Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, they are the property of Joss Whedon et al. I do not own the majority of the plot, it is based on a challenge by gidgetgirl at CCS archive.
A/N: Yeah I know. Two challenge responses, one week. It's just – I've seen this done, and it wasn't enough to make my own plotbunny regarding this go away. Anyway, I've fiddled around with the characters a wee bit, as you'll soon see.
*
The big, black car pulling up at the curb was long, sleek and shiny and purred to a halt outside the townhouse. The fresh green of the hedge was divided by a wrought iron black gate, which opened onto a stone path up to the red front door. The door opened, and a young woman in her early twenties walked hastily down the path, glancing back up the house, and clambered into the car. It pulled away from the pavement, and disappeared. At the window, a small girl could be seen smiling, satisfied, as she dusted off her hands.
*
"What do you mean, gone?" Cordelia Chase lowered the sunglasses on her nose, and stared at her father. 'Ripper' looked apologetic, shrugging his shoulders.
"Love, I'm sorry. But my records aren't selling as much, and money was tight before you hired that accountant." He glanced at his watch briefly, and then back up to his daughter's astonished face.
"Got to go. My agent's got a meeting with a couple of new labels, we're hoping to push my old stuff back out there, send it all up again." He kissed the top of her head as he walked past, and out of the mansion.
Cordelia 'Diamonds are nice. But Tiffany's entire stock is better' Chase sat in stunned silence for a few more moments.
The marble, ritzy mansion situated in the best of locations, Bellair, gone. Repossessed by the bank. Her credit cards were going to be cut up tomorrow. And her dad, the famous, sexy –in-an-old-Dad-like-way, 'Ripper' of the cult like followers of the eighties was poor?
"This is not happening," Cordelia said out loud, to nobody in particular. "I refuse to let it happen."
And that accountant, Cordelia's finely arched eyebrows knitted together. Admittedly, she'd hired him for his butt, but who'd suspect such dastardly thieving of a girl's clothing allowance from so big a cutie with gorgeous green eyes as Parker Abrams? If she ever found him again, he would pay. Big time.
She tossed back her hair. Cordelia Chase, get a job? Not in this century.
*
"Come down. Now."
Biting her lip, the little girl shimmied down the tree with practised ease, and landed at the foot of it neatly. Instantly assuming an innocent expression, her hands folded behind her back, batting her long eyelashes at her Daddy, and standing perfectly correctly, she attempted to appear above suspicion.
"Sorry, love. Not going to cut it," her father informed her, trying to keep the tiny smile out of his voice. She was so very much her mother's daughter at times. The little face fell for a moment then any trace of guilt was wiped away.
"Just tell me," he groaned, contemplating the hiring process of yet another nanny, "What did you do this time?"
The little girl's lips quirked in a similar, sly half-smile.
"That would be telling, Daddy," she informed him.
*
"I don't believe this," Cordelia moaned, holding the newspaper disgustedly by the very tips of her fingers. "I was made to be a nice ornament, you know, with the expensive dresses, big smiles, cute guys.." She sighed heavily. "Why did Daddy have to go and get himself poor, anyway?" She decided to leave out the little matter of her accountant's embezzlement. It so wasn't important when the focus right now was pitying her.
Harmony nodded her agreement, playing with the swizzle stick in her drink as she rested her chin on her other hand, her long blonde hair falling forwards.
"You know, Cordy, you can always come and stay at mine," she offered. Cordelia's face brightened momentarily. Harmony smirked. "Mommy was saying one of the maids was fired for stealing the silver. You could even fit into the uniform. Grey is one of your colours, right?"
"You know," Cordelia addressed her, a hint of snark entering her voice, "Harmony, I at least know I could take a job. And I could do it well. You know why? Beause I," Cordelia flipped her dark brown hair behind her shoulders proudly, "Have a brain. Whereas you can do nothing except sip expensive, oh so tacky drinks and wear off the rack Gucci, unaware that you are wasting your whole life." Cordelia curled her lip. "And Harmony?"
The blonde looked up. "Orange as the new black is so over," Cordelia told her triumphantly, before stalking out of the drinks bar.
"Let me see," Cordelia scanned the newspaper, poring over it as though it contained the beauty secrets of how to avoid cellulite without all that icky sweating. "Maid, no. Um, truck driver, ew, no. Hmm. Party clown. Ick, no. Polyester?" she shuddered in loathing. "Nanny."
She glanced at her bag, resting on the side, and the lone credit card, 'emergencies only' tucked inside. Sighing, Cordelia circled the 'nanny' ad with her red pen, and tucked the newspaper into her bag.
*
Cordelia knocked at the red door, glancing at the highly polished black car parked at the kerb, the engine still running. Was that a perk of the job? A nice car? She smiled in anticipation. Maybe looking after someone else's brats – children- she corrected herself internally, wasn't such a bad move.
The door opened... and apparently no-one was answering it. Cordelia's gaze dropped to the small girl standing in the entrance, her arms folded across her tiny chest.
Long red pigtails hung down her back, as her bright green eyes swept Cordelia over, obviously summing her up. The little girl uncrossed her arms to tap one finger against her chin, thinking then smiled tightly.
"You'll do," Willow decided then ran past Cordelia and down the path, a violin case in one hand.
Cordelia stared after the little girl. Maybe she'd misjudged the whole 'bad move' thing a little.
*
A/N: Cordelia meets dad, and we see a little more of little Willow, including exactly what her two previous nannies taught her.
Review!!