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Generated: Aug 30, 2018 8:55 AM
Post last updated: Aug 30, 2018 8:55 AM
honey and brimstone
a not-quite-spn demon meets Honeysuckle Rose
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This bar is...concerning. She was not expecting to be in a bar. It is new and she has no idea how to handle it, which is terrifying, but she can't let her fear show. Showing weakness is always a bad plan. So she wanders around and inspects everything from the furniture to the mysteriously self-playing instruments with an air of casualness so practiced few could see past the facade. 

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Someone emerges from behind the curtain at the back of the stage.

She’s certainly not human. If her height weren’t enough indication of that, her proportions would be. She sways when she walks — it looks like it would be impossible for her not to, with the width of her hips.

“Welcome in, honey.”

Her voice is smooth and deep and sonorous.

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"--Thank you, I suppose. Welcome into where, exactly?"

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She laughs.

“It’s a bar, hon. Mine.”

She reaches the piano and pats it fondly. There’s a tinkle of high keys that sounds almost like a laugh.

“It’s just wonderful to meet you.”

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"...Okay. Why am I here?"

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“Because you’ve got a problem, and I can fix it for you.”

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"Really."

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“Mhmm.”

She steps down off the stage. It’s clearer up close how huge she is.

“We just have to figure out what it is.”

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"If you don't know what it is, how do you know there's a problem?"

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“Everybody who walks through my door has a problem, honey.”

She appears to look her over, sizing her up.

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"And you can always help?"

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“I can’t always get it all, sugar, but I can always help. They wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.”

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"Huh. What if two people came in at once?"

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She laughs.

“Aren’t you curious!”

She makes for the bar, beckoning for the girl to follow.

“Usually, it means both of them need my help.”

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--She follows.

"What if one of them is one of the problems that the other one has?"

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“Well, sometimes I can help with that too. I try not to judge, hon. Everybody comes out of here different than when they came in, anyway.”

She walks behind the bar, and her dress falls off.

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Bwah?

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It looks for a moment like she’s growing hair all over her torso — but, no, that’s not what it is. It’s thousands of little black threads, interweaving with each other and wrapping around her body until she’s wearing black instead of red.

“So. Tell me about yourself, honey.”

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...What the hell, it's not like she has any better options. 

"My name's Anna-Salome. I died in 1631."

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She makes a sympathetic sound.

“Mm, that’s no good. Did I pull you out of an afterlife, sugar, or are you undead?”

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"I'm a demon, now. This body isn't mine."

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Huh.

“Do you have one yourself?”

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"No. I mean, I guess maybe technically, depending on how you define 'body' and/or 'have,' but basically no."

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She nods thoughtfully.

“Mm. Worst case, we can find you something new...is this poor girl still in there?”

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"...Ish? Her soul's still here, but she's pretty much catatonic. --She was like that when I found her, promise."

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She nods again.

“Well, it wouldn’t be right not to try to get you something new...”

A moment of contemplation.

“Is it hard to get yourself into a new one?”

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"No. I can leave her for a bit and go back in right now, if you like."

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She nods.

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She sits down on the couch and leans back and relaxes every muscle she can and tips her head back and exhales.

A cloud of black smoke billows out of her mouth, leaving the body to go completely limp. The smoke floats over to Honeysuckle, drifts around her head a few times, then returns to the limp body on the couch and pours itself back down the throat. 

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This is actually a much better outcome than Honey was expecting.

 

“I think I can make you up something new. But it might be a little...odd for you. Do you have a strong stomach, hon?”

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She bursts out laughing.

"You don't have the slightest idea what becoming a demon entails, do you? Yes, I have a strong stomach."

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“I don’t at all.”

She starts to fish underneath the counter.

“Any preferences for skin color starting out? I can always change you up later.”

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"Uh, white, I guess."

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She nods, and retrieves what she was looking for from under the counter, which was apparently a very large clamp lid canning jar.

“Sit tight, hon. I won’t be a minute.”

She leaves the bar from the other side (her clothes stay on this time) and heads through a doorway.

 

 

When she returns (in a minute or two, as promised), the jar is half-full of white powder and translucent amber-colored goo.

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"Is that cocaine? Because this body is already addicted to that, and I'd rather not go through withdrawal a second time. It's not that big a deal for me but it's still annoying."

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She laughs.

“It certainly is not.”

She reaches the bar again, and removes what appears to be a bottle of milk from a nearby refrigerator, pouring some into the mixture. The ingredients ooze together.

“Just bone meal.”

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"...Huh. So my new body is going to be some kind of jack-and-the-beanstalk fee fi fo fum honeycake?"

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Pfff.

“If you want to put it that way.”

She retrieves a stirring implement and starts to mix everything in the jar.

“You need a substrate to turn smoke into anything with real substance.”

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"No, it makes sense. I'm down with being honeycake."

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She closes the jar, shakes the whole mixture up a bit, and reopens it.

Then she beckons and points inside.

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"Ah, okay, let me just put this down first," she says, and goes back to the couch and lies down and breathes herself out and floats over to the honey jar and inside it. 

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“Sorry about this part in advance, honey.”

She shuts the jar, and starts shaking it with incredible vigor.

 

As it shakes, something starts to bond with the smoke. There’s a feeling of incredible heaviness, of density, of something clinging like mud if mud then tried to subsume into your skin.

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Well.

This isn't exactly comfortable, but she's had worse. It's still new and different enough to be scary, though. 

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Senses recede until all that’s left is the cold sensation of glass on skin.

There’s a pause, then a thump down(? it’s hard to sense direction) onto something hard and cool.

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Sensory deprivation: still uncomfortable, still better than what it could be. 

She thinks she knows what's going on, vaguely. She wasn't exactly a baker, in life or since.

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There is a distinct feeling of being kneaded. It’s...actually quite pleasant, like a very deep massage.

 

Things begin to feel less dense and sticky.

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Huh. Neat. 

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More of the cold surface touches skin on all sides. This continues for a minute, and then stops.

Two firm hands begin shaping.

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That makes sense. Seems like it's going to get awkward when it comes to certain aspects of the detail work, though. 

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This would make sense, but then the hands come off and the shaping continues.

Something hardens inside, and — oh, those are bones — and those are legs, and now something opens up and many things separate and it’s dizzying, impossible to keep track of —

Breathing is now possible.

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She inhales. It feels--different, somehow. 

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A minute later, there are eyes, and then they become possible to open.

There’s a short standing mirror set in front of her, so she can see the body upon sitting up. It’s a completely sexless form with hairless, perfect, bone-white skin and dark eyes of an indeterminate color.

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She blinks, and attempts to sit up. 

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It works!

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"This isn't quite what I meant by white," she observes distantly, bringing one hand up to prod at her cheek. 

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“Oh, sorry, honey.”

Color blooms on her chest and spreads to the rest of her skin until she’s a pale but more natural peach.

“You have to be literal, doing this work.”

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"I guess." She studies herself in the mirror some more. "It's certainly...different."

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“Well, you haven’t told me how you want it yet, hon. I wanted to start you out clean.”

She looks over the new form.

“Mm, first...is standard female anatomy what you’re looking for, or did you want to try something new?”

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"Um, let's go with standard female," she says, slightly thrown by the question.

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“I can always touch you up if you ever change your mind.”

The lower half goes first. The feeling of the relevant parts forming is...definitely interesting.

The chest starts, then, growing quite slowly but steadily.

“Just say when, hon.”

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Oh no decisions.

"Now," she says after a while. 

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She stops growing at the indicated (quite respectable) size. Honey nods appreciatively.

“Do you want a robe before we keep on going?”

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"I don't really care."

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Well, she understands that attitude, for sure.

“Any thoughts on hair? Color, length, texture, special features...”

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She hesitates. 

"Do I have to go back? I--shouldn't stand out. If I go back."

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—oh, that’s always heartbreaking.

She shakes her head.

“No, honey. Never. I can find somewhere nice for you, and my regulars always love to help out...and you can stay here as long as you want.”

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"Okay. What kinds of special features are there?"

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She always loves this part.

“Anything you can think of, hon. Color-changing, prehensile, always floating, full of flowers...I had a girl who wanted snakes instead, and she was just so pleased with it.”

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"...Control is...good. I don't think I want snakes, though."

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She nods.

“They’re definitely not for everybody. Now, what’s your favorite color?”

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She chews it over for a moment. "Blue. Light blue. Sky blue."

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“You got it, honey.”

She snaps her fingers.

Fine, wavy sky blue hair cascades down off her scalp, over her shoulders and down to pool on the counter. And...it’s possible to feel the cool of the wood on her locks.

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...Oh wow. 

She attempts to lift the hair. 

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It lifts slowly behind her to float in midair.

Honey seems pleased.

“You’ll be able to pick things up and braid it with a little practice.”

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She grins.

"This is really cool."

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She laughs.

“Good. And is it you?”

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She pauses for a moment.

"...How do I tell?"

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“...well, that might take some time to learn.”

She admires the hair.

“You’ll be able to curl it once you’ve got your practice in, but do you want me to do anything with the texture? You don’t want to go near an iron with this.”

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She runs a hand through it. "It seems fine. Why not?"

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"It's got sensation, hon."

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"...Oh. Right. Normal people find that level of pain uncomfortable."

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"But not you, mm?"

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"I've had worse."

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"...Well, you'll want to be easy on it anyway, sugar. It can be sensitive to heat treatment at first."

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"Demons come from Hell," she says, shrugging and looking away. "We start out as the damned. I sold my soul to get out from under someone who was hurting me. I thought it was worth it. I was wrong."

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“...well, I’m not sending you back there.”

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"Even if you just sent me back to my Earth the other demons would find me."

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“I have plenty of different places I could send you off to, hon. Just depends on where you want to go.”

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She shrugs and looks away.

"It's...hard to know what I want, on a scale smaller than 'not get tortured' and bigger than 'air conditioning in the summer and a raspberry danish for breakfast'."

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“...It’s hard for a lot of people when they come through here. It takes a lot of knowing yourself.”

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“But you’ll have time.”

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"Good."

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“In the meantime...do you want a danish?”

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Small smile. "Yes please."

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She retrieves an order pad from behind the counter, scribbles something down and tears the slip off.

The slip is clipped to a wire above her head. Within a few seconds, it disappears.

“It’ll just be a minute. In the meantime, let’s see what we can do about your eyes.”

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"What about my eyes?"

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“You could keep them black, but if you want any special colors, or a glow, or anything else...”

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"--My eyes are black right now? Usually I have to do that on purpose--oh. You just mean the irises, don't you."

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"Mhmm. I can do your sclera too, though, if you want."

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"No, I'd rather still be able to do the thing." She demonstrates the thing, blinking: her eyes are black all the way through when she opens them. She blinks again, and her eyes have gone back to normal. "Glowing irises seem like they could have...unwanted side effects."

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She applauds quietly at the eye trick.

“Side effects?”

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"Um, eyes see by taking in light, right? And things that make light are worse at taking it in. Like how if you're driving at night it's bad if the interior light is on."

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She nods.

“...Mm, I forgot physics again.”

Speaking of which, there is now a generously sized raspberry danish on a china plate sitting on the counter.

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...Ooh. 

"Something else might be nice, though."

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“Just name it, hon.”

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She nibbles her lip. "Metallic would be cool," she throws out after a moment. "--Metallic silver with a slight gold shimmer?" She hesitantly reaches for the danish. 

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The danish is slightly warm and the pastry is flaky.

The next time she blinks, there’s an odd sticking sensation that makes it difficult to open her eyes. Once they do open, her irises are a bright, reflective silver, like liquid mercury, with golden overtones that show up especially where they catch the light.

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"Oh," she breathes when she sees it, temporarily distracted from the extremely delicious pastry. "That's beautiful."

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She smiles.

“And now it’s you.”

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She beams delightedly. 

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“Now, that’s what I like to see. You’ve got a gorgeous smile, honey.”

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--She blushes slightly at the praise and ducks her head. "Thank you." Then she takes another bite of danish. Fuck that's a good danish. 

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“Feeling up to more? We don’t have to do it all in one sitting if you want a break.”

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"Keeping going is fine. What's next?"

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“Let’s tweak your shape before we get too fancy. How’s that height?”

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"It's fine."

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“Shoulders and hips?”

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She considers herself critically. "More hip, I think."

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Her hips swell to a sensibly girly size. It’s a bizarre sensation — it creaks, and probably should hurt, but it doesn’t in the slightest.

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Huh. Weird. And it brings to mind another question but she can't seem to make herself ask it, although it may be apparent from her face that a question exists. 

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“Wondering about something, sugar?”

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"--When you were putting girl bits in, how thoroughly...?"

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“—Oh, that. Well, I do start from normal human fertility, but if you want anything rearranged just let me know.”

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"I don't know if I ever want kids but I definitely don't want them now or by accident."

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“Sure, honey.”

There’s a brief tingling sensation.

“There’s other ways to do this, but it’s simplest if you just come in for a tune-up when you’re ready. Don’t worry when you don’t bleed, that’s normal.”

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"I am not complaining. I've had enough blood for a dozen lifetimes."

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 She nods.

“It’s not most people’s favorite thing, but they still worry when it disappears. Although I’ve got some stories.”

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"Oh?"

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“I had a girl come in who wanted there to be blood every time she got wet. Seems like she had some misconceptions as a child, and they stuck.”

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"...Goodness. That seems messy."

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“It was. She was thrilled, the sweetheart.”

She looks over Anna-Salome again.

“Anything else for this part, hon?”

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She bites her lip, and admits, "I wouldn't really know."

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“Mm?”

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"I mean I'm not exactly a virgin but I've never really--not because I wanted to. I don't know what I like. It's not something I try to think about a lot."

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She wishes she heard this story less often. She really does.

"...well, honey, I can help you some with all that, but if you don't want to think about it now or ever I don't want you to have to."

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"...Help like how," she asks warily.

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“...Well, I don’t know if you’d want to try any shortcuts, but if there’s anything you want to try safely, or read about, or see...I can help.”

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"Shortcuts?"

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“I can take...a closer look at you. Figure out some of what’s hidden deeper in there. I’m not a mind reader, not really, but desires, those I know.”

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"I don't know if you'd like what you'd see."

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She laughs.

"Honey, whatever you want, I've seen somebody who wants it before."

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"It's not about what I want. If it's just what I want that you see it's probably fine. It's what I am."

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“Mm...I see that, in a way. But it’s not what you are, hon, it’s who.”

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"...I don't know how much those are the same."

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“Do you want to know?”

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"...I don't know if I want to know or not."

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"Well. Whatever you've got in there, I'm not about to judge. You should've seen me, when I was new."

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"...Oh?"

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"...That might be a story for another time, hon."

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"Okay."

You can try it if you want to."

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Well. Let’s take a look, then.

What are the base things she wants, most in the world?

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Her single most overriding desire is to be safe. 

A close second, and one that she isn't aware of, is to have people in her life who she can trust to defend her, if she ever isn't safe. 

She likes her creature comforts. She isn't the type to go for conspicuous consumption for the sake of it, but given the choice, she'll always take the coziest blanket, the softest pillow, the plushest, most devouring armchair, the pastry with the most frosting drizzled on it. 

Sexually speaking, she's a strong but not obligate submissive, and something of a xenophile. 

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Isn't this interesting.

Safety, that's something she can help her with – trusting other people, that might take a while, but there might be a good match for her...little pleasures are easy to get, here...

And this is a good place to be, for xenophiles.

"Maybe I should introduce you to some of my other clients, angel..."

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Blink. "Why?"

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"You're attracted to weird, hon. I've got plenty of it."

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"Oh. Huh." She contemplates this. "I...don't know how I feel about being introduced to people I'll be attracted to. But I like the idea of staying here."

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"Oh, there's no expectation, honey. But I understand if you'd rather not meet anyone right now."

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Shrug. "I dunno." She considers her hands. "I guess if I like weird that explains why I wanted a weird hair and eye color."

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"That doesn't take liking weird, honey, that's just something you wanted. But it might have something to do with it."

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Nod.

"I didn't...mean white-white, when I said white. But I think...I think I liked it. I think I was a little disappointed when you changed it."

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It's a little hard to tell her expressions apart, with her hair over her eyes, but you can practically feel her beaming.

"Well. That's easy enough to fix."

Her skin tingles, not unpleasantly, as the color starts to fade.

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She looks at her now much paler hands and smiles. "I do like it."

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“You look gorgeous in it, honey. Blue and white suits you.”

She leans a little against the counter.

“Now...what was that you said about staying, again?”

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"I feel safe here."