mayukhers112
03-17-2006, 10:29 PM
“Don’t worry, dear, it’ll all turn out well!”
The rather elderly woman looked at the girl with great happiness. She was a Native American; she was a Slayer. The woman was her new Watcher as well as her new guardian. This added very much to her role, as she now had to clean her, dress her, and teach her the language she spoke. Plus, an even bigger and harder task for the Watcher and Slayer was approaching: the Tento di Cruciamentum.
The woman lifted a shot filled with yellowish-liquid to the light and examined it carefully. “Now, hold still,” she said, pinching Pocahontas with the sharp needle. The girl almost fell to the ground as the shot hit her. She was rendered powerless, and felt as though she was a child again: she had none of the Slayer powers, only the Slayer knowledge. Pocahontas had known of her destiny all her life.
She looked up at her Watcher. The Slayer could only speak few words to her, yet the lady knew what pain her Slayer was going through. After all, she had only been slaying for less than a year, and this, coupled with her kidnapping, was enough grief. Nonetheless, she had faith in her, and felt that she could, in some way, pull being powerless off.
“Now, honey, I know you can do this. Even without my help. You must find the vampire in this village and kill it. You need to use your instincts and knowledge to counter him. Alright?”
This was one of the few words Pocahontas knew of this language, which resulted in her nod ‘yes’.
The old lady smiled, brushing her Slayer’s hair. “Aw, darling. I know your father taught you well. Now, go off and get that nasty old creature.”
Pocahontas rushed out, carrying as many stakes and daggers as she could hold in her dress. Life in Jamestown was much different for her from life back home, but she was adjusting. With each passing day, she liked her Watcher more, and had an increasing knowledge for the English language and customs.
She ran. Already, she was out of breath. Although she had been trained before she was called, it still felt awkward for her to have no powers. Her father, her older Watcher, told her about the Cruciamentum. He said it was one of the hardest challenges that a Slayer had to face. Only the smartest could survive, and it truly separated the great Slayers from the average ones (the ones who used their instincts vs. the ones who only fought, mindlessly).
Suddenly, Pocahontas heard ruffling noises. She turned her head every way she could but to no avail; she wasn’t too sure where the sounds were coming from. Then, though, it seemed as if she was being watched. She could now feel it; it was a vampire. She stepped into the Church. Pocahontas knew this was where the eyes came from this time. Crosses were torn apart and broken into pieces on the floor. To her horror, though, she looked ahead to see Alexander Whitaker, her Baptist, tied up and being held by a pale, sickly looking vampire. She had a clear picture in her head of what to do.
The Slayer ran up to him as carefully as she could, making sure not to get too tired. She slowly took the smallest dagger she had in her hand and gripped it tightly.
“Ah, Slayer. No, wait. You don’t even understand what I’m saying. Ha, stupid girl. You won’t live. You’re very lucky you made it this far, though.” He opened his mouth up and reached his fangs out towards Alexander, who shrieked in fright. Pocahontas finally took the dagger out and rushed it towards the old vamp’s heart. He stopped her dead in her tracks, though, and grabbed her by the neck.
“It’s not that easy. You weren’t called too long ago, were you? Figures. Because you’re real bad at this.” He threw her against the many chairs that stood in the building, sending her plummeting to the ground. The vampire then pushed the organ down on the Slayer. This is it, she thought. I hope father will be proud of how I slayed, but I’ve had my time.
She thought she was breathing one of her last breaths, when, finally, an angel came to her. Her Watcher.
The lady lifted up the organ with all her strength. “Honey, I can’t let this happen to you.” She then, with a twist of her hands and a few words muttered to herself, sent the building up in flames as the vampire screamed. He was dying.
“Now, go along back home. I’ll get Mr. Whitaker.” Her Watcher gestured towards the exit of the burning Church as she reached to untie the grieving Baptist. Pocahontas ran off to her home, and waited anxiously for her Watcher to come back. She was more than grateful to her for the deed. She now suddenly felt close to her; as close to her as she was to her father.
Minutes passed until she finally stepped into the door. The elderly lady came towards Pocahontas and immediately took her in her arms.
“Oh, hon. I just couldn’t let you have died. Ever since you’ve come, there’s been happiness. I’ve enjoyed being with you. You’re my Slayer, and I’ll always love you.”
“Always?” Pocahontas asked.
“Yes. Always.”
The rather elderly woman looked at the girl with great happiness. She was a Native American; she was a Slayer. The woman was her new Watcher as well as her new guardian. This added very much to her role, as she now had to clean her, dress her, and teach her the language she spoke. Plus, an even bigger and harder task for the Watcher and Slayer was approaching: the Tento di Cruciamentum.
The woman lifted a shot filled with yellowish-liquid to the light and examined it carefully. “Now, hold still,” she said, pinching Pocahontas with the sharp needle. The girl almost fell to the ground as the shot hit her. She was rendered powerless, and felt as though she was a child again: she had none of the Slayer powers, only the Slayer knowledge. Pocahontas had known of her destiny all her life.
She looked up at her Watcher. The Slayer could only speak few words to her, yet the lady knew what pain her Slayer was going through. After all, she had only been slaying for less than a year, and this, coupled with her kidnapping, was enough grief. Nonetheless, she had faith in her, and felt that she could, in some way, pull being powerless off.
“Now, honey, I know you can do this. Even without my help. You must find the vampire in this village and kill it. You need to use your instincts and knowledge to counter him. Alright?”
This was one of the few words Pocahontas knew of this language, which resulted in her nod ‘yes’.
The old lady smiled, brushing her Slayer’s hair. “Aw, darling. I know your father taught you well. Now, go off and get that nasty old creature.”
Pocahontas rushed out, carrying as many stakes and daggers as she could hold in her dress. Life in Jamestown was much different for her from life back home, but she was adjusting. With each passing day, she liked her Watcher more, and had an increasing knowledge for the English language and customs.
She ran. Already, she was out of breath. Although she had been trained before she was called, it still felt awkward for her to have no powers. Her father, her older Watcher, told her about the Cruciamentum. He said it was one of the hardest challenges that a Slayer had to face. Only the smartest could survive, and it truly separated the great Slayers from the average ones (the ones who used their instincts vs. the ones who only fought, mindlessly).
Suddenly, Pocahontas heard ruffling noises. She turned her head every way she could but to no avail; she wasn’t too sure where the sounds were coming from. Then, though, it seemed as if she was being watched. She could now feel it; it was a vampire. She stepped into the Church. Pocahontas knew this was where the eyes came from this time. Crosses were torn apart and broken into pieces on the floor. To her horror, though, she looked ahead to see Alexander Whitaker, her Baptist, tied up and being held by a pale, sickly looking vampire. She had a clear picture in her head of what to do.
The Slayer ran up to him as carefully as she could, making sure not to get too tired. She slowly took the smallest dagger she had in her hand and gripped it tightly.
“Ah, Slayer. No, wait. You don’t even understand what I’m saying. Ha, stupid girl. You won’t live. You’re very lucky you made it this far, though.” He opened his mouth up and reached his fangs out towards Alexander, who shrieked in fright. Pocahontas finally took the dagger out and rushed it towards the old vamp’s heart. He stopped her dead in her tracks, though, and grabbed her by the neck.
“It’s not that easy. You weren’t called too long ago, were you? Figures. Because you’re real bad at this.” He threw her against the many chairs that stood in the building, sending her plummeting to the ground. The vampire then pushed the organ down on the Slayer. This is it, she thought. I hope father will be proud of how I slayed, but I’ve had my time.
She thought she was breathing one of her last breaths, when, finally, an angel came to her. Her Watcher.
The lady lifted up the organ with all her strength. “Honey, I can’t let this happen to you.” She then, with a twist of her hands and a few words muttered to herself, sent the building up in flames as the vampire screamed. He was dying.
“Now, go along back home. I’ll get Mr. Whitaker.” Her Watcher gestured towards the exit of the burning Church as she reached to untie the grieving Baptist. Pocahontas ran off to her home, and waited anxiously for her Watcher to come back. She was more than grateful to her for the deed. She now suddenly felt close to her; as close to her as she was to her father.
Minutes passed until she finally stepped into the door. The elderly lady came towards Pocahontas and immediately took her in her arms.
“Oh, hon. I just couldn’t let you have died. Ever since you’ve come, there’s been happiness. I’ve enjoyed being with you. You’re my Slayer, and I’ll always love you.”
“Always?” Pocahontas asked.
“Yes. Always.”