,” she said wonderingly. “And they’re pretty hard.”

“I know.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask me why my skin was alabaster and my blue eyes almost shone in the darkness.

“You’re pretty.”

I raised a coal black eyebrow, and looked down at the small face, which was now considerably happier than it had been not five minutes ago. “Yeah? Thanks.” I hoped she would not pursue this particular line of questioning or comments. The last thing I needed was for her to give her Mum a stirring rendition of the friend who had brought her home. It would lead to questions about me, and I would no doubt be forced to run again. I’d only just settled in here, and I really liked the neighborhood. Nice and quiet during the day, just the way a vampire likes it.

Suddenly she stopped and pulled a startled me to a halt.

“MynameisBronwynHunter, what’s yours?”

Oh dear. What should I tell her? If I told her my real name, perhaps her mother would come looking for me to thank me, and I couldn’t have that. It would not do at all.

“Carlisle Crowley, but my friends call me Crow.”

“Can I call you Crow?”

“Are you my friend?”

She looked at me, completely non comprehending. Inwardly sighing, I realized my joke had gone way over hear head (well, she was five after all, what was I expecting? Quantum mechanics?).  I was just about to say something when she cut me off.

“You’re my friend.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that one. “Okay, then call me Crow.” It was the best thing to say after I had been outsmarted by a child.

I led her through the quiet suburban streets, relishing in the power of the night, and the beauty of the blackness with her constant child’s chatter in the background. I found out all about her brother Tim and her best friend Amy, her boyfriend Robert, Mummy, Daddy and I think almost all of clan Hunter, including crazy uncle Edward who smelt “really bad” of baby powder. Somehow I ended up with her in my arms, yawning mightily as we approached her house, her soft breath teasing the sensitive skin of my throat, as I struggled to remember to breath so I would look like a living human being.

When I brought her home, her frantic parents were ecstatic, and I was pulled into the house of the living, being offered endless cups of tea and slices of cake, all of which I had to refuse. I told them I was a little under the weather, which was why I’d been out for a walk in the evening. I thought the fresh air would do me some good.

I was only half lying. I knew that if I ate their food I would find myself retching before it even hit my stomach. Welcome to the world of vampires.

It took me what almost seemed an age, but I was finally allowed to leave, and in my wake were requests to drop by again, thankyous and general well wishing. By the time I left I was half starving, and it had taken all of my will power not to drain every last drop of sweet blood from their animal bodies.

When I left, I ran down the street, a blur, faster than the human eye could see. I ran all the way home, and mounted my trusty motorcycle, roaring into the city at breakneck speed, looking for a snack.

I finally found her, and as I plunged my sharp teeth into her sweaty, aroused neck, I could almost swear that she came as she died.

Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.

As I strolled back to my bike, I saw a large number of hairy, sweaty human men leaning on my nice, Japanese bike parked in the middle of the Harley rider’s parking spots on Darlinghurst Road in the middle of King’s cross.

Restless as always, I sauntered towards them, ignoring the wolf whistles that came my way, the rough obscene gestures of the ones at the back who thought I couldn’t see them, the uncouth comments concerning my physical attributes that they also thought I couldn’t hear.

I turned to the largest of them, who was leaning against my bike.

“Hey love,” he said. “You shouldn’t park this thing here.”

“Why not?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders and smiling. The fresh blood that I’d consumed flowed through my system, temporarily warming my cool skin, lending an almost rosy glow to my pale features.

“It’s a piece of shit, that’s why. Go get yourself a real bike or a real man that has one.” He got off the seat and turned around, preparing to kick it over.

Suddenly he gave a hissing intake of breath then howled as my hand squeezed his testicles. “Now, now,” I offered calmly. “If I ever need a real man I’ll know who NOT to ask.”

With that, I calmly threw him into his shocked compatriots, as he clutched his battered manhood and the gawkers at the back lunged forward to beat the living shit out of me or worse.

I decided to play with them a bit, and threw some of the closer ones back and casually flicked out a heavily booted foot and knocked over all the nice, shiny Harley’s parked next to my humble steed.

It was in carnage and chaos that I leapt on the back of my bike and roared off into the distance, laughing all the way.

My black hair streamed in the wind out from under my helmet as I laughed all the way home. I never had a lot of time for human men, and now I have the power to do something about it.

Perhaps I should tell you a little more about myself. I look not a day over 21 though I was born 61 years ago. As you already know, I am a vampire. I allowed myself to be made almost forty years ago by a creature I knew as Sembur. He gave me a choice, eternal life, youth and beauty far exceeding the span of normal humans or slow aging and death. Once upon a time I was concerned by these things, so I said yes.

The problem was, I didn’t know what effects it would have on my life. It’s only in the past few years that I’m starting to realize what it’s all about, and I’m not so sure I want to be immortal anymore. I’m a survivor though, and all I really need is some time to work it all out.

Where am I headed with this? Patience! I’m telling you about how it all began, all those years ago …

PART ONE

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