title: Lolita
author: Casix Thistlebane
disclaimer: I don't own Dawn or her situation as it
is described on the show. Everything else in this
story is mine.
rating: R
summary: Dawn goes to meet a friend at a new club,
and gets some answers in teh process....
Lolita
by Casix Thistlebane
Dawn stared up at the dark glass-and metal structure
that stood before her and checked the address she'd
scribbled down on the back of the grocery receipt.
She looked back up at the building, and the faded,
broken sign which listed the name as "Sal's Garden
Supplies". Beneath, in pale blue spray point, someone
had panted letters with an unsteady hand, though rain
and sun had rendered the messy penmanship (or maybe
canmanship?) illegible. She glanced around at the
darkened field, bordered on one side by a low red
stone wall. There was no one in sight. She tried the
door, and was surprised as it slid open silently
despite the rusty metal. The interior shone in neon
and chemical pink. Music flowed over her, and she
could hear rain striking the glass ceiling.
The interior of the club was about as anti-Bronze as
it could get while still looking like a popular dance
club. The floor was packed full of kaleidoscope
people, their costumes ranging from raver-chik to goth
to ethnic-primitive. Everyone moved to a slightly
different rhythm, including the DJ, a long boy whose
two toned hair dangled in a straight braid to his
mid-back, slowly changing from dark-brown to bleached
blonde at his shoulder blades. Turntables lay turned
off and empty in front of him as he moved slowly,
spiraling both hands through the air over a small
keyboard with radio antennae. Dawn watched him dance
to create his own music, moving forward to the dance
floor. She twisted one hand over to the other, the
strobing purple light making her movements resemble a
silent movie. Film noir.
She looked up as she continued to march her movements
to the DJ's and watched the rain ripple over the glass
panes. The rain was the only thing that matched the
light, tinkling and flowing of the music. She turned
her attention back tot eh crowd, searching for her
short friend who had convinced her to come. Melinda
was nowhere in sight.
A stocky, bald boy about her age appeared on her left.
He grinned, and though is face was hard to look at,
she smiled back. He nodded and shouted over the music
though there was no need to.
"Where are you from?" He was bouncing on his toes to
a hard beat only he seemed to hear. "I go to Sherwood
High!"
"Wilkins High! I'm Dawn!"
"Sean." He held out a hand, then seemed to change his
mind. "Wilkins? Where is that?"
"North side of town. I've never heard of Sherwood.
Well, except for the whole Robin Hood thing."
"We're the warriors!" Sean seemed affronted by her
confusion. "Kings of county football."
"Really?" Dawn never kept up much with sports. "Are
you from around here?"
"Down the block! You?"
"Coupla miles." Dawn studied him, suspicious. This
block was nothing but fields and forests. "You sure?"
"Hey, I'm a Washingtonian all the way! I know my
town. What suburb are you from?"
"Are you on exchange?" Dawn looked again for her
friend.
"Nah." Sean was looking thoroughly confused now.
A tall, African man in loose slacks and a flannel
approached. He looked to be Buffy's age or older. He
held out a hand in a broad gesture and spoke with an
accent she could not place.
"I am David!" He stomped his foot. "Of Johannesburg.
Where are you two from?"
"Sean, DC!"
"Dawn, Sunnydale." She saw their expression.
"California."
"I would like to see your towns one day. You must
show me your entrance."
Dawn nodded, and wondered where Melinda was. Sean
pulled out a tin of Altoids. "Clove?"
Dawn looked at the cigarettes and shrugged. "Sure."
She pulled one out and simply held it. "Let's get
something to drink."
They turned towards the aquarium bar which lined one
wall. The small shark that swam within snapped at
Sean, but he ignored it. Once seated, he lit his
clove, and offered the decorated Zippo to her.
Flame flicked in the eyes of the flaming skull, and
she shuddered. Her stomach protested and she decided
she needed to be somewhere else. She moved away
several seats and tried to stop her shoulders from
shaking.
"What's your pleasure?" The Tender asked. He could
have been the DJ's older brother.
"Water." Dawn pushed the clove across the bar and
pulled her red open-knit top over her white tank.
The Tender accepted the clove and watched her.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Dawn lowered her eyes. "I've been hearing that a
lot."
"You didn't tell your sister you were coming."
"Nope. She wouldn't have let me come. If she knew I
was here...."
"You feel safer here?"
Dawn smiled. "I feel like I belong?" She shrugged.
"It's something I haven't felt in a while."
"Since you turned fourteen."
She didn't question how he knew. She just let him
tell her what she'd not yet put into words.
"You thought it was just growing up. Your body
changes, you argue with your sister, and you feel out
of place. But then your mom collapsed."
"For a minute she didn't know who I was...."
"And your sister?"
"She went psycho on me. One minute she's treating me
like I'm ten, and the next she's... attacking me. She
blamed me for Mom,"
"And knew you didn't fit."
"I'm not supposed to be there. But I've lived there
my whole life."
"That's when the dreams started. Why don't you tell
your sister?"
"If she knew, she'd never leave me alone. She already
barely lets me out of the house."
"What do you want to know?"
"Who am I?"
"You're Dawn. You're your parents, your family and
your sister. And you're your dreams. You must
remember them."
Dawn shook her head and sipped her water. A moment
later, she was lying on a cold, stained brown carpet.
"It's your stomach that bothers you," The Tender was
standing above her in the dingy hotel room. Fire shot
up from a small metal skull as he lit her clove.
"It's always your stomach at the start."
Dawn cringed and wrapped her arms over her bare
midriff, and pulled her exposed legs up to her chest.
The dream-reality had replaced the club completely.
Her black mini-skirt was on the bed. The Tender blew
out sweet-smelling smoke. "The client never
understands. He mocks you." The Tender's voice was
superimposed over another deeper voice, from her
dream. "'I paid you good money.'" The Tender's face
was also doubled, though the second face is baser,
uglier, speaking only with the deeper voice. "He
says. He sneers at you. Your pimp won't be happy."
Dawn curled up tighter on the hard carpet. The Tender
spoke again, with her voice entwined in his. She
mouthed along with him. " 'I can't. Please, I....
Take back your money.' But the client won't buy it."
The Tender circled her, the hair falling in his face
not covering the dark face of the client. " 'I bought
you, whore,' he says. And he kicks you."
A foot, not the Tender's strikes her stomach and she
felt blood seep between her legs.
" 'There were too many men,' you think. 'I don't know
which did it. He'll kill me for getting him sick.'
But it's too late for regrets. The client kicks you
again. 'I own you,' he says, and you wish."
"Please," Dawn said, pulling herself tighter. "Why
did this happen? I want a real life. Please,"
The Tender leaned toward her tear-streaked face,
gently brushing her hair aside. "And it ends."
Dawn sat up, wiping her face. She was back at the
bar, water in hand, tight black jeans hugging her like
security. The Tender was back on his side of the bar,
looking at her sympathetically.
"They heard you." He said, and took her water back.
"Who?"
"Does it matter? They did as you asked."
"Then I'm not--"
"You are. You're not the girl from the dream anymore.
You're Dawn Summers."
"Why?"
The Tender took one last drag on her clove and stubbed
it out on the glass top of the bar. "Because miracles
happen. Now," The Tender swiped a rag across the
counter and handed her a tissue. "Would you like
something to drink? Other than water."
"I don't have any money,"
"I haven't had a clove in years. I think that's worth
a soda."
Dawn smiled. "Yeah. Okay."
The Tender smiled back, handed her a glass, and then
gestured over her shoulder. "Your friend has arrived.
Have fun, and come back whenever you need to."
Dawn glanced back and waved to Melinda, who was making
her way over. She turned back around to thank the
Tender, but he had moved down the bar, to serve
another customer.
The End
author: Casix Thistlebane
disclaimer: I don't own Dawn or her situation as it
is described on the show. Everything else in this
story is mine.
rating: R
summary: Dawn goes to meet a friend at a new club,
and gets some answers in teh process....
Lolita
by Casix Thistlebane
Dawn stared up at the dark glass-and metal structure
that stood before her and checked the address she'd
scribbled down on the back of the grocery receipt.
She looked back up at the building, and the faded,
broken sign which listed the name as "Sal's Garden
Supplies". Beneath, in pale blue spray point, someone
had panted letters with an unsteady hand, though rain
and sun had rendered the messy penmanship (or maybe
canmanship?) illegible. She glanced around at the
darkened field, bordered on one side by a low red
stone wall. There was no one in sight. She tried the
door, and was surprised as it slid open silently
despite the rusty metal. The interior shone in neon
and chemical pink. Music flowed over her, and she
could hear rain striking the glass ceiling.
The interior of the club was about as anti-Bronze as
it could get while still looking like a popular dance
club. The floor was packed full of kaleidoscope
people, their costumes ranging from raver-chik to goth
to ethnic-primitive. Everyone moved to a slightly
different rhythm, including the DJ, a long boy whose
two toned hair dangled in a straight braid to his
mid-back, slowly changing from dark-brown to bleached
blonde at his shoulder blades. Turntables lay turned
off and empty in front of him as he moved slowly,
spiraling both hands through the air over a small
keyboard with radio antennae. Dawn watched him dance
to create his own music, moving forward to the dance
floor. She twisted one hand over to the other, the
strobing purple light making her movements resemble a
silent movie. Film noir.
She looked up as she continued to march her movements
to the DJ's and watched the rain ripple over the glass
panes. The rain was the only thing that matched the
light, tinkling and flowing of the music. She turned
her attention back tot eh crowd, searching for her
short friend who had convinced her to come. Melinda
was nowhere in sight.
A stocky, bald boy about her age appeared on her left.
He grinned, and though is face was hard to look at,
she smiled back. He nodded and shouted over the music
though there was no need to.
"Where are you from?" He was bouncing on his toes to
a hard beat only he seemed to hear. "I go to Sherwood
High!"
"Wilkins High! I'm Dawn!"
"Sean." He held out a hand, then seemed to change his
mind. "Wilkins? Where is that?"
"North side of town. I've never heard of Sherwood.
Well, except for the whole Robin Hood thing."
"We're the warriors!" Sean seemed affronted by her
confusion. "Kings of county football."
"Really?" Dawn never kept up much with sports. "Are
you from around here?"
"Down the block! You?"
"Coupla miles." Dawn studied him, suspicious. This
block was nothing but fields and forests. "You sure?"
"Hey, I'm a Washingtonian all the way! I know my
town. What suburb are you from?"
"Are you on exchange?" Dawn looked again for her
friend.
"Nah." Sean was looking thoroughly confused now.
A tall, African man in loose slacks and a flannel
approached. He looked to be Buffy's age or older. He
held out a hand in a broad gesture and spoke with an
accent she could not place.
"I am David!" He stomped his foot. "Of Johannesburg.
Where are you two from?"
"Sean, DC!"
"Dawn, Sunnydale." She saw their expression.
"California."
"I would like to see your towns one day. You must
show me your entrance."
Dawn nodded, and wondered where Melinda was. Sean
pulled out a tin of Altoids. "Clove?"
Dawn looked at the cigarettes and shrugged. "Sure."
She pulled one out and simply held it. "Let's get
something to drink."
They turned towards the aquarium bar which lined one
wall. The small shark that swam within snapped at
Sean, but he ignored it. Once seated, he lit his
clove, and offered the decorated Zippo to her.
Flame flicked in the eyes of the flaming skull, and
she shuddered. Her stomach protested and she decided
she needed to be somewhere else. She moved away
several seats and tried to stop her shoulders from
shaking.
"What's your pleasure?" The Tender asked. He could
have been the DJ's older brother.
"Water." Dawn pushed the clove across the bar and
pulled her red open-knit top over her white tank.
The Tender accepted the clove and watched her.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Dawn lowered her eyes. "I've been hearing that a
lot."
"You didn't tell your sister you were coming."
"Nope. She wouldn't have let me come. If she knew I
was here...."
"You feel safer here?"
Dawn smiled. "I feel like I belong?" She shrugged.
"It's something I haven't felt in a while."
"Since you turned fourteen."
She didn't question how he knew. She just let him
tell her what she'd not yet put into words.
"You thought it was just growing up. Your body
changes, you argue with your sister, and you feel out
of place. But then your mom collapsed."
"For a minute she didn't know who I was...."
"And your sister?"
"She went psycho on me. One minute she's treating me
like I'm ten, and the next she's... attacking me. She
blamed me for Mom,"
"And knew you didn't fit."
"I'm not supposed to be there. But I've lived there
my whole life."
"That's when the dreams started. Why don't you tell
your sister?"
"If she knew, she'd never leave me alone. She already
barely lets me out of the house."
"What do you want to know?"
"Who am I?"
"You're Dawn. You're your parents, your family and
your sister. And you're your dreams. You must
remember them."
Dawn shook her head and sipped her water. A moment
later, she was lying on a cold, stained brown carpet.
"It's your stomach that bothers you," The Tender was
standing above her in the dingy hotel room. Fire shot
up from a small metal skull as he lit her clove.
"It's always your stomach at the start."
Dawn cringed and wrapped her arms over her bare
midriff, and pulled her exposed legs up to her chest.
The dream-reality had replaced the club completely.
Her black mini-skirt was on the bed. The Tender blew
out sweet-smelling smoke. "The client never
understands. He mocks you." The Tender's voice was
superimposed over another deeper voice, from her
dream. "'I paid you good money.'" The Tender's face
was also doubled, though the second face is baser,
uglier, speaking only with the deeper voice. "He
says. He sneers at you. Your pimp won't be happy."
Dawn curled up tighter on the hard carpet. The Tender
spoke again, with her voice entwined in his. She
mouthed along with him. " 'I can't. Please, I....
Take back your money.' But the client won't buy it."
The Tender circled her, the hair falling in his face
not covering the dark face of the client. " 'I bought
you, whore,' he says. And he kicks you."
A foot, not the Tender's strikes her stomach and she
felt blood seep between her legs.
" 'There were too many men,' you think. 'I don't know
which did it. He'll kill me for getting him sick.'
But it's too late for regrets. The client kicks you
again. 'I own you,' he says, and you wish."
"Please," Dawn said, pulling herself tighter. "Why
did this happen? I want a real life. Please,"
The Tender leaned toward her tear-streaked face,
gently brushing her hair aside. "And it ends."
Dawn sat up, wiping her face. She was back at the
bar, water in hand, tight black jeans hugging her like
security. The Tender was back on his side of the bar,
looking at her sympathetically.
"They heard you." He said, and took her water back.
"Who?"
"Does it matter? They did as you asked."
"Then I'm not--"
"You are. You're not the girl from the dream anymore.
You're Dawn Summers."
"Why?"
The Tender took one last drag on her clove and stubbed
it out on the glass top of the bar. "Because miracles
happen. Now," The Tender swiped a rag across the
counter and handed her a tissue. "Would you like
something to drink? Other than water."
"I don't have any money,"
"I haven't had a clove in years. I think that's worth
a soda."
Dawn smiled. "Yeah. Okay."
The Tender smiled back, handed her a glass, and then
gestured over her shoulder. "Your friend has arrived.
Have fun, and come back whenever you need to."
Dawn glanced back and waved to Melinda, who was making
her way over. She turned back around to thank the
Tender, but he had moved down the bar, to serve
another customer.
The End