Disclaimer: I do not own the Whedonverse, but I do own my characters.
Author's Note: I'm not sure if this actually counts as 'fanfiction' though it's certainly inspired by the Buffyverse. It does not contain any of the canon characters, however, at least not so far. My Slayer is all mine, except that the world she lives in is very like the world of Whedon's Slayers, as is her calling very like Buffy's calling. This short piece is one of many that I've written to try to flesh out the characters. I still don't have much of a plot going, though I know the story arcs for several of the supporting cast. More shorts to follow. Oh yeah, and this was originally supposed to be in comic book form, so I have very detailed ideas of what the characters look like.
The Girl With Raccoon Eyes
She had raccoon eyes, like the dark hollows you see when you look into your reflection in a window beyond which lies a darkened room or the night itself, and her hair was straight and dyed black, and slightly frizzy from repeated chemical treatment. She never wore anything with color in it—that's what her remote acquaintances noticed. But as a few people got to know her, they started to realize that this was all a screen, a disguise for what she really was. She was not, as they had supposed, a Goth. They were maladjusted misfits, but they stuck together in one loosely organized, manically insecure pack. She, on the other hand, kept almost entirely to herself, and shunned and was shunned by the real Goths. Also, she didn't pay nearly as much attention to her appearance as the Goths did—her fingernails were never painted black to match her mood or her outfit, she never had one of those ubiquitous studded leather belts looped in her black cargo pants, and her jewelry never changed: silver cross earrings—studs—and a simple silver cross necklace that she wore beneath her shirt as though to conceal—what?—her religious leanings? To add suspiciousness to the picture, the trench coat that she wore every day to school was not only old, worn, and looked suspiciously as though it might be dark brown rather than regulation Goth black, but it clinked when she moved, like she was carrying around kitchen knives or something. But when a teacher asked her about it, she always pulled out a handful of quarters and an innocent expression.