by NeverChosen » Mon Mar 15, 2010 12:32 pm
Ch 13
Angst Level: In the overall story, higher than the gap between recognition of the MacDonald's symbol and the current leader of the same person's own country. This chapter is tame.
Tara entered the Magic Box to hear one of the more unusual debates she had ever walked in on. Jean and Xander were bantering phrases back and forth, with Anya listening in unusually quiet consternation.
"Knocking boots," Jean suggested.
"Bumping uglies," Xander countered.
"A roll in the hay."
"Sinking the battleship."
"What my mother did before me."
"Extracurricular activities."
"Hanky panky."
"Sweeping out the chimney."
"Making whoppee."
"Doing the wild thing."
"I still don't get it." Anya broke in finally, looking between the two. "If everyone knows what 'playing doctor' means, why not just say it?"
"Because, on the off chance that there are underage ears present, they might not know," Xander suggested with a look that asked for acknowledgement of his genius.
"Why is it bad for children if you talk about sex in front of them? It's not like anyone uses the old 'cabbage leaf' story anymore." The ex-demon was not dissuaded.
"Propriety," Jean said primly. "There are some things that you just don't say in polite company."
Tara wondered for a moment if it was too late to turn around and come back later.
"Tara! What do you think?"
She was trapped now, by Anya's honest question. She blushed and wished for a customer to come in and save her, but there was no Patron Saint (Demon?) of Embarrassed Women around to help. She spoke with careful consideration, "Well, a lot of people are uncomfortable thinking a-about other people… that way, so by being indirect they can skim over the idea… maybe?"
"Like that thing about not gloating-" Xander took over to Tara's relief, but also to her annoyance as he used her words in a way completely different than she'd intended. How was Anya supposed to learn about tact when she was getting a moral lecture too? She understood better than Xander seemed to realize, but tended to ignore the social rules that she didn't understand the meaning for. Tara had found that moral explanations had no particular effect, but that concrete reasoning of why things were done worked. Anya wasn't deliberately contrary- not always- she just needed to know the reasons.
As she wandered over to the table, only half listening to Xander talk, she wondered where Giles was. He might have made good his escape when he heard the conversation turn… Tara's eyes widened as Xander turned in his seat, making visible a host of bruises and abrasions. He saw the look and his words trailed off.
"Riley didn't show up last night," Anya supplied. “Giles and Xander were tenderized by a vampire before they killed it.”
Tara knew that the unaffected delivery of that statement could only be the result of the ex-demon already venting her feelings at length. Whenever Riley did show his face again, she doubted Anya would be quite so even tempered. The fact that Xander and Giles had survived was a relief. They were two very ordinary men with a few unusual skills and uncommon luck, but there was only so far that could take them. It only took one time for that luck to fail… What had possessed them to patrol without getting other help was outside of Tara's understanding, but that was one of those things that Willow would explain with a shrug, a smile, and the words, "It's what we do." Was it wrong to be glad that Willow hadn't been with them? If she had, maybe they wouldn't have gotten hurt… or Willow might be bearing the same marks of a patrol gone wrong.
What about you, Tara? When are you going to stop living on the sacrifice of others?
I'm not. Just because I don't fight...
What is your contribution, Tara? Witty conversation?
Research…?
They all do research- it doesn't keep them hiding.
…
She shook herself out of the spiral her thoughts were falling into. It was too easy a trap.
"Well kids, it's been fun, but we've got a lot to do and not a lot of time." Jean had made her way to Tara's side, unnoticed during the stormy thoughts, and indicated the door. "Shall we?"
Tara nodded, but reached out, touching Xander's shoulder to regain his attention. The sharp prickle that encouraged her to pull her hand away evidenced that he had one of their protective charms with him. "Thanks for looking in on Will."
"Hey- no worries. Not like I'm gonna leave my bestest bud laid up without stopping by." He shrugged amiably, but the words cut into Tara. Wasn't that what she was doing? Leaving Willow to deal with what Tara had done, just so she could work on her own problems?
With a forced grateful look over her shoulder Tara followed Jean out to her Mustang. As she climbed into her seat she felt the succubus' eyes on her, but deliberately concentrated on her seatbelt rather than meeting them as she asked, "where to today?"
"Back to my room at the Sunnydale Renaissance." Jean glanced over and sighed at the discomfort Tara knew had fallen over her face. "Privacy for working on hiding your tail… unless you have a better option?"
Tara considered the Magic Box's back room for a moment, then realized the potential mortification of a curious Anya walking in at an inopportune moment. Her own room was out of the question, both because Willow was there and her continued disinclination to share where she lived. She shook her head and Jean started the car. The sound of Sinatra filled the air briefly before Jean flipped the stereo off with a minor cringe.
"Did you wait long?" Tara didn't often feel a need to fill the silence, but she needed the distraction from the undertow of her thoughts. The succubus’s momentarily chilly demeanor broke, her ease returning as if it had never left as she answered genially.
"A while, but don’t fret yourself- your friends are a hoot and a half." Jean indicated the back seat, where her cell phone sat. "They said you'd called, but my phone has been acting up since last night…"
"I'm sorry." The apology was ingrained, even though she'd just been told it was unneeded. She glanced over as Jean shifted uncomfortably, the seat leather squeaking against her slacks as she did. There was no evidence of a tail there to account for that discomfort, though Tara was already feeling her own tingle painfully as sitting on it cut off the circulation. Realizing where she was staring, she looked away quickly, searching for another focus.
There was a stainless steel travel mug in the cup holder. It might have been there yesterday, but only became remarkable now Tara that noticed the phrase written on the side. She didn't quite manage to cut off a disbelieving snerk at the "Got MILF?". Jean glanced away from the road long enough to see the source of her mirth.
"My youngest has a sense of humor when it comes to gifts…" she explained dryly, "The mugs are too useful to just toss, but I wouldn’t be caught dead using the bumper stickers she finds. This shirt is one of her finds, too."
Tara wasn't sure what was so funny about a University of Houston shirt, but didn't inquire further. She tried to come up with a delicate way of asking what was really on her mind now, but nothing volunteered itself.
"Is… the waiter…?"
"Tobias? Happy as a clam and rather more chipper than I expected." Jean made the eyebrow equivalent of a shrug. "Wasn’t bad in the sack, either."
Too much information. Tara found herself flushing pink again. "He wasn't affected… at all?"
"Not much, though he'll probably tucker out early tonight. Usually they're pretty groggy when they wake up- he must've been eating his Wheaties this week." Jean stopped at a light, tapping a finger on the steering wheel impatiently. "I understand the concern, but it's nothing near what your boyfriend is dealing with."
"Girl." Tara corrected absently, not quite believing how casually Jean could treat what she did. Even if the aftereffect was minimal, that didn't make it right…
"Hmm?" Jean glanced over before the light changed. “I thought Xander said you were seeing someone named Will…”
"Willow. My girlfriend." Tara clarified.
"Oh." Jean chewed on the information for a moment. "I thought it stood for William. My mistake."
"Ninety percent of the time you'd be right." She didn't begrudge the assumption that she was straight, given that the majority of the time it would have been correct. The only thing she did begrudge was the reaction that sometimes followed. For better or worse, though, she had no more intention of concealing this particular aspect of herself than of shouting it to the world.
"You know, I thought Willow a male name. That movie a couple years back- the dwarf was named Willow, wasn't he?" Jean chatted, but there was still some thought going on that went well beyond what she said.
Tara cracked a grin. Willow hated the movie for that very reason- and it was one of Dawn's childhood favorites. This had apparently been a bone of contention between the two from the moment Willow had met Buffy's younger sister, though that had long since degenerated into playful needling by the time Tara learned of it.
"So… both sides of the fence or entirely a friend-of-Dorothy?" The succubus' tone didn't hold any particular judgment, but had lost some of its lightness.
"The latter." Friend of Dorothy? That's a new one…
"Huh." Jean fell into thought for another span of long seconds. Another glance made Tara wonder why so many people thought they should look for clues that they had somehow missed. Maybe they expected some kind of Scarlet Letter… or maybe they felt that they needed to add her as a data point in their mental catalog of 'how gay people look'. Or maybe they expected a little sticker, like the Certified Organic ones on fruit. Certified Fruity? It didn't annoy her particularly- it just seemed odd.
"I don't suppose you intend to shift male to feed?"
Ungh. Tara didn't want to imagine that- not even in the 'try it out once' kind of way. She shook her head in emphatic refusal.
"You do realize that you're limiting your potential prey pretty severely." Jean paused for a moment to turn into the hotel parking lot and pull into a space. Turning off the key she fixed Tara with a warning look. "You can 'convert' people for now, but that won't last…"
If not for knowing what she'd done to Buffy, Tara would have been shocked- offended at the implication that she would coerce someone against their will and disturbed that anyone would try to force someone into a coupling contrary to their nature… but that was exactly what she had done. She wondered if Jean could tell that the heat in her face was from guilt rather than embarrassment.
Whatever she read in Tara's expression, the succubus must have found no argument with, as the sternness retreated and Jean offered a sort of reassurance, "The good news is that you'll never have to wonder who's on the menu- we've got the best gay-dar you could ask for."
Tara gave Jean the incredulously arched eyebrow she typically reserved for people who quoted Beavis and Butthead. The dark-haired woman responded in amused exasperation,
"Not on each other. Humans though- just Look and there's never a question."
"It's not my right to look," she replied stonily, her opinion of Jean dropping another notch. Auras were bad enough, but snooping people's image of their ideal mate..?
"Whatever floats your boat- I thought you’d appreciate the lack of guesswork." Jean shrugged, her continued unconcern reminding Tara that this woman was raised as an unapologetic demon. There was no reason to expect her to adhere to human morals- if anything, it was Tara herself that was the odd one. That didn't make her any more inclined toward Jean's way of thinking, but it did keep her disapproval of the idea from spilling into disapproval of the person. Or demon, technically. Whatever.
They headed into the hotel, Tara trailing a step behind as she rubbernecked. Trips with her family had generally involved camping or Motel 6 and the attentitiveness of the staff was disconcerting. Once within the elevator Jean spoke again,
"Willow… she'll wake up eventually, but it's only going to get worse for her."
"I know… she says she's f-fine, but then she just about fell when she tried to get up…" Despite the resurgence of guilt Tara trailed off at the surprise she saw from Jean.
"She's awake already?"
"Shouldn't she be?"
"Well, more or less, but I'd expect something along the lines of incoherent zombie as she drifted in and out- at least till tomorrow." Jean shook her head and the elevator dinged, opening on a family that was obviously headed downstairs for the pool. It was an odd time of year for a family vacation, but there were always the few from colder climes that visited for a break from their weather. Jean pointed out room 4-47 as she searched her pockets for the card key.
"My father… he's still alive," Tara said softly. "Maybe our family line isn't like yours."
Jean opened the door without immediate response, tossing her purse on the bed. She turned, searching Tara's face before she spoke. "I don't think that's why your father has survived this long."
"She didn't feed on anyone else." Tara knew she was being defensive, even confrontational, but beyond preserving the honor of the most important person in her first seventeen years of life, there was something important here. If her mother had survived so long with one man- a man who never missed a day of work in his life- there had to be a way.
"Then she figured out something that no one I’ve met knows." The obstinate disbelief momentarily fueled Tara's ire further, but she crushed the emotion with practiced ease. Anger did nothing… but a visit back home was becoming unavoidable. An imperfect answer lay there, if Tara's suspicions about her mother's death were true, but it was more of an answer than any she had yet to find herself. If her father tried to keep her there? She had no way of knowing if it had been simple manipulation that kept her mother by his side, or whether the same power that had sustained her had also bound her to him.
Jean had picked up a little wicker basket, setting it on the small table by the sliding glass window that occupied half of the outer wall. The balcony there overlooked the parking lot toward the mountains to the east, missing the ocean view that the other half of the hotel must have. Tara noticed an ashtray there and a pack of cigarettes beside it. That explained the odd smell in the car- she might not smoke there, but the residual scent was inescapable. She wrinkled her nose without thinking, only to realize that Jean had just looked back in her direction. Before Tara could think up a way to cover for her rudeness, the succubus chuckled ruefully.
"Believe it or not, my doctor prescribed them- how did he put it- "for my nerves"… it was long time ago, but I've never fully kicked the habit." She shrugged with a what-can-you-do nonchalance, then brushed by Tara, heading for the bathroom. "Just let me get changed- I want to talk you through it first, but it'll help if I can demonstrate."
Tara wandered over to the table, noting that Jean had laid out a basic sewing kit. She couldn't help but notice the pill box on the dresser as well, half a dozen tablets and capsules filling each of the compartments. A vitamin enthusiast, maybe? Willow had said something once about vitamins being primarily useful for making expensive urine- a comment that sounded like it might be based in fact, but at the time had been aimed at avoiding uncooked green leafy substances.
There a note on neat hotel stationary laying out as well, giving dire warnings for their patrons about going out at night and noting that very few of the town's attractions were open after dark. 'Even in such a picturesque, welcoming town as Sunnydale, the unthinkable can occur…'.
Well, I suppose no one would take them seriously if they said 'vampires'.
"It can't possibly be as bad as they it make out, can it? This isn't exactly Compton." Jean had emerged, having changed into a comfortable pair of grey lounge pants. Tara found her attention fixed, however, on the tail that she saw behind it. It was not simply the fact that it was a tail which quite obviously belonged to the succubus before her, but that it seemed to be more than half covered by an angry, mottled bruise.
Jean raised her eyebrows, curling her tail upwards as if confirming that was what was drawing Tara's attention. The motion was deliberate, as if stiff.
"Courtesy of the other night- my jeans didn't have a lot of extra space in them."
Tara's tail twitched in sympathy. When the protection charm had touched Jean that night, the transformation had looked painful- and now it was clear why. Her tail must have been emerging as rapidly as the horns, only to have no where to go but against tough, tight denim.
The succubus settled into a chair, her tail draped behind her through the open back and undulating slowly from side to side. Tara realized belatedly that the pants Jean wore must have some accommodation for the extra appendage.
"It's not as bad as all that- my blood thinner makes for spectacular bruises. If it bothers you I can shift how it looks." Jean motioned for the bag Tara carried and the witch passed it over. "It doesn’t help it heal any faster so I didn’t bother."
"Blood thinner?" Tara glanced back at the pill box.
"Plavix- I've been on it since about six months ago. Mini-stroke." Jean pulled out the pajama bottoms first, grinning at the Flying Toasters print. "These are just precious."
The witch ducked her head. They'd been a gift from Willow, which she'd taken as a 'toaster' reference but had turned out to be a fascination with the screen-saver of old, which hadn't come in Willow's size. They were cute, and when it got chillier, it had seemed like a good idea to have some long PJs that didn't require her tail to be trapped against one leg all night. As she slid on a pair of glasses and poked around for a seam-ripper, Jean kept up her steady conversation,
"We can use a lot of the same medicines as humans- not everything, though. There’s a group that’s been keeping a record on the Board of the bad ones, but the hypochondriacs keep muddying it, saying that everything causes a reaction." Jean started cutting and teasing threads, motioning with her head for Tara to watch. "I'm only doing one of these for you, honey. The next one I'll help if you need it, but after that you're on your own."
"Medical stuff in general can be a problem- if you can possibly avoid it, I’d stay out of hospitals. If they want to X-ray, or MRI, or CT, or whatever, and you can't find a good way to refuse, expect some confusion."
"Even though succ-… w-we've been interbred with humans for all this time?"
"There's some creeping- my mother told me that my great grandmother could still really fly, but no one in the family since then can form the wings. We're more like obligate parasites than hybrids, when you think about it." Jean eyed the gap she'd made critically, then started to widen it slightly on one end. "The good news is that their infectious diseases can't touch us- except the common cold. I'm convinced that there's actually a demon causing that virus. Otherwise we'd have cured it by now, don't you think?"
Tara thought back. She'd never really thought about it, but she had anything more than colds growing up. Never the pink eye that went around in elementary school, not the stomach flu in junior high… not even chicken pox. Donny had his share, but she'd been spared. There was that nasty respiratory thing that kept her feverish in bed for the better part of a week in her freshman year of high school- during finals, no less- but her mother had gotten it too. Donny and her father? Untouched. Her father had evidenced his conviction in the rule "if you aren't bleeding, you aren't sick", sending her to school only to have to pick her up when the nurse promptly sent her back.
I guess that answers the STD question too…
Jean started stitching now, hand-surging the edges with a careful fold. The shape of the opening was probably important, but Tara didn't have an eye for sewing. Her mother had such a knack for it that she'd never had a reason to learn for herself.
"You said you'd had a stroke..?" Did all succubi die young then? Some younger than others, but just how long could she expect? The impermanence of life was a given, like the certainty of the seasons, but there was at least an estimate to work from in planning for the future.
"Mini-stroke. It didn't leave anything permanent, but…" she stopped to snip a thread, a certain resignation entering her words, "it makes you stop and think about what you want out of the days you have left on this earth. What you want to leave behind when you’re gone."
"We all die young then?"
Jean's work halted, needle part way through the material in her hand. She gave Tara a measured look over the top of her glasses, equal parts curious and disbelieving. "Hun… just how old do you think I am?"
There was no polite answer to this one. Not when she was pinned down to a direct answer. Tara decided against blatant underestimation, instead voicing what she and Willow had calculated some time the previous day during her debriefing of Jean's life story.
"Forty-seven or so?"
The full laugh that erupted was startling and thoroughly unexpected, the succubus dropping her sewing to her lap as she succumbed to mirth. A small, indignant part of Tara made her defend her answer,
"We did the math. You said you were nineteen when your brothers went to Vietnam, and my dad said he was drafted in 1970, so that would mean-"
"Wrong war, dear." The laugh had dimmed, but Jean still shook with continued chuckling as she wiped the amused tears from her eyes, "Oh, I forget how little you know… I'm sorry, I really shouldn't laugh at you."
Tara's mind started up the adjustment, "World War II? I don't remember the d-draft dates, but that would mean…" her eyes flicked over to the woman sitting across from her.
"I feel like I'm saying this a lot, but we aren't human." Jean leaned back in her chair, tail still moving lazily behind her, "Age doesn't affect us much on the surface, but on the inside I can feel ever bit of it. I've got arthritis, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and had to get my cataracts done a half dozen years back. My doc is mystified why someone 'my age' is in such sorry shape… the external changes are slow and you'll never have muscle atrophy or lose your flexibility like they do, but the years take their toll all the same."
"Dr. Kestenbaum- she's in New Zealand, does a lot of work trying to get accurate health information for us with a couple of PAs and nurses- she says that there's statistically less change in bone density too… but you're too young to worry about all that now and I'm hardly the best person for medical epidemiology. There'll be plenty of time to read what they've put online when you're interested."
It was a lot to think on and Tara couldn’t think what to say. Every new piece of information was another step away from what she thought she knew.
“If you think life is confusing now, just wait for menopause.” The succubus tied a quick knot and examined her handiwork before starting on the other rim.
The conversation meandered for another twenty minutes, after which Tara discovered anew that sewing was not necessarily as easy as other people made it look. As she tried to duplicate the neat work she had seen, Jean explained the theory of hiding tails.
The biggest pitfall was apparently the common tendency to think in terms of telescopes- which was as ineffective as it was disturbing to think about. Jean had likened the actual process to time lapse video of a seed sprouting, played in reverse. In the continuum of shifting, she warned, it was the hardest kind to maintain. Shifting without a template was akin to using a muscle you never even knew you had- not necessarily difficult, once you figured out what to do, but easily fatigued.
Tara had been prepared for failure, at least in the short term, but found herself pleasantly surprised. The other succubus had been tremendously impressed and after a few questions had determined that some of Tara’s mother’s teachings had been covertly responsible. That her mother had not entirely neglected Tara’s future wellbeing had been a welcome revelation.
When darkness fell it was Tara who called a close to the session. She’d borrowed the room’s phone to check in on Willow earlier, but despite her girlfriend’s continued reassurances she felt that she should be going back sooner rather than later. If nothing else, it would be better to walk back from the Magic Box before peak vampire time.
When Jean dropped Tara off, she had suggested another shifting session, this time with the suggestion that she dress in something with an elastic waistband. When Tara inquired, the succubus had said that it was purposeful portfolio building and until she’d really mastered shifting she was going to have to be careful about the fact that their cloths didn’t change with them.
-------TBC------------------
Posted in chat Sun 3/14/10 at 9:20pm PST.
^_^ All kinds of fun folks showing up... if only half of us weren't hacking up a lung- that part I wrote about the common cold? I almost believe it. *cough* My apologies for another "Jean talks and talks" section, but putting it all in retrospect or straight exposition seemed like an even worse option. There must be a better way of getting the information out, but I haven't come up with it.
General process notes:
It may not be obvious, but I do tend to do some basic research before I write- whether places, history, or psych research. It’s amazing what you can learn when your subject matter is randomized like this… I also referred back to some episode guides before I kept writing after I realized that I’d messed up when Joyce was home from the hospital, unintentionally endangering continuity, and decided that I should try to avoid this in the future (it’s hard to keep track, what with weekly episodes that may or may not represent passage of a full week- which I saw as daily reruns… not surprisingly, total time confusion resulted). So I looked up a few things and to my dismay discovered; they already used a fertility statue as a bludgeon! And a kind reader informed me that Douglas Adams already made up a world where socks appear rather than go missing (I read about 2 chapters of Hitchhiker’s Guide before deciding I didn’t like the writing style and haven’t read any of his books since- I suspect I am the only non-Amish person my age in the US who can say that), further damaging my sense of originality. *sigh* I guess I can't account for my subconscious...
Question to the Readers- I've been very careful about keeping everything 'in period' (no references past 1999) so far, but should I bother? It helps that I was Tara's age at time-of-series; I try to look back to my college memories, but it's been ten years and my recall is imperfect... it's a pain in the butt to keep checking Wikipedia for dates. Am I being OCD again, or does it add something? If it does- I'll keep checking (cuz I'm all about the little things that make the difference between 'okay' and 'worth reading'). If not, I'll just go with what I think is right and leave it at that (cuz I may be the only one who cares).
-Never
Edited to add: Oops. This is what happens when I don't look things up... air date was 2001, I was 2 years older than Tara at the time. I think this just supports my claim of temporal disorientation.
Last edited by
NeverChosen on Mon Mar 22, 2010 11:16 am, edited 1 time in total.
Overall, a very enjoyable chapter to read!
).
