Happy Halloween!gryphonrhiOctober 31 2012, 22:08:44 UTC
Right, a chunk of the first scene of a fic I'm writing...
Auld Lang Syne
The alarm system didn't go off because the intruders materialized inside the house rather than breaking in.
Two of them promptly slid to the ground, folding at the joints in ways that made it clear they still had bones, although any control of the muscles over those bones was another matter. A third person threw out a hand to brace himself on the arm of the couch, trying to watch in every direction at once despite the patch over one eye and the blood pouring into the other.
The last two were doing the best job of staying upright; the shorter figure prowled straight to a lamp and turned it on, revealing that they were in a den -- coffee table, couch, comfortable chairs on either side of a fireplace, French doors out to a lawn -- with a half-closed door to one side and an eating bar to the other, and probably a kitchen past that from the occasional glint of steel.
The rooms were clean, and didn't have demons -- good enough.
The fifth figure looked around and said tiredly, "Definitely not England. Blast it."
Giles put down his crossbow, ran a hand through his hair, shedding a few grey hairs, several small pieces of glass, and some ash as he did, then knelt to make sure Buffy was still breathing. Whatever that last blast had been, it had scorched her clothing and knocked her senseless. "I do hope the homeowners have a first aid kit."
Xander dropped stiffly to one knee beside Willow, one hand on his battle axe and the other settling on Willow's throat to check her pulse under hair scorched short. "Wills is... out. How far did she send us?"
Oz kept wrapping what was left of his shirt around Buffy's leg, worried by a long, sluggishly oozing slash that hadn't had time to close up. "Looks American, and it's definitely warmer here than London would be. English-speaking from the books on the coffee table." He pulled a blanket off the couch and knelt to wrap it over Willow, then went still. He waved Xander into the shadows with a minimal gesture, freezing himself.
"So we are," a deep, annoyed voice said from the still-dark kitchen. "Although we could manage more than a few other languages if absolutely necessary."
"Later, Xan." That came from a second voice, almost as deep, both of the men sounding not English but American.
Giles turned from looking for a first aid kit to see two naked men prowl in and split to flank the Scoobies, swords and axes in hands. They were alert and awake despite the obvious lateness of the hour… and surprisingly familiar. "Dear God," Giles said softly. "Of all the places-- Alex, Xan. Help."
Xan blinked, stared, then identified him correctly. "Rupert?" He nodded once, settling immediately into the practicalities as he always had, thank goodness. "Of course."
Re: Happy Halloween!gryphonrhiNovember 1 2012, 00:15:10 UTC
::laughing:: I've got a file about "Auggie, Oz, and the werejackals" but it's got all of three sentences and is probably never going to be finished... Oh, what the hell. Here, plus some pix:
They crouched on their heels in a rough circle: nine in the middle, three out on the edges upright and keeping watch, rifles in hands.
"How many IEDs this morning?"
"Another five, on the same stretch of road we cleared yesterday."
Auld Lang Syne
The alarm system didn't go off because the intruders materialized inside the house rather than breaking in.
Two of them promptly slid to the ground, folding at the joints in ways that made it clear they still had bones, although any control of the muscles over those bones was another matter. A third person threw out a hand to brace himself on the arm of the couch, trying to watch in every direction at once despite the patch over one eye and the blood pouring into the other.
The last two were doing the best job of staying upright; the shorter figure prowled straight to a lamp and turned it on, revealing that they were in a den -- coffee table, couch, comfortable chairs on either side of a fireplace, French doors out to a lawn -- with a half-closed door to one side and an eating bar to the other, and probably a kitchen past that from the occasional glint of steel.
The rooms were clean, and didn't have demons -- good enough.
The fifth figure looked around and said tiredly, "Definitely not England. Blast it."
Giles put down his crossbow, ran a hand through his hair, shedding a few grey hairs, several small pieces of glass, and some ash as he did, then knelt to make sure Buffy was still breathing. Whatever that last blast had been, it had scorched her clothing and knocked her senseless. "I do hope the homeowners have a first aid kit."
Xander dropped stiffly to one knee beside Willow, one hand on his battle axe and the other settling on Willow's throat to check her pulse under hair scorched short. "Wills is... out. How far did she send us?"
Oz kept wrapping what was left of his shirt around Buffy's leg, worried by a long, sluggishly oozing slash that hadn't had time to close up. "Looks American, and it's definitely warmer here than London would be. English-speaking from the books on the coffee table." He pulled a blanket off the couch and knelt to wrap it over Willow, then went still. He waved Xander into the shadows with a minimal gesture, freezing himself.
"So we are," a deep, annoyed voice said from the still-dark kitchen. "Although we could manage more than a few other languages if absolutely necessary."
"Later, Xan." That came from a second voice, almost as deep, both of the men sounding not English but American.
Giles turned from looking for a first aid kit to see two naked men prowl in and split to flank the Scoobies, swords and axes in hands. They were alert and awake despite the obvious lateness of the hour… and surprisingly familiar. "Dear God," Giles said softly. "Of all the places-- Alex, Xan. Help."
Xan blinked, stared, then identified him correctly. "Rupert?" He nodded once, settling immediately into the practicalities as he always had, thank goodness. "Of course."
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They crouched on their heels in a rough circle: nine in the middle, three out on the edges upright and keeping watch, rifles in hands.
"How many IEDs this morning?"
"Another five, on the same stretch of road we cleared yesterday."
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