In the meantime, I wrote a little fic for the Awesome Ladies Ficathon! Woo hoo! But, because I always want to edit things — which you can't do with a comment-fic — I'm putting it up here instead of there.
Title: Pie or Death
Fandoms: BtVS/Pushing Daisies
Characters: Drusilla and Ned
Word Count: 460
Author’s Quickie Synopsis of Pushing Daisies: When Ned the Pie Maker touches dead things, they return to life — until he touches them again. Sad experience led him to discover that if the thing resurrected stayed alive for more than one minute, a living thing nearby would promptly drop dead, thereby retaining the balance of life and death.
Summary: Someone out there likes daisies. And pie.
Near closing one night, an odd woman came into The Pie Hole. That was not an unusual occurrence in and of itself. Ned the Pie Maker suspected that odd people were the only kind he came across. This particular woman was odder than most. She stood swaying next to the display counter, talking to the pies.
“You’re looking very well, dearie, considering,” she told the Apricot Ginger Marvel.
“Considering what?” asked Ned. “I mean -- may I help you?”
“Oh yes,” said the woman, who promptly reached across the counter and ran a sharp fingernail across his cheek. There was a tell-tale flash of light. Ned watched as vibrant, warm color ran up the woman’s (previously very pale) arm and blossomed across her face. The sparkle of her blue eyes, the warm glow of her cheeks, and the sheen of her dark hair were nearly as bright as the splash of Ned’s blood on her finger. Her eyes opened wider and she took a deep, gasping breath. She blinked and seemed to remember something.
“Just one bite,” she murmured to herself.
Her attention returned to the display case. “I’ll have some of that one please.” She pointed at the Lemon Cloud Nine. Ned took his hand away from his stinging cheek and hastened to serve up a slice. Somehow, time seemed very important just then.
The woman took a dainty bite and hummed with pleasure. Ned was charmed to see someone enjoying his handiwork.
He planned to ask something less rude than “what are you?” if he could just figure out how to phrase it. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came.
Just as he thought it was getting on a minute since the woman had sliced his cheek open, she patted his hand. There was another flash and all the color drained from her at once. Only the blood on her hand retained its vivid hue. She promptly popped the finger into her mouth and licked it thoroughly, making the same yummy-humming sound as when she’d sampled the pie. Ned decided it was not that charming, after all.
“My mother ate lemons,” she informed Ned. “Today was her birthday. I wanted to remember the tingle on my tongue.”
“Did you?” asked Ned.
“Oh, yes. But you are just as refreshing. Like honey and bubbles. And salamanders.”
Before he could decide what to ask her next — What did you think of the pie? Why me? Salamanders? — she had slipped out the front doors. The only trace that she had been there was the partially eaten slice of pie on the counter and the blood droplets sliding down his cheek.
Ned had the impression that it could have been much worse.
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