A/N No idea where this came from and no idea where this is going but I figured it was interesting enough to share.

BTW-I'm Akasha_death....but I changed my pen name to Akasha-d for no particularly good reason.

For all of you awesome people out there waiting for chapter 12 of The Ones They Left Behind....*cowers* I'll get right back to it I swear!

Disclaimer: Samurai X is not mine, and if it were........buahahahahahahahahahahahahahaa.

The Ugly truth

Let me begin with a confession. I have never and will never, wear a pair of leather pants. Anyone who says that they can run, jump, kick and kill in a pair of skin tight leathers is lying. And don't get me started on the heels. If you want to break your ankles knees, hip and back, all at once no less, by all means do a high kick in a pair four inch boots.

Yes, the movies, books and comics lied. Vampire slayers don't wear leather, we don't wear heels, heck we sometimes even wear bright neon colours while on the job!

You might want to continue breathing, turning blue can't be good for the brain.

My day begins at about two thirty am, curled up on my favourite couch with a brand spanking new book and a cup of coffee hot as only hell would have it. It's a good book; entertaining, romantic, dramatic, and so wrong that I have to stop myself from spurting coffee out all over the upholstery while laughing. Vampire romance novels really take the cake in the art of selling bullshit. I have seen the other end of 'let's be together forever' and let me tell you, no one can hold a grudge quite like a vampire mate stuck with the same bloodsucking corpse for the past 400 years. Nothing gets better with age. Their relationship becomes an epic tag battle with real live steel and lots of sunshine to prove who indeed left the front door unlocked. More than one relationship ended with one party dancing on the ashes of their late lover, staked by hand with lots of violent hate.

There is a rap at my door. Three knocks then absolute silence. If it wasn't for the fact that I was expecting it, I would have been annoyed. My boss hates me, so he gives me the 'Express' jobs. If a known killer is sighted at night, you can't exactly wait for three copies of form A,B and C signed in triplicate and scheduled in for 9-5 shift. The suckers move too fast. So that's where the 'Express' orders come from. Technically it is meant to go to the nearest agent, so everyone should be 'ever vigilant'. Realistically it goes to the agent listed on for the evening, for what we call shit duty. Normally, no one has any idea who is on shit duty, but I am fortunate enough to have an ally in Tactics and Development who likes me enough to give me the heads up and hates my boss as much as I do.

Misao is a five foot nothing spitfire who's only claim to fame is being the only human in the company able to bully her way into a promotion. She is small, yes, but she is hyper like a hamster on speed. She doesn't just plot for what is going to happen next, she plots for what is going to happen next week. When they rejected her application for the post in Tactics and Development thanks to a less than stellar review from Saito, arsehole boss extraordinaire, she took the high road. One clown, one bouquet of roses and several misplaced memos later the entire building was in abject chaos. No one knew where anyone was, several people ran screaming from one corridor to the next and more than one couple were flinging office furniture at each other's head. When Misao gave her ultimatum, 'give me my promotion or kiss your peace goodbye', she got it within the hour.

We go out for coffee sometimes.

What waits for me outside the door is a small brown package. In it are detailed instructions of the where the when the and who that was going to receive a visit from yours truly. A park, not too far away from where I live, and a bloodsucker that has gotten a little too sip happy with the local young ladies, very convenient. An oversized black jumper with specialized pockets for all those nasty ill formed daggers also came with it. It's the traditional, 'go get em' tiger', care package from HQ. I run to my closet and switch to one of my many, many tights and plop on the jumper. It's baggy, but it hangs well enough for me to stuff two daggers and strip of wire, my weapon of choice, into the pockets.

What, no stakes you ask? No silver bullets, no holy water, no garlic?

Errr...no.

A wooden stake is a cheap alternative for pointy metal. I have metal. So why do I want to give myself splinters if I can give the vamp a major hole in his heart with no additional fuss? Silver causes a minor allergic reaction for the vamps and can blind them temporarily, for about three seconds. But chopping their head off with an iron axe is just as effective, it's more economical and it's not a three inch hole that they can heal up in seconds. And holy water is water that has been spoken to, very sternly by a very important man. It's still water. I could throw toilet water at them and get the same reaction. And as for the garlic, I can't stand the stuff; smells bad, tastes bad, it's just nasty. Interestingly enough, it actually works on vamps. With their heightened sense of smell the stink of garlic is fifty times what it is for me. They don't melt into a puddle of boiling liquid or anything. They'd still kill you. But they'd be holding their breath while they did it.

Three minutes later I had my shoes on, my hair tied up, my false earphones tucked in and my hood tucked up. I look like your average early morning jogger. Perfect. I was out the door and on the street before you could say 'stab em'.

The night is mostly quiet and it's easy for me to work my way up to a slow jog towards the park without getting too many stares. Once I'm there, getting its attention will be a breeze. Joggers are prime targets for vamps. Men and women who are healthy with great circulation, limited use of alcohol or cigarettes; it's their equivalent of low fat organic food, I guess. So walking into the park as I am is like carrying a giant neon sign that says 'free range low fat buffet'. I'm not even half way through the dirt path before I see him.

He is one of the pretty ones. Pale, is a given, curly blond hair, blue eyes and a set of the most beautifully sculpted abs in the universe. I could grate cheese on those suckers. Though I have to say, hanging out with an unbuttoned white top and a set of slacks in the middle of a jogging trail is very suspicious, more than a little cheesy and is a perfect ID match.

"What do we have here?" He put on his VOICE. That little bit extra that vampires get to add into their voice, their scent, and their looks that make them thoroughly irresistible to anyone it's inflicted on. It's like stripes to a tiger; a predators edge. Too bad I'm immune thanks to weeks of intensive torture at the hand of Saito and his best friend Mr Son-of-a-bitch-Aoshi, the Vampire Council representative. I slow down from my jog as any enthralled woman might. It's hard to fake that glazed hello-I'm-stoned-stupid look, but I manage.

"What are you doing out so late, little bird?"

Where the hell did this one come from? Most vamps have better taste in pick up lines than that. Even 'I Vant To Suck Your BVlOOD' would be an improvement. But it's best not to insult the guy, before I stab him that is. "Running. I came out for a jog. It's a nice evening." Play along, that is the key. In my pocket I calmly twirl the wire around my palm.

He throws his head back with unnecessarily force and chuckles. Yeesh, cheesy and a drama queen, it's a wonder that the Council hasn't done away with him themselves. They have impossibly high standards for vampire 'initiation', usually enforced by use of flame thrower. Mr Giggles here should have been ash the moment he opened his mouth in public.

"A lovely night indeed. Come a little closer dear, let me have a look at you. My, you're a pretty one arn't you?"

My, you're a dumb one, arn't you?

I walk towards him stiffly, as though in a haze. I keep my eyes locked on his baby blues the whole time, as any good hypnotised girl would. As I come within arm's reach I slowly un-tuck my hands from my pockets, careful to keep them wrist down, I only rest my hands on his shoulders when I am close enough for the sliver of metal around my palm to be dulled by his shadow. I discretely curl my fingers around his shoulder blade and thumb out a little of the metal into my other hand.

He raises a slim, pale finger to brush against my cheek. "Such a pretty, pretty girl. Such a pretty, tasty girl." He leans over, opening his mouth and revealing a set of fangs that are half the size of a human canines, and sharp like a needle. I pull my hands down to rest on his chest. He expects this, his experience telling him that I am going to try and push him off and start screaming. His experience tells him, he is stronger, older, smarter and faster than this little ole' human could ever be. His experience is wrong.

I grip the wire in my hands, tug it tight against the back of his neck, cross my arms, and pull with all my might. My wires are all professionally sharpened. Some parts are sharp enough to cut hair on contact, some parts are dull enough only to leave a pressure mark on the palms. Mr Giggles doesn't stand a chance. He only manages to shove me a little before the string goes right through his throat. And unlike movies, the wash of second-hand blood is immediate, bountiful and had a stench like an eternally unwashed latrine from the pit of hell. Most of it lands on my jumper, some of it on my shoes.

I leap away from his flailing, gurgling, body to dodge the inevitable instinctive thrash that the flesh goes into when the mind is severed from it. His head slides neatly off the stump of his body half a second before the rest of him falls to his knees and lands in a heap. His baby blues never leave mine. He is responsible for the deaths of 3 women over the past four months and a countless number of other deaths that were never able to be nailed onto him.

"Die fucker." I think I speak for every one of those women.

Something claps and the hair on the back of my neck jumps to attention. Still armed with my wire, but lacking in my trump of surprise, I twirl around to meet the source of the sound. One hand sneaks into my pocket and holds the handle of my dagger, ready to face anything from Mr Giggle's evil twin, to a pissed off vamp groupie.

What I see instead, is the red head. Kenshin, is his name, I think. Work partner of Mr Son-of-a-bitch-Aoshi, rep from the vamp Council and the largest thorn in my libido since my first orgasm. Long, dark red hair, golden eyes and a body that disserves both the fox-whistle and exclamation mark any day of the week. Well...night actually.

There's only one very big problem with my burning desire to throw him up against any surface and Fuck him blind, deaf, dumb and stupid. That thing between his beautifully shaped leg — that perfect bit of man-flesh— is now a mono-functioning object, and all it will ever do, is piss blood.

Yes.

That's something they don't put on the brochure. Boys, you lose all ability to go bang. Girls, you lose all ability to want bang. Sex, just cannot happen. It a complicated bit of biology to do with how the conversion to vampire refines their body down to its most efficient level. Minimal kidneys, minimal liver, stomach basically becomes a blood pump, muscles, tendons, ligaments get stronger, and your reproductive organs die a slow and painful death.

Vampires reproduce through infection. One blood transfusion and you get thousands of years worth of clan genetic material; efficient. Fucking, getting pregnant and raising the kid, is not. No point wasting energy doing something that gets no one nowhere. So chop goes the hormone, the gland and all the fun sensations that go with it. The hardware stays though.

Which is why I find all those delightful romance novels so fucking hilarious. The soul is willing, but the flesh has no god damn idea what you're talking about.

"How...efficient. I am impressed." Kenshin isn't using THE VOICE. But damn if he doesn't sound like warm honey in my ears. Such a shame, really.

"Just doing my job." He is hot, but he comes with a warning label that screams 'beware I bite', in the literal sense. My hand is still around my dagger because I smell like a blood bath, and that would repulse anything but a vampire.

He flickers, taking micro-seconds to cover distance that should have taken minutes. That's something else they don't teach you on those books. Vamps are fast. Really fast; Really, really fast. Their 'slow walk' is the equivalent of a 100kmph semi trailer going downhill on a greased road. We can't process visual que's at that speed, thus Kenshin's little firefly impersonation. The really polite suckers take the trouble to slow down sometimes, when among humans, but for them it's like walking across to room with your feet cling-wrapped together. Most can't be bothered. I can't say I blame them.

And there he is, right in front of me, in all his pale, fanged, sex god, glory. I really need to get laid, with something that can, that is.

"You are quite, enthusiastic about your occupation. I have heard very good things about your work ethic."-meaning he doesn't like Saito much either-"But it brings me to wonder if you might be a little too driven to stake first, ask later."

Shit.

I'm not saying I am stake happy, but I know a lot of slayers who are. More than one innocent vamp has died in the 'crossfire' unnecessarily; which is why the Vampire Council sent out its representatives. These boys don't force their hand, or put pressure on the company, they have thousands of years in politics to be way smarter than that. But their presence looms with enough force to keep things in check. And if either Son-of-a-bitch-Aoshi or Sex-On-Legs-Kenshin take an interest in a slayers 'work-ethic', it's nearly always a bad thing.

"I did nothing wrong. He fit the specs, I got the order and he came to me first." Not that it'll make any difference now.

He smiles, showing just enough teeth to hide his fangs. "I know. Flawless execution, top marks really. But don't you think beheading by wire is a little harsh?"

I blink at him. My eyebrow might possibly have twitched, but I can't be sure. "Harsh?" yup, I was pretty sure my eyebrow was twitching. "He killed three women that we know of, one of which was a young mother, drained them of blood and then burnt their bodies to ash, all of which was harsh, unjust, unfair and fucking brutal. Giggles there is lucky I didn't bind him down and start burning—slowly—from the toes up."

That little bit of teeth that he flashed earlier evolves into a full fanged grin. For some strange reason I get the impression I just passed a test of some sort. "How noble of you, Miss Kamiya. Defending the rights of the young and innocent of your species. And very creatively to boot."

I snort. Made stupid by adrenaline, I tell him exactly what I think of that. "My species? Jeez someone got stuck on his mile high horse. Got a drink from the local dickhead did we? Caus you're flashing more than a bit of stupid, racist, fuckwit right now."

Bad choice of words.

Very, very Bad.

Please, please review....with a Battousai plusshie on top?

Akasha_d