Character death - Anita (#2)

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Title: Girl-Talk
Word Count: 2,735 (omg)
Spoilers: If you know the basic outlines of ID and Micah and have heard about what goes on in the preview chapters for Danse Macabre, you’ll be fine.
Summary: Melanie and Anita talk about men.
Warnings: Badfic. No, really. I have my Anita-filter on. It takes forever to get to the point and the commas are like the eighth plague of Egypt. My thesaurus has also been severely neglected to the point where I think I’ve violated something in the Geneva Convention. Also, this is long. But only because of the whole Anita-filter thing.
Disclaimer: All things AB:VH belong to LKH. I'm just playing there.

Never in a million years did I think I would have pictured myself having girl-talk with Melanie. But there I was, wrapped in sheets, gun close at hand, while the lamia dangled a slip-on high heel from one foot. She showed off an awful lot of long, shapely leg as she crossed them at the knee.

I had to strain to think exactly what it was that we had in common to allow this chat. The last I had seen of her, Melanie had been on the losing side of a very public almost-war that took place in the Circus one Halloween a few years ago. She was immortal, so no matter what side she was on, she was going to survive.

I noticed with some discomfort that we matched. We both had similar colouring; pale skin against dark features. Only her skin was that cream that promised to tan well if it ever got some sun, her hair was straight and her eyes were a warm, friendly brown. To make things even more uncomfortable, she had her hair done in careful waves, the nailpolish on her fingers and toes to match the screaming red of her lipstick and dress. Jean-Claude’s sheets were the same colour as her outfit, the colour of fresh blood, and my hair was tousled from sleep and amazing sex.

About the only real difference between us – aside from the obvious fact that Melanie wasn’t in any way human and could turn the lower half of her body into a serpentine tail – was that she was tall, leggy and unblemished. I was small, busty and had most of my scars on display. My left arm looked like my doctor had the surname Frankenstein. Still, wasn’t there some sort of girl rule that said you should never have two people wearing the same outfit? I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t very good at this whole girl thing. That I had to have Jean-Claude teach me how to walk properly in high heels should tell you something.

She took the whole conversation in her stride, friendly and bright, like we had been talking over a coffee in some café and were going to embark on a shoe shopping adventure, or something equally girl friendly. I was having trouble following what was going on. I was used to dealing with cops, with vamps, with shapeshifters and all the assorted crap that went with it. I was used to dealing with men. I know I bitch about being the only woman in the boys’ club, and as lonely as it is, it’s nowhere near as confusing as being in the girls’ club.

Melanie quizzed me on how many men I currently had and what I did with them. My first reaction was to tell her that what I did with my boyfriends was none of her business. She’d flashed concern that the boys weren’t happy with the current arrangements and I felt my fingers inching toward the gun. She had no right to imply that they wouldn’t be happy. Why wouldn’t they be happy? For the first time in years, my personal life – while complicated – was actually functioning. At home, I had the support and stability of Micah and Nathaniel, here, at the Circus, I had the luxury of Jean-Claude, Asher and Damian. Somewhere amongst all that fell Richard, but…the less said about that, the better. Though, after all the crap of our last fight, we’d both put some effort in to being civil to one another outside of the bedroom. No, everything was looking up. So I didn’t know why Melanie was asking me these things.

“How many are you trying to juggle, Anita?” She asked for the second time.

“Five, or so,” I finally admitted. I briefly thought about Byron and Requiem, but decided they didn’t count. Then I thought about the fight I’d had with Ronnie, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to confide in another woman right now. Then again, Melanie wasn’t human, wasn’t a white-bread American and used to have her own harem – or should that be a hisem?

She laughed, and it was a full, throaty sound, the kind that turns heads. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not going to scold you. Five is a nice number. Hard work, but worth it.”

I blinked and frowned. She was right. The boys were almost exhausting, but I wouldn’t give up any for the world. I didn’t like the idea that Melanie and I could agree over something.

“It’s not the same with me as it was with you.” I told her.

“No, it’s not.” The pink tip of her tongue slid over her glistening red lips. “I’ve had practice. I know how to keep them begging for more.”

I just stared at her. There had been plenty of begging going on in this very bed no more than a few hours ago. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

Her brow creased as she frowned back at me. “Perhaps I’m being far too delicate about this. Look, Anita, I’ve heard that not all your men are happy about the way you treat them. I thought I could offer some advice on the quiet, girl to girl.”

“There’s a difference, Melanie. You kept pets. I don’t treat people like that.” My words came out harsh and angry and when I saw the wounded look on her face, I could only stare some more.

“I did no such thing!” She said breathily, like she couldn’t muster enough strength to shout at me. I’d hurt her feelings? That wasn’t right. Shouldn’t I be the one upset about her accusation of mistreating my men? “I loved them. All of them.” She said softly and hung her head, letting her hair fall forward in a perfect, shining veil. “I let them know how much they meant to me. I treated them with respect. And in return, they loved me."

“You turned them into monsters.” I shuddered at the memory.

“I’m not human, Anita, I can’t breed with humans.” She sounded like she was starting to cry. “Now I can’t breed at all, and I will live forever.” Her voice dropped to a tearful, plaintive murmur. Her shoulders trembled with her silent sobs. Shiiit. I was actually starting to feel bad for her. That was all kinds of wrong. She sniffed and raised her face toward me. Her careful eyeliner was smudged and stained her tears black as they rolled down her cheeks. Double shit. “Just you wait until you’re without anyone you love, and you will see.”

I tried to put myself into her high heels. If I had lost Micah, Nathaniel, Jean-Claude, Asher, Damian, Requiem, Byron, or Jason, would I be as broken up about it as she was? Hell, even without Richard? Maybe…yes. I felt an awful ache in my heart, the ache that I’d felt when I realised how much Micah meant to me. It wasn’t a good ache. It was that ache that told you that he had your heart, your soul, and could easily rip them both to pieces.

I decided to be diplomatic. “I spend as much time as I can with my boyfriends.” I said, still defensive, but I was trying. Brownie point for me. I was still puzzled over who could possibly be unhappy. And who the hell would ever tell Melanie? Did any of them actually know who – and what – she was? I couldn’t think of any reason as to why my men would talk to her.

“Yes, but do you share them?” She blinked at me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I knew I shared Asher with Jean-Claude. The idea had taken some getting used to, but I was finally getting my head around it. I was still thrown by the idea of Asher wanting Nathaniel, so I didn’t know how I felt about that yet.

I tried to think – could I share them? I know Richard liked other women, but he hardly counted. I remembered the mob of women out back of Guilty Pleasures, swamping Nathaniel. I couldn’t bear the idea of any of them with him. They didn’t understand him like I did. They didn’t know what made him happy. My talk with Detective Jessica Arnet had proved that.

“I didn’t think so.” Melanie said as she delicately wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “There’s no way you can keep them all to yourself and happy, Anita.”

“So what are you saying, that you’d like me to share…with you?” I felt the anger rise in me as I said it. The idea of Melanie with any of my men was just too…disgusting.

“Me? Well…” She tilted her head as she thought about it. “It would only be fair, considering I would have shared my harem. I’m offended that you haven’t made me the same offer.”

“Kissing isn’t a problem, it’s your fangs I’m worried about.”

She laughed, but it was bitter. “Water under the bridge, Anita. This is all past. Things have changed – you’ve already taken my advice and gotten yourself more than one man. And what would it serve me to bite one of them? Nothing. Jean-Claude would throw me out of the Circus.”

I gaped at her for a second time. Because for a second time, she was right. Damn, she was right. At first, I’d been aghast at the idea of having more than one man in my life – now I couldn’t live without any of them. Melanie leaned forward and touched my chin, closing my mouth. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Things have changed, Melanie, but I’m not going to share with you.” I growled and fought the urge to flinch from her touch.

She shrugged one pale shoulder. “I suppose it was too much to ask.”

I was back to glaring at her. “You had someone in mind?”

“No, no.” She said with such sincerity, it was almost painful to look at. “I just…I just want us to be friends.”

“We’re not friends, Melanie.” I shook my head.

“But we could be, Anita! Very good friends. How many of your girlfriends can honestly look you in the eye and discuss the choices you make? I’ve been in this country long enough to know that most women set out to find one man – just one – and have to force themselves to be happy with that choice. I’ve also found that people are intimidated by a woman that is in charge of her choices.”

I frowned harder, not really believing what I was hearing. I was used to shouting and screaming, tears and stubbornness. I was used to getting fed up with explaining things to people who didn’t understand. So how could it be that the one woman in St Louis that made any sense just had to be a lamia too?

“Anita?” She asked and moved forward.

I flinched back. “Don’t…just, don’t.”

She paused as her shoe fell from her foot. The high heel hit the carpet with a gentle thud. “I don’t understand. You’re…angry?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t sure how I felt, so there was no way that I could tell her. I was confused and angry and surprised and hurt and sad all at once.

“Anita, talk to me,” she kicked off her other shoe and got to her feet, moving to my side. “Please?”

“It’s…just…” My voice refused to work, so the words were choked out. Maybe it was the please, but I could suddenly feel my face burning with unshed tears. “I never expected anyone to understand. How could they?”

“I understand,” Melanie said softly as she reached out and gently touched my hair. “Anita, I don’t want you to be upset with me. I’ve spent far too long being angry with you. We are even, yes?”

I looked up at her, wariness slowly bringing me back to my senses. But I nodded. It was like some great burden had been lifted from my soul. I wasn’t quite so lonely any more.

She smiled, and it reached her eyes, warm and sparkling. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a fierce hug. I froze, unsure of how to respond, but figured it was all in good spirit. This talk had been good. We’d cleared a lot of air and issues. I slowly wrapped one arm around her slender body and hugged her back.

“Good, good.” She said softly and I felt her kiss my brow. Her lips were cool and soft. I loosened my hold on her, starting to get uncomfortable with how long this hug was going on for.

“Okay, Melanie, you can let me go now.” I told her. “Really.”

Her hold tightened, pinning my arms to my sides, and lifted me off the bed, still tangled in sheets.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled, pushing against her as best I could. I tried to kick at her knee, only she no longer had knees. From the waist down, she was all scales and muscle. I felt her cold, smooth tail wrap tightly around my waist.

“I told you, Anita, I told you that I would see you dead,” she hissed in my ear. I felt something tickle my skin and hoped it was her breath, not her forked tongue.

“But…but…” I gasped and her arms and tail both tightened as soon as my breath left my body. I shakily dragged air into my lungs, but it wasn’t enough.

“You studied biology, Anita. You should know that snakes are very patient predators.” She cooed. Another breath out and she hugged me harder, her tail squeezing painfully around my body. “You should also know that pythons take their time killing prey."

“You’re…not…a python!” I rasped. I knew that those dainty fangs that pressed against her lips were poisonous.

“No, but I do enjoy a slow death. You deserve it, girlfriend. You deserve it for how you killed my mates.” Things started to go hazy and grey, stars dancing across my vision as she tightened her hold yet again. I should be shouting for Jean-Claude, for all the good it would do me. I looked back to see my gun very black against the bed. Stupid, so very stupid.

I trembled as I tried to fight the claustrophobia that hit me – that awful, gut-wrenching panic that made my heart thunder and my blood roar in my ears. Rationality left me as I scratched and fought against the lamia. All she did was tighten her hold a little at a time. The world finally grew dim and dark and I sank down into a deep pool of unconsciousness.


Melanie hung on for a long time after Anita had passed out. She held on until she could hear the dull crack and pop of bones and warm blood spilled from Anita’s ashen lips. Then she slowly unwrapped herself from the corpse and let it crumple to the floor. She carefully untangled the sheets from the body and settled herself down next to the bed.

She grasped Anita’s ankles and lifted her feet toward her face. The lamia’s jaw made a sickening series of clicks and pops as it unhinged. This…was going to take a while.

Hours later, Melanie checked her makeup in the mirror. She had taken advantage of the bathroom after her meal. The tub now had a pile of broken bones and a ball of hair sitting in it. She’d raided Anita’s toiletries bag and found a lipstick that took her fancy – Harlet red. She liked it for the irony. She took a step back and slipped on her shoes, then smoothed her hands down her dress. The fit was a little more snug against her curves, her belly just a little pooched. This had been a good meal, much better than the rats in the bowels of the Circus. She didn’t think anyone had noticed that their numbers had gone down, then mysteriously started to swell again. It wasn’t often that Melanie got to eat like this.

She gave herself a nod of approval and sashayed out of Jean-Claude’s bedroom and headed for the stairs out.

“Hey Melanie,” Ernie, Jean-Claude’s cabana boy when Jason wasn’t around, greeted her in the hall.

“Ernie!” She blew him a kiss. “If you see Jean-Claude, can you tell him that I’m borrowing the limo tonight? Oh, and don’t wait up. I have a date.”