Misery Poker, part 1 of 2
Title: Misery Poker, part 1 of 2
Author: Louisa
Rating: Mature
Fandom: The Secret Circle/Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Caroline/Faye
Note: As a point of comparison for anyone who reads our other fic, this is almost purely written by Louisa. Which means, among other things, no overly complex structure/narrative tricks. Hope you enjoy.
Spoilers for Season 2 of The Vampire Diaries and Season 1 of The Secret Circle
I check my reflection in the mirror over the bar. Of course I’m looking good, just like always. A little tousled, but it works. Over my shoulder there’s a flash of lightning and, a few seconds later, thunder booms loud enough to rattle the bottles in their neat little rows.
I’ve always loved storms. The wildness of them, the power, the chaos; it’s a rush.
Now, though... Now, it just reminds me of what I’ve lost.
No, too maudlin. I need another drink.
The bar’s kinda jumping for a town in the ass end of nowhere, but then I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to do here but drink. Looking at the clientele, I’d guess that most of them are just passing through. Like me.
I have to jostle a little to catch the bartender’s eye, but a couple of artfully undone buttons help me keep his attention long enough for me to get my drink. At least *this* is something I can do without a circle to hold my hand.
It takes a moment or two for me to register that someone is talking to me.
“I said, excuse me!”
The speaker is a leggy blonde with flawless make-up and perfect hair, kind of like a barbie doll come to life. Well, apart from the angry scowl on her face. I don't know what this girl's problem is, but she sure has a panties in a twist about something.
I flash a crooked grin and salute her with my glass. “You’re excused, Blondie.” I suppose I could have just asked what's gotten her so worked up, but where would be the fun in that? A girl’s got to get her kicks somehow.
I’m half expecting her to splutter indignantly, but instead she narrows her eyes, fixing me with a surprisingly steely glare.
“I think I was here before you.”
I shrug. “And...?”
“You cut in front of me!”
“Oh. Well, I guess the bartender just didn’t see you there. That must suck.”
For a moment she just stares at me, like she doesn’t know what to say.
I often have that effect on people.
But then... Then things take a distinct turn for the weird.
Suddenly Barbie is right up in my grill. I swear I don’t even see her move, but she’s right there, eyeball to eyeball with me. And her eyes... They’re all... veiny. And the skin around them is twitching like there are worms crawling beneath it.
I freeze.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, moments lengthening to minutes, hours.
Somewhere in the back of my brain, someone is screaming. Just one word, over and over again.
Demon.
But... it’s not a demon. I don't know how I know, but I do.
She's *something* alright, but she's not a demon.
(Thank God, she's not a demon.)
And suddenly I can breathe again.
“Just back off!” she growls. Almost literally growls, actually. There’s a definite rasp to her voice, like she's been smoking twenty packs a day since the day she was born. For a split second, I feel the walls closing in, and all I want to do is get the fuck out of there. But then it passes and all I am is Pissed. Off. Did this bitch just try to cast a spell on me?
Before I can call her on it she adds, almost as an afterthought: “And give me that.” She snatches my hard-earned drink out of my hand, knocking half of it back in one go as her eyes go back to normal. “It’s morally mine anyway.” She starts to turn away like she’s already dismissed me in her mind; like she thinks this is over.
Oh no you don’t, Bitch. It’s over when I say it’s over, and not a second before.
I close in behind her, reaching to reclaim my drink as I whisper in her ear. “What kind of freak *are* you?”
I’m braced for an attack, for anything, but instead she flinches like I’ve slapped her. And then she bursts into tears.
Oh, shit.
Did not see that one coming.
I really hate it when they cry.
I waver for a second but, really, there’s no chance in hell I’m just going to walk away. This is the most interesting thing to happen in at least a week.
And, freak or not, she has a fabulous ass.
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. If there was ever a time for drama, it’s now. “You keep the drink. Sounds like you need it more than me.”
“Thanks,” she mutters, wiping her eyes. I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted that she remembers her manners at a time like this. Jeez, it’s Diana all over again.
But that’s a whole different mess.
Plastering a big grin on my face, I link my arm with Blondie’s and steer her over to a booth. She’s too startled to resist, beyond a weak: “Hey, what are you...?”
“Let’s get you sat down over here...” I more or less gently shove her at the seat and she sinks down on the worn leatherette as if her legs just won’t support her any more. Yeah, I’ve had days like that. “Now, I’m going to get another drink. Or, maybe two or three. And then you're going to tell me all about it.”
Part of me is a little surprised to find her still sitting there when I come back over with a tray of drinks. Only a small part, though: I knew I’d pegged her right. She’s touched up her make-up a little: back to being a perfect little barbie doll, even down to the perfect, plastic smile.
Suddenly, briefly, I wish I had slapped her. So I settle for the next best thing.
“So,” I say, conversationally, as I slide into the booth. “What kind of freak are you?”
She doesn’t flinch this time. I’ll give her that. Instead, she looks me directly in the eyes.
“I’m not a freak,” she says, her voice quiet and controlled. If it wasn’t for the way her expression goes ever-so-slightly fixed when she says it, I might even think that she believes it.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I shrug. “So, what’s with the eye thing? And what was that mojo you tried to use on me?” I take a sip. “More importantly, how can *I* learn to do that?”
What can I say? I have to be me. And that would *so* freak Little-Miss-Perfect right the *fuck* out.
Blondie looks away. “You don’t want to know,” she almost-whispers. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
What, does she think I'm a complete mundane? I'm actually kind of offended.
“Hey, I know stuff. I’ve been around. Is it dark magic? A vodoun ritual? A pact with a demon? Dead witch possession? You can tell me, Barbie.”
“Caroline,” she says, tightly.
“What?”
“My name is Caroline.”
“Nice to meet you, Caroline. I’m Faye. So, now that we’ve bonded and all, you going to answer my question?”
“Maybe.” Now she sits up straight, studying me closely. In contrast, I sprawl back on my seat, sipping at my drink. Since she’s scrutinising me, I return the favour. Except I’m not nearly so clinical about it. I let my gaze linger appreciatively -- she is kinda cute -- and she flushes a little.
I’d say that counts as a win.
“Well?”
“You have to tell me something first.”
“No fair! I asked before you.” I pout sweetly, but she isn’t having any of it. “Fine, then.” See, I can be gracious. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of freak are *you*?”
I have to laugh. So, Barbie has some bitch in her after all. I think I like that.
“Oh, I’m not a freak.” I lower my voice, making it sound all dark and spooky. “I’m a witch.”
I don’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but a lightbulb moment wasn’t it.
“Ohhh,” she breathes, looking strangely enlightened. “So *that’s* why the compulsion didn’t work.”
“You... know about witches?” I try not to sound deflated. I was kinda hoping for a little less ‘oh, that’s perfectly normal’ and a little more ‘wow, that’s so cool’, though.
But... Compulsion, you say? Colour me interested.
“One of my best friends is a witch,” she proclaims brightly. Her expression wavers a little as she adds: “Well, she used to be my best friend,” but then that hundred-watt smile is back in place again.
I’m not completely made of ice-bitch, and I totally know how much it sucks to lose a BFF, so I cover her hand briefly and offer a smile of my own.
But enough with the feelings. Back to business.
“And you are...?” I twirl my hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.
“I’m a...” She breaks off mid-sentence, looks around as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then leans toward me and lowers her voice. “I’m a vampire.”
I blink.
“Holy shit!” I whisper. “Vampires are real?”
“Uh, yeah.” She looks at me like she’s half-expecting me to leap over the table and try to murder her in the face.
I try to absorb the bombshell she's just dropped. It kinda changes my worldview a little.
“So... do you sparkle?”
She giggles. It’s a nice sound, and it suits her surprisingly well. “That was totally my first question back when I found out about them.”
Huh, whaddaya known? Me and Barbie -- Vampire Barbie! -- have something in common. Except, I bet she's one of these chicks who thinks the whole 'watching you when you're sleeping' thing is romantic, and not creepy-stalkerish.
But she hasn't answered my question.
“Well? Do you?”
“No, unfortunately. Sunlight is more burny-death than skip-the-body-glitter. Luckily, I’ve got a way around it.”
“Which is what?”
“Uh, kind of private. No offense, but I’ve only just met you. You could be a vampire hunter in disguise.”
“In disguise as a hot chick, you mean?”
“Yeah, I mean no, I mean- Dammit! Stop trying to confuse me.”
“Whatever. You were totally checking me out.”
“I was not!”
I smirk. “You mean, you weren’t eyeing up these?” I let my hand drift down to my chest and, like a trained puppy, her gaze follows. “Busted,” I whisper.
She jerks her eyes up again, blushing hotly.
“I didn’t know vampires could blush,” I observe, interestedly.
“We can if we’ve fed recently,” she says.
“Oh? Does that mean you’ve been snacking on a barfly or two?”
“No!” She sounds indignant. “I have... other arrangements.”
“Such as?”
“None of your damned business!”
She really is good and rattled. Bonus! Yeah, while other (more boring) people might urge caution when prodding a self admitted blood drinker, I just think ‘Mission Accomplished’.
I’ve still got it.
“So, tell me about compulsion.”
“It’s... I can control people’s minds. Well, I can tell them to do something and they’ll do it.”
“Could you teach me?”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, I wouldn’t. I don’t even know you!”
“Can you turn into a bat?”
“Eww! No.”
“Fly?”
“No. But I can run really, really fast.”
“You got any other cool powers?”
“I’m really strong. And I heal quickly.”
“Cool.” Something occurs to me, and I eye her speculatively.
“What?” She asks, sounding a little defensive.
“Just trying to work out how old you are.”
“I’m seventeen,” she says, sounding like she’s sure she should be offended by that, but isn’t quite sure why.
“Is that, like, ‘I’ve been seventeen for a really long time,’ or...?”
“No, it’s seventeen, like seventeen. Between sixteen and eighteen.”
“Huh. Same age as me. Were you born a vampire, or were you turned?”
It’s like a shutter comes down behind her eyes. Just like that, she’s cool, calm and collected again.
“Turned. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Of course, that really, really makes me want to *ask* about it. But, for some reason, I don’t. Maybe I’m going soft.
“Okay, fair enough. Want another drink?”
She looks at the empty glasses in front of her. “Um, okay. Sure.”
“Great! I think it’s your round. I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.” The look on her face is a picture. “*Thanks*, Caroline,” I trill sweetly.
Caroline looks like she’s going to protest, but then she just shakes her head and sighs. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere.” And she shoots me that Look again. “I’ve got a whole heap of questions for you.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait.”
And, the funny thing is, I’m kind of looking forward to continuing this conversation.
Caroline, Vampire Barbie, is... interesting.
And, coming from me, that's a big damn compliment.
Author: Louisa
Rating: Mature
Fandom: The Secret Circle/Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Caroline/Faye
Note: As a point of comparison for anyone who reads our other fic, this is almost purely written by Louisa. Which means, among other things, no overly complex structure/narrative tricks. Hope you enjoy.
Spoilers for Season 2 of The Vampire Diaries and Season 1 of The Secret Circle
I check my reflection in the mirror over the bar. Of course I’m looking good, just like always. A little tousled, but it works. Over my shoulder there’s a flash of lightning and, a few seconds later, thunder booms loud enough to rattle the bottles in their neat little rows.
I’ve always loved storms. The wildness of them, the power, the chaos; it’s a rush.
Now, though... Now, it just reminds me of what I’ve lost.
No, too maudlin. I need another drink.
The bar’s kinda jumping for a town in the ass end of nowhere, but then I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to do here but drink. Looking at the clientele, I’d guess that most of them are just passing through. Like me.
I have to jostle a little to catch the bartender’s eye, but a couple of artfully undone buttons help me keep his attention long enough for me to get my drink. At least *this* is something I can do without a circle to hold my hand.
It takes a moment or two for me to register that someone is talking to me.
“I said, excuse me!”
The speaker is a leggy blonde with flawless make-up and perfect hair, kind of like a barbie doll come to life. Well, apart from the angry scowl on her face. I don't know what this girl's problem is, but she sure has a panties in a twist about something.
I flash a crooked grin and salute her with my glass. “You’re excused, Blondie.” I suppose I could have just asked what's gotten her so worked up, but where would be the fun in that? A girl’s got to get her kicks somehow.
I’m half expecting her to splutter indignantly, but instead she narrows her eyes, fixing me with a surprisingly steely glare.
“I think I was here before you.”
I shrug. “And...?”
“You cut in front of me!”
“Oh. Well, I guess the bartender just didn’t see you there. That must suck.”
For a moment she just stares at me, like she doesn’t know what to say.
I often have that effect on people.
But then... Then things take a distinct turn for the weird.
Suddenly Barbie is right up in my grill. I swear I don’t even see her move, but she’s right there, eyeball to eyeball with me. And her eyes... They’re all... veiny. And the skin around them is twitching like there are worms crawling beneath it.
I freeze.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, moments lengthening to minutes, hours.
Somewhere in the back of my brain, someone is screaming. Just one word, over and over again.
Demon.
But... it’s not a demon. I don't know how I know, but I do.
She's *something* alright, but she's not a demon.
(Thank God, she's not a demon.)
And suddenly I can breathe again.
“Just back off!” she growls. Almost literally growls, actually. There’s a definite rasp to her voice, like she's been smoking twenty packs a day since the day she was born. For a split second, I feel the walls closing in, and all I want to do is get the fuck out of there. But then it passes and all I am is Pissed. Off. Did this bitch just try to cast a spell on me?
Before I can call her on it she adds, almost as an afterthought: “And give me that.” She snatches my hard-earned drink out of my hand, knocking half of it back in one go as her eyes go back to normal. “It’s morally mine anyway.” She starts to turn away like she’s already dismissed me in her mind; like she thinks this is over.
Oh no you don’t, Bitch. It’s over when I say it’s over, and not a second before.
I close in behind her, reaching to reclaim my drink as I whisper in her ear. “What kind of freak *are* you?”
I’m braced for an attack, for anything, but instead she flinches like I’ve slapped her. And then she bursts into tears.
Oh, shit.
Did not see that one coming.
I really hate it when they cry.
I waver for a second but, really, there’s no chance in hell I’m just going to walk away. This is the most interesting thing to happen in at least a week.
And, freak or not, she has a fabulous ass.
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. If there was ever a time for drama, it’s now. “You keep the drink. Sounds like you need it more than me.”
“Thanks,” she mutters, wiping her eyes. I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted that she remembers her manners at a time like this. Jeez, it’s Diana all over again.
But that’s a whole different mess.
Plastering a big grin on my face, I link my arm with Blondie’s and steer her over to a booth. She’s too startled to resist, beyond a weak: “Hey, what are you...?”
“Let’s get you sat down over here...” I more or less gently shove her at the seat and she sinks down on the worn leatherette as if her legs just won’t support her any more. Yeah, I’ve had days like that. “Now, I’m going to get another drink. Or, maybe two or three. And then you're going to tell me all about it.”
Part of me is a little surprised to find her still sitting there when I come back over with a tray of drinks. Only a small part, though: I knew I’d pegged her right. She’s touched up her make-up a little: back to being a perfect little barbie doll, even down to the perfect, plastic smile.
Suddenly, briefly, I wish I had slapped her. So I settle for the next best thing.
“So,” I say, conversationally, as I slide into the booth. “What kind of freak are you?”
She doesn’t flinch this time. I’ll give her that. Instead, she looks me directly in the eyes.
“I’m not a freak,” she says, her voice quiet and controlled. If it wasn’t for the way her expression goes ever-so-slightly fixed when she says it, I might even think that she believes it.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I shrug. “So, what’s with the eye thing? And what was that mojo you tried to use on me?” I take a sip. “More importantly, how can *I* learn to do that?”
What can I say? I have to be me. And that would *so* freak Little-Miss-Perfect right the *fuck* out.
Blondie looks away. “You don’t want to know,” she almost-whispers. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
What, does she think I'm a complete mundane? I'm actually kind of offended.
“Hey, I know stuff. I’ve been around. Is it dark magic? A vodoun ritual? A pact with a demon? Dead witch possession? You can tell me, Barbie.”
“Caroline,” she says, tightly.
“What?”
“My name is Caroline.”
“Nice to meet you, Caroline. I’m Faye. So, now that we’ve bonded and all, you going to answer my question?”
“Maybe.” Now she sits up straight, studying me closely. In contrast, I sprawl back on my seat, sipping at my drink. Since she’s scrutinising me, I return the favour. Except I’m not nearly so clinical about it. I let my gaze linger appreciatively -- she is kinda cute -- and she flushes a little.
I’d say that counts as a win.
“Well?”
“You have to tell me something first.”
“No fair! I asked before you.” I pout sweetly, but she isn’t having any of it. “Fine, then.” See, I can be gracious. “What do you want to know?”
“What kind of freak are *you*?”
I have to laugh. So, Barbie has some bitch in her after all. I think I like that.
“Oh, I’m not a freak.” I lower my voice, making it sound all dark and spooky. “I’m a witch.”
I don’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but a lightbulb moment wasn’t it.
“Ohhh,” she breathes, looking strangely enlightened. “So *that’s* why the compulsion didn’t work.”
“You... know about witches?” I try not to sound deflated. I was kinda hoping for a little less ‘oh, that’s perfectly normal’ and a little more ‘wow, that’s so cool’, though.
But... Compulsion, you say? Colour me interested.
“One of my best friends is a witch,” she proclaims brightly. Her expression wavers a little as she adds: “Well, she used to be my best friend,” but then that hundred-watt smile is back in place again.
I’m not completely made of ice-bitch, and I totally know how much it sucks to lose a BFF, so I cover her hand briefly and offer a smile of my own.
But enough with the feelings. Back to business.
“And you are...?” I twirl my hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.
“I’m a...” She breaks off mid-sentence, looks around as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then leans toward me and lowers her voice. “I’m a vampire.”
I blink.
“Holy shit!” I whisper. “Vampires are real?”
“Uh, yeah.” She looks at me like she’s half-expecting me to leap over the table and try to murder her in the face.
I try to absorb the bombshell she's just dropped. It kinda changes my worldview a little.
“So... do you sparkle?”
She giggles. It’s a nice sound, and it suits her surprisingly well. “That was totally my first question back when I found out about them.”
Huh, whaddaya known? Me and Barbie -- Vampire Barbie! -- have something in common. Except, I bet she's one of these chicks who thinks the whole 'watching you when you're sleeping' thing is romantic, and not creepy-stalkerish.
But she hasn't answered my question.
“Well? Do you?”
“No, unfortunately. Sunlight is more burny-death than skip-the-body-glitter. Luckily, I’ve got a way around it.”
“Which is what?”
“Uh, kind of private. No offense, but I’ve only just met you. You could be a vampire hunter in disguise.”
“In disguise as a hot chick, you mean?”
“Yeah, I mean no, I mean- Dammit! Stop trying to confuse me.”
“Whatever. You were totally checking me out.”
“I was not!”
I smirk. “You mean, you weren’t eyeing up these?” I let my hand drift down to my chest and, like a trained puppy, her gaze follows. “Busted,” I whisper.
She jerks her eyes up again, blushing hotly.
“I didn’t know vampires could blush,” I observe, interestedly.
“We can if we’ve fed recently,” she says.
“Oh? Does that mean you’ve been snacking on a barfly or two?”
“No!” She sounds indignant. “I have... other arrangements.”
“Such as?”
“None of your damned business!”
She really is good and rattled. Bonus! Yeah, while other (more boring) people might urge caution when prodding a self admitted blood drinker, I just think ‘Mission Accomplished’.
I’ve still got it.
“So, tell me about compulsion.”
“It’s... I can control people’s minds. Well, I can tell them to do something and they’ll do it.”
“Could you teach me?”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, I wouldn’t. I don’t even know you!”
“Can you turn into a bat?”
“Eww! No.”
“Fly?”
“No. But I can run really, really fast.”
“You got any other cool powers?”
“I’m really strong. And I heal quickly.”
“Cool.” Something occurs to me, and I eye her speculatively.
“What?” She asks, sounding a little defensive.
“Just trying to work out how old you are.”
“I’m seventeen,” she says, sounding like she’s sure she should be offended by that, but isn’t quite sure why.
“Is that, like, ‘I’ve been seventeen for a really long time,’ or...?”
“No, it’s seventeen, like seventeen. Between sixteen and eighteen.”
“Huh. Same age as me. Were you born a vampire, or were you turned?”
It’s like a shutter comes down behind her eyes. Just like that, she’s cool, calm and collected again.
“Turned. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Of course, that really, really makes me want to *ask* about it. But, for some reason, I don’t. Maybe I’m going soft.
“Okay, fair enough. Want another drink?”
She looks at the empty glasses in front of her. “Um, okay. Sure.”
“Great! I think it’s your round. I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.” The look on her face is a picture. “*Thanks*, Caroline,” I trill sweetly.
Caroline looks like she’s going to protest, but then she just shakes her head and sighs. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere.” And she shoots me that Look again. “I’ve got a whole heap of questions for you.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait.”
And, the funny thing is, I’m kind of looking forward to continuing this conversation.
Caroline, Vampire Barbie, is... interesting.
And, coming from me, that's a big damn compliment.