Okay, okay, I'm stupid. I've been writing this because it's been such a good, all-consuming idea it won't leave me alone even when I'm asleep. So, I'm trying to appease the gods of fanfiction by posting just ONE chapter before I update my MoonChild or LotR fics. Enjoy!

P.S. No, this is NOT a Mary-Sue. Maybe a Mommy-Sue.

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Strength and Weakness

(Post Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust)

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The outskirts of a small frontier town, 120 miles outside of Bremmen territory

6a.m.

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'Perfect. Only two miles out and the sun blazes forth.' The young-looking man on the back of a cyborg horse kept his head level, making sure the wide brim of his hat was keeping the sun off of his pale skin.

He was covered from head to toe in black, save for his hands and face, the tall, lithe body encased entirely in black metal armor. Two wicked-looking points rose from the plating atop his shoulders, and below that a tan-lined black cape streamed over the back of the horse, moving in the wind as though it were alive. A sparkling blue pendant hung at the man's breast, and the color merely magnified the deep navy of his eyes, (what could be seen of them from under the hat.) A longsword lay across his back, and his dark chestnut mane flowed in waves over the sheath, hanging nearly to his waist.

As harsh as his countenance may have been, the surroundings were far beyond even that: the red sand and withered roots scattered across the desert stretched as far as as he could see, tall, jagged mountains gating them in on both sides. The horse gave a computerized whinny, stamping a little and tossing his head. The animal was getting too warm for even its own comfort, despite its technologically enhanced capabilities. The man gave a soft "whoa" and the beast quieted.

"How much longer are you gonna keep this up?" a voice yammered angrily. "If the horse dies, then you sure as heck won't last much longer!"

The man remained silent, a slight tightening of his lips the only indication that he'd heard it. The thing was right, though; this heat would be tough to beat even for a normal human, and if they couldn't, then a half-breed vampire certainly had no chance.

Atop the horse, the man made his decision and spurred the horse into a full gallop. If the animal didn't make it, the least he could do was make sure they all didn't roast to death.

"Oh, well thank you sooo much for worrying about the two of us for once," the voice said sarcastically. "Remind me to send a thank-you note up your wrist."

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The frontier town of Bremmen.

10:17 p.m.

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After a day of long, hard work (at least they liked to think so), the menfolk liked to reward themselves with a good bit of cold brew from Maggie's tavern. A recent bout with some mutant werewolves on the outskirts of town had left them all in good spirits: only one man had been wounded, (superficially,) and they had holed five of the creatures through the heart, chasing the other three off into the hills with a volley.

"Hey, Maggie! G've us another!" one man with a rather large girth shouted from his stool, ale dribbling down his chin. "We deserve somethin' ta wet our throats tonight!"

Maggie, a plump, strawberry-blond woman in her mid-forties, rolled her eyes and slid him another ale, chuckling lightly at the grin on his face. The group of back-water cowboys laughed and cheered the next round, causing a jovial racket, and Maggie went back to polishing glasses.

"Hey, I heard that sometimes if you send their henchman packin', the Nobles might even leave of their own volition," one stubbly-faced man commented, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially. "we may not even hafta use the mayor's hired hand after all.

"Wouldn't that be a gas," sighed a younger dark-haired man, adjusting his hat. "Those hunters are damned expensive. Every chunk'd be out of our paychecks." A bright gold star shone on his breast, twinkling in the low yellow light of the tavern lamps. Davis, the sheriff, got paid as little as anyone in Bremmen, so the other men sighed sympathetically and raised their glasses to his statement.

"But hell, you know how hunters can be," said a bearded man with a yellow scarf and sandy brown hair. "Those bastards can ask any price and you can't refuse. It's either their will, or annihilation at the hands of a noble, and that ain't much of a choice. Not after what happened to my Delilah," he muttered.

The mood was dampened slightly.

The man, Kerry, had been unlucky enough to be on night patrol, leaving his young wife unprotected at their house. She'd been taken, changed, and finally shot to death by Kerry himself when the new monster had come after him. He'd never been the same since the villagers found him sitting on the floor in his own house, a warm gun in his hand, a shriveled corpse in Delilah's dress lying there with five holes in its chest-- and two smaller ones in its neck.

Kerry sat there staring into his ale, hand tightening on his mug, remembering how the hunter they'd hired merely shrugged, saying that he couldn't work for such a small price. They'd only been able to scrape together a few million from raised taxes and severe pay cuts, and they'd almost been starving themselves.

"Well, for all our sakes I hope that Noble takes a hint and finds some other town to screw with," Davis grumbled.

"Hey, after tonight's showdown maybe he will."

"Yeah, come on you guys, this is supposed to be a celebration!"

"Y-yeah, jus' keep drinkin'. You'll feel better aft'r a couple more," slurred an extremely inebriated man slumped in his stool.

"What, like you Vince?"

Hearty laughter and sniggering lightened things by a few notches. "Hey Maggie, keep 'm coming!" someone shouted.

"Yeah yeah, I hear ya--"

A gale of wind blew out the lamp at the front gate, making a few of the patrons look up from their cards and ale. There was an unsettling gap in conversation before everyone tried to keep things cheerful, clinking mugs of ale, happily and honestly cheating in their hands. Maggie looked out of the window just in time to see a wisp of blackness escape her vision, and a glance to the left was all that let her see what was beyond the door before it came through.

A dark shape came forward and parted the two saloon-style doors with one gauntleted hand. The squeak of the hinges made everyone look up--

...and the entire tavern went silent.

The newcomer was tall, cloaked in black and his brow was hidden beneath a wide brimmed hat. The clink of armor told much, as did the handle of a sword poking up over his shoulder. Davis felt himself shiver involuntarily as the tall, vague figure walked smoothly to the bartender, his booted footfalls merely making a light tap on the wooden floor as he approached the counter. He requested something too soft to be heard, and the man behind the bar supplied the key to an inn room upstairs with shaking hands.

"W-we uh... take payment up front," he told him tremulously.

"How much?" the tall man asked quietly. His manner was nothing more or less than courteous.

The bartender quoted a price and the stranger's hand slid beneath the folds of his cloak, coming up only with the requested coin, much to everyone's relief, and he took the key, pocketing it without so much as a jingle. His dark cloak whispered gently as he turned and walked down the aisle to a booth in the back, taking his seat and propping up his sword against the side of the bench.

The cowboys made a half-hearted attempt to go about their business, but most had their eyes trained on this man, this one who had to be a hunter. Maggie came up to the table, racked with tremors, but she at least managed to keep her voice steady: "What'll it be, stranger?"

"An ale, and a bowl of stew," he requested politely.

"Will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank you." The deep voice was reassuring in its calm timber and delicate accent. Maggie left with the order, brushing past Davis, who had risen from his seat and made his way to the hunter's table.

"...Are you the mayor's hired hand...?"

Silence.

"Mind if I sit down?" A pale hand moved, indicating he should sit across from him in the booth. "Thanks."

The sheriff set his gun on the table, leaning back in the seat with one arm draped across the back, eyeing him coolly.

"My name's Davis. I'm in charge of law enforcement in these parts, so while you're here doing your job I'd appreciate it if you'd report to me on all your actions."

Silence.

Davis' eyes narrowed. "You got a name, hunter?"

"...D," came the curt reply.

"D, huh. Just 'D'?" Silence. "Well, I know a little about your reputation. I gotta say, if half the rumors are true I'll be impressed," Davis told him carefully, cocking his head to the side. "Can't say I relish not knowing what you even look like. Care to take the hat off, pal? The cape would be nice too, but somehow I don't think you'll settle for more than the hat."

Silence.

Finally: "...I'd prefer to leave them on. Thank you."

Maggie came back down the aisle with the requested ale and a steaming bowl of beef stew, setting them on the table as Davis spoke, coldly. "Let me rephrase. I'm going to have to ask you to remove your hat, mister. Now."

Silence.

Maggie had just placed the stew onto the table, and it was a good thing too: if she had waited she probably would have dropped the bowl onto the floor. D's hand went slowly to the rim of his hat and placed it softly on the table, revealing his face in the light as he lifted his head.

Quite a few eyes went wide.

He was handsome. No, he was beautiful, almost effeminate, and couldn't have been older than twenty. His skin was milk-pale, eyes glittering like blue diamonds from beneath dark lashes and half-closed lids. His hair was a silken, dark chestnut mane tumbling in waves around his face and back, and a delicate white neck slid smoothly beneath an ink-black collar of metal plating, like the rest of him. His were perfect, aristocratic features; mask-like, and it made him seem almost like a crafted, porcelain doll.

Davis' jaw-- and Maggie's-- were practically touching the floor.

D raised a smooth eyebrow and the two of them shut their gaping maws. "Satisfied?" D inquired softly.

"Uh... yeah... sorry."

D replaced his hat atop his head as Maggie scurried back behind the counter, then reached for the spoon and began ingesting the soup with very proper table manners. The sheriff was shocked into silence for about half the bowl.

Finally, the hunter replaced the utensil on the table and spoke. "I would like to be briefed on the situation."

Davis looked at D. "The mayor said he'd go over the job with you in the morning. He wants you in his office at City Hall."

"Fine," D agreed softly, tidying up the booth by leaving his used silverware, napkin and cup in the empty bowl, so that Maggie would have only one piece of china to pick up. "I shall retire." The hunter rose gracefully, simultaneously retrieving his sword and laying a few coins on the table. All eyes were on D as he leisurely ascended the staircase to his room.

At the click of a lock two stories up, everyone began to chatter instantly.

Davis sighed, relieving the breath he'd been holding so tightly. "Whew. Well, whadda ya make of that?"

Maggie was still staring after where the hunter had disappeared. "I've heard things... stories that'd make your flesh crawl," she murmured. "They say he can beat the Nobles 'cause he's part one himself."

The entire tavern, thirty or so men, looked up in synch. "What'd you say?" Davis said sharply.

"Oh it's only rumors," Maggie snapped. "Anytime somebody's got a special skill or talent, folks go chalking it up to Noble heritage."

"Yeah, remember the Callahans last year, causing all that trouble 'cause they thought the Simons were possessed and stealing their cattle?"

The menfolk started in on another bout of conversation and Maggie let out an internal sigh of relief. Because they had been so stunned at the hunter's seeming youth and astounding beauty, they had failed to notice what Maggie had been close enough to see: the lock of hair that had moved as he'd replaced his hat, momentarily revealing a pointed ear.

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"Well, they took that well. And I'm surprised you actually listened to the guy about your hat. He was practically in a coma." D ignored the demonic voice emanating from his palm, setting the last piece of armour in its place atop the table. "I wonder if he'll start you a cult of followers simply for your looks."

Beneath the black casing, the clothing he wore was as antique as D himself, but extremely well-preserved: a white poet's shirt with ruffled lace at the throat, wrapped forearms, a blue taffeta vest, and a pair of form-fitting black trousers with his usual boots. Most nights he didn't bother to strip; it took him too long to reassemble the facade. But tonight, he had lost much energy just keeping up the pretense of infallibility. The heat had drained him severely, and he was sure that the horse had died shortly after he'd left it in the stable. He'd have to dispose of the remains in the morning.

"Which won't be any easier thanks to you. You could have drained him and gotten some strength back, you know," the parasite complained.

D didn't bother replying. He knew the creature was well aware of what finding a drained horse would do to the masses: people panicking left and right, crying Noble, automatically looking for someone to blame.

He sat softly on the edge of the bed, removing his hat and setting it next to the suit of armour on the table. His hair poured over his shoulders and down the back of his vest, making an ethereal picture. The moon had risen, poking up just visible over the mountains of clouds filling the sky: nearly full. It's light bathed his pale face, lighting his eyes and making the pendant at his breast glow a soft blue in its nest of lace. He fingered it gently. He wasn't really fond of being fatigued on nights like these; it made him far too sentimental.

A knock at the door made him look 'round. He had been so absorbed in thought, he hadn't even noticed the approach of the tavern woman. "Come in."

Maggie very quietly and nervously, opened the door and stuck her head in, bearing towels and a wash bowl. For a moment she was completely captured byt the storybook figure that sat before her in the moonlight, then she cleared her throat and managed to relay her purpose: "'M terribly sorry to be a bother, but, I realized you might want to wash up after such a long ride. I brought some water, and--" she gestured at the towels.

He nodded. "Thank you."

Maggie put the items on the small desk in the corner, folding the linens neatly and bowed her way out, feeling somewhat obligated for disturbing him. "'M terribly sorry."

He inclined his head towards her. Just before the door shut, he called out softly, "Miss?"

She looked at him blankly, her hand on the doorknob. She was near fifty; no one had called her "miss" in quite a long time.

"I felt I should inform you, I will not be awake early, so do not trouble yourself with breakfast, or waiting upon me. My horse is in the stable, but he has died, so do not be alarmed when you see him. I will see to him in the morning."

Maggie looked completely shocked, but managed to nod. "Uh-- yes, master hunter."

"D is fine."

She blushed, bowing in acknowledgment and quietly shut the door. She went back downstairs, closed up shop, and made her way into the back room that was her apartment. Later, after she'd put on her nightshift and washed, crawling into bed next to her young daughter, she realized just how tired he'd looked, and how sad. Deep blue eyes followed her into her dreams, along with their overwhelming sorrow.

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