author: Lucinda
rating: pg13
main character: 'Chantarelle'
disclaimer: If you recognize the, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.
distribution: Quickfics, Paula, Cat - anyone else ask
notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. This is the blond girl that was helping organize that vampire club in the season 2 episode 'Lie to Me'.
Jumping off the highboard-
Into the marshmallow pool.
Swimming through the greenbeans,
I'm NOBODY'S fool.
Bouncing on a rubber stamp
Trying to print your name.
Hoping hard to make the score-
Who says life's a game???
--Jen LeMaire, "Fish" (c) 1990
* * * *
Chantarelle walked among the crowd of visitors, trying to figure out what was happening. As expected, the club was full, with a movie playing on the large television, and people gathered to ponder the Lonely Ones, or to talk with other kindred misfits. Everything should have seemed normal.
But something felt off tonight. She didn't know what it was, but something felt off balance and wrong. As if something dreadful was about to happen.
Diego didn't feel it. He was being annoyed at Ford and trying to flirt with one of the guests, some smoky eyed young woman in a dress that could have come right from the closet of Morticia Addams. Diego was intent on her, but the Morticia look alike just looked amused, which didn't really speak well for Diego's chances. Nobody else seemed to feel it, which forced her to wonder if it was just her imagination.
She was just starting to wonder if it was all her own paranoia when the door above was opened forcefully. The blond man that entered - and she really couldn't describe the way he moved any other way than a predatory stalk - he scared her. He was intense, and had this sort of charismatic aura about him that almost seemed to make everything around him seem less real. And he terrified her down to the tips of her blond hair and to her silver painted toenails. That man was powerful, and dangerous, and...
Why was she walking towards him? She didn't want to be near him, and yet her feet were carrying her closer. This was bad, this could only get worse...
He had a girlfriend, all pale skin and dark hair, wreathed in a flowing gown that brushed the tops of her feet. With that pale skin, the dark eyes and the slightly lost look, his girlfriend should have fit perfectly with this place. But not if you really looked at her eyes. Her eyes may have been lost, but there was no warmth there, no connection to anything. And they were filled with hunger and sparkled as if something had amused her. And her lips were very, very red.
They were the something bad that was going to happen.
Smiling, the woman in the gown clapped her hands at the assembled people, in what should have looked like childish glee but somehow seemed filled with danger. "Look at all the pretty people..."
The feeling of cold dread was stronger now, filling not just her body, but all of what made her Chantarelle, and sliding deeper, into the part of her that had just been plain, ignored Clara Sutton. These people were dangerous, they were wrong, they were... well, the word that she wanted to say was evil. Except that she couldn't speak, couldn't say anything, couldn't look away from the pale man and his crazy girlfriend. They were evil, and powerful, and they were death.
Sauntering down the stairs, the pale man paused in front of her, and one cool hand brushed her cheek. Chantarelle felt her heart jump, and shivered. His smile was cruel, and she had the feeling that he knew just how frightened she was. He was walking towards Ford, who looked unsurprised, as if... As if he'd expected him.
Ford HAD expected them. He'd somehow planned their arrival, arranged for them to come here. Without telling her or Diego. This was a very bad thing... And she had the most horrible, sinking feeling that it would get worse before it got better.
Slowly, a few more people made their way into the club. These people didn't even appear to fit, they didn't look like they belonged at all. They were scruffy looking, and carried a sense of petty malice that made her wonder if they'd spent their childhood tormenting small animals. And then one of them had smiled at one of the girls, and his face had changed... Sharp crooked teeth and yellow eyes and heavy brows.
These were vampires. Not the gently tragic 'Lonely Ones' that she'd watched on the screen, or a darkly romantic figure to inspire tempting and forbidden dreams. They were danger, as unpredictable as cats and as lethal as a snake. And the way that they were looking around the club made it clear that they saw the assembled crowd as little more than food.
But then someone else arrived, a blond girl with a suntan and a big smile. With a small start, she realized that this girl had been here just the other night, was the one who'd known Ford. And she was looking at the scary pale man in a way that spoke of bitter and old rivalries. But what could the girl do?
Her answer came quickly, when the blond - what had her name been? Fluffy... Muffy... no, Buffy! Buffy grabbed the scary woman with the demented eyes, holding a sharpened stake to her chest. With enough force, that stake would slide under the ribcage and puncture the woman's heart, sending a horrible crimson stain over the gown... unless she fell to ashes as some films showed vampires doing.
Chantarelle barely heard what was said, only dimly aware that the blonde girl was threatening the madwoman, bargaining for the lives of the people here. She felt like her body was moving in slow motion as she gestured for everyone to get out, to leave the building. And then, it was as if something had broken, and she could move again.
She made her way for the door, wanting the open sky above her, and the fresh air, wanting sunshine and flowers and safety. Wanting to regain the sense of utter confidence that monsters weren't real, that there was only the darkness of the human soul to fear. But that certainty was gone, shattered and broken and never to be made whole again.
Everything had changed in that club tonight. And she knew that things wouldn't go back to the way they'd been before. Not for her. And she couldn't be Chantarelle any longer, couldn't be the smiling floating figure enraptured by 'the Lonely Ones' and dreaming of drifting through forever. Chantarelle had died down there tonight, and it was up to what was left for her to build a new identity, to become someone else, someone who would be able to survive.
But no more vampire games. No more romantic idealization of the walking dead.
Not for her.
end No Fun Anymore.
rating: pg13
main character: 'Chantarelle'
disclaimer: If you recognize the, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.
distribution: Quickfics, Paula, Cat - anyone else ask
notes response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #11. This is the blond girl that was helping organize that vampire club in the season 2 episode 'Lie to Me'.
Jumping off the highboard-
Into the marshmallow pool.
Swimming through the greenbeans,
I'm NOBODY'S fool.
Bouncing on a rubber stamp
Trying to print your name.
Hoping hard to make the score-
Who says life's a game???
--Jen LeMaire, "Fish" (c) 1990
* * * *
Chantarelle walked among the crowd of visitors, trying to figure out what was happening. As expected, the club was full, with a movie playing on the large television, and people gathered to ponder the Lonely Ones, or to talk with other kindred misfits. Everything should have seemed normal.
But something felt off tonight. She didn't know what it was, but something felt off balance and wrong. As if something dreadful was about to happen.
Diego didn't feel it. He was being annoyed at Ford and trying to flirt with one of the guests, some smoky eyed young woman in a dress that could have come right from the closet of Morticia Addams. Diego was intent on her, but the Morticia look alike just looked amused, which didn't really speak well for Diego's chances. Nobody else seemed to feel it, which forced her to wonder if it was just her imagination.
She was just starting to wonder if it was all her own paranoia when the door above was opened forcefully. The blond man that entered - and she really couldn't describe the way he moved any other way than a predatory stalk - he scared her. He was intense, and had this sort of charismatic aura about him that almost seemed to make everything around him seem less real. And he terrified her down to the tips of her blond hair and to her silver painted toenails. That man was powerful, and dangerous, and...
Why was she walking towards him? She didn't want to be near him, and yet her feet were carrying her closer. This was bad, this could only get worse...
He had a girlfriend, all pale skin and dark hair, wreathed in a flowing gown that brushed the tops of her feet. With that pale skin, the dark eyes and the slightly lost look, his girlfriend should have fit perfectly with this place. But not if you really looked at her eyes. Her eyes may have been lost, but there was no warmth there, no connection to anything. And they were filled with hunger and sparkled as if something had amused her. And her lips were very, very red.
They were the something bad that was going to happen.
Smiling, the woman in the gown clapped her hands at the assembled people, in what should have looked like childish glee but somehow seemed filled with danger. "Look at all the pretty people..."
The feeling of cold dread was stronger now, filling not just her body, but all of what made her Chantarelle, and sliding deeper, into the part of her that had just been plain, ignored Clara Sutton. These people were dangerous, they were wrong, they were... well, the word that she wanted to say was evil. Except that she couldn't speak, couldn't say anything, couldn't look away from the pale man and his crazy girlfriend. They were evil, and powerful, and they were death.
Sauntering down the stairs, the pale man paused in front of her, and one cool hand brushed her cheek. Chantarelle felt her heart jump, and shivered. His smile was cruel, and she had the feeling that he knew just how frightened she was. He was walking towards Ford, who looked unsurprised, as if... As if he'd expected him.
Ford HAD expected them. He'd somehow planned their arrival, arranged for them to come here. Without telling her or Diego. This was a very bad thing... And she had the most horrible, sinking feeling that it would get worse before it got better.
Slowly, a few more people made their way into the club. These people didn't even appear to fit, they didn't look like they belonged at all. They were scruffy looking, and carried a sense of petty malice that made her wonder if they'd spent their childhood tormenting small animals. And then one of them had smiled at one of the girls, and his face had changed... Sharp crooked teeth and yellow eyes and heavy brows.
These were vampires. Not the gently tragic 'Lonely Ones' that she'd watched on the screen, or a darkly romantic figure to inspire tempting and forbidden dreams. They were danger, as unpredictable as cats and as lethal as a snake. And the way that they were looking around the club made it clear that they saw the assembled crowd as little more than food.
But then someone else arrived, a blond girl with a suntan and a big smile. With a small start, she realized that this girl had been here just the other night, was the one who'd known Ford. And she was looking at the scary pale man in a way that spoke of bitter and old rivalries. But what could the girl do?
Her answer came quickly, when the blond - what had her name been? Fluffy... Muffy... no, Buffy! Buffy grabbed the scary woman with the demented eyes, holding a sharpened stake to her chest. With enough force, that stake would slide under the ribcage and puncture the woman's heart, sending a horrible crimson stain over the gown... unless she fell to ashes as some films showed vampires doing.
Chantarelle barely heard what was said, only dimly aware that the blonde girl was threatening the madwoman, bargaining for the lives of the people here. She felt like her body was moving in slow motion as she gestured for everyone to get out, to leave the building. And then, it was as if something had broken, and she could move again.
She made her way for the door, wanting the open sky above her, and the fresh air, wanting sunshine and flowers and safety. Wanting to regain the sense of utter confidence that monsters weren't real, that there was only the darkness of the human soul to fear. But that certainty was gone, shattered and broken and never to be made whole again.
Everything had changed in that club tonight. And she knew that things wouldn't go back to the way they'd been before. Not for her. And she couldn't be Chantarelle any longer, couldn't be the smiling floating figure enraptured by 'the Lonely Ones' and dreaming of drifting through forever. Chantarelle had died down there tonight, and it was up to what was left for her to build a new identity, to become someone else, someone who would be able to survive.
But no more vampire games. No more romantic idealization of the walking dead.
Not for her.
end No Fun Anymore.