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snoggedThis pairing is so out of left field for me, but I was excited by the challenge of trying and I hope you enjoy what I have to offer.
Title: Mixing Drinks
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series. I don’t.
Pairing: Lilah/Joyce
Word Count: 1081
Overall Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13
Summary: A Wolfram and Hart sponsored function at an art gallery leads to an unexpected meeting.
Beta: The spectacular![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
angelskuuipo. All other mistakes are mine.
A/N: Written for Cat as part of the Get Joyce Laid round of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
femslash_minis. The challenge was to include Lilah, art appreciation, champagne, non-Sunnydale setting, and no angst. It was tough for me to go against my angst-prone nature, but I think I accomplished it. Hope it satisfies!
The only thing that made these damn company functions worthwhile was the champagne.
Cristal.
Grand Siècle.
Even Dom Pérignon.
Wolfram and Hart poured thousands of dollars into the tiny glass flutes in a concerted effort to prove they were top-shelf. Not that they really needed to prove shit given that any law firm dumb enough to challenge their prowess would find themselves face-to-face with a Pi’oski demon who could produce more bubbles from the froth in its mouth than Louis Roderer could produce in a year.
Lilah sighed, taking a sip of her champagne and letting the bubbles tickle the back of her throat as she tried to get over the fact that she had to be here instead of being in court giving a one-two punch to some poor unsuspecting blind woman who had been allegedly tripped by the CEO of one of Wolfram and Hart’s best clients. Since the woman hadn’t been able to see the CEO’s tentacles slither out of his ankles, there was no case.
For reasons Lilah still couldn’t comprehend, Holland Manners had re-assigned the case to Lindsey McDonald and sent her to an art gallery decorated with paintings of post-apocalyptic landscapes.
She couldn’t exactly call the paintings dreadful in the same way that she frequently viewed a jury too stupid for its own good, but what the hell difference did it make if she was bored?
Bored, with a capital B.
***
Joyce Summers entered the art gallery and inhaled sharply. The air was filtered and recycled in here, but it was a helluva lot nicer on her lungs than the smog and smoke-filled air outside.
Taking a deeper breath, she teetered slightly on the higher heel than she was used to and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in the a-line skirt decorated with vibrantly colored spirals.
Why on Earth had she permitted Buffy to dig through her closets and pick out an outfit?
Then she remembered…
Her daughter was still in tune with the fashion and style of the LA crowd and Joyce…had quickly adopted the laissez-faire wardrobe of a Sunnydale business woman. Buffy was also the reason she was here looking at zombies and wastelands, but that was mostly because Joyce had failed to throw the flyer away immediately when it had arrived tucked between two bills in yesterday’s mail.
It’s hip, mom. Go be hip. You deserve the break.
Apparently, that had been enough for Joyce to agree. She had been meaning to get some art into the gallery and she definitely had clients that were interested in the macabre.
But needed break or not, Joyce wasn’t stupid enough to leave her fifteen year old daughter alone. Luckily, Ira and Sheila Rosenberg were in town so Joyce felt like she was leaving Buffy in capable, (mostly) strict hands.
***
Lilah scanned the room over the rim of her glass, not expecting to find anyone she deemed worthy of speaking to. To her own surprise, she spotted a curly-haired blonde woman who looked like she’d been dressed by a teenager and was out of place amongst the images of chaos and destruction. Also, there was something familiar about her. In fact, Lilah could swear she remembered seeing that face in a Special Projects file marked…
…Slayer, Vampire.
Buffy’s mom. Lilah grinned, her interest fully piqued. Holland was sure to give her all the best cases if she got the 411 on the original Slayer’s life.
Moving across the room with the deadly grace of a shark that just spotted prey, Lilah immediately invaded the woman’s personal space. This caused the matronly stranger to step backwards into a bronze statue of a naked man whose copper-plated brains were spilling down his hollowed-out cheeks.
“Watch out for him,” Lilah warned, a tiny smirk curling her lips as she reached out to help the woman steady herself. “We wouldn’t want him to get a taste of human flesh, now would we?”
Despite her embarrassment, Joyce permitted herself a tiny chuckle at the other woman’s zombie joke.
“Joyce Summers. Still getting used to these heels, I guess.”
There was something oddly adorable about the way Joyce smiled, but Lilah kept her lips pursed tight. If there was one thing she noticed, it was that Joyce’s expression didn’t register knowledge of the supernatural.
Looks like Buffy kept a tight lip around Mommy dearest and that might make getting the details out of her a bit more difficult.
“Lilah Morgan, Attorney at Law.”
Lilah barely noticed that she still had her hand on Joyce’s arm when she extended the other one. Joyce, who also didn’t seem to be paying attention to the continued touch, shook the offered hand. In a word, it could be best described as: nice. See also: kind, polite and decent.
She was everything Lilah Morgan wasn’t.
“Nice to meet you.”
Lilah swallowed down a chuckle, amused by Joyce’s politeness. What next? Is she going to ask if I need a refill?
Joyce sighed deeply, grateful to have found a conversation partner.
“Do they have anything to drink here besides champagne?” Joyce asked, glancing over at the buffet table and noting a lack of water and juice. “I really don’t think getting tipsy is the right idea given that I can barely balance on these heels in the first place.”
Lilah stifled a chuckle. This was an art showing, for Satan’s sake. It wasn’t like they were going to have hot cocoa on tap or something.
Not that she would mind a mug. She’d always been fond of the kind with a little shot of Irish Crème in it. Done right and a sinful concoction like that could whip the pants off quality Cristal.
“But if you don’t drink, how will I ever take advantage of you?”
Joyce’s lips parted, forming a small ‘o.’ It was hard to tell if Lilah was joking or being serious. Besides that, it had been a long time since Joyce had been hit on by a woman. In fact, the last time had been with her pre-law roommate back in college.
The memory of her time with Stacey brought a blush to her cheeks and that triggered a predatory grin on Lilah’s face.
“How ‘bout we get out of here and I’ll make you some hot cocoa at my place,” Lilah replied, deciding that there was something at this party that was better than the champagne.
“Only if you put a shot of Bailey’s in it,” Joyce answered, beaming.
“Done.”
Title: Mixing Drinks
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series. I don’t.
Pairing: Lilah/Joyce
Word Count: 1081
Overall Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13
Summary: A Wolfram and Hart sponsored function at an art gallery leads to an unexpected meeting.
Beta: The spectacular
angelskuuipo. All other mistakes are mine.A/N: Written for Cat as part of the Get Joyce Laid round of
femslash_minis. The challenge was to include Lilah, art appreciation, champagne, non-Sunnydale setting, and no angst. It was tough for me to go against my angst-prone nature, but I think I accomplished it. Hope it satisfies!The only thing that made these damn company functions worthwhile was the champagne.
Cristal.
Grand Siècle.
Even Dom Pérignon.
Wolfram and Hart poured thousands of dollars into the tiny glass flutes in a concerted effort to prove they were top-shelf. Not that they really needed to prove shit given that any law firm dumb enough to challenge their prowess would find themselves face-to-face with a Pi’oski demon who could produce more bubbles from the froth in its mouth than Louis Roderer could produce in a year.
Lilah sighed, taking a sip of her champagne and letting the bubbles tickle the back of her throat as she tried to get over the fact that she had to be here instead of being in court giving a one-two punch to some poor unsuspecting blind woman who had been allegedly tripped by the CEO of one of Wolfram and Hart’s best clients. Since the woman hadn’t been able to see the CEO’s tentacles slither out of his ankles, there was no case.
For reasons Lilah still couldn’t comprehend, Holland Manners had re-assigned the case to Lindsey McDonald and sent her to an art gallery decorated with paintings of post-apocalyptic landscapes.
She couldn’t exactly call the paintings dreadful in the same way that she frequently viewed a jury too stupid for its own good, but what the hell difference did it make if she was bored?
Bored, with a capital B.
***
Joyce Summers entered the art gallery and inhaled sharply. The air was filtered and recycled in here, but it was a helluva lot nicer on her lungs than the smog and smoke-filled air outside.
Taking a deeper breath, she teetered slightly on the higher heel than she was used to and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in the a-line skirt decorated with vibrantly colored spirals.
Why on Earth had she permitted Buffy to dig through her closets and pick out an outfit?
Then she remembered…
Her daughter was still in tune with the fashion and style of the LA crowd and Joyce…had quickly adopted the laissez-faire wardrobe of a Sunnydale business woman. Buffy was also the reason she was here looking at zombies and wastelands, but that was mostly because Joyce had failed to throw the flyer away immediately when it had arrived tucked between two bills in yesterday’s mail.
It’s hip, mom. Go be hip. You deserve the break.
Apparently, that had been enough for Joyce to agree. She had been meaning to get some art into the gallery and she definitely had clients that were interested in the macabre.
But needed break or not, Joyce wasn’t stupid enough to leave her fifteen year old daughter alone. Luckily, Ira and Sheila Rosenberg were in town so Joyce felt like she was leaving Buffy in capable, (mostly) strict hands.
***
Lilah scanned the room over the rim of her glass, not expecting to find anyone she deemed worthy of speaking to. To her own surprise, she spotted a curly-haired blonde woman who looked like she’d been dressed by a teenager and was out of place amongst the images of chaos and destruction. Also, there was something familiar about her. In fact, Lilah could swear she remembered seeing that face in a Special Projects file marked…
…Slayer, Vampire.
Buffy’s mom. Lilah grinned, her interest fully piqued. Holland was sure to give her all the best cases if she got the 411 on the original Slayer’s life.
Moving across the room with the deadly grace of a shark that just spotted prey, Lilah immediately invaded the woman’s personal space. This caused the matronly stranger to step backwards into a bronze statue of a naked man whose copper-plated brains were spilling down his hollowed-out cheeks.
“Watch out for him,” Lilah warned, a tiny smirk curling her lips as she reached out to help the woman steady herself. “We wouldn’t want him to get a taste of human flesh, now would we?”
Despite her embarrassment, Joyce permitted herself a tiny chuckle at the other woman’s zombie joke.
“Joyce Summers. Still getting used to these heels, I guess.”
There was something oddly adorable about the way Joyce smiled, but Lilah kept her lips pursed tight. If there was one thing she noticed, it was that Joyce’s expression didn’t register knowledge of the supernatural.
Looks like Buffy kept a tight lip around Mommy dearest and that might make getting the details out of her a bit more difficult.
“Lilah Morgan, Attorney at Law.”
Lilah barely noticed that she still had her hand on Joyce’s arm when she extended the other one. Joyce, who also didn’t seem to be paying attention to the continued touch, shook the offered hand. In a word, it could be best described as: nice. See also: kind, polite and decent.
She was everything Lilah Morgan wasn’t.
“Nice to meet you.”
Lilah swallowed down a chuckle, amused by Joyce’s politeness. What next? Is she going to ask if I need a refill?
Joyce sighed deeply, grateful to have found a conversation partner.
“Do they have anything to drink here besides champagne?” Joyce asked, glancing over at the buffet table and noting a lack of water and juice. “I really don’t think getting tipsy is the right idea given that I can barely balance on these heels in the first place.”
Lilah stifled a chuckle. This was an art showing, for Satan’s sake. It wasn’t like they were going to have hot cocoa on tap or something.
Not that she would mind a mug. She’d always been fond of the kind with a little shot of Irish Crème in it. Done right and a sinful concoction like that could whip the pants off quality Cristal.
“But if you don’t drink, how will I ever take advantage of you?”
Joyce’s lips parted, forming a small ‘o.’ It was hard to tell if Lilah was joking or being serious. Besides that, it had been a long time since Joyce had been hit on by a woman. In fact, the last time had been with her pre-law roommate back in college.
The memory of her time with Stacey brought a blush to her cheeks and that triggered a predatory grin on Lilah’s face.
“How ‘bout we get out of here and I’ll make you some hot cocoa at my place,” Lilah replied, deciding that there was something at this party that was better than the champagne.
“Only if you put a shot of Bailey’s in it,” Joyce answered, beaming.
“Done.”
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on 2011-08-17 10:31 pm (UTC)Gabrielle
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