Sweet Child
Title: Sweet Child
Fandom(s): Veronica Mars
Canon/fanon: Fanon
Prompt: Child
Character/Pairing: Angelina "Angel" Sweet with some LoVe
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1130
Summary: It's getting a bit angsty now. More past history on Miss Angelina Sweet and a shock ending of this part!
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I don't own Veronica Mars or any characters from said show - I think they belong to Rob Thomas. The real life people obviously don't belong to me. Angelina Sweet is mine.
Veronica found herself looking straight into those cute Jackie-Os Angel had been wearing earlier and apparently had decided would calm her sun-induced headache now that she was indoors. Unable to see the beautiful blue eyes behind them, she was able to give Angel a defiant look and pull away.
"All I heard was you bragging about how much you don't like me. Which is fine with me. I don't need you to like me. See you later."
Angel's jaw dropped as Veronica spun away and marched through the front door without another word. Then she was pouting for all she was worth. "What a rude, un-nice person," she grumbled under her breath and stalked toward her room, her blonde locks swaying out behind her like a soft moonlit breeze.
Slamming the door behind her and throwing herself onto the bed, Angel lay quietly for a long time staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She was thinking of her mother and how it had been a struggle to gain any sort of attention from the woman as she was growing up. Her mother had always been so self-absorbed and only had time for her boyfriend or husband du jour. Angel had been left to the disinterested nannies so often that she didn't know what it was like to really be loved.
She envied Veronica. That was the tall and short of why she was spiteful. In the few hours she had been here, Logan had talked about almost nothing but Veronica. And Angel suspected that Veronica had a great family at home; she hadn't looked unhappy or needy around Logan.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Angel turned over and looked at the framed picture on the nightstand. In it she and her mother stood side by side (though she was standing on a bench to be taller than her mother) and smiling happily at each other. Angel had been about six in the picture. It was just before Daddy was murdered. The last time they had been on the boardwalk all together and happy.
Biting back a deep, heart-rending sob threatening to choke her, Angel turned the picture around and hugged her pillow.
* * *
Some time later, Logan knocked on the open door of Angel's bedroom and peeked his head in. "Your guests are arriving, dear cousin."
Having recovered from the crying jag earlier, Angel had gotten deeply into reading the last pages of a tome on Quantum Theory. She jumped at the sudden interruption and gave a soft little murmur of surprise. "Oh! Oh, darn and I'm not dressed yet. I lost track of time. Will you stall for me, cuzzie?"
Pressing his palms together in front of his chest, Logan smiled saccharinely and bowed slightly. "I live to serve." He turned to leave and called over his shoulder, "Hurry it up, Angie."
Making a face at the nickname and standing up, Angel went to her closet. She had been putting off trying to decide what she wanted to wear from amongst the nearly 100 designer dresses all given to her personally by the designers themselves in hopes she would wear them out on the town some evening when the paparazzi were swarming like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. She hadn't worn any of the garments in her closet yet and once she had she would donate it to a charity of some sort. She refused to wear the same thing twice. It was just bad form, she mused.
One hand on her slender hip, biting her luscious full lower lip, Angel flipped through hanger after hanger, dress after dress. This was going to take a while.
* * *
Logan held the door open and smiled sweetly as several loudly chattering girls entered. "Welcome ladies. Angel will be with you shortly. Make yourselves at home. I'm sure your intimate evening with friends will be all you've been dreaming about."
One girl, a petite girl with high cheek bones and pale blonde hair, glanced with a practiced sensual laziness and said in a quiet languid voice, "Who said anything about intimate? We're here to party."
Another girl who had a perfectly designed dark brown wig and scarily shiny white teeth elbowed the first and laughed. "She didn't tell him how we are, Paris." She looked at Logan with amused sparkling eyes and said, "We're the Gucci Crew and we don't do anything small."
"That's hot," said Paris and the pack of girls pushed past Logan into the living room, chattering and planning decoration and music setups.
Logan, rolling his eyes, shut the door and muttered, "I'm not opening that door again tonight. You bitches can do it yourselves." He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Veronica as he wandered back through the house to light a fire under Angel.
Reaching Veronica's voicemail he cursed quietly and lamented the fact that he would soon be in a house entirely overrun with celebutantes, crack-ingesting celebrities, and other harbingers of annoyance without any sort of relief. He knocked on Angel's door and hit the speed dial again.
Listening to the ringing, Logan knocked on the door again and frowned. He pushed the door open without waiting just as Veronica finally picked up the phone. Glancing around the room and not seeing Angel he frowned a bit deeper and Veronica nearly hung up on him.
"Are you there? What's going on, Logan?"
"Sorry. Just went to find Angel because her guests are here but she's not in the room. Must have gone down the back stairs for some odd reason."
Shrugging, Logan left the door open and wandered in the direction of the back stairs. He figured Angel was either dodging her guests or doing a private line of coke in the servants' hall, not wanting to share or some other such nonsense. He was not going to allow her to reform her habit or make him entertain her guests, that was for damned sure.
"I'm sure she's ok," Veronica said dismissively, thinking of the conversation she had overheard earlier. "Listen, I've found something interesting about this 'Elsivia Monsk' girl. I'll be over there in a few minutes."
"Sounds perfect. I will fire up the jacuzzi and we can -"
There was a scream from the hall behind Logan and he whirled around, racing back toward Angel's room. Inside, Paris was kneeling just behind the bed and looking at something out of sight from the doorway. She looked as Logan appeared. Logan dropped the phone on the bed and ran around the other side to where Angel lay sprawled, wearing only her lacy underwear. Paris was pushing two fingers against her throat, trying to find a pulse.
Paris moaned tearfully, "I think she's dead."
Fandom(s): Veronica Mars
Canon/fanon: Fanon
Prompt: Child
Character/Pairing: Angelina "Angel" Sweet with some LoVe
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1130
Summary: It's getting a bit angsty now. More past history on Miss Angelina Sweet and a shock ending of this part!
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I don't own Veronica Mars or any characters from said show - I think they belong to Rob Thomas. The real life people obviously don't belong to me. Angelina Sweet is mine.
Veronica found herself looking straight into those cute Jackie-Os Angel had been wearing earlier and apparently had decided would calm her sun-induced headache now that she was indoors. Unable to see the beautiful blue eyes behind them, she was able to give Angel a defiant look and pull away.
"All I heard was you bragging about how much you don't like me. Which is fine with me. I don't need you to like me. See you later."
Angel's jaw dropped as Veronica spun away and marched through the front door without another word. Then she was pouting for all she was worth. "What a rude, un-nice person," she grumbled under her breath and stalked toward her room, her blonde locks swaying out behind her like a soft moonlit breeze.
Slamming the door behind her and throwing herself onto the bed, Angel lay quietly for a long time staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. She was thinking of her mother and how it had been a struggle to gain any sort of attention from the woman as she was growing up. Her mother had always been so self-absorbed and only had time for her boyfriend or husband du jour. Angel had been left to the disinterested nannies so often that she didn't know what it was like to really be loved.
She envied Veronica. That was the tall and short of why she was spiteful. In the few hours she had been here, Logan had talked about almost nothing but Veronica. And Angel suspected that Veronica had a great family at home; she hadn't looked unhappy or needy around Logan.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Angel turned over and looked at the framed picture on the nightstand. In it she and her mother stood side by side (though she was standing on a bench to be taller than her mother) and smiling happily at each other. Angel had been about six in the picture. It was just before Daddy was murdered. The last time they had been on the boardwalk all together and happy.
Biting back a deep, heart-rending sob threatening to choke her, Angel turned the picture around and hugged her pillow.
* * *
Some time later, Logan knocked on the open door of Angel's bedroom and peeked his head in. "Your guests are arriving, dear cousin."
Having recovered from the crying jag earlier, Angel had gotten deeply into reading the last pages of a tome on Quantum Theory. She jumped at the sudden interruption and gave a soft little murmur of surprise. "Oh! Oh, darn and I'm not dressed yet. I lost track of time. Will you stall for me, cuzzie?"
Pressing his palms together in front of his chest, Logan smiled saccharinely and bowed slightly. "I live to serve." He turned to leave and called over his shoulder, "Hurry it up, Angie."
Making a face at the nickname and standing up, Angel went to her closet. She had been putting off trying to decide what she wanted to wear from amongst the nearly 100 designer dresses all given to her personally by the designers themselves in hopes she would wear them out on the town some evening when the paparazzi were swarming like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. She hadn't worn any of the garments in her closet yet and once she had she would donate it to a charity of some sort. She refused to wear the same thing twice. It was just bad form, she mused.
One hand on her slender hip, biting her luscious full lower lip, Angel flipped through hanger after hanger, dress after dress. This was going to take a while.
* * *
Logan held the door open and smiled sweetly as several loudly chattering girls entered. "Welcome ladies. Angel will be with you shortly. Make yourselves at home. I'm sure your intimate evening with friends will be all you've been dreaming about."
One girl, a petite girl with high cheek bones and pale blonde hair, glanced with a practiced sensual laziness and said in a quiet languid voice, "Who said anything about intimate? We're here to party."
Another girl who had a perfectly designed dark brown wig and scarily shiny white teeth elbowed the first and laughed. "She didn't tell him how we are, Paris." She looked at Logan with amused sparkling eyes and said, "We're the Gucci Crew and we don't do anything small."
"That's hot," said Paris and the pack of girls pushed past Logan into the living room, chattering and planning decoration and music setups.
Logan, rolling his eyes, shut the door and muttered, "I'm not opening that door again tonight. You bitches can do it yourselves." He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and pressed the speed dial for Veronica as he wandered back through the house to light a fire under Angel.
Reaching Veronica's voicemail he cursed quietly and lamented the fact that he would soon be in a house entirely overrun with celebutantes, crack-ingesting celebrities, and other harbingers of annoyance without any sort of relief. He knocked on Angel's door and hit the speed dial again.
Listening to the ringing, Logan knocked on the door again and frowned. He pushed the door open without waiting just as Veronica finally picked up the phone. Glancing around the room and not seeing Angel he frowned a bit deeper and Veronica nearly hung up on him.
"Are you there? What's going on, Logan?"
"Sorry. Just went to find Angel because her guests are here but she's not in the room. Must have gone down the back stairs for some odd reason."
Shrugging, Logan left the door open and wandered in the direction of the back stairs. He figured Angel was either dodging her guests or doing a private line of coke in the servants' hall, not wanting to share or some other such nonsense. He was not going to allow her to reform her habit or make him entertain her guests, that was for damned sure.
"I'm sure she's ok," Veronica said dismissively, thinking of the conversation she had overheard earlier. "Listen, I've found something interesting about this 'Elsivia Monsk' girl. I'll be over there in a few minutes."
"Sounds perfect. I will fire up the jacuzzi and we can -"
There was a scream from the hall behind Logan and he whirled around, racing back toward Angel's room. Inside, Paris was kneeling just behind the bed and looking at something out of sight from the doorway. She looked as Logan appeared. Logan dropped the phone on the bed and ran around the other side to where Angel lay sprawled, wearing only her lacy underwear. Paris was pushing two fingers against her throat, trying to find a pulse.
Paris moaned tearfully, "I think she's dead."