Those who have gone before: Robyn, the Vampire Slayer
The name 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' belongs to Joss Whedon.
I have used 'The Dictionary of Omens and Superstitions' by Phillipa Waring as research
material. This book is interesting, but I wouldn't rely on its accuracy, since it contains the
following amusing passage
'The New Zealand emu (!?!) is believed to be a harbinger of good luck and its flesh a cure for
many illnesses'
I have also used information from one of Majin Gojira's helpful forum posts about different
types of vampires.
All the characters in this story are my own creations.
On with the tale!
"Beetles" said David, feinting to the right.
"John, Paul, George and Ringo" said Robyn, seeing through the feint and parrying to the left,
and making a lunge of her own.
David attacked again, faster this time.
"Seriously" he said, sounding very serious indeed.
"An omen of death if one walks over your shoe" said Robyn, launching another counterattack.
David backed up, on the defensive as she continued.
"According to Scottish superstition there is bad luck in store for you if a beetle enters the room
when your family is seated". She had driven him back towards the table now and could hardly
suppress a small, self-satisfied smile.
"But?"
Robyn was momentarily distracted, unable to remember anything more on the subject of
beetles. A moment was all David needed to gain the upper hand again. Before she knew it,
he was behind her, and a blow with the flat of the blade took her legs out from under her.
Within seconds she was crouching, ready to get up but it was too late. David stood over her,
his face serious, his sword-point an inch from her throat.
"But even worse luck will follow if you kill it".
He lowered his blade and extended a hand to help her up. Sometimes Anna could have
sworn that her watcher had supernatural powers of his own. She noted with some small
satisfaction that her watcher was panting slightly. She herself had not even raised a sweat.
But then, David was old. At least thirty-five. The slayer herself was fourteen. She was newly
called and not yet accustomed to all her new abilities, let alone her new responsibilities.
"You need to work on your concentration some more young lady" David said sternly. He never
missed an opportunity to nag. "If I was a vampire, you'd be dead"
"If you were a vampire you wouldn't be giving me a pop quiz on old-fashioned superstitions in
the middle of a fight" Robyn said, then instantly regretted it.
"Revise omens tonight. Waring's 'Signs' pages 103 to 155".
"But I have to patrol tonight"
"Then do it before sunset"
"But I-"
Robyn broke off, seeing his grim expression. With a sigh, she hefted her bag and headed off
to school.
Robyn had not always divided her time between stalking the undead and studying dusty
tomes on rituals and demon hunting. There had been a time, less than a year ago, when her
biggest worry was passing her chemistry exam. Ever since she was a little girl she had
wanted, oh so badly wanted, to be a vet. She was going to study hard, finish school, passing
everything with flying colours, and get into vet science. Once she started university, and was
in the course she wanted, she would slack off a little and enjoy Uni life. Get drunk on bad
cask wine, go to toga parties, lose her virginity, dye her hair purple. Go to protest rallies and
wave placards about land rights for gay whales. Maybe even get an education. There's a time
and a place for everything, and it's called Uni.
But Robyn knew that none of this was going to happen now, not for her. Not for the
Slayer. She had all but dropped out of school now. She had little time for study and only went
along to some of her classes for appearance's sake. Mrs Wilkins, her form teacher had called
her mother in to ask about her frequent absence notes and late assignments. From her
mother's vague answers the kindly Mrs Wilkins was now under the impression that Robyn
was suffering from some kind of terminal illness. Which, Robyn reflected dryly, may as well be
the case. Slayers did not have great long term job prospects. No vacations, no
superannuation, no sick pay. Just the dubious comfort that, without you in it, the world would
be an even nastier place.
The name 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' belongs to Joss Whedon.
I have used 'The Dictionary of Omens and Superstitions' by Phillipa Waring as research
material. This book is interesting, but I wouldn't rely on its accuracy, since it contains the
following amusing passage
'The New Zealand emu (!?!) is believed to be a harbinger of good luck and its flesh a cure for
many illnesses'
I have also used information from one of Majin Gojira's helpful forum posts about different
types of vampires.
All the characters in this story are my own creations.
On with the tale!
"Beetles" said David, feinting to the right.
"John, Paul, George and Ringo" said Robyn, seeing through the feint and parrying to the left,
and making a lunge of her own.
David attacked again, faster this time.
"Seriously" he said, sounding very serious indeed.
"An omen of death if one walks over your shoe" said Robyn, launching another counterattack.
David backed up, on the defensive as she continued.
"According to Scottish superstition there is bad luck in store for you if a beetle enters the room
when your family is seated". She had driven him back towards the table now and could hardly
suppress a small, self-satisfied smile.
"But?"
Robyn was momentarily distracted, unable to remember anything more on the subject of
beetles. A moment was all David needed to gain the upper hand again. Before she knew it,
he was behind her, and a blow with the flat of the blade took her legs out from under her.
Within seconds she was crouching, ready to get up but it was too late. David stood over her,
his face serious, his sword-point an inch from her throat.
"But even worse luck will follow if you kill it".
He lowered his blade and extended a hand to help her up. Sometimes Anna could have
sworn that her watcher had supernatural powers of his own. She noted with some small
satisfaction that her watcher was panting slightly. She herself had not even raised a sweat.
But then, David was old. At least thirty-five. The slayer herself was fourteen. She was newly
called and not yet accustomed to all her new abilities, let alone her new responsibilities.
"You need to work on your concentration some more young lady" David said sternly. He never
missed an opportunity to nag. "If I was a vampire, you'd be dead"
"If you were a vampire you wouldn't be giving me a pop quiz on old-fashioned superstitions in
the middle of a fight" Robyn said, then instantly regretted it.
"Revise omens tonight. Waring's 'Signs' pages 103 to 155".
"But I have to patrol tonight"
"Then do it before sunset"
"But I-"
Robyn broke off, seeing his grim expression. With a sigh, she hefted her bag and headed off
to school.
Robyn had not always divided her time between stalking the undead and studying dusty
tomes on rituals and demon hunting. There had been a time, less than a year ago, when her
biggest worry was passing her chemistry exam. Ever since she was a little girl she had
wanted, oh so badly wanted, to be a vet. She was going to study hard, finish school, passing
everything with flying colours, and get into vet science. Once she started university, and was
in the course she wanted, she would slack off a little and enjoy Uni life. Get drunk on bad
cask wine, go to toga parties, lose her virginity, dye her hair purple. Go to protest rallies and
wave placards about land rights for gay whales. Maybe even get an education. There's a time
and a place for everything, and it's called Uni.
But Robyn knew that none of this was going to happen now, not for her. Not for the
Slayer. She had all but dropped out of school now. She had little time for study and only went
along to some of her classes for appearance's sake. Mrs Wilkins, her form teacher had called
her mother in to ask about her frequent absence notes and late assignments. From her
mother's vague answers the kindly Mrs Wilkins was now under the impression that Robyn
was suffering from some kind of terminal illness. Which, Robyn reflected dryly, may as well be
the case. Slayers did not have great long term job prospects. No vacations, no
superannuation, no sick pay. Just the dubious comfort that, without you in it, the world would
be an even nastier place.