Fic: Adventures in Hell #2: The Healing Power of Arnold Palmer
Thanks for all the encouraging feedback, gang. I hope you like this next story.
Title: The Healing Power of Arnold Palmer
Series: Adventures in Hell (working title)
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: I do not own the Arnold Palmer, or the golfer, or the golfer John Daly. I also do not own anything BtVS related (sadly).
Feedback: Yes, please.
Distribution: NHA, Soulmates, my LJ, ask?
Summary: What if you’d been sent to Hell and got stuck along the way? Could you depend on anyone to get you out?
Rating: This story, PG-13, overall series, most likely Adult.
Pairings: It will end up Willow/Spike/Angel, with Xander/Cordelia.
A/N: AU post Becoming
Cross-posted to nekid_spike for the November Challenge of Purgatory, with Willow and a smidgeon of evil Dru.
Hammering. Sounded like dwarf miners in his skull. Oddly the sound kept moving around his body, yet the pain was only in his head. Spike lifted his head and promptly whacked it about two inches above his forehead. As he was laying on his back, this clearly indicated some kind of predicament. As he heard humming of the bloody insane kind - “Dru? Pet? Princess, time to let Spikey out of the box, love.” She responded, but not to him. “Put the extra nails in, make sure. My knight is a fighter, that he is.” Long fingernails tapped on the wood of the crate near Spike’s head and he swore. “Dru? Enough games, let me out of this thing, yeah?”
The only response was more hammering. Then, he heard her voice next to his ear. “Get the cork out of the bottle, Spike. Or it will explode when you shake it.”
He blinked in the darkness, then shook his head and started to push up against the wood - but he couldn’t even raise the lid enough for a slit of light. Better for him, he supposed. Using his hands and the bottoms of his boots, he found the box he was in was no coffin. He had about six inches above his head and below his feet, and about the same on the sides. Shipping crate, then - much to his dismay.
A coffin could just be some kind of weird sex game. But the crate, the nails - and her odd comments - all added up to something that was likely going to piss him off and not lead to the kind of thing he would enjoy. A futile amount of time later, he sucked the blood from his torn fingertips and shifted as much as he could, swearing under his breath.
He could take this in one of two ways - he could kill her and break out of the crate (which proved to be beyond his ken at the moment) or he could deal with it and see what happened when the lid came off. Like as not he would no longer in a sweating, disease-ridden country filled with too much sun and not enough whiskey. The thought made his eyes roll back until that action made him realize the migraine he still had. Oh, for an Arnold Palmer.
Contrary to popular belief, Spike not only drank other things besides whiskey, he drank non-alcoholic beverages. And his favorite was the Arnold Palmer. Half lemonade, half iced tea, all pleasure. It usually cured what ailed him, be it migraine or sire or hangover. Sometimes all three. Admittedly, he sometimes added vodka to his Arnold Palmer, creating the ever popular John Daly. But right now, all he wanted was an ice cold glass of half and half. And he didn’t even like golf.
Willow biked home from the Sunnydale branch of the UC campus mid-way through July. It was sweltering again, and even her prurience had given way to the temperature in the form of a Buffy-style tank top and shorts. She was taking a couple of classes this summer at the university in their early admission program. Not entirely sure she was going to UC Sunnydale was not something she’d told the admissions counselor, however.
Her mind was filled with dreams of Oxford, or Harvard - but she thought definitely something where brains like her would fit in and not struggle to be a Buffy, or a Cordelia. Especially not a Cordelia. Willow’s lips twisted in disgust and frustration with Xander. Couldn’t he have made a better choice? A more intelligent choice? Say, her. But her heart was already broken enough, wasn’t it? Why should she bother dwelling on a boy who didn’t even care that his choice of girlfriend might possibly be tearing her to shreds? Oh yeah, because he was supposed to be her best friend. Turning onto Hall and the main street, she tried shaking her head to clear the useless thoughts and partially succeeded, until she saw the brazen pair doing obscene things to an ice cream sundae outside Bertie’s. She flew by, ignored by them as they ate. Suspiciously, with spoons.
But those thoughts flew out of her head as she got home and greeted her trusty laptop. Booting it up, she left to get herself a glass of her favorite guilty pleasure, orange soda, and a plate of mini-bagels with a little too much salmon cream cheese on them. Both items were carried back to her desk. Settling in, Willow reached for the syllabus for her new class, Death, Dying, and the Beyond.
A psychology course combined with mythology of several major religions, it had sounded very interesting and Willow had thought perhaps she could glean some kind of knowledge of possible assistance to Giles or Buffy, if she ever came back. Regardless, the redhead loved knowledge for it’s own sake, and she brought the syllabus to bear in one hand and the glass in the other as she read.
The first week’s topic sounded exciting: Purgatory. She only knew the basics of it, as Judaism had none, as far as she was aware, and the only Catholic she’d ever known was Angel - and he had been lapsed, very much so. Could you be a Catholic vampire?
The thought of Angel and his possible religion drifted to the back of her mind as she opened up her textbook and began to read, her hand snaking out occasionally to take a bagel. Two hours later, she closed the text and her notebook, decided to color-code highlight it later than evening. Angel came back as she stretched and showered, and she began to think about that last night with Acathla. All the information she had had come from Giles, who’d gotten it from Buffy in a letter post-marked the day after the fight from Clarksville, about ten miles from Sunnydale.
If her spell hadn’t worked, then Angelus would have gone straight to hell, which is where the portal led and Buffy was presumed to have sent him at the end. But would he have, if the soul had been working on redemption? She wasn’t quite sure of the mechanics of it, and decided to go and corner the librarian in his den, as it was quite dark yet. Willow didn’t really have anything better to do, as the assignment was not due for a week, and she could easily answer the questions in an hour or so.
Her trusty bike was still on the front porch where she’d parked it, and so she put a few tools in a fanny pack and strapped it around her waist. Even though it was still light out, being summer, the last year had definitely taught her the meaning of be prepared. A stake, holy water, mace, and a bottle of acid (hey, not all evils were inhuman) were safely stored before she kicked off to head for the high school first.
Elias was working at his desk, sweating in the heat from that place, as usual, and grumping to his latest half-demon secretary. “I tell you, Hin. Purgatory is not the classy place it used to be, with orderly progressions of sinners, and they were all human, too!” Glancing up at the dirty sign above his desk that said, “Welcome to Purgatory - Enjoy Your Stay!” he frowned and continued to grouse. “And now there’s the problem.” Hin could tell it was in all capitols, which meant that Elias was really upset about it.
“What’s the trouble, boss?” he asked, his tail coming up near his mouth. His tongue reached out to snatch it in, chewing on the sensitive cartilage. He alternated between squeaks of pain and wiggles of pleasure. Oh, the life of a half-demon. All the fun, none of the responsibilities.
Elias turned to him and yanked it out of his mouth. “That is gross, Hin. What do you mean, what’s the trouble? I mean the vampire that’s in there!” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Demon on one side, soul on the other - we gotta give ‘em different punishments and keep ‘em separated like wild dogs! Course, the soul cries like a girl, and the demon kind of - slashes whoever comes too near, but people just don’t get the whole concept of souls, these days. Everybody’s got them, even us hell demons. He ain’t nothing special. You always lose something translating to human,” he added wisely.
Hin took notes and paid a great deal of attention. One day he hoped to be the Overseer of Purgatory.
Thankfully, Elias soon moved on to more mundane topics. Vampires didn’t usually come to Purgatory. And certainly no one prayed for them. It would probably stick around long enough for him to examine.
END #2
Title: The Healing Power of Arnold Palmer
Series: Adventures in Hell (working title)
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: I do not own the Arnold Palmer, or the golfer, or the golfer John Daly. I also do not own anything BtVS related (sadly).
Feedback: Yes, please.
Distribution: NHA, Soulmates, my LJ, ask?
Summary: What if you’d been sent to Hell and got stuck along the way? Could you depend on anyone to get you out?
Rating: This story, PG-13, overall series, most likely Adult.
Pairings: It will end up Willow/Spike/Angel, with Xander/Cordelia.
A/N: AU post Becoming
Cross-posted to nekid_spike for the November Challenge of Purgatory, with Willow and a smidgeon of evil Dru.
Hammering. Sounded like dwarf miners in his skull. Oddly the sound kept moving around his body, yet the pain was only in his head. Spike lifted his head and promptly whacked it about two inches above his forehead. As he was laying on his back, this clearly indicated some kind of predicament. As he heard humming of the bloody insane kind - “Dru? Pet? Princess, time to let Spikey out of the box, love.” She responded, but not to him. “Put the extra nails in, make sure. My knight is a fighter, that he is.” Long fingernails tapped on the wood of the crate near Spike’s head and he swore. “Dru? Enough games, let me out of this thing, yeah?”
The only response was more hammering. Then, he heard her voice next to his ear. “Get the cork out of the bottle, Spike. Or it will explode when you shake it.”
He blinked in the darkness, then shook his head and started to push up against the wood - but he couldn’t even raise the lid enough for a slit of light. Better for him, he supposed. Using his hands and the bottoms of his boots, he found the box he was in was no coffin. He had about six inches above his head and below his feet, and about the same on the sides. Shipping crate, then - much to his dismay.
A coffin could just be some kind of weird sex game. But the crate, the nails - and her odd comments - all added up to something that was likely going to piss him off and not lead to the kind of thing he would enjoy. A futile amount of time later, he sucked the blood from his torn fingertips and shifted as much as he could, swearing under his breath.
He could take this in one of two ways - he could kill her and break out of the crate (which proved to be beyond his ken at the moment) or he could deal with it and see what happened when the lid came off. Like as not he would no longer in a sweating, disease-ridden country filled with too much sun and not enough whiskey. The thought made his eyes roll back until that action made him realize the migraine he still had. Oh, for an Arnold Palmer.
Contrary to popular belief, Spike not only drank other things besides whiskey, he drank non-alcoholic beverages. And his favorite was the Arnold Palmer. Half lemonade, half iced tea, all pleasure. It usually cured what ailed him, be it migraine or sire or hangover. Sometimes all three. Admittedly, he sometimes added vodka to his Arnold Palmer, creating the ever popular John Daly. But right now, all he wanted was an ice cold glass of half and half. And he didn’t even like golf.
Willow biked home from the Sunnydale branch of the UC campus mid-way through July. It was sweltering again, and even her prurience had given way to the temperature in the form of a Buffy-style tank top and shorts. She was taking a couple of classes this summer at the university in their early admission program. Not entirely sure she was going to UC Sunnydale was not something she’d told the admissions counselor, however.
Her mind was filled with dreams of Oxford, or Harvard - but she thought definitely something where brains like her would fit in and not struggle to be a Buffy, or a Cordelia. Especially not a Cordelia. Willow’s lips twisted in disgust and frustration with Xander. Couldn’t he have made a better choice? A more intelligent choice? Say, her. But her heart was already broken enough, wasn’t it? Why should she bother dwelling on a boy who didn’t even care that his choice of girlfriend might possibly be tearing her to shreds? Oh yeah, because he was supposed to be her best friend. Turning onto Hall and the main street, she tried shaking her head to clear the useless thoughts and partially succeeded, until she saw the brazen pair doing obscene things to an ice cream sundae outside Bertie’s. She flew by, ignored by them as they ate. Suspiciously, with spoons.
But those thoughts flew out of her head as she got home and greeted her trusty laptop. Booting it up, she left to get herself a glass of her favorite guilty pleasure, orange soda, and a plate of mini-bagels with a little too much salmon cream cheese on them. Both items were carried back to her desk. Settling in, Willow reached for the syllabus for her new class, Death, Dying, and the Beyond.
A psychology course combined with mythology of several major religions, it had sounded very interesting and Willow had thought perhaps she could glean some kind of knowledge of possible assistance to Giles or Buffy, if she ever came back. Regardless, the redhead loved knowledge for it’s own sake, and she brought the syllabus to bear in one hand and the glass in the other as she read.
The first week’s topic sounded exciting: Purgatory. She only knew the basics of it, as Judaism had none, as far as she was aware, and the only Catholic she’d ever known was Angel - and he had been lapsed, very much so. Could you be a Catholic vampire?
The thought of Angel and his possible religion drifted to the back of her mind as she opened up her textbook and began to read, her hand snaking out occasionally to take a bagel. Two hours later, she closed the text and her notebook, decided to color-code highlight it later than evening. Angel came back as she stretched and showered, and she began to think about that last night with Acathla. All the information she had had come from Giles, who’d gotten it from Buffy in a letter post-marked the day after the fight from Clarksville, about ten miles from Sunnydale.
If her spell hadn’t worked, then Angelus would have gone straight to hell, which is where the portal led and Buffy was presumed to have sent him at the end. But would he have, if the soul had been working on redemption? She wasn’t quite sure of the mechanics of it, and decided to go and corner the librarian in his den, as it was quite dark yet. Willow didn’t really have anything better to do, as the assignment was not due for a week, and she could easily answer the questions in an hour or so.
Her trusty bike was still on the front porch where she’d parked it, and so she put a few tools in a fanny pack and strapped it around her waist. Even though it was still light out, being summer, the last year had definitely taught her the meaning of be prepared. A stake, holy water, mace, and a bottle of acid (hey, not all evils were inhuman) were safely stored before she kicked off to head for the high school first.
Elias was working at his desk, sweating in the heat from that place, as usual, and grumping to his latest half-demon secretary. “I tell you, Hin. Purgatory is not the classy place it used to be, with orderly progressions of sinners, and they were all human, too!” Glancing up at the dirty sign above his desk that said, “Welcome to Purgatory - Enjoy Your Stay!” he frowned and continued to grouse. “And now there’s the problem.” Hin could tell it was in all capitols, which meant that Elias was really upset about it.
“What’s the trouble, boss?” he asked, his tail coming up near his mouth. His tongue reached out to snatch it in, chewing on the sensitive cartilage. He alternated between squeaks of pain and wiggles of pleasure. Oh, the life of a half-demon. All the fun, none of the responsibilities.
Elias turned to him and yanked it out of his mouth. “That is gross, Hin. What do you mean, what’s the trouble? I mean the vampire that’s in there!” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Demon on one side, soul on the other - we gotta give ‘em different punishments and keep ‘em separated like wild dogs! Course, the soul cries like a girl, and the demon kind of - slashes whoever comes too near, but people just don’t get the whole concept of souls, these days. Everybody’s got them, even us hell demons. He ain’t nothing special. You always lose something translating to human,” he added wisely.
Hin took notes and paid a great deal of attention. One day he hoped to be the Overseer of Purgatory.
Thankfully, Elias soon moved on to more mundane topics. Vampires didn’t usually come to Purgatory. And certainly no one prayed for them. It would probably stick around long enough for him to examine.
END #2