Chapter Two
"Sweetling"
Summary: Buffy reads a book Angel gave her for graduation, even though she found it a year later. This has no spoilers. And don;t you think that Sweetling is great?
Disclaimer: Yeah, right.
Author's note: The clothes Sweetling wears are inspired by my friend Cara, and my daughter and her boyfriend, Chibi-Usa.(*The latter was an inside joke.*)
Dear Buffy,
You once told me that you never knew me. As I saw you walk off to face the Mayor, those words came back into my mind. Out of all the presents i could give, this seems right.
Following is an account of my life. Picked from the 243 years that I've been alive, I've seen and met people that make Xander look sane and calm. Being alive that long, you get to know some strange people.
I guess I should start with Whistler. That excuse for a demon found me starving in an alley in New York City in 1996. I made homeless people look like the privileged rich. I had yet to discover that butcher shops sell blood, so I was feeding off rats. I looked, and smelled, horrible. Whistler decided to show me a reason to exist. A purpose. He showed me you. But, before the long trip to LA, he had to clean me up.......
After a trip the the rat invested hole-in-the-wall that served as Whistler's apartment, Angel had taken on the appearance of just another starving actor in the poor streets of Theater Square. He exited the bathroom toweling his wet hair, shirt less. Whistler sat at a nearby couch, his worn shoes resting on the stained coffee table, a beer in his hand as he watched the black and white television. Whistler wasn't alone, however. A rather young looking woman sat on the floor beside him, resting her head against his leg. Her hair was a mass of red and pale golds; something that Angel had never seen before. Her crystal clear gray eyes watched the television. Her bare feet were tucked under her jean clad legs, the silver toe nails visible. She wore a faded white tank top, apparently not aware that it was November outside the paint peeling walls.
"The savior emerges," Whistler said , taking notice of Angel. Whistler smiled to him, gesturing to the empty recliner beside him. Cautiously, Angel sat, pulling on his t-shirt.
"This is my kid sister, Sweetling," Whistler told him, pointing to the girl beside him.
"The name is Faye," she said, ignoring her brother's snickering. The girl stood. and extending her hand. Eying it, he looked up to meet her eyes,
"Rule number one when dealing with humans, Angel. Shake their hand when offered," she said softly to him, smiling. He returned it, liking her strange sense of humor. She returned to her seat on the floor beside Whistler, resting her head once again on his knee.
"Feel up to socializing?" Whistler asked, looking toward him, finishing his beer. "There happen to be a few clubs open tonight and -"
"Can we please go to the Iris?" Sweetling interrupted, jumping up. Angel couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Sighing, her brother agreed to take them there. Grinning like a child on Christmas morning, she skipped to a door that was probably her bedroom, closing it behind her.
"What's the Iris?" Angel asked, turning back to Whistler.
"A nightclub. And a wild one. Hair in all colors of the rainbow, all types of people, and good music. A little loud, but okay." He eyed Angel's clothes. Worn out black jeans and t-shirt, he looked a little too normal.
"Am I dressed okay?" Angel asked, noticing him looking at his clothes.
"Oh sure. She can say you're Goth."
Twenty minutes later found the group of three walking outside in the cold winter wind that was part of New York. Sweetling walked backwards in front of them, her cheeks flush with excitement. Under the long leather coat she wore, she had on a short neon pink skirt in some shiny material, a white halter, and matching white knee high boots. She had put on a neon pink wig, which completed her outfit. Angel could only stare. The baggy jeans and tank she had worn earlier had hid her curves. The tight fitting material of the clothes she had a beauty Angel couldn't miss.
"You'll love it, Angel," she said, her matching neon pink lips smiling. "This is a great place to try out your non-exsistent social skills and not get your cute ass kicked!" Laughing, she walked up to Whistler, linking her arm in his. He looked over to Angel and arched his eyebrows.
"She has yet to realize that you might have some actual feelings," Whistler said as he opened the door to the club, the clientele of the establishment not rich enough to care who they partied with. The three walked into the pulsating lights and smoke of the room. Laughing, Sweetling disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies, dragging Whistler with her. Trying to keep up, Angel pushed through the mass of bodies. They moved like a single pulsing mass; a single organism with one mind. Nudging a girl dressed in what appeared to be plastic wrap, he spotted Sweetling and Whistler sitting down at a small table. Joining them, he noticed that the surface of the table was make of a leftover piece of a packing box. Grabbing a nearby chair, he sat down beside Whistler, hunching over.
"You really need to loosen up," Sweetling said, placing a hand on his arm, her eyes beaming. "Rule number two. Don't take everything so seriously. Not every single moment makes a difference in the long run. Not every moment can decide your fate," she said to him, her eyes losing the gleam that they had once had. Whistler noticed, and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
"It's okay, Sweetling," he told her softly, gazing over her bend had to met Angel's gaze. Sweetling, obviously upset, got up and went into the crowd, dancing with some male stranger. Whistler watched her leave, sighing deeply as he looked back to Angel.
"She found that lesson out the hard way," he explained to him. "That's why she is the way she is. it's amazing how much she has changed. Bookwormish type of girl, with the idea that if she tried everything she could, she could escape what she was meant to do." he glanced back to his sister, who was taking part in some dance that looked a lot like having sex. "She lost someone because she was too busy trying to escape her destiny. Really hurt that soul of hers. Thus, the party animal."
Angel's gaze traveled to the dance floor, the crazy and sometimes childish actions of Sweetling finally making sense. Pondering this knowledge, he got up and found Sweetling standing alone, unsure of what to do now that her former dancing partner had left to join what appeared to be his girlfriend.
"Hey," he said softly, walking up beside her. She smiled brightly, grabbing his hand and leading him to the dance floor, her body rubbing up against his.
From where he sat at the small table, Whistler smiled at the attempt Angel was making to mimic Sweetling's thrashing movements, trying to fit in with the humans around him, even though he would never truly be a part of them.
The next morning, Angel awoke to the theme song of "The Price is Right" blaring on the television. He sat up, stretching his cramped and stiff muscles, which resulted from a restful night on a sofa. Sweetling, in "Powerpuff Girl" pajama pants and a pink tank top sat on the floor, leaning her back against the couch. A bowl of "Lucky Charms" sat on the coffee table, half eaten.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said brightly to him, rising to pour him a cup of badly needed coffee. Even though vampires did not need the caffeine, old habits died hard.
"Cream and sugar?" Sweetling asked from the kitchen.
"Black," he replied groggily, sitting up and yawning. The curtains covering the windows were tightly drawn, and a sheet tacked over them for extra protection against the sun's deadly rays. Bouncing happily back into the room, she handed him his coffee, which was in some type of novelty mug made by the 80's boy band,"New Kids on the Block". As he sipped the liquid, Sweetling sat back down in front of her cereal, continuing her breakfast as she watched Bob Barker announce the "fabulous prices" the hysterical contestant could win. They sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the show, Sweetling yelling out advice to the middle aged woman who thought the cost of the car she could win was 4000 dollars.
"Sweetling, how many times do I have to tell you?" Whistler said as he walked into the room, his eyes squinting against the light from the lamp. "Just because Angel is a vampire, doesn't mean he sleeps like the dead," he added, his speech slurred by sleep.
"It' s fine," Angel said to him. "She didn't wake me up." Satisfied with Angel's response, Whistler shuffled back in the direction of his bedroom.
"He's always grumpy in the morning," Sweetling explained, rising to take her empty bowl to the kitchen. Angel nodded, leaning back and taking another sip of his coffee. This is a routine I could get use to, he thought as he heard Sweetling load the antique dishwasher. He grinned to himself, the first true smile he had felt since he got his soul back. The key word being could. No chance in Hell I'd live here forever, he told himself, returning his attention back to Bob Barker.