Disclaimer: All elements of Reaper and Buffy belong to their respective owners. I am not one of said owners.
References through end of season 1 for Reaper, Chosen for Buffy.
This thought came to me a while back, and had enough to it to warrant a separate story (figured it'd be easier than sorting through the list of random stories to pick out each chapter). Figure it'll be about 4 chapters. The main character is one I had really hoped would get a little more screen time in the original show, as I thought she'd be an interesting counterpart to match up with Sock's outward all-physical approach to relationships. She seemed way too nice in telling her food supply about her effects on them, so I got to thinking that she might have a less than run-of-the-mill story to her. Here's my take.
As to rating, nothing graphic in this story, just the occasional impolite turn of phrase.
A succubus walks into the bar.
It's not the start of a joke, it's just the start of a normal night on the town for a demoness by the name of Marlena.
It was an infrequent occurrence, as she tried to keep her feedings to a minimum, but on some evenings, her hunger was just too much to handle. And so here she was, stepping into the saddest little hole-in-the-wall bar she could find, looking for her next meal. She scanned the establishment, looking for just
the right guy.
The man she was in the market for tonight was many things. Bad, the kind of guy who was mean enough to deserve being 'prey' for a change. Good, or at least enough so that he wasn't likely to use his 'high' afterwards to go kill someone or rob a bank. Ugly enough not to have someone at home waiting for him. Nice enough looking that she could stand to kiss the guy.
Because that was what she was going to do tonight. Find a guy, kiss him, and, in the process, steal a year off of his life.
It was tough to find the perfect match, one who was clean enough not to make her sick to her stomach with the taste, yet vile enough not to make her nauseated thanks to her conscience.
She continued checking over all the occupants, looking for-There
A young man, covered in cuts and bruises and sporting a rather authentic-looking eyepatch, sat by himself in a booth along the back wall, nursing a beer. 'Violent guy, going by those injuries, but not too hard on the eyes. We have a winner.' He seemed to be scanning the bar periodically, much as she had just done, but with a jumpiness that meant he was watching for danger. His lone eye landed on hers for just a moment as she stood in the doorway, but in that instant she saw a world-weariness that made him look like he was 25-going-on-70.
She knew the feeling, given that she still looked 25 despite being well over 60 years old herself. It was impossible, some days, to look in the mirror and not see all the things she'd seen, all the things she'd done, reflected back in her too-young gaze. Well, the guy seemed rough, but she didn't think he was the type to chop up women with an axe, so maybe he'd be good to talk to for a while before she attended to business.
Damnit, there was that feeling of sympathy again. It was gonna get her in trouble sooner or later. First, there was that kid, the Devil's son. He had no idea what he was, and had gotten his soul sold out from under him through no fault of his own. She felt for the kid, she really did. She got what it was like to have no say in what happened with your life. Oh, she was still going to help kill him, obviously, but it didn't mean she couldn't feel a little bad about it. Now, on top of that, she was starting to empathize with her meal. This was getting out of hand.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Marlena sauntered over to the bar, ordering something appropriately fruity and girly before heading over to the man's booth.
"Mind if I join you?"
He wordlessly waved to the seat across from him, inviting her to sit. He regarded her with scrutiny for a moment, before he settled on a thousand-yard stare aimed somewhere over her shoulder.
She couldn't help feeling a little put out. Succubi made their living on seduction. She really should be able to hold a man's attention better than that
. 'Might as well bypass the small talk and bring out the big guns.'
"What's her name?"
With this question, she seemed to have actually garnered the man's interest.
"The girl that's put that look on your face." Not the best move from a seduction angle, but a kiss was a kiss, and a friendly kiss goodnight would do the trick just as well as something more passionate.
"Which one?" he asked with a harsh chuckle. Lovely, a ladies' man. She officially didn't feel bad about feeding on this one. "Jenny, Kendra, Joyce... Cordy... Anya..."
Her thoughts ground to a halt on hearing that last name. The chances were -so- remote, but even so, she just had to ask.
"Anya? That's an interesting name. It's pretty."
The man chuckled again, this time with actual fondness. "She was an interesting girl."
That appeared to be all he planned to say on the subject. But she needed to know.
"Is it short for something?"
She knew was pushing, and she could see in the sudden forced calmness in his features that he knew it too. She didn't care, though. Not when she was so close to...
"Actually, it was. Her full name was Anyanka."
Even expecting it, she couldn't help the growl that escaped at hearing that name. Apparently, the man noticed, as his eye narrowed and he produced a wicked looking axe from somewhere
and brought it up into a defensive position.
It didn't matter. Her vision bled red and her world narrowed to one thought.
It was her
turn for vengeance.
A man gets thrown into a bar.
It's not the *ow
* start of a joke, it's just a *freaking ow
* not-infrequent-enough part of Xander's life.
Perhaps a little clarification.
A man gets thrown through
the bar and into the liquor cabinet behind it.No, really, fucking *OW*
'Maybe this strategy needs a little work,' Xander thought through the haze of pain, as he picked fragments of the countertop out of his hair and off his shirt.
The strategy, such as it was, was to drop Anya's name at some point early on in any encounter with an unknown attractive female. For women of a non-supernatural variety, it meant nothing in particular. And for the slightly less human girls, it tended to produce a rather... -emphatic- response, of one sort or another, that let him know while he was still in a public place whether he was in for some sort of sacrificial rite that evening.
Judging by this one's response, he was going to get the everloving shit kicked out of him, and she wasn't planning on waiting until tonight.
It was at this point that he looked down, and registered the bloody piece of wood that was currently sticking out of his left thigh.
'Looks like good quality mahogany. Shame,' Xander thought, as he finally lost consciousness.