Fic updates
I have perpetrated fic on seasonal_spuffy - naughty fic I ought to be ashamed of too. Go read, but don't say you weren't warned!
"At the End of the Day"
Meanwhile I have also been working on After the Deluge and offer here another chapter, for the few still heroic enough to be keeping up with it. As I explained, by laptop was stolen a few months ago, taking with it the first version of this chapter and much of my motivation to write. My apologies for the ridiculously long delay.
Setting, a barn in Oxfordshire, in the Cotswolds. Yes, Spike and Buffy are finally in the same location. Cue for everything to go smoothly, then?
Chapter Twenty-Two: Gathering Together
The sun had shaken off its mantle of cloud, and the last rays striped the dusty floor of the barn. There were not enough of them, nor were they strong enough in the fading daylight, to do much harm, though Spike had done his best to avoid them during his struggle. A pity, then, that a solitary, vagrant beam glanced across his face just as he jerked his head up to respond to the remembered, beloved voice, and his first response to the girl he had missed so much was a yelp followed swiftly by a swear word.
His was not the only voice. Dawn’s urgent now, repeated her inquiry. The stranger once more loosed a stream of, presumably, invective.
The woman at the door leant lightly against the jamb, arms folded and her expression conveying irritation of the profoundest kind.
Dawn, above, was also irritated. Enough time had passed, there was no sign of any great danger, and she had only promised to stay there as long as peril existed. She’d asked if it was OK and been ignored; no Summers woman should stand for that. She swung herself round and groped with one foot for the top rung of the ladder. It was all very well for stupid vampires to drop ten feet and land, cat-like, ready for action. Proper people required ladders.
The ladder rested against the wall, and she had to wave her foot around in an unnecessarily balletic manner before she finally made contact, hooked the necessary tool with one foot and dragged it closer. She reached down to settle it firmly against the beam before entrusting her weight to it, and lowered herself gingerly at first and then with more confidence.
Misplaced confidence, it turned out. The ladder twisted on the one foot which had been firmly in contact with the ground and slid sideways, raking the edge of the hayloft as it fell and dragging Dawn downwards with it. She yelped. It was not a scream. Then she fell, with impressive accuracy, directly on the heap of male flesh beneath her.
Then she screamed.
Spike turned his head sharply, a reflex trained into him by many years of Dawn-saveage. At the same moment the man beneath him surged up to grip his throat. “Nice trick, mate - if I had to breathe,” muttered Spike, using up all the air he did have, before heaving back.
Buffy stalked forward, gripped and lifted Dawn, just as the inchoate mass beneath her threatened to tip her off. She set her down with exaggerated care, teeth gritted as she said just one word, “Tuesday?”
Then she turned to the next on the pile, the vampire, lost for breath and thus for words, for a nice change. She grasped his neck, as she might an annoying puppy, and flung him bodily away from the scrap. He landed near the doorway and scrabbled to his feet, his brows shifting into lumpy mode, “Bloody hell, Buffy! Leave a bloke some dignity, won’t you?” There was only just so much even he could take.
Buffy scowled and turned her attention to Witleof. None-too-gently, she hauled him to his feet, gripping his arm moderately painfully. “I will not. Stand. For. Brawling.” She hissed the words, and a look of alarm crossed the face of the young Saxon. He had not been used to warrior women in his day.
From the dark corner farthest from the door there came an odd sound of applause. Into the light strolled a young man, the sheer planes of his face cut from marble, the determined curls of his ice-white hair slicked back. He clapped with irony and a smile. “Nice work, love”
There was no movement in the barn. For a moment even breathing seemed suspended. Witleof’s eyes grew wider and his eyebrows lifted half an inch. He stared frantically at the doorway then back towards the corner. Dawn edged towards Buffy, her whole posture signalling fear and aggression. Safely beside her sister, she straightened. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I think you know, cutie.”
Spike, the real, undead Spike, muttered, “You'll find out on Saturday.” Buffy glared at him, then turned the full expression on his doppelganger.
“I know. We’ve met. Now go away.” Her voice was flat, stony.
“Now, now, love. No need to be like that.”
Spike propelled himself forward. “You heard the lady. Bugger off.”
An ecstatic smile. “You really shouldn’t talk that way to yourself, you know. People will talk.”
“You are not me.” Loathing and suppressed tension were in Spike’s voice.
“Ah, but I am. Do you want me to prove it? Shall I remind you what you said to Anya in that magic shop? Or what you said to the Slayer that time you got all over-excited in her bathroom?”
Dawn blanched. This was dangerous territory. Neither Spike, her Spike, nor Buffy moved.
Witleof struggled upright and, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, started to circle round behind the strange creature which matched his opponent.
“Tell the caveman to stop, Bit,” the fake Spike said, his voice bored. “Or I will have to put him in orbit so fast even the satellites won’t see him pass.”
Dawn tilted her head. What the hell was that about? Why was there an extra shade of annoyance in her Spike’s own face? She could take a hint, though. She raised one hand and used the other arm to bar Witleof’s way. For a moment she thought she might be the one to be sent flying, when he grunted and gripped her wrist with both his own hands, but he paused after a moment. He spoke urgently, swiftly but incomprehensibly. Dawn blinked.
From the doorway came a voice. “Ábíde!” Dawn and Witleof turned. Giles stood there, a near-halo of light around his head. “Sette ond eftsette!” Dawn stared as Witleof dropped meekly to the floor and sat cross-legged.**
The doorway was crowded as Giles and his companions pushed forward. Spike, the new Spike, whistled. “Nice one, Rupert. Who knew you could make the monkeys perform for you like that?” He strolled over to a stack of wood and leant against it negligently.
The Spike she’d been with for the last week snarled and started forward, a glint of yellow in his eyes. Giles raised a commanding hand and, to her astonishment, Spike stopped, as still as the figure on the floor.
Giles spoke again, his voice level but threatening, “You are not what you pretend to be. We know what you are, and we guess what you want. We are stronger than you imagine. I give you this one chance - go now, go far away, and give us no more trouble. Or we will destroy you. We have weakened you before. This time we will not stop until we have ended you.”
The figure clapped once more, slowly and derisively. “Fee, fi, fo, fum. I small the blood of an Englishman. A Little Englander, no less. You think you rule the world, Rupes? You don’t even rule this corner of Oxfordshire!” He grew and changed as he did so, his face distorting horribly, his body becoming reptilian, sinuous. He spat, and his spittle caught fire in mid-air, landing on the stack of hay bales which took up half the barn.
The creature kept growing, twisting, spewing flame, till it stood as tall as the roof. Then a point of light appeared in its midriff and split wide open, engulfing the entire apparition before it vanished.
Only Dawn noticed this, though. The inferno in the process of consuming half the barn was taking the entire attention of the rest of the group.
More soon, I hope, as long as burglars permit. Comments and feedback of all sorts are much appreciated.
"At the End of the Day"
Meanwhile I have also been working on After the Deluge and offer here another chapter, for the few still heroic enough to be keeping up with it. As I explained, by laptop was stolen a few months ago, taking with it the first version of this chapter and much of my motivation to write. My apologies for the ridiculously long delay.
Setting, a barn in Oxfordshire, in the Cotswolds. Yes, Spike and Buffy are finally in the same location. Cue for everything to go smoothly, then?
Chapter Twenty-Two: Gathering Together
The sun had shaken off its mantle of cloud, and the last rays striped the dusty floor of the barn. There were not enough of them, nor were they strong enough in the fading daylight, to do much harm, though Spike had done his best to avoid them during his struggle. A pity, then, that a solitary, vagrant beam glanced across his face just as he jerked his head up to respond to the remembered, beloved voice, and his first response to the girl he had missed so much was a yelp followed swiftly by a swear word.
His was not the only voice. Dawn’s urgent now, repeated her inquiry. The stranger once more loosed a stream of, presumably, invective.
The woman at the door leant lightly against the jamb, arms folded and her expression conveying irritation of the profoundest kind.
Dawn, above, was also irritated. Enough time had passed, there was no sign of any great danger, and she had only promised to stay there as long as peril existed. She’d asked if it was OK and been ignored; no Summers woman should stand for that. She swung herself round and groped with one foot for the top rung of the ladder. It was all very well for stupid vampires to drop ten feet and land, cat-like, ready for action. Proper people required ladders.
The ladder rested against the wall, and she had to wave her foot around in an unnecessarily balletic manner before she finally made contact, hooked the necessary tool with one foot and dragged it closer. She reached down to settle it firmly against the beam before entrusting her weight to it, and lowered herself gingerly at first and then with more confidence.
Misplaced confidence, it turned out. The ladder twisted on the one foot which had been firmly in contact with the ground and slid sideways, raking the edge of the hayloft as it fell and dragging Dawn downwards with it. She yelped. It was not a scream. Then she fell, with impressive accuracy, directly on the heap of male flesh beneath her.
Then she screamed.
Spike turned his head sharply, a reflex trained into him by many years of Dawn-saveage. At the same moment the man beneath him surged up to grip his throat. “Nice trick, mate - if I had to breathe,” muttered Spike, using up all the air he did have, before heaving back.
Buffy stalked forward, gripped and lifted Dawn, just as the inchoate mass beneath her threatened to tip her off. She set her down with exaggerated care, teeth gritted as she said just one word, “Tuesday?”
Then she turned to the next on the pile, the vampire, lost for breath and thus for words, for a nice change. She grasped his neck, as she might an annoying puppy, and flung him bodily away from the scrap. He landed near the doorway and scrabbled to his feet, his brows shifting into lumpy mode, “Bloody hell, Buffy! Leave a bloke some dignity, won’t you?” There was only just so much even he could take.
Buffy scowled and turned her attention to Witleof. None-too-gently, she hauled him to his feet, gripping his arm moderately painfully. “I will not. Stand. For. Brawling.” She hissed the words, and a look of alarm crossed the face of the young Saxon. He had not been used to warrior women in his day.
From the dark corner farthest from the door there came an odd sound of applause. Into the light strolled a young man, the sheer planes of his face cut from marble, the determined curls of his ice-white hair slicked back. He clapped with irony and a smile. “Nice work, love”
There was no movement in the barn. For a moment even breathing seemed suspended. Witleof’s eyes grew wider and his eyebrows lifted half an inch. He stared frantically at the doorway then back towards the corner. Dawn edged towards Buffy, her whole posture signalling fear and aggression. Safely beside her sister, she straightened. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I think you know, cutie.”
Spike, the real, undead Spike, muttered, “You'll find out on Saturday.” Buffy glared at him, then turned the full expression on his doppelganger.
“I know. We’ve met. Now go away.” Her voice was flat, stony.
“Now, now, love. No need to be like that.”
Spike propelled himself forward. “You heard the lady. Bugger off.”
An ecstatic smile. “You really shouldn’t talk that way to yourself, you know. People will talk.”
“You are not me.” Loathing and suppressed tension were in Spike’s voice.
“Ah, but I am. Do you want me to prove it? Shall I remind you what you said to Anya in that magic shop? Or what you said to the Slayer that time you got all over-excited in her bathroom?”
Dawn blanched. This was dangerous territory. Neither Spike, her Spike, nor Buffy moved.
Witleof struggled upright and, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, started to circle round behind the strange creature which matched his opponent.
“Tell the caveman to stop, Bit,” the fake Spike said, his voice bored. “Or I will have to put him in orbit so fast even the satellites won’t see him pass.”
Dawn tilted her head. What the hell was that about? Why was there an extra shade of annoyance in her Spike’s own face? She could take a hint, though. She raised one hand and used the other arm to bar Witleof’s way. For a moment she thought she might be the one to be sent flying, when he grunted and gripped her wrist with both his own hands, but he paused after a moment. He spoke urgently, swiftly but incomprehensibly. Dawn blinked.
From the doorway came a voice. “Ábíde!” Dawn and Witleof turned. Giles stood there, a near-halo of light around his head. “Sette ond eftsette!” Dawn stared as Witleof dropped meekly to the floor and sat cross-legged.**
The doorway was crowded as Giles and his companions pushed forward. Spike, the new Spike, whistled. “Nice one, Rupert. Who knew you could make the monkeys perform for you like that?” He strolled over to a stack of wood and leant against it negligently.
The Spike she’d been with for the last week snarled and started forward, a glint of yellow in his eyes. Giles raised a commanding hand and, to her astonishment, Spike stopped, as still as the figure on the floor.
Giles spoke again, his voice level but threatening, “You are not what you pretend to be. We know what you are, and we guess what you want. We are stronger than you imagine. I give you this one chance - go now, go far away, and give us no more trouble. Or we will destroy you. We have weakened you before. This time we will not stop until we have ended you.”
The figure clapped once more, slowly and derisively. “Fee, fi, fo, fum. I small the blood of an Englishman. A Little Englander, no less. You think you rule the world, Rupes? You don’t even rule this corner of Oxfordshire!” He grew and changed as he did so, his face distorting horribly, his body becoming reptilian, sinuous. He spat, and his spittle caught fire in mid-air, landing on the stack of hay bales which took up half the barn.
The creature kept growing, twisting, spewing flame, till it stood as tall as the roof. Then a point of light appeared in its midriff and split wide open, engulfing the entire apparition before it vanished.
Only Dawn noticed this, though. The inferno in the process of consuming half the barn was taking the entire attention of the rest of the group.
More soon, I hope, as long as burglars permit. Comments and feedback of all sorts are much appreciated.