Title: What She Said
Word count: about 3300
Summary: Episode coda and missing scene for s11e04: Baby. A demon gets a close encounter with Sam through the unfortunate Piper.
This is the first time I've written any original characters. My apologies for putting a damper on the cheerful part of this episode.
(also posted on AO3
What She Said
--“I tried to give her my number. You know what she said?”
“I’d congratulate you,” said Edwin, “but you already look like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, so I’ll refrain.” He picked up his swan-shaped napkin and yanked it flat with more vigor than necessary, then narrowed his eyes at his water glass as though inspecting it for the slightest excuse to harangue the waitstaff.
If you’re going to be a demon, he’d always maintained, you might as well live it up to fullest. Mildred agreed, but she’d never taken much pleasure in treading upon the already trod-upon. Where was the fun in that? She made CEOs cry on a regular basis; she could afford to be affable to the little people.
Mildred smiled demurely. “Now, now,” she said breezily. “Green is not a good color for you.”
“Pfft. You were just lucky. Right place at the right time.” Edwin scowled after a passing woman whose handbag (Prada, two seasons old) had brushed his shoulder.
“That’s true, absolutely true. Of course you have to know what to make of these opportunities.” Mildred smiled opulently at their waitress, who made a beeline for their table and took their orders with alacrity, despite Edwin’s badgering her about every ingredient on the menu.
“This place has degenerated terribly. It’s staffed by morons now,” Edwin sniffed.
“Come now, Edwin, you’re just in a terrible mood. I’m going to leave her an excellent tip, because you’re atrocious.” Mildred daintily straightened the silverware in front of her and pushed the small but gorgeous floral centerpiece a half-inch to the left. “I have quite a bit of empathy for her—”
Edwin snorted. “Shut up, Edwin,” she said. “Quite a bit of empathy for her, now that I know what it’s like to be a servant.”
“A server, not a servant, you ancient monstrosity,” corrected Edwin. “It’s not the nineteenth century anymore.”
Mildred’s nostrils flared briefly. “I never lived in the nineteenth century,” she said severely. “I was born in 1901. And when I say servant, I mean servant.”
The waitress appeared with their bottle of wine, and while Edwin was occupied with fretting over it, Mildred studied herself in one of the large gilt-framed mirrors that lined the restaurant walls. Her short bobbed hair gleamed silver in a way that reminded her of the old-fashioned Christmas-tree baubles of her youth—her human youth, of course, before she’d sold her soul. She tilted her head slightly to admire her still-lovely neck, its elegance enhanced by the hard glitter of her oversized ruby choker.
She touched the largest gem, centered in the hollow of her throat, and smiled softly. The necklace would not have looked out of place above the fashionable velvet and silk ensembles of her teenage years.
This was her third long-term receptacle, as she preferred to called it (whoever popularized the shudder-inducing "meatsuit," she often thought, should be eaten by their own hellhounds), and her favorite. Let other, lesser demons blow through their youthful, frenetic bodies by the dozen—they were fools. She knew the value of presence, of stateliness.
She tasted the wine and nodded her approval with the gracious smile that had first attracted her to this body. Queenly, she had thought, and not merely in appearance. The woman had been a successful and powerful advertising executive, and that was what Mildred had been in life, for ten glorious years after The Deal, and in that era, she’d sorely needed that deal.
She’d chosen wisely, and it showed now. In the tall mirrors, she saw the reflection of a prosperous self-made woman, enjoying a well-earned meal at a Michelin-starred establishment. Edwin, seated across from her, looked like her spoiled ne’er-do-well son who was headed for an early midlife crisis. She didn’t understand how he’d lasted so long under Crowley’s rule—but he could be counted on for amusing gossip.
“How did you do it?” he asked. “I had all the best informants, and even so, when I got to that godforsaken place every eligible female meatsuit—all of them were occupied.”( Read more...Collapse )