Ficlet: Don't Say Anything
Title: Don't Say Anything
Author: Rebcake
Rating: R (for swearing and themes)
Word Count: 420
Prompt: 093: Bring Out Your Dead (Anya) (for still_grrr community)
Characters: Sheila, Anya
A/N: This is a ever-so-slightly expanded version of my original still_grrr post. It also might be the first time I've altered the canon. I think of it as something the comic books used to call an imaginary story. And, woo hoo, check it out, my first award nomination! At the Fang Fetish Awards! *looks skyward* Thank you whichever of you did this!
After Parent/Teacher Night, Sheila went right home. She stood swaying on the threshold for long enough that her mom finally looked up from the TV and said, “Christ, kid. You gonna stand there all night? Get in here and close the door, you’re letting the flies in.” Simple as that.
She didn’t miss the sun, or school, or any of that daytime shit. The things she’d always dug (tattooed boys, moonlight joy rides, sudden and unexpected mayhem) were even sweeter now. It all had a sharp focus she didn’t remember from before.
Sometimes she ran into Spike, bummed a cigarette and flirted a little, but he was kinda stuck up. He hinted around that she should be helping out her “sire” in her hour of need, but that wasn’t gonna happen. She was staying far away from that crazy bitch, with her freaky dolls and her freakier conversations with ... who knows what.
That Buffy chick was the only thing that harshed her buzz at all, but even she wasn’t as ever-present as that weasel Snyder had been. There were a coupla close calls with Little Miss Shiny Happy at The Alibi Room. She’d just snuck out the back, hoping Buffy wouldn’t turn around while Willy’s head bounced on the bar. The Bronze had never held much appeal, with all its jocks and cheerleaders and frat kids, out for whatever pale idea they had of a night on the town. She pretty much stuck to The Fish Tank now, even though they didn’t serve blood.
So it bugged her when that chick with the fancy handbag and fancier haircut came into the ’Tank and marched right over to Dooley and said, “Gimme a beer,” like she belonged there. Miss Clean and Bright then started in telling anybody who’d listen about what a badass she had been (for the last thousand years!), which was pretty funny. Sheila might’ve let the whole thing slide, but then Meat Pie looked up from the pinball machine and muttered, “Nice tits,” and that was it.
When the new girl went to the bathroom, Sheila followed her, and stood behind her while she checked her hair and lipstick in the mirror. When she began to make tsking noises about the state of the toilets, Sheila spoke up.
“If you can’t say something nice…”
The girl whirled around and gave a little yelp. Game on. Her fangs slid in, sweet as you please. It only took a minute until she was still.
“…don’t say anything at all.”
FIN
Author: Rebcake
Rating: R (for swearing and themes)
Word Count: 420
Prompt: 093: Bring Out Your Dead (Anya) (for still_grrr community)
Characters: Sheila, Anya
A/N: This is a ever-so-slightly expanded version of my original still_grrr post. It also might be the first time I've altered the canon. I think of it as something the comic books used to call an imaginary story. And, woo hoo, check it out, my first award nomination! At the Fang Fetish Awards! *looks skyward* Thank you whichever of you did this!
After Parent/Teacher Night, Sheila went right home. She stood swaying on the threshold for long enough that her mom finally looked up from the TV and said, “Christ, kid. You gonna stand there all night? Get in here and close the door, you’re letting the flies in.” Simple as that.
She didn’t miss the sun, or school, or any of that daytime shit. The things she’d always dug (tattooed boys, moonlight joy rides, sudden and unexpected mayhem) were even sweeter now. It all had a sharp focus she didn’t remember from before.
Sometimes she ran into Spike, bummed a cigarette and flirted a little, but he was kinda stuck up. He hinted around that she should be helping out her “sire” in her hour of need, but that wasn’t gonna happen. She was staying far away from that crazy bitch, with her freaky dolls and her freakier conversations with ... who knows what.
That Buffy chick was the only thing that harshed her buzz at all, but even she wasn’t as ever-present as that weasel Snyder had been. There were a coupla close calls with Little Miss Shiny Happy at The Alibi Room. She’d just snuck out the back, hoping Buffy wouldn’t turn around while Willy’s head bounced on the bar. The Bronze had never held much appeal, with all its jocks and cheerleaders and frat kids, out for whatever pale idea they had of a night on the town. She pretty much stuck to The Fish Tank now, even though they didn’t serve blood.
So it bugged her when that chick with the fancy handbag and fancier haircut came into the ’Tank and marched right over to Dooley and said, “Gimme a beer,” like she belonged there. Miss Clean and Bright then started in telling anybody who’d listen about what a badass she had been (for the last thousand years!), which was pretty funny. Sheila might’ve let the whole thing slide, but then Meat Pie looked up from the pinball machine and muttered, “Nice tits,” and that was it.
When the new girl went to the bathroom, Sheila followed her, and stood behind her while she checked her hair and lipstick in the mirror. When she began to make tsking noises about the state of the toilets, Sheila spoke up.
“If you can’t say something nice…”
The girl whirled around and gave a little yelp. Game on. Her fangs slid in, sweet as you please. It only took a minute until she was still.
“…don’t say anything at all.”
FIN