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Here's the begining of a short story I want to write. I've got most of the outline, but i need help with some details.

The little girl sat on the heavily starched sheets of the hotel bed, the coarse blanket rough and uncomfortable on her thighs. She watched the bathroom door diligantly, listening as the water just kept running and running, it had been running when she came into the bedroom. Mother has been in there for a long time. She wasn't sure how long it had been now. She ran her hands down the skirt of her black dress, more as something to do than to smooth the fabric. She was still wearing it from her father's funeral that morning. She thought back to the last time she had seen or spoken to her father, before he left on his business trip. The adults wouldn't tell her what happened, just that it was 'an accident, and Daddy wasn't comming home'. Like she was some dumb animal, like she wouldn't figure out that Father was dead. They thought she wouldn't understand, that she wouldn't figure out that it had been something so awful that it was closed casket. And now Mother wouldn't come out of the bathroom. But she was used to this. Mother was always throwing a fit, but this one was surprisingly quiet, just the water. She took a deep breath and stood up, walking over to the door, knocking on it, whispering softly: "Mother?". She knocked again. No reply. She twisted the handle with out opening the door. It was unlocked. Mother would be so angry if she just walked in, but... She pushed open the door. She didn't see her mother till she stepped inside and turned towards the shower. There she was, crumpled on the tiled floor, her skin painfully pale, her black hair splayed so perfectly around her head, the two sets of dark red pricks, one on her neck, the other set on her inner thing, contrasting drastically. And a fang through her palm.

She sat up in bed, gasping for breath, her pillow case damp with tears, her skin covered in a cold sweat, her hand clutching the fang on a chain around her neck. Her roommate stuck her head through the door.

"Michelle? Are you okay? I heard you thrashing around."

"Yes, yes. I'm fine," she replied coldly, quickly regaining her icy facade. "Now if you would please shut the door so I can rise in peace, Ana?"

Her roommate complied, with a soft smile. "If you insist."

She shut the door behind her and Michelle rolled out of bed. She pulled off her teddy and climbed into the shower, thinking about her dream. She hadn't thought about that night 18 years ago in a very long time. She always wore the fang she had pulled out of her mother's dead body before her nanny found it, but she rarely thought about it. Never wondered why some creep was murdering women with vampire bite-shapped wounds, why ze left a fang that obviously didn't fit, why ze didn't even leave enough blood for it to bleed when she pulled out the fang, where all that blood went.

She sighed, rinsed off, and turned off the shower. She stepped out, braiding back her black, waist-length hair. She picked out a magenta, satin top, a grey pinstripe, and some heels to match the top. She put it all on, grabbed her breifcase and a quick breakfast, and headed to work. She was always the best dressed, bitchiest lawyer in her firm. At the young age of 24, she was already a shoe in for executive, following in her father's footsteps. She stood through the doors, nose in the air, ignoring hellos and good mornings from her co workers. She sat at her desk, poised, ready for the day. "Mary," She called, as she hit the button on her intercom, "Send in my first client."

"Yes, ma'am," the voice of her shy coung secretary called back, via the little black box on her desk, and a few minutes later her client came though the door, rich and feeling wronged in someway or another. She sat for the next many hours, listening to the spoiled, well-dressed, trust-fund kid or business person rant about some trivial matter they wanted to sew the bejesus out of someone eles for.

Finally, late into the night, the last client had come come and gone, and she had finished all her outstanding paper work. The elderly cleaning lady was making her nightly rounds.

"Shouldn't ya be at home, relaxin, Miss Cuttwater?" the old woman asked affectionatly in her southern drawl.

Michelle smiled back at the woman who reminded her so much of her nanny, who had passed away a few years ago. Michelle mourned the death more than either of her parents, having spent more time as a child with the elderly woman. "I'm going, I'm going!" She replied playfully as she gathered her paperwork and breifcase.

"Be safe, Miss Cuttwater!" She called as Michelle pushed her way though the revolving doors, hailing a cab to take her home. She climbed up the stairs to her appartment, unlocking the door. She heard the water running as she threw her keys on the table next to her breifcase, taking off her jacket and heels.

"Ana, I'm home!" She called out, announcing her arrival to the apartment.. She waited a moment, before shrugging off the lack of reply and wandered into the kitchen to make a quick meal while she waited for the shower. Shw warmed up some left over pasta, sitting down at the table.

"Ana?" She called againt, "Don't take too long. I need warm water, too!" By the time she cleared her plate, the shower was still running. She put her dirty dishes in the sink and walked over to the bacthroom door. She knocked softly and the door creaked open under the weight of her hand. She stepped inside, taking a deep breath, before turning towards the shower. It was the same scene from so many years ago: crumpled on the shower floor, the nearly translucent skin, those horribly bold bite makres, and of course the fang. Her mind could hardly discern the two scenes, though Ana and her mother looked nothing alike.

She turned off the water, pulled out the fang; again, there was not a single drop of blood, but she whipped it off on some toilet paper anyways. She poketed the fang, and stepped out of the bathroom, searching for the phone to call the police.

"Hello, 911 operator. What is your emergency?" a calm, soothing voice rang out from the phone.

"My name is Michelle Cuttwater. My roommate was murdered," Michelle answered cooly, keeping her emotions in check with a steely resolve.

Yeah, and the southern Vamp series. It's just the chick v. vamp thing I guess.

LOL you and Danny both, complains about not wanting to type anything up or not have enough time.

-flails- I had a Guard preformance. I was sore! Not my fault I didn't want to go digging thourgh my purse.

-slaps- don't be lazy 3nodding common! one, two, three four, type type type .

I typed alittle bit more up, but not much, because my german gets bored when I'm on the computer. ._.

Yes yes hmm, this is true 3nodding

More posted. ^^