Proof of Giants (2/11)
As promised, imaginary people, here is part two of "Proof of Giants". I originally planned this one as part three, but Buffy refused to behave for me this evening, so I had to fall back on Xander, who I could (and probably do) write decently well in my sleep.
This part is not yet as done as Willow's was yesterday. But it's beginning to be shaped the way I want it to, and it has more of the light hearted/dark cored feel that I'm aiming for over all.
Part Two
She's An Angel
Xander
She was, of course, too good to be true. Xander had known that when she'd brushed up against him that first time, on the streets of Cairo. He'd swerved out of the way of two feral mutts fighting over someone's half-eaten sandwich, dodging to his blind side as she walked by. Theyd both stumbled, her for only a second before regaining her balance, him right over a low, decorative metal fence. She'd giggled, then offered him a hand up.
He knew immediately that she couldn't be normal. “Normal” just wasn't in the cards for him. He spent their first date, a mini-cruise along the Nile on a tourist boat, thinking of possible demons. Vampire was easy, they'd met in the sunlight (and hadn't her hair, seemingly mouse-brown, lit up gold when the sun hit it just right?). She couldn't be a mantis, not with her aversion to bugs (she'd leaped, literally, into his arms when confronted with a beetle), and they'd already kissed a few times without his life energy being syphoned off to keep her young and fresh, so he felt pretty good about crossing “mummy” off the list (of course, this being Egypt, he wasn't able to entirely banish that possibility).
In fact, it seemed Andrew was actively running books on what type of demon she was. He'd admitted it the day Xander had sucked up his pride and called home for advice.
If nothing else, he was determined to figure out what she was before she inevitably tried to kill him.
But she remained almost irritatingly perfect. She was patient with him through his increasingly bipolar moods. She had a shy, half-ironic love of old sci-fi and comic books. Physically, she may as well have been Diana herself: her C cup breasts almost exactly the size of his hands, the top of her head fitting precisely under his chin. The one time she'd seen him without his eyepatch or his prosthetic, she'd neither flinched nor stared, but simply held his gaze with a smile.
It was driving him insane.
All of his guessing was thrown out the window the afternoon he'd come back to her apartment early, and nearly walked in on her speaking to a pillar of magical flame.
Fortunately, he managed to stop his immediate impulse of grabbing a fire extinguisher. He had no desire to see whether or not the Metatron really looked anything like Alan Rickman.
“He's almost ready,” she'd said, her hands folded in a supplicant position across her stomach. He hadn't heard what the flames had said in reply. “No.” She'd said. “Not yet.”
He'd snuck back into the living room and sank down onto the couch. When she'd come out a few moments later, he'd done his best to smile as though nothing strange was going on.
She was an angel.
It made a twisted kind of sense, that his “demon-magnet” status would eventually lead to this. He wondered if this was some sort of reward for having survived and fought as long as he had, without any superpowers. It made him angry to think that he might get this reward, but his friends did not.
What really got to him, however, was that she'd lied. Oh, he was pretty sure that if he ever asked her “are you an angel?” she'd answer him honestly, but she was lying nonetheless. A lie of omission was no less of a lie. It was killing him.
She was so perfect in so many ways, that he almost hated himself for being angry. But one of the things that had originally drawn him to Anya, well, other the fact that she was, miraculously, attracted to him, was her refusal to be anything but an ex-demon. She'd never pretended to be a normal human, because she wasn't. Cordelia, too, had refused to lie. Xander had grown used to it.
So he'd missed a few of their planned dates, accidentally on purpose scheduling meetings with important magic suppliers when he was supposed to be meeting her for dinner. She'd always been very understanding, which rankled. If she was human she'd get mad. Finally he decided he had to break it off. They met at a small cafe, the same one outside which those two dogs had been fighting.
He sat in the corner, his back to the wall, watching the tourists walking up and down the street. When she entered, the sun hit her hair again, lighting it up like-like a damned halo, all over again. He closed his eyes.
An electronic version of the Mexican Hat Dance sounded from his pocket.
He smiled apologetically at her, and she nodded back in gentle understanding. He retrieved his cellphone, and held up a finger to let her know he'd make it quick.
It was, he thought, probably bad form to let oneself be distracted by a phone call in the middle of breaking up with someone, but the Mexican Hat Dance was the emergency ring. He couldn't not answer.
“What's going on?”
“Xander?!” Willow's voice sounded weak on the other end of the line. His breath quickened.
“Willow, what's going on? Are you okay?”
Across the table, the Angel bore an expression of concern. She reached out to take his hand reassuringly, but he drew it back as he listened to Willow. She was crying, hard, but he could understand her well enough.
He wasn't certain he wanted to believe it.
He looked up at the Angel, who looked back at him, an honest expression of sadness across her face. Strangers would weep at the sight of the tragedy he saw there.
And he knew it was true.
“Call Buffy.” Xander was surprised at how rough his voice sounded. His left eye socket burned slightly.
“I'm going to.” Willow sniffed. “I had to call you first.”
“Thanks.”
They said their good-byes, promising to speak again soon, VERY soon, and he slowly shut the phone.
He held the Angel's gaze. She stared back, saddened, but unafraid. There was only one thing he could ask her.
“Where's Anya?”
to be continued....
She's an Angel lyrics
This part is not yet as done as Willow's was yesterday. But it's beginning to be shaped the way I want it to, and it has more of the light hearted/dark cored feel that I'm aiming for over all.
Part Two
She's An Angel
Xander
She was, of course, too good to be true. Xander had known that when she'd brushed up against him that first time, on the streets of Cairo. He'd swerved out of the way of two feral mutts fighting over someone's half-eaten sandwich, dodging to his blind side as she walked by. Theyd both stumbled, her for only a second before regaining her balance, him right over a low, decorative metal fence. She'd giggled, then offered him a hand up.
He knew immediately that she couldn't be normal. “Normal” just wasn't in the cards for him. He spent their first date, a mini-cruise along the Nile on a tourist boat, thinking of possible demons. Vampire was easy, they'd met in the sunlight (and hadn't her hair, seemingly mouse-brown, lit up gold when the sun hit it just right?). She couldn't be a mantis, not with her aversion to bugs (she'd leaped, literally, into his arms when confronted with a beetle), and they'd already kissed a few times without his life energy being syphoned off to keep her young and fresh, so he felt pretty good about crossing “mummy” off the list (of course, this being Egypt, he wasn't able to entirely banish that possibility).
In fact, it seemed Andrew was actively running books on what type of demon she was. He'd admitted it the day Xander had sucked up his pride and called home for advice.
If nothing else, he was determined to figure out what she was before she inevitably tried to kill him.
But she remained almost irritatingly perfect. She was patient with him through his increasingly bipolar moods. She had a shy, half-ironic love of old sci-fi and comic books. Physically, she may as well have been Diana herself: her C cup breasts almost exactly the size of his hands, the top of her head fitting precisely under his chin. The one time she'd seen him without his eyepatch or his prosthetic, she'd neither flinched nor stared, but simply held his gaze with a smile.
It was driving him insane.
All of his guessing was thrown out the window the afternoon he'd come back to her apartment early, and nearly walked in on her speaking to a pillar of magical flame.
Fortunately, he managed to stop his immediate impulse of grabbing a fire extinguisher. He had no desire to see whether or not the Metatron really looked anything like Alan Rickman.
“He's almost ready,” she'd said, her hands folded in a supplicant position across her stomach. He hadn't heard what the flames had said in reply. “No.” She'd said. “Not yet.”
He'd snuck back into the living room and sank down onto the couch. When she'd come out a few moments later, he'd done his best to smile as though nothing strange was going on.
She was an angel.
It made a twisted kind of sense, that his “demon-magnet” status would eventually lead to this. He wondered if this was some sort of reward for having survived and fought as long as he had, without any superpowers. It made him angry to think that he might get this reward, but his friends did not.
What really got to him, however, was that she'd lied. Oh, he was pretty sure that if he ever asked her “are you an angel?” she'd answer him honestly, but she was lying nonetheless. A lie of omission was no less of a lie. It was killing him.
She was so perfect in so many ways, that he almost hated himself for being angry. But one of the things that had originally drawn him to Anya, well, other the fact that she was, miraculously, attracted to him, was her refusal to be anything but an ex-demon. She'd never pretended to be a normal human, because she wasn't. Cordelia, too, had refused to lie. Xander had grown used to it.
So he'd missed a few of their planned dates, accidentally on purpose scheduling meetings with important magic suppliers when he was supposed to be meeting her for dinner. She'd always been very understanding, which rankled. If she was human she'd get mad. Finally he decided he had to break it off. They met at a small cafe, the same one outside which those two dogs had been fighting.
He sat in the corner, his back to the wall, watching the tourists walking up and down the street. When she entered, the sun hit her hair again, lighting it up like-like a damned halo, all over again. He closed his eyes.
An electronic version of the Mexican Hat Dance sounded from his pocket.
He smiled apologetically at her, and she nodded back in gentle understanding. He retrieved his cellphone, and held up a finger to let her know he'd make it quick.
It was, he thought, probably bad form to let oneself be distracted by a phone call in the middle of breaking up with someone, but the Mexican Hat Dance was the emergency ring. He couldn't not answer.
“What's going on?”
“Xander?!” Willow's voice sounded weak on the other end of the line. His breath quickened.
“Willow, what's going on? Are you okay?”
Across the table, the Angel bore an expression of concern. She reached out to take his hand reassuringly, but he drew it back as he listened to Willow. She was crying, hard, but he could understand her well enough.
He wasn't certain he wanted to believe it.
He looked up at the Angel, who looked back at him, an honest expression of sadness across her face. Strangers would weep at the sight of the tragedy he saw there.
And he knew it was true.
“Call Buffy.” Xander was surprised at how rough his voice sounded. His left eye socket burned slightly.
“I'm going to.” Willow sniffed. “I had to call you first.”
“Thanks.”
They said their good-byes, promising to speak again soon, VERY soon, and he slowly shut the phone.
He held the Angel's gaze. She stared back, saddened, but unafraid. There was only one thing he could ask her.
“Where's Anya?”
to be continued....
She's an Angel lyrics