As hideouts go, it's a strange one for a vampire. A crypt is a bit gloomy and cliche, but sturdy and easily defensible. A cute little cottage in an impressive state of repair and maintenance has no such benefits, even if it is kind of cozy and adorable. If the previous owners weren't the unfortunate victims of horrible bloody murders, it'd be downright idyllic.

There's no sign of movement from the cottage. The vampire's definitely inside, and probably asleep by this hour. Even if they aren't, there aren't a lot of avenues of retreat during the day. According to the last floor plan of this residence, there's no basement to reliably hide from the sun in. Most of the rooms even have windows, though the shutters have clearly been neatly nailed shut. For a vampire with a sense of self-preservation, this really isn't a great place to defend from vampire hunters.

Floor plans are not actually that reliable when a vampire moved in a while ago. Renovating is easy with super strength. She'll try to be careful of traps anyway.

Once the sun is high enough, she cracks her knuckles and mutters "showtime" to herself, then carefully starts approaching the fairytale cottage.

The fairytale cottage fails to materialize any traps. The front door is sturdy, heavy, and dead-bolted shut, but hardly any danger. Or protection.

Yeah, pretty much. She'll still study more stealthy ways of making an entrance, like maybe picking locks and cutting deadbolts? But if there are none she's sure her foot key will be sufficient to grant her passage.

The door does not yield to ordinary means of sneaky ingress, but yields just fine under the power of her almighty foot.

Inside the fairytale cottage is... a surprisingly homey interior. No obvious signs of a vampire here. There's a couch, coffee table, television, tasteful decorations, books neatly placed on shelves. None of the books even look particularly occult; a bit trashy, maybe, but not evil.

...okay... she'll actually feel really bad if this is just some nice old lady's (old witch's?) cottage she just broke into.

Well. Onward. Slowly and carefully but onward.

The house continues to look innocent and neatly kept and perfectly ordinary. The most out of the ordinary thing is a mug in the kitchen sink, filled halfheartedly with water and then abandoned to clean later. While the water is an unassuming rusty brown, the contents can be identified as (highly diluted) blood.

And then someone from further inside calls out, "Excuse me, can I help you?"

Why... dilute it? And. A mug? What?

But well, okay, if it's a witch it's a witch who uses blood. ........which may describe literally all witches..........

And then she immediately whirls on her feet to face the direction the voice came from, stake raised to the level of her eyes. She's still trying to pay attention behind herself—could be a trick, after all—but most of her focus is on that direction.

And there is a woman standing in a chemise that is so revealing it's a wonder why she didn't opt to instead go naked. It looks like she emerged from the bedroom.

"Hi, yes, homeowner here, why are you breaking and entering and. Waving around bits of wood?"

...uh.

"Because you're a vampire," she tries.

And before the vampire has time to respond she's pouncing.

The pretty and scantily-clad redhead retreats back into the hallway with a little yelp.

"I beg your pardon? Are you on drugs? Do you have the wrong house?"

"Lady, there is blood in your mug. And seriously? A mug?"

"What—?" the woman continues backing up into her bedroom. "Oh, damn, I knew I should have cleaned up before going to bed. You know what this is? It's racist. Have I actually done anything?"

That actually gives her pause. Like a tenth second's pause. "I haven't met a good vampire yet," she says, shrugging and trying to maneuver the vampire into a corner (being mindful of potential traps in her bedroom).

The vampire is obligingly backed into a corner by the bed. She's nervously eyeing possible escape routes and also Jaqueline, but still not actually attacking her.

"Not all humans are good, but most of them manage not to murder people! Is it so surprising that a vampire would have some sense and self preservation?"

That actually stops her. "Wait, what?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and then stops and tilts her head.

"... You're not the Slayer," she says, blinking. "You're too old. You know what, no."

Her eyes meet Jaqueline's, and they're the most beautiful thing the vampire hunter's ever seen. Lovely and grey-green with flecks of chocolate brown, set with long dark lashes and the faintest traces of color on her perfect pale skin, and—

—wait, how did she get in this bed and in these handcuffs. Where's her stake? What just happened??

...fuzzy handcuffs. She's. Tied to a bed in fuzzy handcuffs.

Well.

Count her as terrified and horny.

But also "Wait, what?"

"Let's do this again with the power dynamics skewed in the other direction, hm?" purrs the lovely redheaded vampire who is next to her on the bed, and leaning over her and smiling. "Hi. I'm Yvette. I'm a vampire. Since turning I've never killed anyone, and also never bitten anyone without their consent. And your name?"

Fuck. That's.

Really hot actually.

"Jaqueline. Jack, for short. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I wish I could say the same, lovely, but you broke down my front door! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get contractors that work at night?" She scoots closer to Jack and begins snuggling her, idly caressing her neck. "It'll be weeks before it's properly fixed."

"I could get you fixed up along with an apology note, if your no-murders excuse is actually true," she says, looking down at the very much only technically not naked vampire touching her.

"Oh, it is. Since lie detection magic exists I thought it wise to actually be as upstanding as I appear to be, just in case. Besides, bodies are such a pain to hide, you know? So heavy and gross." She nuzzles Jack's neck and hums. "But you're interesting, aren't you. Too well equipped to be a hobbyist or loner, too much thought and reasoning to be a Watcher. I'd thought you were the Slayer, but no, the last one died a year ago and so the new one would still be in that awkward teenage phase. Besides, I'm not really worth her time. Or yours, for that matter, why are you here."

"Low-key vampire around town, too good at staying quiet and not making waves, our scrying nets caught you a few times and I thought, hey, I got a free Sunday."

"Ugh. So you just broke into a strange vampire's house without cause or doing your homework first? Were you even aware that I'm a witch?"

"...well I suspected it. And I did do homework! I even have your house's floor plan!"

"Do you feel very much like you get full marks for your submitted homework," breathes Yvette into her ear. She presses a chilly kiss to Jaqueline's neck, and gently wraps her arms around her torso.

Well the chilly vampire's skin is absolutely not the only reason Jack shivers, and she's not interested in hiding this fact. "Perhaps I should have looked further into your business." She turns her face ever so slightly—away from Yvette, exposing more of her neck. "What is my punishment, teacher?"

Yvette laughs.

"Oh, you're fun. I like you. Well, if I let you go on your merry way when nightfall comes and I can safely enter my living room, am I likely to regret it?"

"No, ma'am. I might pay you a future visit with that lie detection magic."

"You may, but only if you promise to ring the damn doorbell like a civilized person." That last part comes with a hint of a growl, followed by another chilly kiss to Jack's exposed neck. "'Ma'am' is a good start though, how very clever of you."

Okay this has turned out much differently than expected but not in an altogether negative way. Not at all.

"Yes, ma'am. I will be the most civilized vampire hunter you have met."

"Oh, will you now? And how will you go about earning my forgiveness?" She raises her eyebrows and walks her fingers up Jaqueline's body. "Besides having the door fixed, of course, because since you offered that's now non-negotiable. I mean for my emotional distress at having my home invaded by this strange person threatening me with something sharp?"

"I am sure ma'am is more creative than me and could give me suggestions on how to best atone for my mistake."

"Hmmm, all right, if you are mine to use at my disposal." And then the vampire is on top of her, weight pinning her to the bed, and running pale, chilly hands down her body. She leans down and breathes in her ear, "You know, usually I oblige when my guests ask me very nicely to bite them. But you? I don't think I'm inclined to unless you beg, lovely."

Oh fuck. Why is Jack wearing clothes. Not that she can do anything about this, now.

Well. She can beg. She is even good at it. Lots of practice, one might assume.

Lots and lots and lots of practice.

Come evening, she is unceremoniously shoved out the door with (most of) her clothes, several hickies, long and stinging fingernail scratches, a couple bruises, two bite marks (one on her neck, one on her inner thigh), and one piece of paper outlining the precise specifications that Yvette would like her door fixed by.

"Remember. Doorbell. Or I make it worse next time, hm?" She smiles brilliantly at Jaqueline, then closes what's left of her front door in her face.

So that was. Probably the actual literal best possible outcome of an encounter with a vampire?

Jack wants to do it again.

Yvette gets an email in an hour from a big LA construction company. They want to know when it's best for them to show up, and note that they can't come earlier than an hour and a half from now.

Oh, excellent, Yvette would love to see them in two hours, if they can make it tonight. If not, sometime this week would be good. And has everything with payment already been sorted out?

Yes, absolutely.

They are very punctual.

Excellent, she so loves seeing competence at work when it's benefiting her!

Her door is fixed before daylight arrives (with added bonuses to prevent it from being similarly kicked open in the future), the construction company gets her sincere thanks and compliments, and Yvette goes about her night as if nothing out of the ordinary happened at all.

Jack emails her the next evening asking when she'd like to be magically interrogated.

A couple nights from now, please, between this time and this time, at a location in Sunnydale of their choosing. So she does not have to go all the way to LA, and they don't have to do their magical interrogation in a place of her choosing, where she could presumably fix the results. Somehow.

Reasonable!

There's this demon bar.

She knows of it! And thinks it would be fine, as long as they could please have their magical interrogation in private, where every demon and their mother can't listen in.

And, at the appropriate time, here is a vampire who claims she hasn't killed anyone!

The vampire hunter is downing something and then laughing uproariously at something a scaled orange demon with green horns all over its face has just said.

    "And then she said, 'what, do I have something on my face?'"

And at that Jack nearly spits her drink out.

Yvette smirks at the sight, then slides in next to her and orders her own drink.

"I think you forgot something at my place, last time you were there," she says to Jack, setting down several very familiar baubles in front of her.

.... Not all of them, though. The ones for enhanced eyesight and hearing are missing, along with the enhanced reaction time.

"Yvette!" Jack exclaims. "Good to see you. Have you met—"

    "Oh aye, she comes over sometimes."

"Does she? Man, I really didn't do my homework there, did I?" She looks at the charms and shrugs. "You can keep those, too, I got replacements already."

"You really, really didn't! And alright, if you insist on showering me with gifts so soon in our relationship." She winks, and the charms disappear. "She broke into my house," she adds conversationally, to Jack's new friend. "Still trying to make up for it."

    "Girl, you done fucked up."

"I know, I know, mea culpa! But, you know, vampire hunter, vampire..." Jack downs another shot of whatever unholy concoction she's drinking then slams her glass on the counter with a satisfied click of her tongue. "Let's grab ourselves a booth, you and I," she says, gesturing between herself and Yvette with a finger.

Yvette chuckles, then picks up her drink and waves goodbye with her free hand.

"It worked out okay in the end, she saw reason and apologized for her mistake," agrees Yvette, smirking again. "Lovely seeing you."

And then: booth!

Once they get there, Jack reaches into her pocket and drops a coin onto the table. A forcefield springs into existence around them. "Temporary, short-lived, just to get the main questions out of the way."

"Sure." She props her head on top of her folded hands, elbows on the table and looking at Jack sort of like a cat does towards a mouse. "Ask away."

The next bauble is a top she sets onto the table and then spins. "Have you ever killed another sapient being?"

"Yes. Before I turned. I don't expect you to take issue with any of those that I killed, considering your profession, but I can offer more specifics if you'd like. After, no."

Jack looks at the top, nods, then asks, "Have you ever taken blood from nonconsensual subjects after you turned?"

"Yes, because I do not think that blood donors would consent to a vampire stealing their blood to drink, which I have done, but haven't hurt anyone in so doing, and only did early on before I convinced people to donate their blood willingly. I have since stopped, and have no plans to return to the practice now that I have willing subjects. I have not directly taken blood from a nonconsensual sapient subject, through biting or through bloodletting or other means of blood acquisition, though I doubt the animals that offer blood for this bar consented, so I can't really say that for nonsapients."

Jack watches the top for a couple more seconds then grabs it and puts it back into her pocket before beaming at Yvette. "Well, well, well. A nice vampire. The world sure is bigger, huh."

"It's almost like I'm aware people will show up to kill me if I kill people, or something! Who knew!"

"Well, not all vampires have this notion. And a rare few are skilled enough at a thing or two to actually give us a headache. Speaking of which, how do you feel about joining my large rich organization of do-gooders who hunt evil things and prevent apocalypses?"

Yvette snorts. "No. Why would I do that? That doesn't sound good for my life expectancy at all. Besides, didn't your large rich organization of do-gooders utterly fail at killing me? What do you possibly have to offer me?"

"Well, it was me and my free Sunday that failed at killing you, but you do have a point. However, picture this: a penthouse with untinted UV-filtering windows in LA."

"Picture this: I am an unaging vampire with a work ethic. If I play my cards right - and I think I rather have so far - I have nothing but time. Why do I need to go through you for a penthouse when I can just legitimately earn an income and buy my own in a century?"

"Rare magical ingredients and artifacts to play with?" she offers.

"If you have any you'd like to send to me, please absolutely feel free! But I also don't see why I need to source any of that through you, either. Most of your charms weren't worth whatever you paid for them." She retrieves the baubles and begins counting through them. "Enhanced strength, can be found from several kinds of neutral demon who think it's clever to peddle their toys at squishy humans." Her fingers go to the next one. "Toughness, common as dirt but more expensive because no one that buys them knows any better," next, "Reflexes, seemingly not a bad investment, but this one was made by that hack of a witch in Santa Monica, and will fall to pieces at the first sign of trouble. Should I go on? If this is what you outfit your members with, I'm not impressed."

"Well, you see, good witches are hard to come by, and most of the human ones go crazy or evil or both. We lost a good batch last spring to a magic-eating demon, too, it was tragic."

"My condolences for your losses," she says, without particularly sounding it, "but they're not my problem. If you have a particularly noteworthy apocalypse that might actually have a shot at ending the world, you have my email. I hardly want this world destroyed, since I live here. However, I don't see how joining the goodie-goodies can possibly be good for my lifespan."

"Alright, hard bargain, then. Let's see, how about this: have you ever heard of an artifact called the Gem of Amara?"

"Please don't insult my intelligence, of course I know of the Gem of Amara," sniffs Yvette. "What about it? I'm as likely to be won over by it as I am by a bridge in the desert."

"Oh, I suppose the ex-Slayer vampire that has it and who we're closing in on is not relevant, then."

"... Fine, I'm listening."

Hook, line, and sinker.

"She has some really pretty powerful anti-scrying enchantments on," Jack continues. "And is, as I said, an ex-Slayer. But we got a lock on her and it's only a matter of time before we turn her to dust. And then we'll have this artifact that's only useful for vampires. If only we had a vampire we were willing to lend it to."

"Well if you'd like to wrap it up and send it to me as a present, I certainly wouldn't say no, but you'll forgive me if I don't find your acquisition claim all that plausible."

"But if we did get our hands on it..."

She sips her drink, thoughtfully.

"... Possibly. Depending on the details of our partnership. I'm not going to be your little golden retriever witch, jumping at every chance to please my rich master. If you expect that, you will be sorely disappointed."

"That's not what I was thinking at all. You'd be an employee, which means you get monthly compensation as well as additional compensation for missions you help us with. That penthouse is still on the table, by the way. There would be terms for you to sign regarding magic materials but I am sure someone as good at magic as you would be responsible." She almost purrs that compliment, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. "Maybe I could show you around the office, so you know what we look like when we're at our most competent."

Snort. "And I would have the right of refusal for missions, no arm twisting if I think it's too likely to get me on some big nasty's radar and get me killed. And the ability to cut ties and leave if I so desire, I refuse to allow myself to be trapped."

"Just like every other employee, yes."

"Mhm. I think something set up more like consulting work than actual employment with hours and healthcare and whatnot. I don't particularly trust any one of you to not try to sacrifice the amoral vampire when it's convenient, however pretty your compliments and however depleted your magical staff is. And if I terminated my employment, would I get to keep the Gem of Amara, for my good behavior and sensibility?"

"That can be worked out with legal. But the fact that you're amoral is completely irrelevant to our purposes—here." Jack reveals the spinning top again and spins. "Tell a lie."

"I am six foot one and built like a linebacker," she deadpans to the top.

The top stops spinning and falls onto the table.

Jack sets it upright and spins it again. "Were we to enter a professional relationship, we would be no more likely to sacrifice you or throw you under the bus or anything like that than we are to do so to any other employees. The fact that you're an amoral vampire will mostly be a social curiosity among staff, which already contains more than a few nonhumans." The top continues to spin.

"... Interesting. And you would seek to shield me from any backlash from the ex-Slayer's 'friends,' should they take offense to my having stolen their boss's shiny?"

"Of course." It still spins.

"And your organization doesn't already think its normal employees are expendable or available for sacrifice for 'the greater good' or some nonsense? I've heard of how the Watchers work, you know."

She scoffs. "No, nothing like that. The Watchers are absurd and if we knew where the Slayer was right now we would be offering her our protection. We are looking, actually."

"Good for you. And yes, they are." She hums thoughtfully and sips her drink again. "My favorite color is crimson red," she says experimentally to the top, to make sure that it definitely works.

Yep, it stops spinning.

She spins it again.

"How close are you to offing the ex-Slayer?"

"Best guess? She'll be dust in less than two weeks."

Spin spin spin.

"And what's your current largest wrench in the operation's success?"

"Actually pinning her down. As I mentioned, her anti-scrying enchantments are very good. We can now consistently locate places where she's recently been, and so she has been on the run from us for a while now. It always seems delayed—sometimes our spells tell us she is extremely definitely standing four feet in front of us when she is evidently not. The delay is shrinking, though."

She hums thoughtfully.

"You began hunting her seriously around, mm. Eight to six months ago?"

"Yes."

Yvette contemplates the top.

"The protections are very good because I made them," she says conversationally. "But I don't particularly like her as a person, and was in no position to refuse when she asked. Actually, I find her personally grating to the extreme and find her controlling and obsessive nature asphyxiating."

...a slow smile spreads on Jack's face. "Is that so."

"I actually found the idea of spending the rest of forever with her constantly dropping by my house unannounced infuriating and I've been quietly contemplating her demise for years. So if I were to remove her protections, your organization has an excellent shot at killing her? With the understanding that she is very good at martial combat and that if you show up with a stake and a floor plan with her, you will die, and then I will die slowly."

"The tactical team chasing her has ten people, five of whom are of various nonhuman origins with particular advantages against vampires. It will not get to the point of martial combat."

"... All right," says Yvette, musingly. "Then I suppose we can all be free of the bitch. I will be expecting the Gem of Amara once she's dead, you understand."

"Do you want to schedule a visit to our office tomorrow evening to discuss your compensation? We can send a ride."

"Yes, fine. And so I can be sure of your organization's competence, because you have a short life to throw away, and I have a long one, and only one chance to be rid of her for good, so you do not get to screw it up."

"Yes, ma'am." She offers Yvette a hand to shake.

She eyes the hand, then accepts the handshake.

"Cross me, and I will make you wish you were dead," says Yvette pleasantly. "And then not kill you. Can't break my record, see."

"Of course." Jack lowers her face very close to the top and says, "Enforced honesty is a thing of beauty in negotiations, isn't it?" She then turns her eyes up to look at Yvette's face. "I do not find Yvette extremely hot and would absolutely hate another several hours in which she treated me like her bitch." The top stops spinning.

Yvette laughs.

"Oh, you didn't need the top for that, I'm already well aware. I have that effect on people." She winks. "But if you have nowhere in particular to be, I wouldn't mind obliging."

"No plans in particular tonight." She pockets the top again.

"Then come home with me, and be my bitch for the day, lovely. And if you're very good, you can beg me for the privilege later."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pockets the coin, too, and the quietening forcefield disappears.

And then they can go back to Yvette's charming fairytale cottage, where the both of them have a very nice night, and morning, and afternoon.

This time when Jack's shoved out the door in the evening, it's only with (most of) her clothes, and a single bloody bite mark on her neck.

Turns out last time she'd been downright merciful. This time she was. She was not.

Jack has hit the jackpot.

The next evening, a car waits for Yvette.

After verifying it properly, in she goes.

Jack is not inside. A lot of material comfort is, though, including her choice of wine and beer and champagne if she goes for those things.

She can sip at some wine, but she'd rather not get drunk right before a ruthless negotiation, thanks.

The trip is smooth and uneventful. The driver does not talk to her unless she initiates.

Nope. She is fine with silence and spends the car ride on her laptop.

They soon get to LA, and then to the richer parts of LA, and then to a very tall and fancy office building with a handful of people in suits coming in and out.

The driver steps out and opens the door for Yvette.

She steps out of the car rather like she owns the place. She's even dressed accordingly.

Hm. Okay, yes, she thinks she can probably work with these people.

When she steps in, she'll find herself in an extremely expansive entrance hall. Its ceiling goes up three stories, with meeting rooms and glass-walled offices decorating the walls up and a huge chandelier tastefully illuminating the area. The center of the hall has a fountain with a "statue" of the skeleton of some feral demon spitting water from each of its four heads and from its tail in pretty intersecting arcs. Despite the late hour, there are a fair number of people milling about, walking up and down the stairs to and from the offices up, or coming from the elevators. There is a cafeteria off to a corner with various people using their laptops and sipping coffee or eating late meals.

Everyone looks human, but everyone does not smell human, and the whiff of magic permeates the air. One of the receptionists on duty spots Yvette and smiles at her. He scratches his left ear, which becomes momentarily pointed before returning to its normal appearance—if one didn't know better they might think it was just a trick of the light.

Yvette does not think it's a trick of the light. She smiles back at the receptionist pleasantly, and is pleased to finally be in a location that's up to her high standards in aesthetics. Yep, if they're not egregiously incompetent and get her nice things, she can definitely work with these people.

But first: she needs to ruthlessly extort the aforementioned nice things from them. That is what she came here to do, and so she is going to do it. Yes, hi, you're acquiring this vampire's services for a bargain, mostly because the ex-Slayer actually pissed her off enough to turn traitor, but let's not make it too much of a bargain, hm? She is expecting a lot of money, a lot of magical supplies, a lot of magical records and artifacts, and general freedom and not-having-to-help-rescue-kittens-from-trees-if-it-risks-her-life, and that penthouse, oh and also the Gem of Amara, to keep, forever.

The Gem of Amara might be a bit of a sticking point. If she turns evil, they'll have to hunt her as much as they hunted the ex-Slayer, if not more. Is she willing to say she has no plans to become evil, nor does she foresee that changing, while around a truth-detecting charm?

That really depends on their definition of evil, it's a bit broad. She has no problem with the truth-detecting charm, and openly welcomes its presence.

She does not foresee her changing her mind about wanting to not end the world, the world should keep on existing. In fact, she'll be happy to help keep it from ending for the foreseeable future, and does not expect that to ever change. Furthermore, she doesn't think she'll run off to play in a hell dimension or anything, because actually, most hell dimensions have really shoddy technology levels, and she's accustomed to having nice things like hot water and the internet, and does not want to stop. Earth also has the bonus of having lots of weak squishy humans around, and she appreciates this quality. She does not expect to ever want to rule the world, either, or any section or subsection of it, or take over any kind of evil cult or whatever. Too much work, not enough payoff. She wants to spend the rest of her very long life enjoying it, and studying magic and making it be less of a trainwreck. Pissing off a powerful organization and convincing them to hunt her down sounds, uh, not at all conducive to that, why would she want to piss them off?

Alright sure that works, please sign here. Also the CEO wants to talk to her afterwards.

Excellent! She reads over the documents and fine print before signing anything, then obligingly signs.

Then: yes, all right, she can go see the CEO now that they're done with the boring paperwork bit.

The CEO is waiting for her in the office at the very top of the building.

The CEO turns out to be someone she knows. "Welcome to the side of good," Jack says when Yvette comes in.

"Thank you, I expect to enjoy it very much!" she says, cheerfully. "Evil's historically so bad at incentives, you know."

"It is! No wonder they never manage to actually end the world."

"Indeed. Not that I mind, I don't particularly know why they keep wanting to end the world."

"Probably parental issues of some sort," Jack says, shrugging. "Someone will email you to get the information about what belongings you want to move to your new penthouse. And then, of course, we should schedule our ex-Slayer slaying party. It will have tea."

"Sounds good." She perches on the edge of Jack's desk, looking thoughtful. "I'm toying with the idea of faking my death first, torching my house and pretending that the ex-Slayer's lost her witch entirely, so no one knows of my existence except your organization anyway."

"Is your existence widely known, as the ex-Slayer's witch?"

"Ehhh." She waves her hand vaguely. "Widely known, no. Known to a few? Yep."

"We can arrange for a very convincing death scene," Jack says, nodding and starting to type something into her computer. "Cyrille will not know what hit her."

"Excellent. Then that loose end can get tied up nicely and I hopefully won't have any irate demons showing up at my doorstep, complaining about how I betrayed their master." Eyeroll.

"She is an annoyingly successful person," Jack nods. "Hopefully less so now that you're no longer on her side."

"That's the plan." She leans towards Jack, practically lounging on her desk. "Is it very smart for the CEO of a company to go hunting under the radar vampires on her days off?"

Jack leans forward, too, wrapping her fingers together in a very CEOish manner. "It's a part of the job, having risky hobbies. Some go sky diving, I go vampire hunting."

"I see, I see. And is it very wise to employ the soulless vampire who made you her bitch, or am I just that tempting?"

"I can separate work from fun well enough." Pause. "But whoever said you shouldn't sleep where you eat has never licked honey off a hot redhead's body."

She laughs. "Oh, is that a suggestion, lovely?"

"That depends, do you know any hot redheads who would appreciate it?"

"Looks like it's your lucky day, because I just might."

In Yvette's opinion, this is an excellent way to blow off steam after negotiations and contract signing. But she should be home before morning, and looking presentable when she leaves, so they shouldn't get too carried away. ... As these things go, anyway. A little carried away is... just fine.

Jack is the CEO of a demon-hunting company and can afford to let herself get carried away. But before morning comes Yvette can take the car back to her idyllic little cottage and to an email asking for an inventory of items she would like to transport to this address in Los Angeles.

Yvette does an inventory of the things that can and can't be replaced, and which ones of these she'd like to keep or leave to dramatically prove that she didn't plan for this. She organizes everything in her adorable little cottage, puts everything she doesn't want to keep back where it'd been originally been kept, organizes the things she'd like to keep in an easy to transport package, and then emails an inventory list of her items for transport.

Then she goes to bed, feeling very pleased with herself.

Her belongings can soon be transported to the LA address, then.

And then they can neatly fake her death and burn her idyllic little cottage to the ground.

She's a little sad, actually. It's a pity she had to lose the house to make this convincing. It's no real loss, of course, she's getting a bigger and better and nicer place to live, but... she liked that one. She didn't like living in a place in which Cyrille had a key to, but the place itself was what she made it. While she's well aware that she's more than a little conceited, but she does believe that she makes nice things. Oh, well. She has forever. If she misses it overmuch she can always rebuild it in a couple centuries, on the same spot once everyone that knew her name now is dead.

This decided, she gets in a car, and she goes to LA, and gets to setting up her lovely penthouse precisely the way she likes it.

It's big. It has two floors and huge glass walls that filter UV completely and allow her to enjoy sunlight if she wants to and give her a tremendous view of the city and it comes pre-equipped with various expensive modern amenities that she can replace or keep if she wants and the decoration is minimalistic enough that she shouldn't have trouble personalizing it much more but tasteful enough that it looks good as-is.

It's super fancy is what it is.

Oh, excellent, this balms the sting of losing her previous home quite nicely. It's not hers yet, of course, and this whole 'minimalism' thing will just have to go, but it's a good start. She'll be quite comfortable here.

But before she gets on to that, she draws up a pentacle in ash on the lovely hardwood floor, places and lights candles at the points, adds a specific set of magical reagents into a bowl in the middle, chants ominously in Latin, and then finally slices open her forearm to drip blood into the bowl and set it all on fire.

And thus are Cyrille's magical protections extinguished. She sends an email informing her new boss of this.

Then she gets to setting up her lovely penthouse the way she likes. She has furniture shopping to do!

Her new boss emails her back with a smiley face and a picture of the burnt husk of her old cottage attached.

Hooray!

... Sort of. Aw, poor house, she's sorry, love. It was the tactically smart thing to do. She'll remember you always and forever. Would it be tacky to have a picture of the burnt husk of her old cottage in her new penthouse? Hm. Yes, but fortunately she has at least one picture of it before it was burned down, and she'd like to remember it as it was. She can print and frame it later to lovingly cherish its memory like it deserves. It was a good cottage.

She doesn't need to be involved in the actual ex-Slayer killing, right? She can just happily get settled in her shiny new penthouse and wait for her lovely new ring to be delivered to her along with the news of the thorn in her side's death?

Not quite. They don't trust delivery services with this very important and powerful artifact, so when a couple of days later they say the ex-Slayer has been taken care of, they also ask her to come over to the main office to pick the Gem up.

Ugh.

Fair enough, but for the record: ugh.

Here she is! To pick up her shiny new ring!

She's instructed to go to basement 3. Except there isn't a basement 3 button in the elevator. Her escort, however, produces a key which they insert into a slot on the buttons panel, turns it thrice clockwise, once counterclockwise, two more times clockwise, and then once again counterclockwise, and the button magically appears there.

That seems a bit overly complicated, but that implies that there are several other basements that have different key turn codes to get to, so, uh, okay. Whatever. Gem of Amara now??? It would look so pretty on her finger, come on, stop stalling!

"Don't be so impatient," says Jack when she sees the look on Yvette's face. "It's a really important artifact, we can't take its security too lightly."

The room they're in has a number of vaults inserted into walls and a stone table in the middle. Jack is standing behind it and two armed guards are to either side of it, at rest.

And right there at the center, there's an open wooden box with the Gem of Amara inside.

"I get it, I get it, thank you ever so much for protecting my beloved rock so thoroughly so it could get to its new owner safely," says Yvette, waving a hand and taking several quick steps to the box. "But you have no idea how aggravating it was to piece together the exact, complicated mix of spells necessary to track it down, only to hand it over to my big sister."

She picks up the ring lovingly. "But at last, you're where you belong, aren't you, love? 'Til death do us part, and all that." And with that, she slides the ring onto her left ring finger, smirking.

Her heart begins glowing a brilliant, iridescent white. She blinks at it, confused, her smirk slowly fading.

Then she snarls and fixes her eyes on Jack.

"You backstabbing bitch—" she begins, and then she's too busy screaming to continue whatever she was going to call Jack next. The light show intensifies, her eyes glow and she claws ineptly at her heart, trying to deny the thing being returned to her.

And then, all at once, she collapses to the ground like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

"... oh," she says, in a very small voice. "that was why you were letting me keep it forever. that's. that was very clever."

This said, she promptly begins sobbing in a pathetic little heap of misery.

...oh. Big... big sister.

Yvette is Cyrille's lost younger sister. The one everyone thought she'd killed when she got turned. That was how Yvette even knew Cyrille. That was why...

Jack, you complete moron, you got her to help you kill her sister and then you gave her her soul back.

The armed guards had drawn their guns when Yvette turned aggressive but they're now just standing there awkwardly watching Yvette sob her heart out.

Jack is not in a much better place, honestly.

"I'm—sorry, I never knew—I thought—" Thought it wouldn't be traumatic, right, Yvette hadn't ever killed anyone...

"Save it," she snarls, from her heap. "How does the - the thing you put on this work, if I take this damn ring off do I lose my soul?"

"—yes. It's attached to the Gem, if it comes off your soul does, too."

"Awesome. And if I put it back on, does the soul go back, because I don't see how that would work, a soul is not a fucking yoyo."

"...it doesn't, no."

"Fuck. And I didn't even put the damn ring on a sensible extremity, like, like a toe or a rib or somewhere it couldn't casually be ripped off by anyone that could beat me in martial combat, which is most people, because I am not a martial combat specialist."

"There are spells that make it stick better to skin," she says, a bit lamely. It's not like Yvette wouldn't know this, and besides her finger is prone to being chopped off just like anyone else's.

She laughs, helplessly.

"Great. Amazing." Then her voice is broken by another sob. "So the only thing between me and becoming that person again is, is a shitty discount evocation that makes things stick together, that's great, I really feel fantastic about that being the thing between me and - and -"

Aaaaand back to just sobbing.

Jack takes an aborted step around the table but figures she might be the last person Yvette wants to touch her—but she doesn't know what to do, she wasn't prepared for this.

"If. If this ring comes off," says Yvette hoarsely, "Just. Just kill me, please. You didn't - you didn't ask if I'd - you didn't ask if she'd raped anyone, or tortured anyone, or ruined anyone's life, or, or set someone up to die to a third party, or, or, or, and."

"I—"

"Okay."

"I realize it's selfish, I realize it's convenient to have a, a vampire you can fucking negotiate with, but I, I." She chokes back another sob. "I think I've sacrificed quite enough for the sake of the world, thank you, I'm allowed to be selfish just so I don't have to remember all of the, the ways I, and how I helped kill -"

Aaaaand back to sobbing.

"It wasn't—about that, not exactly—

"How can I help?"

"I, I don't." Okay, stop. Breathe. Start over. "Drop me off at m-my penthouse and deliver regular blood bags of, of whatever, I don't really care, so I don't starve myself in a fit of misery."

"Okay," she nods. "Can do." Tap tap tap into the phone and "The car is waiting upstairs."

"Oh, fuck walking," hisses Yvette, but then she grabs hold of the nearby pedestal and hauls herself up onto her feet, swaying a little but staying upright anyway. "Actually, fuck everything, why is the world shit."

Yeahhhhh.

Jack's normal reaction to this kind of thing is hugging and helping. This would not work here. She is the cause of the issue, and she also has a... history... with Yvette, now. She's very sure Yvette would not appreciate it.

So she'll stand there awkwardly while the armed guards stand there awkwardly and the escort awkwardly waits for Yvette to pick herself up and go to the car.

Yvette glances through red and puffy eyes at the awkward trio, then snorts a ridiculous little laugh.

"I apologize," she huffs, "for what must be the most socially uncomfortable workday of your lives. ... At least I hope so. For your sake, I hope nothing ever tops this."

She then picks herself up and goes to the car, all on her own.

The driver opens the door for her, silently, and does not initiate conversation again.

There is still her choice of drinks inside.

She eyes the bar that comes with the car thoughtfully, then shakes her head and flops over to lay in the backseat and try and hold in most of the sobbing until she's not in front of anyone anymore.

If she got herself ridiculously drunk, she'd acknowledge how lonely and touch starved she feels right now, and come up with the bright idea of picking someone up at a bar or something, and then she'd be right back into trauma zone and. Nope. Nope, she's just going to go home and. Figure out how to cope with years of traumatic memories of being an evil version of herself, and everyone she loves being dead, one of them by her own hand.

No one will bother her. She will receive her first delivery of blood the next morning.

Yvette decides that, for right now, she hates the bed and doesn't want to sleep in it. She summarily builds a pillow fort to sob in. It's ridiculous and childish and absurd, and that therefore makes it completely perfect for putting as much distance between her and her soulless self as possible as quickly as possible.

She considers methods of suicide if she decides to go that route. Most efficient thing would be to go outside in the daylight with no cover around for miles, then take her ring off and throw it off a cliff or something. This thought terrifies her and she decides very quickly that she's... not going to do that.

Mostly she doesn't consider much of anything, though, except I didn't even get (or think) to say goodbye or does anyone in Sunnydale even care that I'm 'dead'? or oh God how can I possibly ever work with Jack literally ever, holy shit??? or all of the micro-evils she committed towards everyone around her without her soul, just because she could, while carefully sidestepping anything that would make her worth anyone's actual time.

She thanks the delivery person who dropped off the blood, drinks it immediately (to prevent throwing it away in a fit of misery and self loathing) and returns the container. Then: back to the pillowfort of misery.

Blood deliveries will be slightly more plentiful and frequent than necessary for healthily sustaining a vampire.

For the first week, no one will try to contact her or visit her beyond the deliveries.

Good. She's not up for being social.

Partially because everything is generally awful, but also because she's suffering from the effects of ceasing to be a soulless hedonist with regular access to the high of magic. Which is to say: she is going cold turkey on her addiction, and within a few days she's got even more reason to hate everything.

She drinks her blood when it's delivered, rather like she's drinking poison.

Poison that sustains her, at the least.

Another week goes by. The third Saturday after she got her soul back, someone buzzes her apartment at an unusual time for her deliveries. The small screen next to her front door helpfully shows who this surprise visitor is.

Ugh.

She claws open the door (not literally, she is capable of controlling her strength, even as she's incapable of controlling her shivers) and stares at Jack from sunken eyes. To say that she looks like shit is an understatement. Her hair is a stringy red-brown mess, she's covered in a sheen of sweat, her skin is an unsettling shade of grey instead of pale alabaster, and she looks incredibly unhappy with her existence right now.

"What," she says, flatly.

Flinch.

"I, uh, wanted to check on you."

"Magic addiction withdrawals. I'm not dead yet. Yaaay." She sounds completely unenthused by this.

"—you stopped using magic?"

"Mmhmm. At least t-the, the level of, look I was basically a self obsessed hedonist without my soul, of course I was going to use more magic than was smart."

"Oh." Pause. "I'm sorry."

"Yep, I bet, sure sucks investing in a witch that then immediately can't do magic for a while."

She hisses and closes her eyes. "—I didn't mean that, I'm just a cranky bitch because everything really sucks right now, sorry."

"—that's not it. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain."

"Oh." She considers this.

"Yeah objectively speaking it would have been kinder to just kill me," she agrees. "But uh, thanks?"

She nods. "I do not like killing people that don't..." Shrug. "Deserve it. If you would actually prefer to die, I do not feel like you have any obligations towards me or us."

She stares at Jack, and tears fill her eyes.

"Fuck off," she snarls. "There are things in this world that are worse than I ever was as a soulless monster. Like Hell am I killing myself before killing them."

And then she slams the door in her face.

...well. She can't say she didn't expect that or doesn't deserve it. She sighs and goes away.

Yvette leans against her front door wearily, then slowly slides down it so she can sob against it in perfect solitude. Again.

Why is everything so awful.

The walls provide no answer.

Jack won't come visit her again.

hey if I want to cope with my horrible trauma by murdering things that deserve it, how do I go about doing that in a way that is not completely self destructive?

The response is prompt:

How in-person do you want your work to be?

Very.

I'll send a car over tomorrow at 6AM.

Excellent, thank you.

The car is there at 6AM.

It's... well it's still a fancy car but it's not a fancy limo. More like a fancy tank-disguising-as-a-car.

She is fine with this, this is a fine thing for a fancy car to be. Her set of throwing knives come along, and she sits in the car and tries to distract herself from the incessant shaking by tapping little rhythms with her fingers on their handles.

The inside of the fancy car contains three people wearing dark fully-concealing suits. "We have one for you in the back if you want it," says one of them. "But it's less useful for vamps."

"They're for protection?" she clarifies, archly.

The person taps their goggles. "And also enhanced and night vision."

"Sure why not. I probably don't need it, but there's value in not standing out, considering." She holds up the hand wearing the rock of soulkeeping. "And the gloves would be useful regardless."

The speaker reaches being their seat for Yvette's suit, and another one tosses a little silver coin towards her. "Privacy charm."

She recognizes the coin as one similar to the one Jack used earlier, and catches it.

"Thank you."

And here's the suit.

She accepts the suit, peers thoughtfully at the coin to get an idea of how well it does its job, then decides that actually she doesn't care all that much. It's not like she hadn't proudly flaunted her naked body at anyone interested (and several that weren't interested) while she was soulless, after all. Modesty now just seems... silly. Still, she can care on principle, and drops the coin onto her seat to see if it does the privacy thing.

Yep. Different privacy thing, though; her surroundings become... not exactly blurry, but she has as easy a time paying attention to it as she would a particularly dense paragraph of Les Misérables in Czech after spending five consecutive days awake running on caffeine and spite. It's not that she can't see stuff, but rather she just can't commit any of it to memory or notice any of the details of her environment. It's quite disconcerting.

What a shitty privacy thing, they really are in dire straits for witch recruits if this is their best privacy coin for blocking sight. How did they pull off this garbage? This had to have been a seriously inefficient reach around through some obscure practices in order to get this weird thing. Ugh. Whatever.

She changes, then picks the coin back up.

"I need to give you access to my database," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and offering the coin back to its source.

The source accepts and pockets it.

"Database?"

"I was the main magical support for a Slayer that made it to her twenties. She tended to break scary magical things and then hand the pieces to me to figure out. I made a database cataloging it all, and some programs for using it to predict possible spell combinations to get specific results. While I was soulless I kept up the habit because magic is this infuriatingly complicated messy spiderweb of near-nonsense, and its very presence insults me even when I'm missing my entire moral backbone. I apologize for not handing this over to you sooner, that's, uh, that's my bad really."

"Ah. Yeah, that would be useful. I don't think they'll replace the coin, though, it's good for blending in crowds and they batch-produce this stuff."

"The idea itself isn't bad, it's the fact that the inside does the same thing as the outside that's my problem. It seriously infringes on the user's ability to use it in a crowd and still be able to tell what's going on around them. You do not necessarily need to have it do the same on the outside as on the inside, one way illusions are a thing."

"Oh yeah that. It's kinda annoying but you get used to it."

"Yeah, I want to fix that so you don't have to. Later, though. I need to get some morally unsanctionable murder out of my system before I can properly be a magic nerd."

"You been briefed?"

"Nope!" she says cheerfully.

"Right, so—" Pause. "Wait, what? Not at all?"

"Nope. I sent an email asking if I could please handle some of my horrible trauma by murdering things that deserve it, CEO said okay she'd send a car at 6 AM, here I am."

The person is silent for a couple of seconds, and the mask conceals whatever facial expression they might be making, until they shake their head. "Alright, well, we've got a cult trying to summon a demon to eat reality or some other such nonsense."

"Okay. What kind of cult, human or vampire or other, and do we know what demon they're summoning to do their standard evil thing?"

"Probably human but we can't rule anything out yet. We do know, yeah, she's called Proserpexa. Her shrines were thought lost but apparently not all of them."

"I haven't heard of her before, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything, considering how many demons there are. Is she associated with specific elements, aesthetics? How long ago were her shrines lost?"

"Last record is from the 30s," a different person says, "when her worshipers tried to end the world. They failed, as you can see, and what was thought to be her last shrine was destroyed. She's connected to the earth and to darkness, and is known as 'Sister of the Dark'."

Yvette hums thoughtfully. "Any idea if she or her followers are vulnerable to sunlight?"

"No records one way or the other."