Disclaimer: Anya is not mine. If she were my figment of imagination, that would be cool, but alas, I am not Joss Whedon (if you have no idea who he is, you shouldn't even be reading this, really. What BtVS obsessed person does not have the faintest idea who Joss Whedon is…). However, the woman, Anna Porter and Richard Porter, are figments of my imagination, who—at the very least Richard does—wishes they had nothing to do with me. Off topic. So, Anya is not my character, yet here I write a story about her—and I don't get money off of it, so you can't sue! If she were my character, it would not be a fan fiction, it would be either a story or a TV show.
Author's Note: My tale is told in the POV (point of view) of Anya Emerson, a.k.a. the Demonic Patroness of Scorned Women, a.k.a. Anyanka. There are nearly not enough fan fictions of this quirky favorite character of mine and no offense to Spike/ Buffy 'shippers, but I'm rather sick of Buffy/ Spike marshmallow-y fluff. I realize they are very popular at the moment. I also realize I've been informed that either write that kind of fic, or don't waste my time with BtVS fics. If you don't want to read it, you don't have to. But don't flame me for not doing something to your approval. This is pointless humor, fluff-less Anya fic. Pointless. Don't get all pissy at me for not having real meaning to this tale. And if you really do love my work, recommend this (and my other tales) to other people. I LOVE feedback. I'm always looking for it.
Summary: [Anya reflects on the emotionally scarring time, when, in her demon days, she sought out a woman who's in very much emotional pain, bad break up/divorce and all. Anya, being a vengeance demon for scorned women, seeks her out, and her one wish, is that her husband is forever locked in a room with demonic, flesh eating bunnies and Anya must stay there for his sorry life[short lived, let me tell you] and torment him further. This leaves our Patroness emotionally scarred. ]Without further ado, I bring to you…BUNNIES! BUNNIES! IT MUST BE BUNNIES!
This was my first and only unhappy memory of vengeance demon days. Never had a woman's hatred for her husband left her scarred for life, let alone been so odd. To further explain you must know that I am deathly afraid of bunnies. I… haven't always been. There was, yes, a time when those fuzzy little creatures didn't bother me. But…
It happened, not very long ago. It was before the time with Cordelia, just before actually. I had just come from New York, where a woman wished her husband would be hit by a taxi—repeatedly, burnt with oven-hot pizza in the face, come begging for her to take him back, she slams the door on him, he leaves, and goes to take a train, falls into the middle of the track, and gets hit by it. I had the satisfaction of being there when he died. It was very amusing.
So, I go to Los Angeles, because a vengeance demon's work is never ever done. The woman, Anna Porter, didn't really need to summon me—her pain was so evident that I could feel it all the way across the continent, and was intrigued.
I appeared before Mrs. Porter within an instant, as I could've done, being a demon and all. "My name is Anyanka, and I could help you with your pain," I say, before the woman could ask in an all-out, cliché of 'Who are you?' with the trembling voice of fear, the paling of skin, the whole, 'please don't hurt me' type of thing I experienced more than once.
"I'm calling the cops," Anna Porter snarled at me, trying to be intimidating. I rolled my eyes. I got the 'I'll call the cops' bit a lot too.
"Go ahead. I have a teenage girl in Sunnydale that simply reeks of pain. If you do not wish to get revenge on your husband for cheating on you with younger women, than perhaps Miss Sunnydale wants to get revenge on her man. Men are pricks," I finished my speech, looking at her expectantly. Porter-woman was intrigued, I could tell.
"What do you have in mind?" She asked, after a moment of consideration, hesitant to accept help from this stranger who she so clearly thought a—laugh—witch. I smiled, still in human form.
"Oh, no, no, no. Its what do you have in mind? I can take your darkest ideas and make then a real hell for Richard, it just depends on what you want me to do…" After her blank look, I asked, "Well, what does he fear?"
With glee, Anna Porter responded, "Bunnies. Yes, that's it. He had a bad experience with a false Easter Bunny as a child, and now fears those dreadful little rodents more than anything."
I remember trying not to laugh—what kind of moron is afraid of bunnies?
"Alright," I said. "So, whatever I do to him must involve bunnies?"
"Preferably flesh-eating demonic bunnies, or could a witch of your type do no such thing?"
"I could do anything you want me to do to him. Do I sense an idea?"
Anna Porter smiled a sadistic smile. "I want you to lock him into a small closet, filled with demonic flesh eating bunnies."
"Done." Even as I said it, the man was in the small closet filled with the demon bunnies. Anna Porter was not yet done.
"You're evil, right? And inhuman? I want you to go into the closet and make sure he doesn't find a way to escape. Perhaps torture him further, give him the hope of escape? Just until he dies."
I smiled, and disappeared into the little hellhole of a closet. The demonic rabbits paid me no mind—at first. They leered at Richard Porter. "Help me! Somebody help me!" He didn't notice my presence until gem-green eyes locked with my dark ones. "Can't you help me, for gods sakes, woman?"
"Now why would I want to do that when men are evil?"
He clawed at the door, until a particularly sadistic brown rabbit tore his arm off, and ate it in one bite. "I must be dreaming," Richard assured himself in a panic-ridden way, staring at the blood gushing from the stump of his shoulder.
I shook my head. "Nope, boy, you are fully awake. And you're probably not gonna make it out of here alive…I love this job."
My words, he didn't seem to hear. He begged and pleaded, but the demonic bunnies with an appetite tore him apart, and ate him whole. They did have an appetite, because suddenly, a horde of demonic rabbits was staring at me, and I half expected them to begin salivating.
I blindly fumbled with the door with one hand was the brown one took two steps towards me, grinning. Then, I realized the door was supposed to be that no one could open it. My talisman glowed a bright green, reflecting on the demon-bunny's unreal face. Terrified, I forgot that I could make the rabbits disappear all together. It was only after the rabbit tore a chunk of skin out of my arm, I realized so. The rabbits disappeared altogether, leaving no trace, aside from my bleeding arm, and the gory mess on the closet floor. The closet then disappeared, and I was alone and scarred.
Why do I reflect on that, even though to me it is painful, and others might find it stupid or farfetched (but they should try being in a small tight space with several demonic bunnies with a taste for flesh and blood and tell me how much they like it)? I stare at the thing, between the cage. Cute, fuzzy, large ears. Pink eyes, white fur. Standing on hind legs, staring curiously at me.
A rabbit.
I cannot move or speak, only shake as if I'm having a fit. My fiancee also shakes—with repressed laughter. At me. Suddenly, I shriek, "Xander, what is it doing here? In our house? You know I'm afraid of them!"
"Yes, but why?"
"It's a long story. I. Want. It. Out!"
Xander snickered. "I figured it might help you get over your fear of rabbits. Isn't it cute?"
"Get over my fear of rabbits? Get over my fear of rabbits?! There is nothing wrong with my fear of rabbits! You want me to help you get over your fear of clowns? Fine. I'm okay with threesomes. Or maybe a rent-a-clown to come over here! Or a…poster…of a clown! Or some clown horror movies," I continued to scream at him the different ways I could torture him with clowns, Xander laughing and looking scared at the same time, all the while, Xander's demonic-eyed rabbit stares at us.
*~*Fin*~*
