Soft.  It was amazing how soft they were, for a comfort device.  She’d never cease to be amazed at what people came up with; if your insides felt as though they had been twisted and contorted, heart wrung out and squeezed of all the juice, the blood, well then, take a tissue and wipe it over your face - as though that would solve anything.

Personally, Anya chose to deal with matters a little more practically; questioning the whys and wherefores resolved things nicely, and after all, weren’t humans always complaining that no-one was ever honest, direct, any more?  She was the exception to that rule, which made sense when you took into account the thousands of years she had been a demon.  Demons - for the most part - were a far more honest breed than humans, she thought, if a little more violent.

Take her boyfriend, for example.  Lying about Dawn because Buffy deemed it appropriate, pretending to like Tara (though he didn’t dislike her, really) because Willow would be hurt if he didn’t and even telling Giles that he wasn’t hideously embarrassed by his singing, because heaven forbid he should tell the truth to those he professed to love.  Xander, she mused, was actually very good at his little deceptions.  She pushed aside the thought that he might be lying to her, too.

Dawn, now there was an interesting case.  She wondered if a vengeance demon had wished her on Buffy, because the girl seemed to cause nothing but trouble, and she complicated life just too much for it to be natural.

Take the hair situation, for example.

Before Dawn’s arrival, she’d been the only brunette in the group, but now, now she’d have to think about getting streaks.  Blonde, perhaps, as Xander seemed to like the color so much, or red, close as he was to the little witch.  Both?  Overkill, she decided as she watched a customer circle hesitantly around a talisman that would turn some unwary soul to granite.  She scooted around the counter and contemplated telling the young man exactly what he was in for if he decided to invoke it.  She discarded that, because if he chose to purchase it without first finding out what it could do, well then, on his head be it.  Stone though it might become.  Besides which, a sale was a sale.

A good stare should prompt him to move a little faster, she thought, checking her watch to ascertain that he had indeed been in the shop longer than the browser’s cursory fifteen minutes.  He glanced up and met her eyes.  She forced a sunny smile to curve her lips and reveal her teeth charmingly, and continued to watch him, unblinking.  He swallowed and edged a little closer to the door.  Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

She walked over to him, thoroughly enjoying the quiet slide of her sandals -- Italian, ice blue, very sexy -- over the stone floor.

“It’s very pretty,” she said brightly, gazing over his shoulder at the talisman.  It was a necklace, entwined brass links that shone as gold with a long, deep green stone hanging, delicate as a penis, from the chain.  Just about anyone would assume that the stone held the magic - or the potential for magic - but in truth it lay in the links; Anya didn’t know how it had been done, or even particularly care, but it was important to be aware of the small things.

“You should buy it,” she advised, nodding firmly to show him how deeply she believed what she was saying.

“Uh, haven’t you ever, like, heard of personal space?” the man asked, sweat popping like fresh blood from a sore onto his brow.

She frowned, because she knew she’d been careful to stand the required foot away from him - she’d have to measure next time, just to be sure.

“Yes,” she replied cheerfully.  “Shall I wrap that up for you?”

It would serve him right, she thought, if he was turned to stone.  Men just never learned that it didn’t do to insult a woman - there were always consequences.

“I’m just, y’know, looking around,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“You’ve been looking at that talisman for a quarter of an hour,” she observed.

“Ah, I’m not sure I want to buy it- um, to buy anything.”

“I’ll help,” she said, with a blithe smile.  “I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just... browse.”

And to think, she’d just removed him from that particular list, she thought, frowning because she knew from experience that browsers tended to leave empty-handed.

She watched him shuffle to a bottle of lizard tongues - disgusting, those, very slimy and a little too eager to lick for her tastes - but he kept glancing back at the talisman.

After ten minutes of similar behaviour, she lost the small degree of patience she’d been holding on to.  “Look,” she said, exasperated, “I know you want the talisman, you know you want the talisman, just buy the darn talisman.”

He jumped.  “I- d-d-don’t-”

Great.  A stutterer.  She did not need this, not when Giles would return at any moment from a meeting with Buffy and take over once more.

“Are you looking to turn someone to stone, or not?”

He looked startled.  “I, I just, I mean- What?”

“Oh, never mind.  It’s a lovely necklace.  Would you like it in white paper, or blue?” she asked.

“Um, blue?”

“Good choice,” she applauded, removing the necklace from the stand.  “Anything looks good in blue.”

“Well-”

“How would like to pay for that, cash or charge?” she interrupted, not giving him the chance to waffle on.

“I have a credit card-”
“Ah, wonderful.  Is it for your girlfriend?”

“The, uh, credit card?”

“No, why would you give your girlfriend a credit card?  Though that isn’t a bad idea at all, as long as you’re willing to bear the costs.  Still, a necklace is far more decorative in the long run, and this one more than most.  Does she practice magic?”

“What?”

Not particularly bright, this one, she thought, swiping his American Express through the machine and handing it back to him.  “There’s no shame if she does, it’s perfectly natural, like... riding a bike.”

“Um...”

“Don’t worry, she’ll love it.  Just remember to tell her not to cast around the necklace; there are some nasty side-effects.”

He looked uncertain, so she picked the neatly wrapped gift up and gave it to him.

“Come again soon, and have a nice day,” she said, voice strident enough to convey to him the depth of her sincerity.

“Uh, yeah, right,” said the man, turning and stumbling to the door.  He opened it, then flinched when she called out,

“All sales are non-refundable.  Goodbye.”

As the door swung shut behind him, she sighed, satisfied.  Another sale.  She’d really have to talk to Giles about getting paid based on commission (in addition to her current salary, of course), because it just didn’t make sense for her to be doing all the work and not getting anywhere near all of the money.

And speaking of money... She might as well count it; it wasn’t as though she had anything else - that was important - to do.  Anya opened the till and removed two stacks of paper money, one of five dollar bills, and the other of ten, then glanced around for a place to put the ten dollar stack where it would be safe until she was ready for it.

She’d just about given up - honestly, couldn’t Giles afford a paper-weight? - when she spotted the box of tissues.  She smiled and competently placed the bills beneath the box.

Well, perhaps they *were* good for something, after all.
 

~end~