Numb and Number
Well, this is it. This is my latest full length BTVS fic. I'm going to start posting it on Sundays. I'm really proud of it, but I have to warn you, it's a little darker than my usual fare, probably because there's major character death in it. But I really hope you'll read it anyway, because it's all about Spike, Wesley and Oz. I would love all comments and feedback!
Banner by me
Title: Numb and Number
Rating: PG
Warnings: character death
Summary: Three men have to band together when everything around them falls apart. Set practically post-NFA.
Disclaimer: I own none of BTVS or ATS
Previous chapters here
The three men sat at a table and drank pints of beer. At first glance there was nothing extraordinary about them, and in themselves they fit individual stereotypes with ease; but when they were looked at as a collective, there was a strange air to their solidarity.
The first man was young, about twenty five. His hair was platinum blonde and offset his blue eyes and sharply angled cheekbones. He was slim, but definitely well muscled and proportioned. He wore an ancient black leather duster, which seemed to be like a second skin, over a black t-shirt, black jeans and combat boots. It was a classic bad boy look, but his eyes spoke of emotions and experiences far beyond evil or boyhood.
The second man was old, probably about seventy. His gray hair had streaks of brown but his eyes shone blue with vitality startling in someone his age. His vitality was accompanied by a strong and fit, though slightly decaying and slim body. A scruffy beard covered his chin and he bore a scar on his throat just peeking up over the rim of his shirt. He wore a brown suede leather jacket over a purple shirt and jeans. He was rugged, though anciently rugged would be a better way to put it and pain lines showed around his eyes.
The third man was also old, though only about sixty to the other man’s seventy. He was a tiny person. His white hair carried traces of black dye at the tips and his green eyes glowed with an almost feral amber glint. He wore a faded t-shirt with nondescript markings on it and jeans. A closer look could discover deep calluses on the fingertips of his left hand and his shoes could hardly be seen under the cuff of his jeans. His face spoke of travel and suppressed emotion.
There seemed to be nothing to bring these three men together, but circumstances, or perhaps more, had tied them with binds they could not break. Their journey towards this day had started long before they met each other and it had been long and wearisome and nothing short of extraordinary.
For two of them it had started with a bite and the other with a new job.
Banner by me
Title: Numb and Number
Rating: PG
Warnings: character death
Summary: Three men have to band together when everything around them falls apart. Set practically post-NFA.
Disclaimer: I own none of BTVS or ATS
Previous chapters here
The three men sat at a table and drank pints of beer. At first glance there was nothing extraordinary about them, and in themselves they fit individual stereotypes with ease; but when they were looked at as a collective, there was a strange air to their solidarity.
The first man was young, about twenty five. His hair was platinum blonde and offset his blue eyes and sharply angled cheekbones. He was slim, but definitely well muscled and proportioned. He wore an ancient black leather duster, which seemed to be like a second skin, over a black t-shirt, black jeans and combat boots. It was a classic bad boy look, but his eyes spoke of emotions and experiences far beyond evil or boyhood.
The second man was old, probably about seventy. His gray hair had streaks of brown but his eyes shone blue with vitality startling in someone his age. His vitality was accompanied by a strong and fit, though slightly decaying and slim body. A scruffy beard covered his chin and he bore a scar on his throat just peeking up over the rim of his shirt. He wore a brown suede leather jacket over a purple shirt and jeans. He was rugged, though anciently rugged would be a better way to put it and pain lines showed around his eyes.
The third man was also old, though only about sixty to the other man’s seventy. He was a tiny person. His white hair carried traces of black dye at the tips and his green eyes glowed with an almost feral amber glint. He wore a faded t-shirt with nondescript markings on it and jeans. A closer look could discover deep calluses on the fingertips of his left hand and his shoes could hardly be seen under the cuff of his jeans. His face spoke of travel and suppressed emotion.
There seemed to be nothing to bring these three men together, but circumstances, or perhaps more, had tied them with binds they could not break. Their journey towards this day had started long before they met each other and it had been long and wearisome and nothing short of extraordinary.
For two of them it had started with a bite and the other with a new job.