Munch has a lot on his mind lately:
I may be only the second Jew in history to get a resurrection. And we all know the first one went off without a hitch, right, babe? But I can just about guarantee no Crusades in the name of St. John The Munchkin, the Undead. Bet on it, babe.(What was that look about? What, did that *shock* you? Just because you're talking to a vampire doesn't mean you've got Lestat, with his frilly shirts and nice teacups...that movie was as gay as Mardi Gras on Fire Island. So not my scene.)
And just because I've heard that my feelings for those women might be related, doesn't mean I agree. Alicia is a statuesque blonde who read me Carlos Casteneda whose self-esteem I took apart because I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut. Or because I was never home, out working cases. Or because I called her bourgeois because she wanted me home for dinner, because I thought we would turn into my parents, dinner at 6:05 and the stupid couch with plastic on it that nobody could sit on. That felt like a fate worse than death.
(It turned out we were not built to last anyway. She runs a general store with her girlfriend now. Her girlfriend convinced her to "provide closure" by talking to me on the phone...funny how things work out.)
Felicia, sleek, modern, brunette, Felicia, felt like everything the Nordic Goddesses were not. (not that I'm forgetting Gwennie, but that story's boring. ) She was a flirt, a tease, and always the first to hang up the phone. Sometimes I never knew if we would kiss or kill each other...she was my special punishment, and her flesh was like heroin. I let her hurt me and break things in my apartment just so she wouldn't think I was conservative. (You're too young, but for Aquarians, there is no greater insult.) But, like the old joke says, at least she was Jewish.
I tried to catch Kay, explain myself, but she had too much of a head start on me. And more to the point, I decided to wait for the liquor to work its way out. And, though it hurt, I was prepared to have her hate me, bathe in holy water, and never speak to me again.
Yay, Fay! Jumps up and down. Reminds herself that the muse has been naughty and doesn't deserve to go read the rest of ItS. Remembers that ItS is good fun and it might be nice to go read some fun befor beginning the even more exquisite tortures of Xander.
t leaps into ItS
Everyone must now go read Fay's story. Darling FAy, who appears from the desert bearing treasures.
I'm stuck...from whom should Kay receive the vampire spiel? Lorne owes her some advice that she didn't collect. It would be more Angel-like to hear it from Wesley with his books and all. But it would be more like H:LOTS for Vamp!Munch and Kay to sit and talk on some roof someplace.
How's about she ends up on the roof of the Hyperion, Lorne brings her a seabreeze and some chatty "it's the way it is, precious", and then leaves her alone to think, and Munch shows up? I like it.
What Deena said, definitely.
Hmm...that could happen. And, you know, more stupid jokes. Cause even being undead couldn't stop that.You know, how he always thought when they went to a hotel together, they'd see the inside.Then, she'll sigh and tell him to take things seriously for once in his life.
There could be a dream sequence...usually I hate those, but this is more gothic than any story I've written...it could call for one.
Does anyone remember the Vamp!Xander thing that had no ending? It still has no ending, but it has a beginning:
Bargaining, Again
Setting: Late S7, around “First Date.”
Part I
He wished even as he died that he had a better story – but the truth is, Xander Harris became a vampire because he trusted the wrong girl. Again.
She looked so harmless, a waif with short auburn hair in a pink slip dress, Doc Martens and heavy-framed glasses, waggling her fingers in a half-wave as she slipped onto the bar stool beside him.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nah, this is my first night in Sunnydale. You just looked like a friendlier face than the rest of these-” she gestured around the room, a converted 1930’s diner that where most of the other clients were men with rough hands who pounded the table when they wanted more beer. Xander had started going after work with friends, but he often stayed long after they had made their excuses and headed back to wives and girlfriends and children and lives that did not include up-close-and-personal relationships with the demonic. The men who stayed as late as he did had graying skin and stared at their beer or the sports games on the TV above the bar, but barely looked at each other. “-these characters,” she finished, smiling.
“Thanks for the praise, though the competition isn’t exactly hard to beat. I’m Xander.”
She held out her hand for him to shake. “Louisa.”
“Louisa,” he repeated, tasting her name. There was something familiar about her eyes… “So, what brings you to the ‘Dale?”
She shook her head, waved her hand. This and that, she said. It wasn’t important. She asked him about himself; he bought her a drink. She bought him another drink, licked her lips, said she was new in town. A hand on the leg, a compliment (“You have really pretty eyes,” she said, fingers lightly grazing his thigh) and he was flattered, off-balance.
Pouting over the rim of her rum and coke, she asked him if he knew of a quiet place where she could crash. Said she was low on funds, wouldn’t get paid until tomorrow.
What could he do but ask her to crash at his place?
Louisa devoured him with kisses after they got into his car, taillights blinking and engine running and oh her mouth is so warm and dry, not sloppy-moist like Anya’s … and he doesn’t realize she isn’t breathing until the nibbling on his neck turns into a piercing pain and ow and ow and he thrashes, tries to shove her off, kick her away, but the beers are slowing his reflexes and she has him pinned, firm hands holding him to the seat and he. Is. Dying.
But she pulled back for a second, pricked an index finger on her incisor, shoved it into his mouth. “I must have the slayer’s boy for my pet,” she muttered as he fed.
There is just enough of Xander left for him to shove her into the gear shift. His sire explodes into dust as he slumps over, dead.
He woke up to the loud beeping and flashing lights of a tow truck. Thought he had a hangover, that he had a weird dream; knew that wasn’t it when his hands came away from his neck wet with blood, has his suspicions confirmed when he has to scramble away from the sun through his windshield.
He spent his first day as a vampire cowered under a blanket in the back seat of his car. “Wuss,” he thought as he fell back asleep.
He woke again as the sun set, crawled out of the car, fed on the parking lot guard just for practice. His new face felt strange, tight; he experimentally shifted back and forth.
And then he smiled. Time to find a new playmate.
Next up: vamping Dawn.
