© 1998 by Nicole Peeler
Archived here with the author's kind permission.
HTML by Laplor
Please bear with me. This is the first fan fic I've ever written, and it's not really very fannish. Any and all comments welcome, especially with my rather pathetic attempts at Spanish, since all I know are really dirty words and they aren't appropriate.*covers her ears*
Anyway, I hope you all like.
Nicole Peeler email@example.com
She was walking slowly down the street, hampered by her short, heavy legs. Her tennis shoes reflected a multitude of colors that, although still visible to the human eye, lit her up like a Christmas tree to his immortal senses. He could smell her heart, beating fast from the exertion of walking too quickly, and he could smell her blood, almost covered by her shampoo, her deodorant, her body wash. . .all of the things mortals used to cover up the stink of their own existence.
A street lamp hit her hair just so, and it was like a volcano suddenly flared up in front of him. Thank you Lady Clairol, he thought with a cruel smirk as he thought how easy it would be to take her. The red glints faded as darkness engulfed her again, although with his vampire eyes she may well have been standing still in a flood light. On its current whim, society would dub her "overweight", and nutritionists would probably call her "obese" and make her eat spinach all day. Of course, in his mortal days, she would have been called a beauty, and would have posed in front of the greats. They would have sketched her soft curves lovingly, caressed her heavy white breasts and hips with their gaze, comparing her to Venus. Now they would have to air brush out about 18 inches to even find her passable.
Vachon smiled to himself, remembering. In those days, men could dominate women simply by the fact they were granted a penis at birth. Now that women were claiming to actually be human, men had to control them in other ways. Forcing them to vomit after every meal, or pray for the insanely high metabolisms that were cursed in his day, was the closest they could get to actually controlling a situation. But this one had a normal metabolism, and no self control which with to eat only lettuce, and no desire to vomit whenever she did eat something considered a snack by most men.
So, she would be easy to take. She probably hadn't been adored by a man in years, if ever. And, she was going to one of those fancy colleges that charged more than kings saw in his day, so she was probably considered a nerd as well as chubby. Mortals and their slang, he liked it almost as much as their blood.
She was mumbling something to herself in a seductively deep voice, and smiling as she walked. Probably amused by a remark she'd heard some handsome man make to his pretty lady. Probably putting herself in the lovely's shoes, since, despite what women today said, he knew things hadn't changed that much since he'd been brought over, and all women wanted to be beautiful. They all wanted to be worshipped as sex goddesses no matter how "educated" they were. How else would he keep finding victims. . .er, lovers?
Her pace started to slow, and she was eyeing street signs, so he figured she was close to her destination. He would have to make his move. . .now.
"Christ." was all he got for a response. What the fuck?
"Sorry, he's out for the day, may I take a message?"
She just kept walking. No, really, what the fuck??? He was almost, but not quite, at a loss for words.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"That's because it's not a baseball, nor am I Mark Mcgwire."
"Querida, your scorn hurts me."
This stopped her short. The Spanish speaking, I'll lick fried ice cream off your belly, Latin machismo always worked.
"Excuse me?" she said, her voice sounding weary.
"Amante, why do you hurt me so?"
She stopped dead in her tracks. Blue eyes met brown, and he felt a jolt. Dios her eyes were gorgeous.
"Look, I am not an extra with huge, miracle-bra tits in Zorro. Nor are you Antonio Banderas. Even if you were, that's not the point. Don't start speaking to me in Spanish, and expect me to cum all over the spot. I've already heard it all. From 'Hey baby, come check out the Puerto Rican Pipeline', to 'Baby, I'll patrol your border anyday'. I've known nobility from Spain to chettos from the ghettos, and the ones I liked didn't hold my interest just because they could insult me with pet names in prettier languages than English. Thanks, please drive through."
With this, she kept walking.
He kept standing, stunned.
Suddenly she stopped, and turned. "Oh, and by the way. You're really good looking. Stop acting like a frat rat and actually talk to a woman's face, and maybe you'll get somewhere next time. And just because you're a vampire, not all women will trade in their lives for one hot orgasm. That's why God created batteries."
How the fuck did she know all of this????
Somehow they'd drifted almost to the door of the apartment complex which was obviously her destination.
She turned and smiled at him, a smile bright with humor and intelligence, and offered him his hand. He kissed it out of instinct, still too confused to even begin to know what had just happened. Once more that deep, sexy voice growled at him.
"If you get a clue, stop by."
With that she was gone, safe within the confines of her home.
Why did mortal women have to be so smart these days?