Business as Usual Chp 28
Title: Business as Usual
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG only for language
The story so far: In The Replacement, Spike mentions the charming lady who runs a tearoom in the garbage dump. Meet Miss Agnes Pringle, English spinster and very reluctant vampire. Agnes only wants a quiet life. Unfortunately, being Spike's friend denies her that wish. At the moment we have reached Season 6. Agnes - with the fortune she inherited from her ex boyfriend, The Mayor, has opened a proper tearoom in Sunnydale. Spike is grieving for Buffy, Dawn is working as a waitress part-time and Agnes is becoming aware that someone is stalking her.
Business As Usual
Chapter 28 - The Power of Cake
Two nights later, Agnes Pringle decided that enough was enough! It was time to take a stand. This was the third night running that the hairs on the back of her neck had wriggled and she’d realised an Unturned was hiding somewhere in the Willow Tree Tearoom. Sometimes she could feel its gaze on her downstairs while she was cooking, sometimes it was when the demons and vamps were enjoying their food.
She’d tried to spot the stupid human - in fact she was seriously worried that it might be someone who was mentally disturbed, because really, who would be silly enough to linger when there were several serial-killers of various types sitting in close proximity? But so far she’d been unable to find the intruder.
Agnes was pretty certain that the basement door that led into the maze of tunnels that ran underneath the whole of Sunnydale was how her stalker was getting in and out of the tearoom. And every time she came close to him - or her, of course, because Agnes had learnt to be politically correct recently - vanished back into the tunnels.
The first night she’d wondered if it was Dawn - unhappy at home, coming to the Willow Tree where she worked at the weekends as a waitress. But she was pretty certain that Dawn wouldn’t hide. She would tell Agnes she was there and probably sit in the kitchen, nibbling left over iced fancies and drinking hot chocolate, playing with one of the kittens that Agnes had decided to keep, having liberated them from Spike’s demon poker game.
So, not Dawn. And this evening - it had gone too far! Agnes had baked a whole tray of strawberry jam turnovers. She’d left them to cool on the kitchen table and when she returned to take them upstairs, several of them were missing.
She’d been horrified to find herself hoping that whoever it was had burnt their mouth on the hot jam! But turnovers were extremely popular - and she’d added a little blood to the pastry which turned it an interesting pinkish brown.
Unable to sleep that day, she got out of bed and made herself a nice cup of tea. Whoever it was, what did they want from her - apart from her death? Agnes ran the faces of all the Unturneds she knew through her mind. She’d met quite a few because of her friendship with Spike and his unfortunate tendency to get involved with humans. But she couldn’t think of one who would hide away in this manner and - apart from Dawn - she couldn’t think of one who knew she was a vampire.
She often wondered why Spike was so concerned that she kept her true identity hidden. He wasn’t at all bothered if people knew he was of the vampiric persuasion. But when she had once told him she was - and she had checked on the parlance - coming out - he’d choked on the anchovy sandwich she’d made him and told her that advertising herself rather than her product, bloody well wasn’t good business sense.
Overlooking the bad language, Agnes admitted that he might have a point. Since The Willow Tree had opened, shortly after the Slayer had died, she’d managed to built up two very different clienteles. Unturneds during the afternoon and early evening, then she would close until midnight when she opened again for vampires and demons.
Apart from the daily basket of blackmail muffins that she had to provide to Anya, the ex-demon girl who managed The Magic Box down the street, everything she baked she sold, and the profits were beginning to grow. So this Unturned, who was watching her from the shadows and now sampling the goods without paying for them, had to be stopped.
Agnes laid her plans with cunning. She baked a special chocolate cake; several layers of sponge, frosting, raspberry jam, its surface studded with pecans and chocolate drops.
When she closed the tearooms at seven that evening, she cut a slice of cake and left it on a plate, as if it had been forgotten. And just in case that didn’t tempt the Unturned, she also stood the mixing bowl with the remains of the chocolate frosting on the table as well.
She stood behind the half open pantry door and waited, clutching a large rolling-pin in her hand. She just hoped whoever it was wasn’t too big or violent, but if she had to Change her Face, she would, even though she hated to do so, except in very exceptional circumstances. But there was no way she could stand idly by and watch her profits be eaten every night.
The minutes ticked past, but Agnes was used to standing for hours; her time running a tea stall in Sunnydale’s garbage dump was coming in useful. Then, just as she was beginning to think that the Unturned wasn’t going to show up, she heard the creak of the basement tunnel door and footsteps crossed the kitchen. A small gasp, almost a squeal and she could picture the slice of cake being munched.
She waited another few seconds, then, trembling with agitation, she stepped out from behind the pantry door, brandishing the rolling-pin above her head. A young man was standing by the table, clutching the mixing bowl, sucking a finger that had obviously just been scooping up the remains of the chocolate frosting.
“Stop that! Who are you and what do you want?” Agnes took two quick steps towards him, then, almost against her will, found her face changing and knew how very ugly she must look.
The young man gave a hiccup, dropped the bowl - which promptly smashed on the tiled floor - and fainted.
When he came round to find Agnes patting his face with a wet cloth, the boy moaned and scrabbled away from her. “Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me! I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
Agnes realised she was still using her horrid face and shimmered back to pudgy normality with an annoyed shrug of her shoulders. “Why should I kill you? Calm down, young man and tell me what you’re doing in my kitchen, stealing my food?”
The boy gulped nervously. “You’re a vampire, like Spike, aren’t you? I didn’t know. I thought you were just the lady who runs the tearooms where Spike eats all the time and the Slayer’s sister works.”
He scrambled to his feet and Agnes sighed, wondering what it would take for him to answer one of her questions. And obviously he had no idea that Buffy Summers was dead, which was very odd. “You know Spike?”
The boy went very pink. “Well, not to actually know, but I think he’s wonderful.”
“Do you have a name?”
“I’m Tucker’s brother, Andrew.”
Agnes frowned. It seemed such an odd way of introducing himself. As if being Tucker’s brother was far more important than his own name. “I am Miss Agnes Pringle and this is my shop. And every time you eat something and do not pay for it, you are stealing from me.”
The pink in the boy’s cheeks went a darker shade. “I…I…didn’t realise, Miss Pringle. It all looks so great - I mean, this cake - I’d love to cook something like this.”
Silently Agnes handed him a broom and pointed to the broken glass on the floor. Andrew began to tidy up without a murmur. “So you enjoy cooking?”
“Oh, I don’t - I mean, my friends - we’re sort of tough guys - cooking? - oh, no - ” he laughed nervously. “I can just imagine what my friend Warren would say if he knew I liked being in a kitchen!”
Agnes sat and watched him as he worked. Poor boy, he seemed so muddled, so unsure of himself and even though she had never met him, she was beginning to dislike his friend Warren. “Cooking can be extremely useful, even for men,” she ventured at last. “You never know in life what skills will come in useful. There might come a time when you need to provide food for people. I could teach you.”
Andrew shook his head and, without waiting to be told, began to wash up the dirty dishes in the sink. “My friend Warren says - ” he stopped, licking his lips, glancing back at the remains of the chocolate sponge. “Would it take long to learn how to bake a cake like that one?”
Agnes raised her eyebrows. She had learnt a long time ago - her would be husband, Richard Wilkins III, had always been a perfect lamb when there was a chance of chocolate cake - that the male of most species would do a lot for cake that they wouldn’t for anything else. Well - she pushed the thought aside, obviously there were other ways of persuading gentlemen to do what you wanted, but she preferred to rely on cake.
“No, Andrew, it wouldn’t take you long to learn that skill,” Agnes said gently. “And, of course, it would mean we both knew a great secret about each other, wouldn’t it?” Andrew looked puzzled, so she went on. “I mean, I won’t tell your friends that you are learning how to cook and you won’t tell them that I am not human.”
She could see a struggle taking place inside the boy’s head and the words, “My friend Warren says - ” trembling on his lips. His face was far too open and easy to read: every emotion he felt was written on it. She could guess from his expression now that telling this Warren a huge secret about vampires was extremely tempting.
“I’m not very good at keeping secrets, Miss Pringle,” he mumbled at last. “I don’t think you’d better trust me not to tell. I’m not - I’m not a very brave person, you see. My brother Tucker was brave. Everyone knows that. And Warren is - well, Warren is my friend!”
“I know how you feel. I’ve always been of a timid disposition, too. But sometimes you can surprise yourself. A few weeks ago, I would never have set a trap for you. I would have waited for Spike and asked him to sort you out.”
As Andrew squeaked under his breath, Agnes reached for a clean apron and tied it quickly round her waist. Could she trust this young Unturned? She realised he was too easily led and far too impressionable. So she had two alternatives - she could teach Andrew how to cook and hope that a little steel entered his backbone with the chocolate frosting or she could call on Spike to come and frighten him so badly that he left Sunnydale for ever.
She handed the boy a bag of flour and pointed towards the scales. She’d made her decision. Of course chocolate cake alone couldn’t make a difference to a person; it was producing something you had made with your own hands. That was the trick; your creation. Agnes would trust the power of cake to help Andrew find his own character and stop being just Tucker’s Brother and Warren’s Friend. And if she was wrong? Well, it would only be her unlife that would be in any sort of danger.
tbc
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG only for language
The story so far: In The Replacement, Spike mentions the charming lady who runs a tearoom in the garbage dump. Meet Miss Agnes Pringle, English spinster and very reluctant vampire. Agnes only wants a quiet life. Unfortunately, being Spike's friend denies her that wish. At the moment we have reached Season 6. Agnes - with the fortune she inherited from her ex boyfriend, The Mayor, has opened a proper tearoom in Sunnydale. Spike is grieving for Buffy, Dawn is working as a waitress part-time and Agnes is becoming aware that someone is stalking her.
Business As Usual
Chapter 28 - The Power of Cake
Two nights later, Agnes Pringle decided that enough was enough! It was time to take a stand. This was the third night running that the hairs on the back of her neck had wriggled and she’d realised an Unturned was hiding somewhere in the Willow Tree Tearoom. Sometimes she could feel its gaze on her downstairs while she was cooking, sometimes it was when the demons and vamps were enjoying their food.
She’d tried to spot the stupid human - in fact she was seriously worried that it might be someone who was mentally disturbed, because really, who would be silly enough to linger when there were several serial-killers of various types sitting in close proximity? But so far she’d been unable to find the intruder.
Agnes was pretty certain that the basement door that led into the maze of tunnels that ran underneath the whole of Sunnydale was how her stalker was getting in and out of the tearoom. And every time she came close to him - or her, of course, because Agnes had learnt to be politically correct recently - vanished back into the tunnels.
The first night she’d wondered if it was Dawn - unhappy at home, coming to the Willow Tree where she worked at the weekends as a waitress. But she was pretty certain that Dawn wouldn’t hide. She would tell Agnes she was there and probably sit in the kitchen, nibbling left over iced fancies and drinking hot chocolate, playing with one of the kittens that Agnes had decided to keep, having liberated them from Spike’s demon poker game.
So, not Dawn. And this evening - it had gone too far! Agnes had baked a whole tray of strawberry jam turnovers. She’d left them to cool on the kitchen table and when she returned to take them upstairs, several of them were missing.
She’d been horrified to find herself hoping that whoever it was had burnt their mouth on the hot jam! But turnovers were extremely popular - and she’d added a little blood to the pastry which turned it an interesting pinkish brown.
Unable to sleep that day, she got out of bed and made herself a nice cup of tea. Whoever it was, what did they want from her - apart from her death? Agnes ran the faces of all the Unturneds she knew through her mind. She’d met quite a few because of her friendship with Spike and his unfortunate tendency to get involved with humans. But she couldn’t think of one who would hide away in this manner and - apart from Dawn - she couldn’t think of one who knew she was a vampire.
She often wondered why Spike was so concerned that she kept her true identity hidden. He wasn’t at all bothered if people knew he was of the vampiric persuasion. But when she had once told him she was - and she had checked on the parlance - coming out - he’d choked on the anchovy sandwich she’d made him and told her that advertising herself rather than her product, bloody well wasn’t good business sense.
Overlooking the bad language, Agnes admitted that he might have a point. Since The Willow Tree had opened, shortly after the Slayer had died, she’d managed to built up two very different clienteles. Unturneds during the afternoon and early evening, then she would close until midnight when she opened again for vampires and demons.
Apart from the daily basket of blackmail muffins that she had to provide to Anya, the ex-demon girl who managed The Magic Box down the street, everything she baked she sold, and the profits were beginning to grow. So this Unturned, who was watching her from the shadows and now sampling the goods without paying for them, had to be stopped.
Agnes laid her plans with cunning. She baked a special chocolate cake; several layers of sponge, frosting, raspberry jam, its surface studded with pecans and chocolate drops.
When she closed the tearooms at seven that evening, she cut a slice of cake and left it on a plate, as if it had been forgotten. And just in case that didn’t tempt the Unturned, she also stood the mixing bowl with the remains of the chocolate frosting on the table as well.
She stood behind the half open pantry door and waited, clutching a large rolling-pin in her hand. She just hoped whoever it was wasn’t too big or violent, but if she had to Change her Face, she would, even though she hated to do so, except in very exceptional circumstances. But there was no way she could stand idly by and watch her profits be eaten every night.
The minutes ticked past, but Agnes was used to standing for hours; her time running a tea stall in Sunnydale’s garbage dump was coming in useful. Then, just as she was beginning to think that the Unturned wasn’t going to show up, she heard the creak of the basement tunnel door and footsteps crossed the kitchen. A small gasp, almost a squeal and she could picture the slice of cake being munched.
She waited another few seconds, then, trembling with agitation, she stepped out from behind the pantry door, brandishing the rolling-pin above her head. A young man was standing by the table, clutching the mixing bowl, sucking a finger that had obviously just been scooping up the remains of the chocolate frosting.
“Stop that! Who are you and what do you want?” Agnes took two quick steps towards him, then, almost against her will, found her face changing and knew how very ugly she must look.
The young man gave a hiccup, dropped the bowl - which promptly smashed on the tiled floor - and fainted.
When he came round to find Agnes patting his face with a wet cloth, the boy moaned and scrabbled away from her. “Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me! I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
Agnes realised she was still using her horrid face and shimmered back to pudgy normality with an annoyed shrug of her shoulders. “Why should I kill you? Calm down, young man and tell me what you’re doing in my kitchen, stealing my food?”
The boy gulped nervously. “You’re a vampire, like Spike, aren’t you? I didn’t know. I thought you were just the lady who runs the tearooms where Spike eats all the time and the Slayer’s sister works.”
He scrambled to his feet and Agnes sighed, wondering what it would take for him to answer one of her questions. And obviously he had no idea that Buffy Summers was dead, which was very odd. “You know Spike?”
The boy went very pink. “Well, not to actually know, but I think he’s wonderful.”
“Do you have a name?”
“I’m Tucker’s brother, Andrew.”
Agnes frowned. It seemed such an odd way of introducing himself. As if being Tucker’s brother was far more important than his own name. “I am Miss Agnes Pringle and this is my shop. And every time you eat something and do not pay for it, you are stealing from me.”
The pink in the boy’s cheeks went a darker shade. “I…I…didn’t realise, Miss Pringle. It all looks so great - I mean, this cake - I’d love to cook something like this.”
Silently Agnes handed him a broom and pointed to the broken glass on the floor. Andrew began to tidy up without a murmur. “So you enjoy cooking?”
“Oh, I don’t - I mean, my friends - we’re sort of tough guys - cooking? - oh, no - ” he laughed nervously. “I can just imagine what my friend Warren would say if he knew I liked being in a kitchen!”
Agnes sat and watched him as he worked. Poor boy, he seemed so muddled, so unsure of himself and even though she had never met him, she was beginning to dislike his friend Warren. “Cooking can be extremely useful, even for men,” she ventured at last. “You never know in life what skills will come in useful. There might come a time when you need to provide food for people. I could teach you.”
Andrew shook his head and, without waiting to be told, began to wash up the dirty dishes in the sink. “My friend Warren says - ” he stopped, licking his lips, glancing back at the remains of the chocolate sponge. “Would it take long to learn how to bake a cake like that one?”
Agnes raised her eyebrows. She had learnt a long time ago - her would be husband, Richard Wilkins III, had always been a perfect lamb when there was a chance of chocolate cake - that the male of most species would do a lot for cake that they wouldn’t for anything else. Well - she pushed the thought aside, obviously there were other ways of persuading gentlemen to do what you wanted, but she preferred to rely on cake.
“No, Andrew, it wouldn’t take you long to learn that skill,” Agnes said gently. “And, of course, it would mean we both knew a great secret about each other, wouldn’t it?” Andrew looked puzzled, so she went on. “I mean, I won’t tell your friends that you are learning how to cook and you won’t tell them that I am not human.”
She could see a struggle taking place inside the boy’s head and the words, “My friend Warren says - ” trembling on his lips. His face was far too open and easy to read: every emotion he felt was written on it. She could guess from his expression now that telling this Warren a huge secret about vampires was extremely tempting.
“I’m not very good at keeping secrets, Miss Pringle,” he mumbled at last. “I don’t think you’d better trust me not to tell. I’m not - I’m not a very brave person, you see. My brother Tucker was brave. Everyone knows that. And Warren is - well, Warren is my friend!”
“I know how you feel. I’ve always been of a timid disposition, too. But sometimes you can surprise yourself. A few weeks ago, I would never have set a trap for you. I would have waited for Spike and asked him to sort you out.”
As Andrew squeaked under his breath, Agnes reached for a clean apron and tied it quickly round her waist. Could she trust this young Unturned? She realised he was too easily led and far too impressionable. So she had two alternatives - she could teach Andrew how to cook and hope that a little steel entered his backbone with the chocolate frosting or she could call on Spike to come and frighten him so badly that he left Sunnydale for ever.
She handed the boy a bag of flour and pointed towards the scales. She’d made her decision. Of course chocolate cake alone couldn’t make a difference to a person; it was producing something you had made with your own hands. That was the trick; your creation. Agnes would trust the power of cake to help Andrew find his own character and stop being just Tucker’s Brother and Warren’s Friend. And if she was wrong? Well, it would only be her unlife that would be in any sort of danger.
tbc