Warning: This contains bits of the lauguage naughty, and will contain bits of the naughty, couple of chapters later.
Note: Please leave constructive critism including (but not limited to) your favorite scene and least favorite scene.
Chapter Two: Blood, Slayers, and Doe Eyes
Charlie walked down the halls of Wolfram & Hart. "So your dad runs this place?" she asked. There was something noticeably different that she honestly couldn't put her finger on. She hadn't experienced lightness like it before in the building. Connor nodded. "For all of your silence, you're a lot better as a tour guide than the last one I had, a smarmy jackass named Gavin Price."
Connor looked up. "Short guy, Asian?"
"You know him?"
"I've met him once or twice." Connor scratched the back of his neck. "You can say he underwent a transformation. He moved on."
The pair continued their journey down the halls of the law firm silently, until they reached Boardroom C. When Charlie made no move to open the door, Connor gave her a quizzical look. She just held up her hands. He at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. When the door was opened, both Charlie and Connor were greeted to the sight of four grown men fighting over the last piece of pizza.
Connor recognized Lorne, in what had been deemed his human disguise, sitting back, watching. The pizza had been left unguarded. Without even batting an eye, Charlie walked past her bodyguard and picked it up.
"You can stop now," she said once she had begun on the crust. "Pizza's all gone."
The four men looked up at her, then at the empty pizza box, then back at her. Jack was the first to speak. "What happened?" he asked, once seeing his daughter's bandaged hands. The other three looked as if they wanted to know as well.
"Well hello to you do. I'm fine how are you?" Charlie snapped as she hugged her father
"Avoiding the question." He looked her in the eye.
"Root beer bottles don't like me?" she offered, hugging him again.
Jack sighed and didn't press any further. Charlie went on to greet her father's three other band mates: Dean James, Marcus Sanchez, and Will Dagger. They had been like uncles to her. Her hands weren't mentioned again.
&$&$&$&
"So, what are we doing for dinner?" Jack sat next to his daughter on the sofa. Tony had just dropped them off at the condominium ten minutes before. Connor had stayed at Wolfram and Hart. Against her will, Charlie found herself missing the tall, scrawny, and silent Connor.
Leaning against her father, she sighed and shrugged. "I don't know.
Maybe we should stay home. I sorta feel like French toast."
"And
my credit card," Jack said good naturedly. He wasn't stupid in the ways
of his daughter. "I guess we need to go to the store. I think all we
have is beer and ice cream in the fridge." He stood and walked into the
kitchen. "Wait, no. We have eggs, milk, and bread," he yelled back.
"Are you sure you don't want take-out?"
"No!" she called out as she moved over to the love seat as her father cooked the French toast that had been requested. It was nice to be home. As she waited, Charlie flipped through the scrapbook her father had been keeping on and off since she could remember. The first couple of pages were filled with candid taken by various people, mostly of her father and herself. The next were of the first interview, magazine article, and professional photos featuring her. Fans and Fatherhood: How Success and Children Go Together. And Work. Grinning, she began to read the interview.
"Whatcha doing?" her father came into the room, a plate of French toast and two forks in his hand. "Scoot." Charlie moved over, though in the end, she was halfway to sitting on her father's lap.
"Scrap book."
Jack smirked and held out a forkful of French toast. "Want some?"
She rolled her eyes. "I can feel myself." She took the fork from her father.
His smirk widened, and turned into a grin. "I remember a time when you ate more off my plate than your own. You are more steak than I did." Charlie's eyes rolled again in the classic teenage look. Spearing a piece of French toast from the plate from the one her father held. She stuck it into her moth. "Oh stop being grumpy," Jack said, grabbing the other fork. "Besides, I didn't think you'd be using your own hands that much." After that, she allowed her father to feed her a few bits of the French toast. "Did you pass out?" he asked wickedly.
She settled on glaring until she finished chewing. "Thanks ever so much. Just remind me how much I dislike blood, while I'm eating."
Jack laughed. "I just remembered whenever blood work has to be done, you'd almost pass out. In fact, you did a couple of times."
Sighing, Charlie tried to push herself out of the seat, but her father caught her around the middle. She fell back with an oomph. "Let me go. I want to go to my room." She looked at her father, he was grinning. "Yes, I know I'm being childish."
"Stay here," he cajoled. "We can watch a movie."
Jack Elliot prided himself on being levelheaded in every area. He never struck a reporter, he stayed out of the tabloids as much as possible, and most of the time he was in control of his emotions. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. His exception was his daughter. He looked down at her sleeping form, the sounds of The Princess Bride played in the background. Softly he stroked her brown hair.
Charlotte Rose Elliot had come into his life full force. One night he was out drinking, finding a nice girl to bring home to his bed. The next, he was up to his ears in diapers and toys. Even at three and a half, he daughter had yet to be toilet trained. Obviously hadn't found time between snorting, boozing, and sleeping around to take care of her daughter.
But Charlotte, who quickly became known as Charlie to most everyone, was a quick study. Within six weeks there only occasional nighttime accidents occurred. Even so, she was painfully shy, preferring to stick to her father's side every waking moment. In public, which consisted of everybody but him, her vocabulary was limited to hello, please, and thank you. But in private, Jack was graced with stories of adventures Charlie and Puppy, her stuffed dog, had taken.
Jack found he enjoyed being a father. There was nothing better than having her look at him with complete adoration in her eyes. And then when she fell asleep on him, so vulnerable, so trusting. But there was the fact that she preferred anything on her father's plate to her own. He found himself eating more and more fish sticks and such while she ate steak. The girl was also painfully spoiled, ever since he had picked her up from New York. But it didn't matter if she had a million toys or just her stuffed dog, Puppy. It had been, and still was, nothing but the best for his little girl.
&$&$&$&
She was bored, and it had been so long. She could imagine Taveh scowling at her. Well too bad for him. It had been years, years since she had treated herself. "And my babies are of age," she amused, sitting down. Skirts flitted around her, eventfully settling down. Scooping up a rabbit that hopped by, she held it close. "What do you say my pet?" she crooned. "What do you say we have a little fun?" Wasn't seventeen years long enough for her to wait? Oh yes, Karlei was going to have fun tonight.
&$&$&$&
"You're going out with me." Charlie stood in front of Connor, a bag in her hand. He was sitting in his father's office. Angel wasn't there.
He blinked once, twice, three times. "Excuse me?" Connor was sure there was some kind of clause about dating the clientele in his contract.
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Not like that, Casanova. You blend in more than Tony." She paused, grinning wickedly. "Besides you're cuter." Turning around, she began to walk off, ready to go.
He stood, watching her walk out the door; he followed. So this was a slayer. Spike had called her one, granted the vampire had been drunk at the time, there was rarely a time he wasn't these days. The bleached-blonde had been muttering about teenage girls, blood, slayers, and doe eyes. Connor chalked it up to some kind of sexual fantasy, that is, until the next couple of pints brought on tales of handcuffs and robot-sex. He really didn't want to know.
So this little girl, for he had no other words for her, was a slayer. It was funny, she didn't remind him of Faith. He really never got the change to observe a slayer closely and for a long time. Sure, he had met Faith, the dark haired slayer hardly sat still long enough for him to understand. Then there was Dana, crazy girl, Connor was glad he never got close to her.
But Charlie was different. Petite, with a mass of brown hair, she was impossibly skinny. There was no assured swagger, no hidden power behind her eyes. All Connor saw was the saunter of a girl with too much money. Though maybe he should give Charlie some credit, she was friendly enough. In the end, she was a little over friendly. The girl never stopped talking; personally, Connor thought she was afraid of silence.
"So, what do you think, should I get a tattoo here," she pointed to the small of her back, "Or here?" This time she pointed to her right hip.
Connor shrugged. He wasn't really one to judge where a girl's tattoos should go. "I don't know. Wouldn't your father be angry when he finds out?" He may not be a judge about tattoos, but he did have a good background on enacting revenge upon one's parent. And Charlie honestly didn't have any reason to want to act out against her father.
Charlie sighed dramatically. "Of course. My dad will go red, sputter a bit. That's the point." She grinned. "I have a year of late curfews, expensive phone and credit card bills, and outrageous style to make up. I got my tongue piece last summer, but I had to take it out." She pouted. "But you know what?" Charlie turned to Connor. "Everyone is getting tattoos now. And what happens if it looks like shit? At least with shoes, clothes, or bags I can get rid of them. I don't want to be eighty years old with ink running down my ass. Let's go shopping!"
&$&$&$&
"Ooh look, free samples!" Charlie squealed and dragged Connor over to the booth. He rolled his eyes, she was acting more like a five-year-old than a seventeen-year old. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, mister. You don't pass up free samples of cookies. It's like your giving the finger to the God of Cookies who will in turn tell the Goddess of Shoes. She will then make sure there are no cute ones in my size and that I'll miss all the good sales. And look! It's chocolate chip!"
Connor sighed, and allowed himself to be pulled along. It was chocolate chip cookies after all.
"Coffee now!" she chirped as they walked away, a bag of cookies tucked into her bag. Connor nodded silently. She looked at him quizzically. "So what do you do when I'm not around? Like during the regular year?"
"Putting around the office. Bother my father, help Spike bother my father." The two of them walked into the coffee shop.
"Spike, bleached blonde, gorgeous cheekbones?" Charlie laughed at Connor's disgusted look. "What? He's male; I'm female. He has great cheekbones. I can get more graphic if you'd like." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "I can give you the top fifty hottest men from People's off the top of my head if you'd like."
They had gotten their drinks by now, a latte with lots of sugar for Charlie and a simple coffee for Connor. "I think I'd like you to talk to Cordelia about that," Connor muttered under his breath, but she caught it anyway.
"Cordelia? Who?" She cocked he head to the side in question.
"Father's platonic love interest." He didn't elaborate with the story of the year before.
"Lets play a game," Charlie said, sipping her latte after a few minutes of awkward silence.
"No." Connor drank his coffee: black, no sugar. He didn't look into her eyes.
She sighed, and played with a couple of stands of hair. She didn't try and plead. "You know, when I was younger, people would always comment how mature I was when they first met me." The pair stood; ready to leave. Connor threw away the paper cup, while Charlie continued to sip her drink. "Then I'd kick them in the shin. Now I know why a person would only say it once to me." She giggled at the memory for a bit, but soon became distracted by light reflecting off a camera lens.
Connor turn to look in the same direction as her. "Want me to get rid of them?"
Charlie shook her head. "Have a better idea." Signaling the photographer to come closer, she smiled sweetly. "I would like it very much if you wouldn't publish that photo." Her smile widened, showing teeth. "I know you have a deadline, but if I gave you an inside scoop, anonymously of course." The photographer nodded. "Give me your business card." Minutes later she and Connor continued their walk uninterrupted. The photographer's card was safe in her wallet.
Connor looked at her. She looked back. "Are you really going to call him back?" he asked.
"Of course. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." The customary grin she wore faded slowly as she stood stock still. Wincing in pain, she gripped her latte while her other hand went to her head. "Make it stop," she whispered, pain in her voice. "Make the images stop."