Hi, all. This is my first story... It's Godric X OC. I hope you enjoy it.

Sorry if any follows get an "update." I had to add in page dividers. I didn't notice they weren't on here when I copied it from word.

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable does NOT belong to me!


[Jane Ava Doe]

"Will you marry me?" Mr. Reynold asked me, his wrinkly hands clutching mine. He felt a slight desperation and loneliness. Most of the elderly here felt like this.

"Sure," I smile at him, pulling my hand from his and putting down The Selection on his bedside table. His granddaughter had bought him the book a few years back, but then, she and her parents died in an airplane crash three years ago. Mr. Reynold is a sickly, eighty-nine-year-old man with sun aged skin sagging off of his withering body. He is sweet in an annoying sort of way, and he will not remember asking me to marry him or beginning the book from his grandchild.

"When?" he asks me, leaning back in his bed. It felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

It's tiring, really: Having to repeat just about the same thing with him every time I visit him. I tuck him in and turn off the bedside lamp, "Next week, I will marry you then."

I leave the room, picking up the mail I left in his file holder on his door as I close it. I volunteer here at Glenn Oaks Resting Home. I started when I was fourteen; I'm seventeen now. I took in two letters to Mrs. Rigenski, who will talk until your ears bleed if you let her. She is the last person in the hall and surprisingly mobile and energetic.

"Good afternoon, I have letters," I wave them at her.

She always gets overly excited about them, and I suppose I would, too. After a few years, the kin of the elderly often stop visiting, calling, and writing so much, but her nephew writes to her often and calls at least once a month.

I sit with her and read them to her. One is from her great niece, detailed with child drawings and the other is from her nephew, talking to her about the family. She sits there happy, looking at the pictures that were drawn for her. I take this time to leave; she will have to take her medicine soon anyway.

I take a turn into the critical ward section and say, "Hi," to Alex, a nurse and walk down to the cold room. I unlock the door and go straight to the refrigerator. I take a bag of AB+ out and stash it in my bag. I'm supposed to take inventory, but there is supposed to be a delivery tonight. There really isn't a point to do it yet. I leave, locking the door behind me.


I wait impatiently for dusk, for Gabrielle to finally wake. I start tapping on her hidden coffin and humming a nursery rhyme to myself.

"The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms crawl in and out Brielle's mouth," I giggle, finding this fitting since she is technically dead.

"You know your singing is absolutely awful, even through steel," I hear Brielle's muffled voice, and the coffin popped up, letting out a pressurized sound, like when you first open a bottle of soda.

My jaw drops open, acting offended, "Does not!"

"And why, might I ask," she props herself up in her coffin, her beautiful red hair not even frizzy from her sleep, "Would you sing that song in particular? You know I hate bugs!"

"You hate bugs... You're dead!" I say poking her in the shoulder, "Do you not see the irony in that?"

Brielle slaps my hand away and stretches, ignoring my retort, "So did you get my blood?"

"Your favorite, it's already in the microwave, waiting to be heated up," I tell her.

Brielle plops out of her coffin and presses the button for it to return to the ground. She glides past me in a hurried blur, and I realize she must be starving.

As I hear the microwave going, my own hunger took over, "Hey, mom, what's for supper?"

Brielle pulls her hair to one side as she turns to look at me, "What do you have in mind?"

I smile and say playfully, "Pizza!"

She gives a disgusted look but still throws me the phone, "Call and order whatever you like," she pauses to grab a covered glass with a straw, "Besides those fish sticks. It's like death, itself walked in."

I grin and order a cheese pizza and some lava cakes from Domino's.

Brielle turns her back toward me, so I won't see her pouring the blood into her cup. She turns back toward me, already taking soft sips through the straw.

She placed a twenty on the counter, "This should cover it, right?"

I nod slightly, still humming the nursery rhyme that she hates. I tilt my head curiously, "Hey, why does human food smell nasty to vampires?"

Brielle raises an eyebrow at my random question, "I don't know really." She looks puzzled for a moment and then, smirks, "Why do humans like fast food?"

I give her a dubious look, "Because it's fast, and it tastes good, obviously."

"Well, as long as it makes you happy, Jane-darling," she chuckles softly.

Still sipping on her blood, Brielle moves over to the couch and sits down. I can't help but join her. I snatch the remote up as she sips her blood, so I won't get stuck watching the history channel.

She actually looks rather into the blood. I bet she hasn't even gone out to feed in a while, and we're out of TruBlood. She just waits for me to go volunteer and bam, free blood.

'Lazy mom, doesn't even want to go out to get her own meal,' I think. I start glaring at her, and she turns to stare at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Vad?" she asks with a slight accent.

"Huh?" I feel my eyebrow twitch.

Brielle laughs, "'Vad' is Swedish for 'What?'"

"Do I look like a Swedish meatball to you?" I snap playfully.

She hisses, "No, an over grown chicken is more like it."

I open my mouth to say something smart, but the doorbell rings. I jump up and glare at her, stomping towards the front door mumbling about old hags. Brielle just simply laughs, "Saved by the bell."

When I return, she's in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, "Uhm, we have a problem."

"What's that?" I ask as my eyes shoot daggers at her back. I already know this will annoy me.

She turns to me, "We don't have any drinks left, for you or me."

"You just had blood!" I reply, "You're stomach's a freaking black hole of doom!"

She shrugs, "I'm still hungry."

I sit my dinner on the counter, and I swoop my hand at the door, "Well, go to the store and get some."

"It's your turn," Brielle protests.

"But, you are faster," I whine.

"You need the exercise," she adds.

I consciously look over my body, "Did you just call me fat?"

"No, I never gain weight, but you do. I was just thinking of your well-being, darling," Brielle says in defense.

I sigh and grab my bag, "I won't be long."

"Take the pepper spray," she yells as I walk out the door.

I laugh to myself, "Well, at least she cares. That's more than some human parents do."


I walk to the checkout line, my basket in hand, humming the nursery rhyme and longing for my pizza. It would probably be cold by time I get home.

"I'm sorry," the teen cashier said, arrogance and disgust rolling off of his being like waves, "We don't sell to vampires."

"According to the VR, it is considered a violation to our rights to discriminate against our species," a boy with light brown hair said calmly.

"You don't have any rights," the cashier said snidely, pushing the TruBlood case away from him as though it were offensive, "You aren't even human."

The boy stared at him for a moment, and I actually thought he was about to glamour the cashier until he finally spoke, "If you do not sell to vampires, then, why do you stock TruBlood?"

Resentment and hate overtook his disgust, and he shoved the TruBlood off of the counter on impulse. The glass bottles shatter against the tile floor, and the synthetic blood splatters all over both the vampire's and my jeans.

Brielle just bought me these.

I set the basket down harder than necessary on the black conveyor belt. I pull out the case of Sundrop and the case of AB+ TruBlood, slamming it down on the counter in front of the cashier. I felt both of their eyes turn toward me.

"Now, look. I don't know why you feel the need to be such a dogmatist asshole, and I don't care. My mom is good friends with Mr. Adams, your boss, and seeing as she's a vampire, I'm pretty sure he will not be happy with your less than enthusiastic service," I half-snarl at him.

The cashier looked at me, gauging my sincerity, a tinge of fear in his emotions, "I think you're nothing but a liar."

"And I think you're nothing but a narrow-minded nitwit," I retort, my tone becoming condescending, "Either way, I'm not bluffing."

The man's knuckles were clenched so tight they were white as he glared at me, his anger poking at me in spikes.

I took his lack of a response as a silent, 'Fuck you.'

"And on top of all of this, you ruined my favorite pair of jeans. So unless you want my mom to talk to your boss about your racist behavior, you are going to go get this man another case of TruBlood and check us both out, now," I told him.

He stood there looking at me with anger, so I said, "Well? What are you waiting for? Christmas?" I continued to look at him then shrugged, pulling out my cell phone, and dramatically leaned toward him, looking at his name tag, "Alright then, Joey, I'll just call Mr. Adams and my mom right now."

A spike of fear emitted from the cashier, "No. Fine."

He turned and walked away from us, and I crossed my arms and waited.

"I will compensate you for your pants," the boy vampire tells me, turning toward me, "I would like to thank you for your progressive thinking. It seems not everyone has the ability to overcome long time prejudices."

"To be fair, most people who are as close-minded as him are either ignorant or have had some sort of bad experience with your kind," I reply, "But it's only been a year, so distrust is natural, Mr...?"

His chocolate brown eyes find my green ones, "Godric."

"Godric," I repeat softly, "Granted, the experiences I have had with vampires have always been good. I have no reason to be hateful toward you."

"Your mother? She was turned?" he inquires.

I blink in surprise, "Uhm, no. She's my adoptive mother; my biological parents died when I was younger."

"I apologize," he averts his eyes, focusing on something on the cashier counter.

The cashier came back and begins to ring up Godric's TruBlood. I looked at the price and raised my eyebrows.

"Either your cash register is broken or you're mistaken," I said harshly.

The cashier gave me a dirty look, "Excuse me?"

"Considering your poor service and destruction of your customers' property, I believe you're charging him double the price you should be," I say with finality.

He sets me with a glare, and I purse my lips, glaring back. If looks could kill, we would both be six feet under.

"Whatever," he says, muttering under his breath, "Fucking bitch."

"It's fine," the vampire boy says, paying the cashier the full price, "Thank you." He turns toward me, "And thank you, Miss...?"

"Jane," I reply as Joey-the-Jerk-Cashier rings up my purchases, "Nice to meet you."

The brunette nods, turning and walking away.

The cashier practically shoves my bag at me after I pay him, resentment and anger pushed toward me as well.

"And for that," I grit my teeth angrily, "I may just call Mr. Adams anyway."

With that, I walked away from him and his hateful energy. I shiver, trying to cleanse my aura of his hate.


[Gabrielle Janiya Barrios]

My eyes are fixed on the television when I feel a soft vibrate on my buttocks. I sit there for a short second, wondering what it could be before pulling out the annoying talking device. I quickly open it to see a text message from Jane-Darling: I'm walking home now. I won't be long. I smile and start to press the buttons. A page pops up and I take a second to figure out how to write a message. K. I will warm up your pizza for you. Love Mom. It pops up that the message is sent, but I must have hit another button because the electronic device begins to talk to me. I just turn it off and back on.

I stare at it and start browsing through its functions and settings, experimenting with it and changing things to my liking. Finally, I put it back in my pocket and get up to heat up Jane's now-cold greasy sustenance.

I place several slices of the disgusting human food into the microwave and type in thirty seconds. I wait until I hear the door open to press the start button.

Jane shuts the door harder than usual, and the sickly sweet aroma of synthetic blood hits my nose. I walk to the living room just in time to see Jane toss her purse carelessly onto the couch. The bottom half of her new blue jeans look as though they went under a sprinkler of blood and my nose tells me it is synthetic. At least she isn't hurt.

"Why do you have synthetic AB negative blood on your jeans?" I ask curiously.

Jane glances at her pants and then focuses her eyes on mine, "I just remembered why I don't like people."

"Hmm, did some human fuck with you on the way home?" I ask her, curiosity running through me. I hadn't felt much of anything through our blood bond.

"No," the blonde snaps as she reached the microwave.

I disregard the tone, "Well, spill it. What happened?"

Jane pulls out her pizza, taking a huge bite and sighs as she chews it. When she finishes, she looks back at me, "I was at the store, and I guess Mr. Adams hired a new idiot because I've never seen this guy there before. I was in line when he wouldn't sell this vampire TruBlood. He didn't even have a reason or feel fear or pain or anything."

I watch her as she eats and takes a drink of her soda. I take my TruBlood and put it in the refrigerator. "Well, Mr. Adams went on vacation with his wife, for their thirty-fourth anniversary this week, remember?"

Jane's eyes travel over the kitchen counter as her human mind tries to recall this information.

She shrugs and continues, "Well, he wouldn't sell to the vampire because apparently you guys 'don't have rights.' He literally shoved Godric's TruBlood off of the counter-"

If my face was able to lose its color in skin and get sickly looking, it would probably have done so at the sound of his name coming out of her mouth. There's only one vampire that I have ever known with the name Godric. I stare at her in mute shock and memories of him play out in my mind.

Jane continues obliviously, "and that's why I'm covered in it. It really pissed me off, and I even threatened- Mom, are you alright?"

"Are you sure his name is Godric?" I ask her carefully.

Her face wrinkles with concern and confusion, "Uhm, yea. Why?"

I look at her, "He is my maker's maker."

Jane stares at me, not fully comprehending what I've said, so I let it sink in enough for her human brain to process it. Suddenly, Jane looks up, her jaw dropping, and her bewildered eyes find mine, "Godric's your grandfather?"

Good/bad? Comments? Should I continue or give up on life?