Wee!

[axeslade]

Just wrote a real, 1,150 word beginning to my vampire story! Still no title though, but you guys might be able to help with that.

EDIT: Extended/changed based on bitexmarks' suggestions.
EDIT #2: I have a title and Ambrose's last name has changed after a conversation with my father, who's always really great with this stuff.

Pam tells me I’m too protective of her. I suppose that’s true. Even now, when I know that she’s as strong as I am, that very little can take her from me, I can’t help myself. I still catch myself tightening my hold on her while she sleeps, instinctively walking in front of her while we go down a dark street.

Pam says it’s because I still view her as a delicate china-doll human. And she’s partially right. But I think the main reason is, the first time I heard her voice, she wasn’t laughing or talking.

The first time I heard Pam, she was crying.

I love cities. Don’t get me wrong, generally the smell and noises are atrocious, especially to someone with heightened senses, and the people are worse. But I ususally don’t speak to anyone longer than it takes to get them into a shaded place.

Before you accuse me of being a heartless murderer, I’m not. Generally speaking, anyway. Unless circumstances warrant differently, as they did the night I met Pam, I drink as much as I need to keep myself from becoming a blood thirsty monster and then set the unconscious donor down, where they’re generally found within a few hours having no idea what happened.

I had just finished doing this, actually, when I first smelled Pam. I had just drained some rockhead-body builder I’d found outside a local gym, and was walking out of the alley where I’d left him, when I smelled it.

Now, generally, salt is something I very easily ignore. While it’s true that humans do give off a great deal of the stuff, so do animals, the ocean…almost everything has some trace hint of salt near it. So I probably would have been able to ignore this, too, under normal conditions. It shouldn’t have tempted me in the least. I was more than satisfied, every human around me was just a blur instead of a walking steak.

But this was different. Now I know why, but then I didn’t understand. It was sweat, I was sure. Everyone around me was sweating in the summer heat, and although all of them smelled slightly different, now that I had eaten the smells mingled too much for me to take notice of them.

Except for this one. I couldn’t pick out why, but this smell was different. And because I couldn’t figure it out, I had to find its source, otherwise it would bother me for weeks. I’m strange like that. Well, stranger than many of my kind.

So I walked down the streets-to me it was walking, I’m sure to everyone around me it seemed like a panicked run-following the scent.

When it began coming at me in pulsing waves instead of just a gentle trickle, I stopped. I was in another alley now, several miles from where I’d started.

That’s when I realized, partially, why this smell had been different. It wasn’t just sweat, or even simply fearful sweat.

The source-a stunning beautiful young woman-was crying. Not just crying because she was lost or broke or what have you.

No. This woman was crying because she was begging for her life, which was currently being held in the hands of four thugs with guns and knives.

Now, generally, I care very little for the affairs of people. Ever since I was ostracized from my home town four centuries ago, what others choose to do with their lives really hasn’t mattered to me. However, there is one thing that I really have no tolerance for. Cowards who call themselves men who think it is perfectly all right to hurt a woman.

At the time, I assumed that was my only reason for rage. I know now that I was wrong, and I should have known that. Normally if I saw something like this happening-heard these weaklings telling her to suck them, take off her clothes, calling her rude names-I would have grabbed one of them, thrown him against a wall, and given him a fair warning. Nothing more. Just scared the lot of them, made sure that there was no dire injury to the girl, and maybe escorted her to a safer place.

This night, however? This night, as I stared over the ringleader’s shoulders into those fear-filled green eyes…

I snapped. What I had held in chains for so long broke free.

I can’t give you the specifics. All I know is that by the end of it, one of the men was dead, two left probably permanently paralyzed, and the other-the leader-well, he wouldn’t be asking any young ladies to suck anything again.

When it was over, I stepped back, surveying the scene, when the smell hit me again. Overriding the iron that was wafting up from the bodies, tempting me. And this time, I heard it at the same time I smelled it. Her tears.

I turned and saw her huddled in the corner, crying hysterically, pale red hair covering her face and arms wrapped around her legs. My heart, which hadn’t beat in so long, cringed. Poor thing.

I stepped over to her, and she inched away.

“D-Don’t hurt me. Please. I don’t have any money, I swear. You want my earrings? They’re knock-offs. Five dollars. Please…” she was sobbing, holding up her hands. I growled, but not at her. At them. Those bastards. They, and men like them, were the reason she thought I was going to hurt her, even though I’d just destroyed them for threatening to cause her harm.

When I realized my snarl had made her more afraid, I took a deep breath and spoke in the calmest voice I could find as I knelt down to her level.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I saw what those men were doing to you. That was wrong. I took care of it. I’d like to take care of you-oh no, please don’t be afraid, I didn’t mean it like that!” I exclaimed suddenly as she trembled. I reached out, even though I knew my touch would chill her, and stroked her cheek. Hoping that even if she questioned why I was freezing in mid-July, she would still find comfort in it.

She did. Her eyes grew smaller, less afraid, and she tossed her hair out of her face.

“W-What’s your name?”

“Ambrose McCulluk,” I said softly, continuing to stroke her cheek. “And who are you?”

“I-I’m Pamela. Pam. Pam Listrom.”

I smiled comfortingly, at least I hoped it was comfortingly, and bowed my head a little.

“Well, Ms. Listrom, if you’re not too badly injured-“

“I’m not!” she said a little too quickly, like she was trying to hide something. As if she realized my thoughts, she shirked back slightly, blood rushing to her pale cheeks.

“I mean…they were just trying to scare me. I’m all right,” she said softly.

I knew she was hiding something. Knew from the way she was keeping her eyes away from mine now, the way she spoke and the way she shrank away. But I didn’t think to worry about it then. Why would I? All I was concerned about was getting this girl some place safe where she could lick her emotional wounds and then carrying about my business.

I didn’t know why, but for some reason I couldn’t bear the thought of just ‘walking her home’, either literally or paying for her cab. So I said the first thing that came to mind.

“As I was saying, if you’re not too badly injured, I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink? My treat?”

I held out my hand to her, trying to hide the fact that I was watching her as I did. Watching the emotions flicker through her eyes-fear, hope, confusion, back to fear. Watching as the blood moved under her cheeks, listening to the pace of her breath changing as she considered the offer.

Then, finally, she reached out a hesitant hand. When I grasped it and pulled her up, she suddenly turned into a completley different woman.

“Ah, what the heck, sure!” she exclaimed, eyes bright and cheerful, hair no longer clinging to her skin in a pale mess, but swirling around her face in vibrant flames as the wind blew through it. It was all I could do to keep my mouth away from her, especially when she leaned against me, obviously expecting me to wrap an arm around her as we walked to the nearest bar. Which, as torturous as it was, I did.

Comments

[axeslade.livejournal.com]

Oooh! Yay, you're one of the people I really wanted to hear from.

1st. Yeah. My roughs are always really rushed. I've actually tried to write Ambrose and Pam's meeting a few times, and this is the first time I've been able to get past him smelling her. So the next run will be a lot better. When I read it over, I realized Pam's a very guarded creature for her own reasons, so it really doesn't make sense for her to head to Ambrose's apartment right away.

2. Ambrose: From the Late Latin name Ambrosius, which was derived from the Greek name Αμβροσιος (Ambrosios) meaning "immortal". Saint Ambrose was a 4th-century theologian and bishop of Milan.

[bitexmarks.livejournal.com]

You're so sweet *purr*

I like how this is going much better now. :)

I worked on a LOT of Vampire role play stuff/stories and story lines for about 8 years so if you need anymore bright ideas Ima here for ya! *jives.*
bitexmarks