"I Ate a Decorator Once" Oneshot
Hunting and Gathering
Missing Scene: What Lindsey did from “Dead End” to “Destiny,” or as I like to call it “How Lindsey Got His Tattoos.”
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All characters represented here are the creation of a superior being we fans like to call Joss.
Word Count: 1,344
The horrible, lingering stench of flesh meeting fire, coupled with the wafting smoke from his body made him want to jump into the ocean and never climb out. The imagery did nothing to calm the flames. For all the good it was doing, the ocean in his mind may very well have been boiling. Yet, he wasn’t burning. There was no fire, save for the smoldering incense by the door. The lick of the flames twisting up his arms and across his chest, down and down further into the depths of his very being were the result of a sharp stick and a pot of ink.
No. The deep and searing pain that caused Lindsey to arch his back and bite his tongue, to squeeze his eyes past shut and his fingers into the flesh of his palms came from a man’s body, black as midnight and toned with natural grace. It was concentrating intently on its task. The creature doing the actual work was far greater than human; there was a demon from a dark dimension riding the nomadic shaman’s soul. Legend had it that this demon possessed the ultimate power of the Beyond. One wrong misstep and Lindsey could easily be destroyed in ways worse than death. It was risky, but so was toeing around in the Senior Partners' backyards. Soon, it’d be over. Soon. For the moment, though, all Lindsey could feel was the pain. It all came back to the pain, white hot and constant.
Lindsey tried to focus on the hypnotic movement of the shaman’s lips, pierced with the bones of what he hoped were only small mammals. No sound escaped them, and even if they did, Lindsey knew he wouldn’t understand a word. They were ancient, belonging to those who walked the earth Before. Noone dared call up their power anymore, which is why it took Lindsey so long to even hear of this alternate route. He’d been living in Nepal, searching for himself and for the power hidden within him when he’d caught a whisper of a rumor. He’d followed it through Europe, and finally ended up in southern Cameroon. It had taken so long and so much fear and hiding and now -
He practically leapt off the cot he had been laying on, curling his fingers into his palms. Lindsey could’ve sworn that damned stick had gone all the way down to his bones! The shaman merely rested a hand on his belly and pushed him back down. Lindsey knew enough not to ask him to stop. It had to be done. It had to be done like this. He breathed in deep and watched the magic man take up the sharp stick once more.
With each tap, as the ink bled under and into his skin, dark magic, powerful magic, was burning through his veins and climbing through his soul. It was eating into every fiber of his being, learning the vibration of the atoms of his cells and the rhythm of his heartbeat. It had to know how to hide him. It had to know what it would take to make him invisible to everyone. They would never see him coming. Not with these markings adorning his body. He could dance over their graves, and the fancy equipment and most gifted minds at the old law firm would never notice him. Complete protection. All it took was one symbol, permanently etched into his chest. All he had to do was ignore the pain.
He tried counting to ten, but that lead him to rate the pain of each tap. He tried visualizing the path he’d take once he left the tent, but he knew he’d find a guide some ways up the river. Thinking ahead would surely disappoint him. So he thought backwards. Before Cameroon, before Spain, before the Decision, there was the Revelation. It smelled faintly of burnt bacon and coffee grounds.
The image formed perfectly in his mind’s eye.
“You’re not safe, you know.” Her pouting face and silk-wrapped neck came into focus beside him in the small diner. “A slip of paper may protect you from their grasp overseas, but on their home turf? You don’t stand a chance.” She slapped a newspaper - American - down on the table. He knew not to look at it. He knew he shouldn’t.
“You know you’ll come back. You have to come back now.”
So they’d found him. Now what? His eyes fell to the headline. New CEO of Prestigious L.A. Law Firm. There was a picture.
“No one leaves there, Lindsey.” She rose from the booth, her skin looking sickly in the light. “Not even the dead.”
Her smiling, sneering face darkened infinitely, and the white pearls of animal bones appeared around her mouth. The shaman came back into view. He frowned, then moved away. Bleeding and heaving for cool air, Lindsey sat up on the rudimentary cot. He ducked his head to avoid colliding with the drying rabbit carcass hanging from the thatched roof, and stood up.
The black hand of the magic man stopped him. Digging his fingers in the fresh wound of the tattoo, he smiled, revealing teeth sharpened to perfect points. With his other hand, he held four fingers in the air. They fell with each word he uttered in a voice like gravel: Reflexes. Stamina. Transmutation. Telekinesis. He held his closed fist in the air and looked down at Lindsey. The former lawyer understood and sat back down.
He flexed his reattached hand and imagined catching Angel’s punches. The shaman replenished the hollowed-out gourd with more ink. Lindsey thought of running down the vampire with his long, billowing coat, and smashing his face against the concrete. The shaman took another sharpened stick from the shelf. With the feel of Angel’s ashes in his face, Lindsey smiled at the man-demon above him. The searing, terrible pain would return, but this time, Lindsey was ready for it. It wasn’t so bad if you knew what to expect. And it didn’t matter what black magic was being used, Lindsey had already sold his soul to the devil.
The second time around, the pain settled into a comforting embrace. It reminded him of the hell he had to go through to get to this point. All of the pain. All of the exams. The trials, the sneaking, the cheating. He watched a lot of people get ruined. He watched himself reach the breaking point. Now, he was coming back. Now, he was going to get what he needed. If he clamped his jaw tight enough, he was reminded of every time that damned vampire would outsmart him. If his nails dug into his palms deep enough, it was the frustration of losing yet again. No more. Once this was over, Angel was done for.
Once this was over. Once this was . . .
He may have passed out from the pain. Or it could have been the magic. He couldn’t quite remember. When the sun filtered in through the thatched roof, he lifted himself gingerly from the bed. The incense had smoldered down completely. The shaman was standing above him with a cup of water. He asked about payment. Lindsey gave him what would do. He shifted left, and shifted right, but couldn’t feel any different. He had the magic inside of him now, he knew this by the wilted look in the magic man’s eyes. There was only one way to test it now.
Over the river and through the woods was a small airport that could get him to Los Angeles in a little less than a day. There would be no questions asked. No security. Only time to build up a plan. To think of the worst way to get back inside. What would eat away at Angel? What would make this return oh so sweet? Lindsey wasn’t to sure at the moment. He’d think of a plan later, once he’d stepped foot back in America, back into the city that grew him.
There was no going back now.
Missing Scene: What Lindsey did from “Dead End” to “Destiny,” or as I like to call it “How Lindsey Got His Tattoos.”
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All characters represented here are the creation of a superior being we fans like to call Joss.
Word Count: 1,344
The horrible, lingering stench of flesh meeting fire, coupled with the wafting smoke from his body made him want to jump into the ocean and never climb out. The imagery did nothing to calm the flames. For all the good it was doing, the ocean in his mind may very well have been boiling. Yet, he wasn’t burning. There was no fire, save for the smoldering incense by the door. The lick of the flames twisting up his arms and across his chest, down and down further into the depths of his very being were the result of a sharp stick and a pot of ink.
No. The deep and searing pain that caused Lindsey to arch his back and bite his tongue, to squeeze his eyes past shut and his fingers into the flesh of his palms came from a man’s body, black as midnight and toned with natural grace. It was concentrating intently on its task. The creature doing the actual work was far greater than human; there was a demon from a dark dimension riding the nomadic shaman’s soul. Legend had it that this demon possessed the ultimate power of the Beyond. One wrong misstep and Lindsey could easily be destroyed in ways worse than death. It was risky, but so was toeing around in the Senior Partners' backyards. Soon, it’d be over. Soon. For the moment, though, all Lindsey could feel was the pain. It all came back to the pain, white hot and constant.
Lindsey tried to focus on the hypnotic movement of the shaman’s lips, pierced with the bones of what he hoped were only small mammals. No sound escaped them, and even if they did, Lindsey knew he wouldn’t understand a word. They were ancient, belonging to those who walked the earth Before. Noone dared call up their power anymore, which is why it took Lindsey so long to even hear of this alternate route. He’d been living in Nepal, searching for himself and for the power hidden within him when he’d caught a whisper of a rumor. He’d followed it through Europe, and finally ended up in southern Cameroon. It had taken so long and so much fear and hiding and now -
He practically leapt off the cot he had been laying on, curling his fingers into his palms. Lindsey could’ve sworn that damned stick had gone all the way down to his bones! The shaman merely rested a hand on his belly and pushed him back down. Lindsey knew enough not to ask him to stop. It had to be done. It had to be done like this. He breathed in deep and watched the magic man take up the sharp stick once more.
With each tap, as the ink bled under and into his skin, dark magic, powerful magic, was burning through his veins and climbing through his soul. It was eating into every fiber of his being, learning the vibration of the atoms of his cells and the rhythm of his heartbeat. It had to know how to hide him. It had to know what it would take to make him invisible to everyone. They would never see him coming. Not with these markings adorning his body. He could dance over their graves, and the fancy equipment and most gifted minds at the old law firm would never notice him. Complete protection. All it took was one symbol, permanently etched into his chest. All he had to do was ignore the pain.
He tried counting to ten, but that lead him to rate the pain of each tap. He tried visualizing the path he’d take once he left the tent, but he knew he’d find a guide some ways up the river. Thinking ahead would surely disappoint him. So he thought backwards. Before Cameroon, before Spain, before the Decision, there was the Revelation. It smelled faintly of burnt bacon and coffee grounds.
The image formed perfectly in his mind’s eye.
“You’re not safe, you know.” Her pouting face and silk-wrapped neck came into focus beside him in the small diner. “A slip of paper may protect you from their grasp overseas, but on their home turf? You don’t stand a chance.” She slapped a newspaper - American - down on the table. He knew not to look at it. He knew he shouldn’t.
“You know you’ll come back. You have to come back now.”
So they’d found him. Now what? His eyes fell to the headline. New CEO of Prestigious L.A. Law Firm. There was a picture.
“No one leaves there, Lindsey.” She rose from the booth, her skin looking sickly in the light. “Not even the dead.”
Her smiling, sneering face darkened infinitely, and the white pearls of animal bones appeared around her mouth. The shaman came back into view. He frowned, then moved away. Bleeding and heaving for cool air, Lindsey sat up on the rudimentary cot. He ducked his head to avoid colliding with the drying rabbit carcass hanging from the thatched roof, and stood up.
The black hand of the magic man stopped him. Digging his fingers in the fresh wound of the tattoo, he smiled, revealing teeth sharpened to perfect points. With his other hand, he held four fingers in the air. They fell with each word he uttered in a voice like gravel: Reflexes. Stamina. Transmutation. Telekinesis. He held his closed fist in the air and looked down at Lindsey. The former lawyer understood and sat back down.
He flexed his reattached hand and imagined catching Angel’s punches. The shaman replenished the hollowed-out gourd with more ink. Lindsey thought of running down the vampire with his long, billowing coat, and smashing his face against the concrete. The shaman took another sharpened stick from the shelf. With the feel of Angel’s ashes in his face, Lindsey smiled at the man-demon above him. The searing, terrible pain would return, but this time, Lindsey was ready for it. It wasn’t so bad if you knew what to expect. And it didn’t matter what black magic was being used, Lindsey had already sold his soul to the devil.
The second time around, the pain settled into a comforting embrace. It reminded him of the hell he had to go through to get to this point. All of the pain. All of the exams. The trials, the sneaking, the cheating. He watched a lot of people get ruined. He watched himself reach the breaking point. Now, he was coming back. Now, he was going to get what he needed. If he clamped his jaw tight enough, he was reminded of every time that damned vampire would outsmart him. If his nails dug into his palms deep enough, it was the frustration of losing yet again. No more. Once this was over, Angel was done for.
Once this was over. Once this was . . .
He may have passed out from the pain. Or it could have been the magic. He couldn’t quite remember. When the sun filtered in through the thatched roof, he lifted himself gingerly from the bed. The incense had smoldered down completely. The shaman was standing above him with a cup of water. He asked about payment. Lindsey gave him what would do. He shifted left, and shifted right, but couldn’t feel any different. He had the magic inside of him now, he knew this by the wilted look in the magic man’s eyes. There was only one way to test it now.
Over the river and through the woods was a small airport that could get him to Los Angeles in a little less than a day. There would be no questions asked. No security. Only time to build up a plan. To think of the worst way to get back inside. What would eat away at Angel? What would make this return oh so sweet? Lindsey wasn’t to sure at the moment. He’d think of a plan later, once he’d stepped foot back in America, back into the city that grew him.
There was no going back now.