Story Notes: Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Joss Whedon. The original characters and plot are the property of me. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I own nothing. Joss owns all.
Chapter Notes:

 In which Anya's descent into the world of capitalist sex toy distributor begins and the scene is set.


“Hello, I’m looking for something in particular.”


Anya turned from her hourly hobby of counting the money in the cash register. She had been shaking her hips, a move she had coined ‘The Capitalist Dance of Superiority’. Anya faltered for a moment at the stooped, warty woman before her, the distaste in her face quickly turning to the vapid grin and wide eyed appearance that the infuriating Ex-Watcher/Librarian-man had asked her on many occasions not to adopt. What would he know? oddly well-shaped man that he was. 


As long as the register drawer was amply stacked with the pretty green pieces of paper that brought her much joy; and many sparkly items, it didn’t matter. 


“I wonder if you have the Sapphire Special?”


The warty woman's voice once again snapped Anya from her thoughts. God, why were people so needy?


Men had so much to learn about the nature of life, Anya felt. She recalled their once brief-if not spell-bound engagement with relish at times. He was attractive in a grey fox, English charm type of way. Anya often would daydream about their spell-induced engagement, not unlike Buffy had done with Spike a year before, she no doubt surmised. Though she was sometimes curious if her English fiancee’ bulge exceeded Buffy’s own spell - induced one. Anya had once encountered that, it indeed had, but only slightly. Only slightly. Like a dancing Cobra encased in tweed. God, no wonder they called it ‘Great’ Britain.


“Hello, Sapphire Special?” Wart Woman continued.


Anya grimaced as the sexual day-dream about her boys, though she would never openly admit that to Buffy, was rudely interrupted by the stooped, vile smelling woman who looked every inch the witch. Anya gazed at her blankly before placing her friendly clerk smile back on her face.


“Can I interest you in an ointment with your purchase?” Anya gestured to her own visage. “Half price?”


“Do you have the Sapphire Special?” Wart Woman appeared to be getting irritated, her voice was rather squeaky.


Anya stared blankly as she was reminded of that sad film the Scoobies had watched last night. A poor witch’s sister had been cruelly crushed by a silly girl’s plummeting real estate. Then to add insult to injury some silly blonde fairy had gifted the witch's pretty ruby shoes to her murderer. Humans were very strange in what they deemed entertainment. But at least there were no rabbits. Not like that terrifying cartoon they had watched one time at Willows, it was supposed to be a metaphor for war or something. When Anya had cheered at one of the rabbits being murdered, Willow and Buffy were staring at her, all red eyed and watery. The monster had it coming in her opinion. Damn horror movies.


“If I had a special sapphire.” Anya snapped as she leaned over the counter. “I wouldn’t have to be slowly decaying in this pathetic world as I serve basic mortals such as yourself, would I?”


The amount of times a stupid witch had come in asking for a damn Sapphire Special, Anya had lost count. It infuriated her even more when she realised that, not only didn't they stock it, she couldn't even find out what it was from their suppliers. It was like watching Giles flush money down the toilet. Which he didn’t do. Anya blanched as the thought crossed her mind. He would never do that to the money. Never.


The woman glared at Anya rather rudely, before her visage slipped back into a placid understanding. This was not the first time a witch had come wandering in expecting special sapphires and Anya had become quite irritated with the constant requests. Why couldn’t people just go to a jewellers if they wanted sapphire’s so much? She dealt in spells, potions, amulets, ingredients and occasional curses not stupid gems, unless they were cursed. Cursed gems were so much more interesting.


“Is it cursed?” Anya barked as she came too from her pondering.


The woman’s back was slowly retreating to the exit. God she hated watching money walk out the door. Unless it was her money, of course.


“Excuse me?” Wart Woman's hand faltered on the door handle as she turned to the truly bizarre sales clerk, whose wide eyes seemed peaked in interest.


“The Sapphire Special?” Anya smiled as the woman surveyed her from across the shop, the customer's large bag dangling from her arm in a way that, Anya hoped, precluded the presence of big bags of cash. 


“Cursed?” She blinked at Anya briefly before a smile flitted over her face. “No child, it is a healing phallus.”


“Phallus?” Anya’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets at that last remark. “It’s a jewelled encrusted, healing penis?”


The woman nodded, a brief smile flitting her face, before it petered out and she muttered. “One I would have paid good money for, had you one in stock.”


People paid good money? For a fake magic penis? Well, Anya thought, as she adopted a sad masque of defeat. If one woman would pay good money for a magic penis, there must be plenty of others.


“Please, bring your money back, soon.” Anya called as the door snapped shut her mind back on counting her money.


Giles would be sad that she hadn’t made a sale, but it was the stupid librarians fault for not stocking magic penis. She wondered if there were other women looking for magic penises, and whether they would pay good money for such things. She herself thought about how many times she had wished Xander had an extra penis for when the first one went to sleep after getting travel sick one too many times. If there were more women out there looking for magic penises that they could use for personal pleasure, and she was sure there was, she wondered if they would pay her good money for providing them. 


“But only for me.” Anya smiled as she returned to her previous dance of Capitalist Superiority and opened the cash register. “Only for me.”


Then her previous musing about Giles swam to the forefront of her mind. She knew that variety was the spice of life, she remembered when the phrase was coined and had vehemently proclaimed, to all that would listen, that it was utterly true. If she could sell magic penis’ to the women of Sunnydale at a profit, then she wouldn’t have to work in this smelly shop. She wouldn't have to share all the money. 


Chapter End Notes:

 Gosh I loved writing this first chapter. Being in the mind of Anya is truly hilarious, and not unlike my own. Fear not Spuffy is on its way. write

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