I Can Has Pig's Blood Now?
Aug. 21st, 2007 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kitsjayAngel fanfic! The first (and only) idea I've had for this fandom so far, and all because, honestly--what does he tell them?
Title: Virgin Pig's Blood for Eternal Youth
Author: Kits
Fandom: Angel
Rating: K
Summary: "So, what exactly do you need this blood for?" the butcher asked curiously, handing over the filled ice chest.
"So, what exactly do you need this blood for?" the butcher asked curiously, handing over the filled ice chest.
Angel froze. They always asked that question, and--after so many years--he still had not come up with a suitable answer. Science experiment? Shark food? Satanic ritual? What were they really expecting the answer to be, anyway?
He plastered a small smile on his face. "Ever watch that show CSI?"
The man's eyes lit up. "Oh, sure. Me and the wife watch that one every Thursday. That Grissom, he's some guy, huh?"
"Yeah," Angel said, vaguely aware of the specifics of the show. "Well, I need the blood for experiments. Like Grissom does."
"You're a CSI then?" The man looked duly impressed.
"Private detective, actually."
The butcher's face promptly lost all interest. "Oh. Well, have a nice day."
Angel shook his head as he walked outside, remembering when private detectives were cool. The flashy cars on Miami Vice, the bass riff of the Simon and Simon theme song... Now nerds were cool. Sparing a thought that, for as long as he lived, he would never understand the human race--and the longer he did live, the more confusing it became--Angel tucked the ice chest into the back of his car and slid into the front seat.
That butcher went out of business two years ago, due to an unfortunately timed surprise health inspection and some suspicious looking "cows" with long, furry tails. Angel set about the somewhat tedious task of wandering around L.A. searching for a suitable replacement. Years ago, he was able to work a night shift at a meat packing plant and smuggle out the blood as much as he pleased, but with the onset of government restrictions, most businesses were reluctant to cooperate with one unorthodox vampire's dietary needs. He snorted. It all came back to that damn book by Upton Sinclair. Before that, everything was reasonably unrestricted, though prohibition had been a trying time. Unlike what Sunnydale High School's text books had said, alcohol was plentiful during prohibition, and most cops were willing to look the other way. It was just learning all the rules of what bars sold alcohol and what the passwords were and where all the speakeasies were that was the main problem.
He took a sip of the last of his blood supply as his thoughts wandered, feeling his stomach curdle as the week old liquid hit him.
Cordelia had asked him one day with a morbid interest what it was like drinking pig's blood.
"Like drinking coffee," Angel said cautiously.
Cordelia brightened. "Like Starbucks?"
"More like office coffee."
"Oh," she said with a disgusted look on her face. "That sucks."
"Yeah."
"So you're kind of like a vegan."
He blinked, mind tossing about to figure out what mental track Cordelia had decided to take. "I don't--I would think I was actually the complete opposite of a vegan," he said finally.
With a roll of her eyes, Cordelia gave him the look that said that he had completely missed the thought train and was now milling around the retard station. "I mean, you deprive yourself of all this good stuff for a good cause."
"Oh." Angel wondered if he could retreat into his office now without causing offense. "In that sense. Of course."
Angel circled the block again and spotted a promising family-run butcher shop that advertised "Fair prices and good meat." In his experience, butcher's shops were generally closer to good prices (for the butcher) and fair meat (for rodents devoid of taste buds), but he wasn't really interested in that anyway. The store stood by a dry cleaner's shop on one side and a comfortably dark alley on the other that led to the street on the other side. The sun was disappearing on the opposite side of the building, which was promising, and the place looked reasonably clean. He shuddered. During the sixties, he had a harrowing experience with contaminated pig's blood. Thankfully everyone during that time was stoned out of their minds anyway, so no one had noticed, but he preferred his blood relatively clean and free of disease. Not, he supposed, that he really could die from anything. Still, a vampire had to have his limits.
Cheap metal bells clanged against each other from a string above the door as he walked in and a white-clad worker with their back to him held up one finger as a gesture to wait. He found himself mulling over random thoughts as he waited. For instance, why did butchers always wear white? Why not red, or at least something darker so the blood doesn't show up as well? Not that he minded, personally, but in his experience, humans tended to get a little queasy about blood, human or no. He frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him. Doctors wore light colors, too. Why was that?
"What can I help you with?" the worker turned around. Angel found himself staring at a plain looking girl with red hair, a pale face, and green eyes that reminded him of home. She looked simultaneously bored and annoyed and despite himself, Angel was somewhat impressed that she managed it.
"I actually came to speak--" Angel paused, unsure of how to continue. Perhaps even more awkward than explaining why he needed pig's blood was asking for it in the first place. His mind ran through a quick list of the excuses he had used, with varying success, in the past: actor with a death scene, too cheap to spring for paint, magic act...
"Yeah? Come on, man, I don't have all day," the girl said rudely.
"I need your pigs' blood," he blurted.
The girl sighed. "Sure. Let me get it for you." She turned and started to head in the backroom, leaving Angel standing in the front area with a surprised look on his face.
"Do you want it in bottles or bags?" she called from the back.
"Uh," Angel said, "bags?"
"Great."
A few rustling sounds, some unappetizing squelching noises and one not-so-softly muttered curse later, the girl reappeared with a handful of bags filled with thick, crimson blood.
"Thanks."
She nodded, turning back to her work sharpening a knife. Angel made it to the door before curiosity overcame him and he paused.
"Don't you--I mean, aren't you going to ask what I need it for?"
The redhead looked up, her nose wrinkled. "Ew. No. This is L.A. I really don't want to know what sicko thing you do in your own time."
Armed with a new supplier, six plump bags that gooshed when he laid them in the ice chest, and the affirmation that L.A. was really as strange as he had originally suspected, Angel headed back to the hotel.
"Got the stuff?" Cordelia said without looking up from her magazine as he walked in. He set the ice chest on the ground and started stacking the bags in the fridge.
"Yeah."
Wes frowned. "What did you tell them this time?"
Angel looked up at the both of their curious faces. "I told them I had a hybrid that only ran on blood," he said seriously. He paused, then added, "No gas emissions, though."
As always, comments, suggestions, feedback welcomed and encouraged.
Coming soon: A short that features Angel using all of the excuses he mentions in earlier fic!
Title: Virgin Pig's Blood for Eternal Youth
Author: Kits
Fandom: Angel
Rating: K
Summary: "So, what exactly do you need this blood for?" the butcher asked curiously, handing over the filled ice chest.
"So, what exactly do you need this blood for?" the butcher asked curiously, handing over the filled ice chest.
Angel froze. They always asked that question, and--after so many years--he still had not come up with a suitable answer. Science experiment? Shark food? Satanic ritual? What were they really expecting the answer to be, anyway?
He plastered a small smile on his face. "Ever watch that show CSI?"
The man's eyes lit up. "Oh, sure. Me and the wife watch that one every Thursday. That Grissom, he's some guy, huh?"
"Yeah," Angel said, vaguely aware of the specifics of the show. "Well, I need the blood for experiments. Like Grissom does."
"You're a CSI then?" The man looked duly impressed.
"Private detective, actually."
The butcher's face promptly lost all interest. "Oh. Well, have a nice day."
Angel shook his head as he walked outside, remembering when private detectives were cool. The flashy cars on Miami Vice, the bass riff of the Simon and Simon theme song... Now nerds were cool. Sparing a thought that, for as long as he lived, he would never understand the human race--and the longer he did live, the more confusing it became--Angel tucked the ice chest into the back of his car and slid into the front seat.
That butcher went out of business two years ago, due to an unfortunately timed surprise health inspection and some suspicious looking "cows" with long, furry tails. Angel set about the somewhat tedious task of wandering around L.A. searching for a suitable replacement. Years ago, he was able to work a night shift at a meat packing plant and smuggle out the blood as much as he pleased, but with the onset of government restrictions, most businesses were reluctant to cooperate with one unorthodox vampire's dietary needs. He snorted. It all came back to that damn book by Upton Sinclair. Before that, everything was reasonably unrestricted, though prohibition had been a trying time. Unlike what Sunnydale High School's text books had said, alcohol was plentiful during prohibition, and most cops were willing to look the other way. It was just learning all the rules of what bars sold alcohol and what the passwords were and where all the speakeasies were that was the main problem.
He took a sip of the last of his blood supply as his thoughts wandered, feeling his stomach curdle as the week old liquid hit him.
Cordelia had asked him one day with a morbid interest what it was like drinking pig's blood.
"Like drinking coffee," Angel said cautiously.
Cordelia brightened. "Like Starbucks?"
"More like office coffee."
"Oh," she said with a disgusted look on her face. "That sucks."
"Yeah."
"So you're kind of like a vegan."
He blinked, mind tossing about to figure out what mental track Cordelia had decided to take. "I don't--I would think I was actually the complete opposite of a vegan," he said finally.
With a roll of her eyes, Cordelia gave him the look that said that he had completely missed the thought train and was now milling around the retard station. "I mean, you deprive yourself of all this good stuff for a good cause."
"Oh." Angel wondered if he could retreat into his office now without causing offense. "In that sense. Of course."
Angel circled the block again and spotted a promising family-run butcher shop that advertised "Fair prices and good meat." In his experience, butcher's shops were generally closer to good prices (for the butcher) and fair meat (for rodents devoid of taste buds), but he wasn't really interested in that anyway. The store stood by a dry cleaner's shop on one side and a comfortably dark alley on the other that led to the street on the other side. The sun was disappearing on the opposite side of the building, which was promising, and the place looked reasonably clean. He shuddered. During the sixties, he had a harrowing experience with contaminated pig's blood. Thankfully everyone during that time was stoned out of their minds anyway, so no one had noticed, but he preferred his blood relatively clean and free of disease. Not, he supposed, that he really could die from anything. Still, a vampire had to have his limits.
Cheap metal bells clanged against each other from a string above the door as he walked in and a white-clad worker with their back to him held up one finger as a gesture to wait. He found himself mulling over random thoughts as he waited. For instance, why did butchers always wear white? Why not red, or at least something darker so the blood doesn't show up as well? Not that he minded, personally, but in his experience, humans tended to get a little queasy about blood, human or no. He frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him. Doctors wore light colors, too. Why was that?
"What can I help you with?" the worker turned around. Angel found himself staring at a plain looking girl with red hair, a pale face, and green eyes that reminded him of home. She looked simultaneously bored and annoyed and despite himself, Angel was somewhat impressed that she managed it.
"I actually came to speak--" Angel paused, unsure of how to continue. Perhaps even more awkward than explaining why he needed pig's blood was asking for it in the first place. His mind ran through a quick list of the excuses he had used, with varying success, in the past: actor with a death scene, too cheap to spring for paint, magic act...
"Yeah? Come on, man, I don't have all day," the girl said rudely.
"I need your pigs' blood," he blurted.
The girl sighed. "Sure. Let me get it for you." She turned and started to head in the backroom, leaving Angel standing in the front area with a surprised look on his face.
"Do you want it in bottles or bags?" she called from the back.
"Uh," Angel said, "bags?"
"Great."
A few rustling sounds, some unappetizing squelching noises and one not-so-softly muttered curse later, the girl reappeared with a handful of bags filled with thick, crimson blood.
"Thanks."
She nodded, turning back to her work sharpening a knife. Angel made it to the door before curiosity overcame him and he paused.
"Don't you--I mean, aren't you going to ask what I need it for?"
The redhead looked up, her nose wrinkled. "Ew. No. This is L.A. I really don't want to know what sicko thing you do in your own time."
Armed with a new supplier, six plump bags that gooshed when he laid them in the ice chest, and the affirmation that L.A. was really as strange as he had originally suspected, Angel headed back to the hotel.
"Got the stuff?" Cordelia said without looking up from her magazine as he walked in. He set the ice chest on the ground and started stacking the bags in the fridge.
"Yeah."
Wes frowned. "What did you tell them this time?"
Angel looked up at the both of their curious faces. "I told them I had a hybrid that only ran on blood," he said seriously. He paused, then added, "No gas emissions, though."
As always, comments, suggestions, feedback welcomed and encouraged.
Coming soon: A short that features Angel using all of the excuses he mentions in earlier fic!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 03:53 pm (UTC)Glad you liked!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 06:21 am (UTC)(I find this icon strikingly appropriate considering it's supposed to be for the Twilight book series about "vegetarian vampires". Kid you not. They only hunt animals, no humans, hence their play on words that they're vegetarians. It made me giggle when I realised I already had this icon in my userpics.)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 03:55 pm (UTC)LOL. Sounds good. The vegan thing was a random thought that I just had to use. I heart Cordelia. :x
no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-24 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 08:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 03:56 pm (UTC)