News and Fic.
OK, first things first, I just wanted to state for the record that Muse were amazing! Thanks to everyone who wished me a good time, because I definitely had one! (I'm still suffering ringing ears, but oh. well.)
Even freebs loved it, and she would be the first to tell you that she wasn't a die-hard Muse fan...I'm not sure what she is now that we've been...she might be a convertee, but you'll probably have to ask her herself.
I think that's about it on the news front, though I swear I had something else to say....
Anyway, this is Chapter Four of History, entitled (still on a Muse theme) Darkshines. The previous parts can be found here.
PG-13, not mine, blah, etcetera.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Passing by, you light up my darkest skies.
You'll take only seconds to draw me in.
So, be mine, and your innocence
I will consume.
Now this was more like it.
Looking into the warm night, she felt refreshed for the first time in months. She ran her fingertips through her hair, concentrating on the feeling that was returning to them. She began to walk down the aeroplane’s stairs, and, with each step, more of the humidity in the air hit her skin. It was a welcome change. When she reached the ground, she closed her eyes, and listened to the drone of the plane. Beneath it, she could hear the chirrup of cicadas.
Basking in the heat, she turned back to Dawn and Andrew, who were still struggling down the aeroplane’s steps. Dawn looked happy enough, despite her poor aeroplane-complexion. Andrew was having trouble with his bag, causing them both to have to stop every few seconds. After a short time, they finally reached the ground, and headed over to Buffy. Up close, she could see the weariness in their faces, which caused her own smile to drop slightly.
Together, they entered the terminal, where most of the signs were in English. Dawn frowned, and complained about ‘cultural suppression’. Buffy didn’t respond, but was silently thankful. She didn’t want to have to ask someone where to go, and no doubt embarrass herself in the process.
Their journey through the airport wasn’t completely straightforward, however. At passport control, Buffy found herself held back while the guy behind the counter checked through all her stamps.
“You have been travelling.” The accent made it hard to tell, but Buffy was pretty sure the guy was being sarcastic.
“Yeah.” She smiled at him, trying to exude charm. “It’s no problem, though, right?” He checked over her papers one more time, and then handed them back to her.
“Welcome to Uganda.” He smiled.
“Thanks,” she replied, and walked on.
A while later, they headed out into the night again, where a taxi from their hotel was waiting, driver leaning on the bonnet. Buffy began to speak, but was ignored. The driver crammed their bags into the back without a word and opened the doors, a scowl on his face the whole time. Biting her lip, she got into the front seat.
No one spoke during the journey. Exhaustion began to creep up on Buffy, and the only thing that prevented her from falling asleep was the quiet, threatening music that came from the radio.
By the time they reached the hotel, her eyes would not stay fully open. She dragged herself out of the taxi, following Dawn and Andrew, and the driver dumped their bags next to them. He was still scowling. She tried to calculate a tip in her head, and cursed the fact that the hotel had paid for the actual journey, leaving her with no ten percent to fall back on.
Her problem was solved, however, as the guy abruptly got back into the car and drove away, his music noticeably louder.
She blinked several times, still holding her purse in one hand. Fatigue caused a couple of tears to form without reason. She blinked them away, and picked up her bag.
Dawn and Andrew did the same, and they headed into the hotel. Buffy checked them in, without really listening to a word the receptionist said. At last, she was given their keys.
Buffy let Dawn use the bathroom first, and said goodnight to Andrew through their interconnecting door. Coming to the decision that she was too tired to care about hygiene, she changed and went straight to sleep.
She stared into the fire, fighting back tears in her eyes. As the sun fell, it seemed to glow brighter, though at its core she could still see something dark.
The heat from the fire passed into the manacles around her wrists, and they began to warm. As she burned, she moved backwards, as far as she could, towards the open desert. Her wrists were burnt, but were no longer being heated. The pain was bearable.
From her new vantage point, she could see the creature. It stood on the other side of the fire, chained as she was, and no doubt welcoming the falling night. She curled her lip, forgetting her pain in favour of disgust.
Somewhere to her right, the way of the set sun, drums began to sound.
The beats seemed to approach her, rising in volume with each one played. They pounded through her, and churned her stomach into nausea. She shook, violently.
Something inside her burned white hot. And then it cooled.
Thick cold oozed through her veins, and instilled itself throughout her body. Her muscles felt fluid now, and her bones like cold metal. She opened her eyes, and saw with new acuity.
Across the dying fire, the creature still stood, changed as she was, and now evoking no emotion.
Effortlessly, she snapped the chains that bound her, and looked out into the night.
Buffy awoke, unrested.
Sitting up, she looked blearily into the hotel room. The light, coming in through the window, seared the sleep from her eyes. Screwing them closed with pain, she fumbled at her blankets, and came into contact with a sheet of paper. She blinked her eyes open and tried to focus, turning her back to the window. The paper was a note, which read:
Gone to breakfast. Tried to wake you, but you sleep like a rock. Sorry.
D&A
And yeah, we could’ve tried harder, but we’re late anyway.
She got out of bed, scrunching up the note, and winced as she stepped on her belt buckle. She sighed.
It had only just started, but she had a feeling that the day was going to remind her of old times. She’d already met all the requirements: no sleep (none that mattered, anyway), no food, and, finally, some physical injury. With her luck, Giles’ contact was going to be a demon.
Wrenching open her suitcase, she found some clothes and headed for the bathroom.
The heat was starting to annoy her, but she convinced herself that it was just that she had spent too long in the cold.
She was following Dawn and Andrew, lagging behind. They seemed to be having the time of their lives, talking to people on the street and looking at street names. For some reason, they just weren’t exuding the tourist-vibe that she was.
It wasn’t fair. She was the one who’d spent months backpacking. She was the one with travel-experience, even if she did spend more time on the trail than in cities. She was supposed to be the one who revelled in the foreignness of it all. She was supposed to be the one who fit in.
She couldn’t help but feel relieved when they came off the street, having found where they were looking for.
The three of them stood for a few moments outside an apartment, before the door opened. The man who opened the door to them looked about fifty, with a receding hairline. The wire glasses on his nose made her immediately think of an African Giles, although this man had a much rounder face.
“Mr. Mamdani?” Dawn asked, looking at the paper in her hands for what had to be the fiftieth time that day.
“Hello! You must be Rupert’s charge,” he said, in a lilting accent. He shook her hand vigorously, and Dawn blushed.
“Oh, no! I’m her sister, Dawn.”
“Well, Dawn, I am equally pleased to meet with you.” He moved out of the way, and held his hand open to the apartment. Dawn entered, and Andrew followed. With a little trepidation, Buffy also entered, and shivered as she felt Mr. Mamdani’s scrutiny on the back of her neck.
The apartment (it felt good not to have to call it a ‘flat’) was relatively well sized, and the main room consisted of a brown sofa and armchair, a wooden coffee table and a large bookshelf, all of which sat on a tiled floor. The walls were white, but mostly covered in art. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was tribal or demonic, but thought it might be impolite to ask.
A fly’s hum cut through the silence, and, looking up, she could see it, buzzing around a ceiling fan. Frowning a little, she looked back down again, coming face to face with Mr. Mamdani. She blushed, and tried to apologise:
“I like your, um, art, Mr. Mandali.” He smiled, though at her side Dawn hissed.
“Mamdani,” he replied. “But do not worry yourself with that. You may call me Samuel.”
“Oh, right. I’m Buffy.” She supposed this was the part where she was meant to put her hand out, so she did. Smiling again, he shook it, and showed the same vigour he had earlier.
“I have heard a great deal about you.” He looked at her, and his dark eyes glinted behind his glasses. He then drew back, continuing, “As I have your sister. But tell me, who is this young man?” He looked at Andrew, who seemed unwilling to meet his gaze.
“Oh, he’s Andrew. He’s…”
“A friend.”
“…A friend.” They said the words at the same time, and Buffy scowled at her sister. Dawn looked back, a little startled, mouthing “sorry”.
Chuckling, Samuel said, “I see.” Andrew blushed. After looking at him for a moment, Samuel continued, holding an arm to the sofa, “do, please, be seated. I shall prepare some tea for us.”
The three of them moved to the sofa, which, Buffy noted, was worn, but otherwise in immaculate condition. A short while later, Samuel returned with the tea: a white set with green detail on the rims. Buffy found it ironic that, for all the talk she’d heard about the English and their tea, the first actual ‘set’ she’d seen was in a different continent.
“Rupert gave this set to me as a wedding gift,” Samuel said, catching her eye. He placed the tray on the coffee table and took a seat in the armchair, smiling wistfully. “I believe that he meant it to be a joke. I have come to value it very much, however.”
Buffy blinked. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d been looking at it.
When he had poured out the tea, Samuel began to speak again.
“So. Rupert has told me that you are interested in an artefact.”
“Yeah,” Dawn replied, sipping her tea. “Some archaeologists found this gauntlet on a dig near, um, Mityana, is it? It’s kinda near some little mountains.”
“Mityana is correct. What do you mean, precisely, by the word ‘gauntlet’?”
“Um, it’s kinda like a chunky bracelet? It’s gold, with these diamond…. I have a picture, actually. Just a sec.” Dawn dug around in her bag, pulled out a printout of her photos, and passed it to Samuel.
“Thank you. This looks familiar. Is it documented?”
“Yeah, actually. It comes with, like, an amulet. I think they’re referred to as ‘The Mapacha’, or something.”
“Ah, the Mapacha. I believe that I own a book….” He stood up, and went over to the bookshelf, running a finger along the various leather spines. On the third shelf, he found the book he was looking for and brought it back over to the table.
He flicked it open, and read a little. Over her teacup, Buffy looked at the pages, taking in the illustrations. Her stomach gave a jolt as she recognised the amulet.
It looked like her gut agreed with Dawn and Andrew. Wasn’t that nice.
There was no way she could accept it, though. It was impossible for the two amulets to be the same. If they were, she couldn’t trust Angel anymore, and if she couldn’t do that….
Trusting Angel was something she did implicitly; it was possibly the last constant she had to make up her life. All the other ones had been taken away from her, over the years. She knew that she could make new ones, and she knew that she should. She just wasn’t sure if she had the energy or strength to do so. She was too tired to give up on her old life and start over. Again.
Besides, there were only so many people that she trusted, and if Angel could no longer be one of them the number would be very small indeed.
“Yeah,” Buffy said, growing a little bitter. “So, we think we might to be able to find the necklace-thing near where the bracelet-thing was found.” Dawn scowled at her. Samuel seemed to notice, but didn’t make any comment.
“I understand.” He looked like he wanted to ask a question, but then continued, “I can take you there tomorrow. If you meet me here after your lunch, we can take my car as far as Mityana, and then we may have to walk. I will find out where the site is, and obtain permission for us to visit.”
Buffy finished her tea, and placed the cup on the table. Eyeing her, Samuel said, “Until then, I bid you to enjoy Kampala.”
They finished, and began to leave, thanking Samuel for the tea. After Dawn and Andrew had exited, Samuel held Buffy back.
“I should ask you what it is you expect to find.” She took a moment to comprehend, and when she did, she was still confused.
“The amulet. Y’know, the one we’re looking for.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where….” He cut her off, gently.
“Rupert has told me about what occurred at the Hellmouth.” Buffy looked at him defiantly.
“That was a different one.”
“What will you do if it was not?” She didn’t reply, and moved past him, towards the door. As she left, he said, “As we search for an answer to one question, we inescapably uncover more.” She didn’t turn around. “It is the answers to these questions which generally cause distress, and so I should ask you to be careful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mamdani,” Buffy said, closing the door behind her.
Making my heart feel sore,
‘Cause it’s good.
-Muse, Darkshines
[Chapter 5]
Even freebs loved it, and she would be the first to tell you that she wasn't a die-hard Muse fan...I'm not sure what she is now that we've been...she might be a convertee, but you'll probably have to ask her herself.
I think that's about it on the news front, though I swear I had something else to say....
Anyway, this is Chapter Four of History, entitled (still on a Muse theme) Darkshines. The previous parts can be found here.
PG-13, not mine, blah, etcetera.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Passing by, you light up my darkest skies.
You'll take only seconds to draw me in.
So, be mine, and your innocence
I will consume.
Now this was more like it.
Looking into the warm night, she felt refreshed for the first time in months. She ran her fingertips through her hair, concentrating on the feeling that was returning to them. She began to walk down the aeroplane’s stairs, and, with each step, more of the humidity in the air hit her skin. It was a welcome change. When she reached the ground, she closed her eyes, and listened to the drone of the plane. Beneath it, she could hear the chirrup of cicadas.
Basking in the heat, she turned back to Dawn and Andrew, who were still struggling down the aeroplane’s steps. Dawn looked happy enough, despite her poor aeroplane-complexion. Andrew was having trouble with his bag, causing them both to have to stop every few seconds. After a short time, they finally reached the ground, and headed over to Buffy. Up close, she could see the weariness in their faces, which caused her own smile to drop slightly.
Together, they entered the terminal, where most of the signs were in English. Dawn frowned, and complained about ‘cultural suppression’. Buffy didn’t respond, but was silently thankful. She didn’t want to have to ask someone where to go, and no doubt embarrass herself in the process.
Their journey through the airport wasn’t completely straightforward, however. At passport control, Buffy found herself held back while the guy behind the counter checked through all her stamps.
“You have been travelling.” The accent made it hard to tell, but Buffy was pretty sure the guy was being sarcastic.
“Yeah.” She smiled at him, trying to exude charm. “It’s no problem, though, right?” He checked over her papers one more time, and then handed them back to her.
“Welcome to Uganda.” He smiled.
“Thanks,” she replied, and walked on.
A while later, they headed out into the night again, where a taxi from their hotel was waiting, driver leaning on the bonnet. Buffy began to speak, but was ignored. The driver crammed their bags into the back without a word and opened the doors, a scowl on his face the whole time. Biting her lip, she got into the front seat.
No one spoke during the journey. Exhaustion began to creep up on Buffy, and the only thing that prevented her from falling asleep was the quiet, threatening music that came from the radio.
By the time they reached the hotel, her eyes would not stay fully open. She dragged herself out of the taxi, following Dawn and Andrew, and the driver dumped their bags next to them. He was still scowling. She tried to calculate a tip in her head, and cursed the fact that the hotel had paid for the actual journey, leaving her with no ten percent to fall back on.
Her problem was solved, however, as the guy abruptly got back into the car and drove away, his music noticeably louder.
She blinked several times, still holding her purse in one hand. Fatigue caused a couple of tears to form without reason. She blinked them away, and picked up her bag.
Dawn and Andrew did the same, and they headed into the hotel. Buffy checked them in, without really listening to a word the receptionist said. At last, she was given their keys.
Buffy let Dawn use the bathroom first, and said goodnight to Andrew through their interconnecting door. Coming to the decision that she was too tired to care about hygiene, she changed and went straight to sleep.
She stared into the fire, fighting back tears in her eyes. As the sun fell, it seemed to glow brighter, though at its core she could still see something dark.
The heat from the fire passed into the manacles around her wrists, and they began to warm. As she burned, she moved backwards, as far as she could, towards the open desert. Her wrists were burnt, but were no longer being heated. The pain was bearable.
From her new vantage point, she could see the creature. It stood on the other side of the fire, chained as she was, and no doubt welcoming the falling night. She curled her lip, forgetting her pain in favour of disgust.
Somewhere to her right, the way of the set sun, drums began to sound.
The beats seemed to approach her, rising in volume with each one played. They pounded through her, and churned her stomach into nausea. She shook, violently.
Something inside her burned white hot. And then it cooled.
Thick cold oozed through her veins, and instilled itself throughout her body. Her muscles felt fluid now, and her bones like cold metal. She opened her eyes, and saw with new acuity.
Across the dying fire, the creature still stood, changed as she was, and now evoking no emotion.
Effortlessly, she snapped the chains that bound her, and looked out into the night.
Buffy awoke, unrested.
Sitting up, she looked blearily into the hotel room. The light, coming in through the window, seared the sleep from her eyes. Screwing them closed with pain, she fumbled at her blankets, and came into contact with a sheet of paper. She blinked her eyes open and tried to focus, turning her back to the window. The paper was a note, which read:
Gone to breakfast. Tried to wake you, but you sleep like a rock. Sorry.
D&A
And yeah, we could’ve tried harder, but we’re late anyway.
She got out of bed, scrunching up the note, and winced as she stepped on her belt buckle. She sighed.
It had only just started, but she had a feeling that the day was going to remind her of old times. She’d already met all the requirements: no sleep (none that mattered, anyway), no food, and, finally, some physical injury. With her luck, Giles’ contact was going to be a demon.
Wrenching open her suitcase, she found some clothes and headed for the bathroom.
The heat was starting to annoy her, but she convinced herself that it was just that she had spent too long in the cold.
She was following Dawn and Andrew, lagging behind. They seemed to be having the time of their lives, talking to people on the street and looking at street names. For some reason, they just weren’t exuding the tourist-vibe that she was.
It wasn’t fair. She was the one who’d spent months backpacking. She was the one with travel-experience, even if she did spend more time on the trail than in cities. She was supposed to be the one who revelled in the foreignness of it all. She was supposed to be the one who fit in.
She couldn’t help but feel relieved when they came off the street, having found where they were looking for.
The three of them stood for a few moments outside an apartment, before the door opened. The man who opened the door to them looked about fifty, with a receding hairline. The wire glasses on his nose made her immediately think of an African Giles, although this man had a much rounder face.
“Mr. Mamdani?” Dawn asked, looking at the paper in her hands for what had to be the fiftieth time that day.
“Hello! You must be Rupert’s charge,” he said, in a lilting accent. He shook her hand vigorously, and Dawn blushed.
“Oh, no! I’m her sister, Dawn.”
“Well, Dawn, I am equally pleased to meet with you.” He moved out of the way, and held his hand open to the apartment. Dawn entered, and Andrew followed. With a little trepidation, Buffy also entered, and shivered as she felt Mr. Mamdani’s scrutiny on the back of her neck.
The apartment (it felt good not to have to call it a ‘flat’) was relatively well sized, and the main room consisted of a brown sofa and armchair, a wooden coffee table and a large bookshelf, all of which sat on a tiled floor. The walls were white, but mostly covered in art. She wasn’t quite sure whether it was tribal or demonic, but thought it might be impolite to ask.
A fly’s hum cut through the silence, and, looking up, she could see it, buzzing around a ceiling fan. Frowning a little, she looked back down again, coming face to face with Mr. Mamdani. She blushed, and tried to apologise:
“I like your, um, art, Mr. Mandali.” He smiled, though at her side Dawn hissed.
“Mamdani,” he replied. “But do not worry yourself with that. You may call me Samuel.”
“Oh, right. I’m Buffy.” She supposed this was the part where she was meant to put her hand out, so she did. Smiling again, he shook it, and showed the same vigour he had earlier.
“I have heard a great deal about you.” He looked at her, and his dark eyes glinted behind his glasses. He then drew back, continuing, “As I have your sister. But tell me, who is this young man?” He looked at Andrew, who seemed unwilling to meet his gaze.
“Oh, he’s Andrew. He’s…”
“A friend.”
“…A friend.” They said the words at the same time, and Buffy scowled at her sister. Dawn looked back, a little startled, mouthing “sorry”.
Chuckling, Samuel said, “I see.” Andrew blushed. After looking at him for a moment, Samuel continued, holding an arm to the sofa, “do, please, be seated. I shall prepare some tea for us.”
The three of them moved to the sofa, which, Buffy noted, was worn, but otherwise in immaculate condition. A short while later, Samuel returned with the tea: a white set with green detail on the rims. Buffy found it ironic that, for all the talk she’d heard about the English and their tea, the first actual ‘set’ she’d seen was in a different continent.
“Rupert gave this set to me as a wedding gift,” Samuel said, catching her eye. He placed the tray on the coffee table and took a seat in the armchair, smiling wistfully. “I believe that he meant it to be a joke. I have come to value it very much, however.”
Buffy blinked. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d been looking at it.
When he had poured out the tea, Samuel began to speak again.
“So. Rupert has told me that you are interested in an artefact.”
“Yeah,” Dawn replied, sipping her tea. “Some archaeologists found this gauntlet on a dig near, um, Mityana, is it? It’s kinda near some little mountains.”
“Mityana is correct. What do you mean, precisely, by the word ‘gauntlet’?”
“Um, it’s kinda like a chunky bracelet? It’s gold, with these diamond…. I have a picture, actually. Just a sec.” Dawn dug around in her bag, pulled out a printout of her photos, and passed it to Samuel.
“Thank you. This looks familiar. Is it documented?”
“Yeah, actually. It comes with, like, an amulet. I think they’re referred to as ‘The Mapacha’, or something.”
“Ah, the Mapacha. I believe that I own a book….” He stood up, and went over to the bookshelf, running a finger along the various leather spines. On the third shelf, he found the book he was looking for and brought it back over to the table.
He flicked it open, and read a little. Over her teacup, Buffy looked at the pages, taking in the illustrations. Her stomach gave a jolt as she recognised the amulet.
It looked like her gut agreed with Dawn and Andrew. Wasn’t that nice.
There was no way she could accept it, though. It was impossible for the two amulets to be the same. If they were, she couldn’t trust Angel anymore, and if she couldn’t do that….
Trusting Angel was something she did implicitly; it was possibly the last constant she had to make up her life. All the other ones had been taken away from her, over the years. She knew that she could make new ones, and she knew that she should. She just wasn’t sure if she had the energy or strength to do so. She was too tired to give up on her old life and start over. Again.
Besides, there were only so many people that she trusted, and if Angel could no longer be one of them the number would be very small indeed.
“Yeah,” Buffy said, growing a little bitter. “So, we think we might to be able to find the necklace-thing near where the bracelet-thing was found.” Dawn scowled at her. Samuel seemed to notice, but didn’t make any comment.
“I understand.” He looked like he wanted to ask a question, but then continued, “I can take you there tomorrow. If you meet me here after your lunch, we can take my car as far as Mityana, and then we may have to walk. I will find out where the site is, and obtain permission for us to visit.”
Buffy finished her tea, and placed the cup on the table. Eyeing her, Samuel said, “Until then, I bid you to enjoy Kampala.”
They finished, and began to leave, thanking Samuel for the tea. After Dawn and Andrew had exited, Samuel held Buffy back.
“I should ask you what it is you expect to find.” She took a moment to comprehend, and when she did, she was still confused.
“The amulet. Y’know, the one we’re looking for.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where….” He cut her off, gently.
“Rupert has told me about what occurred at the Hellmouth.” Buffy looked at him defiantly.
“That was a different one.”
“What will you do if it was not?” She didn’t reply, and moved past him, towards the door. As she left, he said, “As we search for an answer to one question, we inescapably uncover more.” She didn’t turn around. “It is the answers to these questions which generally cause distress, and so I should ask you to be careful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mamdani,” Buffy said, closing the door behind her.
Making my heart feel sore,
‘Cause it’s good.
-Muse, Darkshines
[Chapter 5]