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23 September 2008 @ 04:01 pm
 
Title:Earthly Delights
Rating: PG to R...naughty words and sexual references for humor purposes
Spoilers:I read up to NiC, but reading the LKH Lashouts has kept me loosely up to date on later books, so one might see references to Byron, Auggie, Thea, etc.
Characters/Pairings:Anita, her harem, and my originals (who don’t appear in this installment, but will)
Warnings:This is more for disillusioned fans, as it is snark
Summary: A snark-fic in which Anita is called to investigate murders at a brothel that houses exclusively supernatural sex workers, only to find that she isn't the only one on the case! Much fun is poked at her expense.
A/N: Again, this is more aimed at those who don't really like post-ardeur Anita


Phoebus was not feeling so good about all this. As instructed, they had come to the airport to pick up the vampire hunter/necromancer/queen of all things “were” in St. Louis, and had done their job. He should feel fine. Yet, as he sat across from her with his brother in the plush black velvet seats of the long shiny black limo, the butterflies in his toned belly told him that he was feeling anything but. She kept looking at him, and he began to wish that he had not worn a shirt quite so low cut. Then, she said something that really confused him.

“You’re not quite whitebread either, huh?”

Both Phoebus and Lefty looked at her. Whitebread?

“I can tell easy.” Anita continued. “I mean, you look at you,” she pointed at Phoebus “you can TAN. Nobody Euro-Caucasian can tan unless they’ve got a black great-grandfather or something! That’s how I knew my Ulfric wasn’t totally whitebread. And me, well, I’ve got dark hair and eyes, so everybody knows my mother was Mexican. It’s totally obvious, despite my father’s absolutely porcelain Germanic skin.”

The twins stared at her. “Um, we’re half German.” said Lefty. “They’re not particularly pale people. The whole blue-eyed blonde pale thing was just what Hitler wanted, but that doesn’t make it reality, just a stereotype. I don’t think most of them are pale except in the northern part.”

“Yes, a stereotype!” wailed Anita, who seemed to have missed his point. “A disgusting stereotype of beauty that I always wanted to be growing up, before I realized that Germanic Nordic Aryan Barbie Dolls were nothing but boys with boobs who were all jealous of petite curvy me! Oh, it was so hard for me, growing up a mixed little mestiza in a whitebread world!”

“I’d have taken you for Irish myself.” said Lefty. “Dark hair, pale skin, that’s the typical look for them, I think.”

“No, Celtics have red hair!” corrected Anita. “Gosh, who ever heard of an Irish or Scottish person that didn’t have flaming fire truck red hair, jeez! And just look at my dark eyes, as darkity-dark as the darkness of my dark soul, not way anyone who’s not mixed could have dark eyes like these! You may be shifters, boys, but you clearly don’t know as much as you think you do.”

Phoebus had begun to wish for death, though he wasn’t sure if it was his own or hers that he was yearning for, but her last sentence actually interested him.

“You recognized us as shifters? How?”

“I’m special.” she replied. “I’m a necromancer, part of two triumvirates, carry multiple strains of lycanthropy without actually having to deal with any of them, and I’m fucking a Master Vampire, an Ulfric, a Nimir-Raj, a Swan King, and a Rat King! Almost a Rex, too, but the moron turned me down just because he was married! Come on now, it was obvious, the spill of your power just spilled over me in a spilling spill of spilling power. So, what animal are you two? Tiger? Fox? Something pretty and furry and badass?”

“We’re dogs.” said Lefty, looking astounded. Anita assumed that it was at her ability to sense his beast and at her list of credentials, but it was actually at how many preternatural bigwigs one skankomancer could take between the legs. Phoebus looked nauseous for the same reason.

“Dogs?” Anita wanted to make sure she had this straight. “Not…wolves?”

“Weredogs.” Phoebus said it slowly. “Not wolves. Dogs. Bow wow, not howl.”

Anita wasn’t too sure about dogs. It had taken her forever just to get around to screwing Rafael’s brains out. Rats, after all, were not big and majestic and typically seen as beautiful like wolves and leopards and swans were. Dogs were cute, but not regal and cool. They weren’t even wild. Well, considering the ardeur could alter her partner’s personality to better fit hers, which nobody thought was freaky or wrong or invasive at all, maybe it could alter their beasts, against as logic, to something she would prefer fucking. Hey, with the sex ex machinas that had been pulled so far, would it really be that much of a jump?

“And what do a couple of weredogs want with me?” Anita asked. “I sure hope it’s not to hump my leg.”

Which it totally must be, since she did have to fuck a new kind of were creature each book, er, case, and eventually become their effective queen. And weren’t they just queuing up for it!

“We don’t want anything with you ourselves.” said Lefty. Particularly not the plethora of supernatural STDs you’re likely carrying thought Phoebus as his brother continued. “Our boss, however, does. He doesn’t much like the public or the daytime, so he sent out us, his right and left hand men, to pick you up in style.”

“I take it this is more than just a social call, though.” Anita probed. “The file he sent me gave me the case, so no need to waste your breath explaining that. Your big-money boss owns a brothel with supernatural-only sex workers that cater to those with a kink for monsters and the cash to indulge it. All’s going well and good, until they start dying. Nobody cares enough to look into it, though, until a client dies. Given the money and power of the men your boss’s little business entertains, this could destroy the brothel unless the killer is caught. And since you can’t very well call the police in to a place that’s illegal by nature without being ruined anyway, you call me in.”

She leaned forward “But one thing I don’t get. I’m bigger than the police. I’m a Federal Marshall. I’m the girl the police answer to when they don’t know what’s going bump in the night. So if you’re trying to stay out of the law’s sight, why contact me?”

Though her tone was meant to be piercing, Phoebus actually felt relief at her words. She was finally acting as competent as he had hoped that the famous Anita Blake would be, despite the fact that she was now also famous for how many monsters she was boning as well as how many she was killing…the former of which was starting to contest with the latter.

“Miss Blake,” said Phoebus “I’m going to be frank. You are not pristine in the eyes of the law yourself. You have gotten away with literal murder more than once, and while you have not yet been put under investigation by the very people you aid, our employer has the power and connections to see to it that you are, and more. You work with the law, Miss Blake, but not within it. This is your other incentive for aiding our employer, besides the lucrative fee you will receive for your troubles. “

Anita’s jaw tightened. “I don’t like blackmail.”

A snakelike smile spread across Lefty’s goatish face. “Then take it up with Mr. VanPelt. He’s the one you’re working for now.”
 
 
 
graylorgraylor on September 23rd, 2008 09:06 pm (UTC)
Hee-hee, poor Anita.

This amuses me--thanks for writing.
rodentfanaticrodentfanatic on September 24th, 2008 12:14 am (UTC)
Well, thank you for reading! :)
pastygothchickpastygothchick on September 23rd, 2008 11:07 pm (UTC)
lol, love the snark

5 uses of spill or variants in one sentence. Impressive.
rodentfanaticrodentfanatic on September 24th, 2008 12:14 am (UTC)
Hey, I just work with what LKH gives me! ;)