non-HP fic!
Title: Requiescat in pace
Fandom: Angel
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss Whedon and probably a whole bunch of other people/corporations, of which I am not one.
Notes: I wrote this some time ago, but had absolutely no idea where to put it. I know of a few Buffy and Angel fic sites, but none of them appear to be all that active. So here it is.
“Where am I?” demanded Cordelia, and then regretted it seconds later, or whatever seconds counted for in this godforsaken - or not! - place. What a clichéd opening. Not exactly a stellar entrance into the afterlife, especially for an actress turned seer turned demon turned Higher Power turned…well. Perhaps “Who am I?” would have been more appropriate.
“Don’t you know?” The ordinary, innocuous young man facing her inquired, and smiled in an annoyingly omniscient way. Well, maybe not - he could be smiling in just an ordinary, innocuous way, but he obviously knew more than she did, which made him omniscient-er, and he wasn’t sharing, which made him annoying. This situation was unacceptable.
“Look,” she said, temper rising. “I get that I’m dead and all, and I’m okay with that, I am. I’d just like to know, you know, where I’m actually going to be spending the rest of my non-life.” For someone as connected to the supernatural as herself - and really, who was more connected than she? - she possessed a disturbingly small amount of information about afterlives. This didn’t seem like a hell, not that she knew much about such places; Angel had always been surprisingly reluctant to share the details of his sojourns in the infernal regions. Selfish bastard.
“For example,” she continued, “Who else is here? Anyone I know?” A thought came to her. “Doyle?” she asked, hopefully.
The man shook his head.
Cordelia was suddenly furious. “And why is that, I’d like to know? Did he get the luxury accommodations? He did, didn’t he? That is so unfair! Oh, I know he was a hero, and he died to save us blah blah blah, and no one appreciates that more than I do, but still! I was a seer! I took on his damned - oh, excuse me - powers, and they hurt like hell -- oh -- no -- yes, like hell! And I helped people! And I was a Higher Being! That doesn’t get you any frequent flyer rewards up here, Higher Beinghood?”
The man blinked at her. She refused to be intimidated.
“Oh, I know, there was that whole Mistress of Pain, Mother of All Evil gig, but that was so not my fault! If I’m going to be punished for something, I’d like it to be something I signed up for, preferably something I enjoyed!”
“Does this look like punishment?” the man asked, mildly.
“Well…no,” admitted Cordelia, looking around. It looked oddly like Malibu, come to think of it, only without the homes or the shops or the people or the cars or, well, much of anything other than sand and water. “It’s not bad,” she admitted, grudgingly, “but I was hoping for something a little more - exotic? This might be heaven for someone from Iowa or Idaho or something, maybe, but as a California girl, I’m not terribly impressed with ocean-view property, although no doubt it is still prime real estate, even in the afterlife. But,” coming back to one of the most disconcerting aspects of the situation, “am I the only one here?” She gave name-dropping another try, “Buffy?” Cordelia wasn’t sure which was stronger at that moment, the desire to see a familiar face or the fear of spending quality post-existence time with the Slayer.
“Buffy’s still alive,” said the man, sounding somewhat surprised at her ignorance.
“Sorry,” huffed Cordelia. “It’s hard to tell with her, you know.”
The man touched his finger to his lips. “Sssssh,” he said.
“Don’t you dare sssh me, you, you…you insufferable…whatever you are!” Not her most biting insult, but profound ignorance of one’s present and future state tended to sap one’s creativity.
“You really don’t know,” said the man. His voice conveyed something between amusement and…was it disappointment?
“I. will. when. you. tell. me,” Cordelia answered, articulating the words carefully. It occurred to her that perhaps he was more deficient than omniscient. She wondered if she should lodge a complaint, and, if so, with whom.
“You’ll know soon enough,” the man said. “Just be quiet…for…one…moment.”
Cordelia clamped her mouth shut. Fine. Fine. She could be quiet. Not that she appreciated being bossed around by...
She heard the waves, first, against the rocks. And then the breeze, gentle, whispering friendly secrets to the sand. The sand answered with ruffling laughter. She’d happened upon a conversation, it seemed, but she did not understand the speakers at all. “I don’t hear them anymore,” she whispered in surprise, suddenly getting it. “The voices. The Powers That Be, and the evil ones, and the people, the miserable, desperate people. They were so -- so deafening, and now - they’re all gone.”
“Exactly,” said the man.
Cordelia took a deep breath and exhaled, for the first time, it seemed, in ages. “And my friends, she said, “I know that they -- will succeed, in the end. I know that things will happen the way they're meant to, even without me.” Not so long ago she would have resented that, but now it filled her with a feeling so stunningly unfamiliar that she struggled to name it.
“It’s peaceful here, isn’t it,” said the man.
“That’s it,” responded Cordelia, gratefully. “That’s it! Peaceful. Thank you, Dennis.”
“Anytime,” said Dennis, smiling. “Anytime.”
Fandom: Angel
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss Whedon and probably a whole bunch of other people/corporations, of which I am not one.
Notes: I wrote this some time ago, but had absolutely no idea where to put it. I know of a few Buffy and Angel fic sites, but none of them appear to be all that active. So here it is.
“Where am I?” demanded Cordelia, and then regretted it seconds later, or whatever seconds counted for in this godforsaken - or not! - place. What a clichéd opening. Not exactly a stellar entrance into the afterlife, especially for an actress turned seer turned demon turned Higher Power turned…well. Perhaps “Who am I?” would have been more appropriate.
“Don’t you know?” The ordinary, innocuous young man facing her inquired, and smiled in an annoyingly omniscient way. Well, maybe not - he could be smiling in just an ordinary, innocuous way, but he obviously knew more than she did, which made him omniscient-er, and he wasn’t sharing, which made him annoying. This situation was unacceptable.
“Look,” she said, temper rising. “I get that I’m dead and all, and I’m okay with that, I am. I’d just like to know, you know, where I’m actually going to be spending the rest of my non-life.” For someone as connected to the supernatural as herself - and really, who was more connected than she? - she possessed a disturbingly small amount of information about afterlives. This didn’t seem like a hell, not that she knew much about such places; Angel had always been surprisingly reluctant to share the details of his sojourns in the infernal regions. Selfish bastard.
“For example,” she continued, “Who else is here? Anyone I know?” A thought came to her. “Doyle?” she asked, hopefully.
The man shook his head.
Cordelia was suddenly furious. “And why is that, I’d like to know? Did he get the luxury accommodations? He did, didn’t he? That is so unfair! Oh, I know he was a hero, and he died to save us blah blah blah, and no one appreciates that more than I do, but still! I was a seer! I took on his damned - oh, excuse me - powers, and they hurt like hell -- oh -- no -- yes, like hell! And I helped people! And I was a Higher Being! That doesn’t get you any frequent flyer rewards up here, Higher Beinghood?”
The man blinked at her. She refused to be intimidated.
“Oh, I know, there was that whole Mistress of Pain, Mother of All Evil gig, but that was so not my fault! If I’m going to be punished for something, I’d like it to be something I signed up for, preferably something I enjoyed!”
“Does this look like punishment?” the man asked, mildly.
“Well…no,” admitted Cordelia, looking around. It looked oddly like Malibu, come to think of it, only without the homes or the shops or the people or the cars or, well, much of anything other than sand and water. “It’s not bad,” she admitted, grudgingly, “but I was hoping for something a little more - exotic? This might be heaven for someone from Iowa or Idaho or something, maybe, but as a California girl, I’m not terribly impressed with ocean-view property, although no doubt it is still prime real estate, even in the afterlife. But,” coming back to one of the most disconcerting aspects of the situation, “am I the only one here?” She gave name-dropping another try, “Buffy?” Cordelia wasn’t sure which was stronger at that moment, the desire to see a familiar face or the fear of spending quality post-existence time with the Slayer.
“Buffy’s still alive,” said the man, sounding somewhat surprised at her ignorance.
“Sorry,” huffed Cordelia. “It’s hard to tell with her, you know.”
The man touched his finger to his lips. “Sssssh,” he said.
“Don’t you dare sssh me, you, you…you insufferable…whatever you are!” Not her most biting insult, but profound ignorance of one’s present and future state tended to sap one’s creativity.
“You really don’t know,” said the man. His voice conveyed something between amusement and…was it disappointment?
“I. will. when. you. tell. me,” Cordelia answered, articulating the words carefully. It occurred to her that perhaps he was more deficient than omniscient. She wondered if she should lodge a complaint, and, if so, with whom.
“You’ll know soon enough,” the man said. “Just be quiet…for…one…moment.”
Cordelia clamped her mouth shut. Fine. Fine. She could be quiet. Not that she appreciated being bossed around by...
She heard the waves, first, against the rocks. And then the breeze, gentle, whispering friendly secrets to the sand. The sand answered with ruffling laughter. She’d happened upon a conversation, it seemed, but she did not understand the speakers at all. “I don’t hear them anymore,” she whispered in surprise, suddenly getting it. “The voices. The Powers That Be, and the evil ones, and the people, the miserable, desperate people. They were so -- so deafening, and now - they’re all gone.”
“Exactly,” said the man.
Cordelia took a deep breath and exhaled, for the first time, it seemed, in ages. “And my friends, she said, “I know that they -- will succeed, in the end. I know that things will happen the way they're meant to, even without me.” Not so long ago she would have resented that, but now it filled her with a feeling so stunningly unfamiliar that she struggled to name it.
“It’s peaceful here, isn’t it,” said the man.
“That’s it,” responded Cordelia, gratefully. “That’s it! Peaceful. Thank you, Dennis.”
“Anytime,” said Dennis, smiling. “Anytime.”