David 'Psaiyan' Hawthorne wrote:

Hunter

By David 'Psaiyan' Hawthorne



Father Alexander Anderson stared listlessly out of the window of the
high-speed EuroStar train as the walls of the Channel Tunnel whistled
past in the near darkness. Removing his spectacles, he breathed gently
on the lenses and polished them with his sleeve. He rubbed the corner
of one emerald-green eye with a gloved finger before replacing the
glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Hmm. Not sure if that really grabs my attention. Glasses cleaning is not
much of a hook, and you want to try to reel people in with the opening.

Beneath his feet, partially hidden under the seat was an oversized
scratched and battered aluminium briefcase, secured with double
padlocks. Alexander made sure that his heels were in contact with this
at all times. The last thing he needed was for his Holy mission to
fail due to some two-bit baggage thief. Looking at his watch and
seeing that the train was still over an hour from London, he decided
to relax a little and permit himself a brief snooze. He had been awake
ever since he left Rome - almost 24 hours ago. His eyes burned with
fatigue and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on (an
after effect of being shot in the head with a silver bullet some
months previously). Hooking his toes through the carry handle, he
turned his head once more towards the window, resting his cheek upon
the cool glass.

Nice prose, though.

"Welcome to London, father."

I think the 'father' needs to be capitalized.

These people knew nothing of the darkness that lay beneath the surface
of everything they knew and took for granted.

That parses off a touch. Too rambling.

"Church business. It's a bit boring really..." he stroked the stubble
on his jawline, listening placidly as the man then proceeded to embark
upon a long rant about his disdain for homosexual priests and asylum
seekers. It was getting dark and Alexander was please

pleased

He checked in to

into

 >

Majeta Djorovic - AKA. Georg Kovacs, Rudolf Katz, Jens Krause, John
Wilson. Currently Edward Rosenberg.

Someone that gets around. :)

"Monster."

Monster,"

Alexander spat venomously.

Djorovic had managed to hide himself from Iscariot for over fifty
years, but it would seem that not all his present associates were
truly loyal. The informer - perhaps even a vampire himself, would have
been richly rewarded for his treachery and a blind eye turned to his
own misdeeds. Alexander was under no illusions as to the fact that
necessity sometimes forced a man to swallow his principles - that the
ends always justified the means.

Yep. Obviously his philiosophy.

His eyes focussed

focused (I think)

upon the figure before him. His mouth fell open in

shock.

"Father Anderson."

"You.!"

stray period

It didn't work. He could not move a muscle.


His heart pounded in his chest, the blooding singing in his ears. His
teeth were grinding as he began to pray for his deliverance.

you have extra line breaks here that feel inappropriate.

He held his silver cross against his chest and recited the Lord's
Prayer once again, as though to ward off the phantoms of his dreams,
wiping the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. He
fixed his eyes on the post-modern rendition of *something* that
occupied the picture frame on the opposite wall as his breathing
returned to normal.

Heh. I've seen lots of pictures like that.

There were some things that he could not forgive...

Well, a tumltuous beginning. Really ought to not mention where the fic is
going in the opening, though, as it kills suspense and tension. Prose flowed
well, and for a first chapter it moves well enough, setting the stage for
what is to come.

DB Sommer

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