City of Refuge (Season Two Soundtrack)
I'm apparently continuing my tradition of being incredibly late with getting a soundtrack out. Like, over a year late. Don't judge me. :| Warning: certain excerpts are NSFW and fulla sketch. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I only have the full .zip up for download right now - I'll try and manage individual songs tomorrow, when I'm not quite so tired. And I apologize to everyone whose tags I butchered to fit into the excerpts. ^^ Merry Christmas, beyondtherift. I love you all very much. (You can tell by how I finished the majority of this over the course of one day so it would be up for Christmas.) ♥
full mix download
links to threads are hidden in the first line of each excerpt
city of refuge
grant lee phillips
A searing blue light flashes in the lobby, depositing a pile of bodies in the middle of the floor. There's no ceremony to it: a good half of them are unconscious or tranqed out, everyone is bloody, and if there was a Hell and it had chewed them up and spat them back out they'd hardly look worse.
Jack disentangles himself. "We need help in here! We need medics, stretchers--"
...and then he's on his knees again, laying out the ones who can't move and helping the ones who can. They're a mass of blood and bones and flesh and wounds and he's nowhere near enough to keep them all together - and he's going to try, God damn it, he's going to try until it kills him and he's going to keep trying even then, because the people looking after these people down here are him, the Doctor, and Martha, and the Doctor and Martha are down.
look for me (i'll be around)
neko case
"You know you've come here in part for my birthday. I assume a healthy dose of curiosity must have been an equal lure. Before we break out the cakes, I want you all to know why, precisely, this birthday of mine is so important. I would like to show you."
His hand fists, and a tremor passes through his body as he broadcasts: a wave of pure Neqa'el power rides hard on a rush of południca talent, flooding the garden with pain and a temporary madness. Migraines flash in his guests' minds, optical nerves scream and register too much light and too much colour. Even when he lifts the pain he keeps them there with the spectacular auras he's forcing through their eyes, and his voice booms through the sound system and resonates weirdly in disoriented ears.
"It is my three hundred and fiftieth birthday today. And I have survived in this world of Angels and Demon-hunters and Demons of Calisto's ilk. But I am coming to the resolution that surviving is not enough for me."
bring the night on
eve 6
Martha's spent much of her return under self-sedated sleep. And then she ran out of sedatives, there was the inevitable emotional fall out, which turned into angry obsessing and made her write that journal entry to her only torturer that remains alive, stew for longer in her own fury, showering until her skin began to burn.
By the time she got out, Shephard had responded. I'm a warrior. You're a doctor. Do the math. Why can't she be both?
Her fist slams into the punching bag again, shaking. It's not about being smart anymore. It's about not giving in.
There's so much she can't stop long enough to think about. What the Doctor did. How she can't find the words to talk to him about any of that. What could have happened if-
What did happen.
what about us?
john barrowman
Des stands slowly. "It's not ending like this. I haven't come this far to lose two people I care about to their own personal hells."
"What do you mean, this?" What does Martha mean by us? The Doctor knows what he'd mean if he said it, but what Martha makes of it, or Des... he's not quite as sure, and he realizes for the first time just how much that bothers him.
Des doesn't look at the Doctor even though he's addressing him now. "This, Doctor, is the start of a downward spiral to the three of us not being the three of us anymore... Because haven't you noticed that it's been the three of us for a really long time? I don't want to lose that. So whatever it is that's come between us since that night, I want it gone, and I don't know to do that yet, but I'm going to find out, because it's not worth continuing if everything we worked so hard to save crumbles apart in the aftermath."
don't fear the reaper
him (his infernal majesty)
Now that he's a Neqa'el, Elashte spends a lot of time... listening. Sitting in a quiet room, jazz in the background, tuning into the ebb and flow of thoughts which wash over the city. At the moment he just hears scraps, like paying no particular attention in a crowded room, but even that's fascinating.
So he 'hears' it when someone who hadn't existed suddenly exists, soaked in plague.
He was in Europe for the Black Death. He knows the mental scent of plague as well as anything--the fear, the seeping terror, the distrust so ubiquitous that it turns against the air you breathe and your own blood, and this man reeks of every bit of it. It's faint--he has to push his way through the psychic distance, push to see where he is, push to see through his eyes. It leaves him with a throbbing headache and a dire confirmation: plague has come to Chicago.
life less ordinary
carbon leaf
Gwen is in a bed. She registers that much, if not much more initially. She's in a bed and Rhys - no, Mathias is curled up around her protectively, half-clinging to her, and very much asleep if the rhythm of his breathing is any indication. She coughs, wincing a bit at the sharp pain in her chest, and shifts a little to settle herself more comfortably against Mathias. She's not feeling great, but no worse than she remembers feeling the last time she was conscious, so she's not complaining.
Mathias shifts a bit, and wakes up, blinking sleepily at her in just-woken-up confusion. His eyes go wide, and he makes some sort of strangled gasp as he wraps his arms around her. "Gwen! You're awake!"
He takes her face in his hands, kisses her soundly (if quickly, so she doesn't have to cough into the kiss or anything - that is not romantic), and pulls back to look at her. And, with all seriousness, says, "I love you."
That was... very important. Yes.
i hate everything about you
three days grace
"Taylor Barnam," he says. "Of the Barnam Archangel family. You should not be here." He inhales. "You think you've found your Ward. This is a statistical and pragmatic impossibility. The prudent course of action would be to get out now and examine these feelings from a distance; call your father, seek counselling from Romana or your friend Bianca, take a bus out of the city; anything so long as it doesn't place you here. You shouldn't be here. A girl of sixteen has no business in a company of demons."
He knows it's futile, even from the start. He might not know exactly how futile, but were it that easy to turn off a Guardianship....
"I think I've-- WHAT? No. No no no fucking NO!" And then she screams.
"WHY?" she shouts at the ceiling, presumably addressing higher powers or the universe at large or something. "WAS IT JUST NOT BAD ENOUGH YET?"
addicted
kelly clarkson
He presses her backwards a few steps - gently, so she's not startled, until he's backed her against a tree. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but easier for her to stay on her feet with something to lean back against... which is just as well, because he chooses now to grind against her, nipping her lower lip again, harder than before. On reflection, comfort may not be the primary concern here.
Martha gasps, startled anyway. She moans, again. Tears spring up, burning her eyes, because it hurts. It feels amazing, but it hurts. And for a moment she flashes back to that warehouse. To a knife grinding inside of her. She needs him to fuck her to forget about the knife. It hurts even more.
"I need you," she growls, just under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
It's not true. It feels like it's true, but it's not.
monochrome
covenant
He's already programming the coordinates into his wrist device, and quirks an eyebrow at Jack when he's done. Are you going to let me touch you, or do we have to do this the hard way? Not that it's that much harder for Jack to get the coordinates from him, but that's entirely beside the point.
It's a call, but Jack's decisive. It's worth more, right now, to get Hart to trust him. He looks at Hart with what's almost a challenge. They know how things stand. Hart tries anything and Jack will snap his neck. Jack goes for anything and Hart will step back and put a gun to his chest. No sneaking a sedative into him now, unfortunately.
He extends a hand, not far, inviting Hart to come to him. It's a none-so-subtle signal of how he's decided the power will go - John submits, he alphas. He'll see how John responds to that spin on things.
give me novacaine
green day
Jack materializes in his room with a foul mood, serious nausea, and a splitting headache, drops the confiscated stuff, pulls off his greatcoat to drop it on the pile, and heads for the bathroom.
Where he immediately throws up an impressive amount of alcohol, and most of a pub lunch.
Fucking bar food. Fucking malfunctioning teleport. Fucking John Hart, making him dig so deep into his own personal darkness he's not actually sure if he's out again yet.
It's not uncommon - in fact, it's usual - to have some down time between mission completion and debriefing. It'll afford him the time to take a shower and some painkillers. At the moment, he's giving serious consideration to tranqing himself out and letting the headache pass.
If only other issues were so easily resolved.
lessons in love
declan bennett
The Doctor lunges forward to cover the rest of the distance between them, half-tackling her and then clinging as tightly as he can. If he's supposed to be saying something now, it'll have to wait a moment until he's able to breathe again.
Martha gasps. It takes just a moment to get over the surprise and to force her fingers to stop clenching the sheet. As soon as the moment passes, she wraps her arms around him. When he'd left, she had thought a million things. None of these thoughts included getting to hold him like this again any time in the near future.
The Doctor buries his face against her shoulder, and just... stays there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her, feeling her heartbeat against him, the warmth of her skin. "I'm sorry," he says again at last, his voice muffled against her shoulder. Apparently he can't say that enough times.
"It's okay. Never... blamed you either. Not for anything."
edge of the earth
30 seconds to mars
"...your only reason to believe that he's done anything wrong is because he now has a guardian angel." Jack's voice is rising, now, volume up but pace and tone controlled. "Everything changes, Ms. Angelos! Systems like this world's fall apart like that, and you can't force them back to order by hunting down discrepancies. You have no idea what's going on, and you need to step back and analyse the situation like a responsible leader before you go charging into anything and getting people killed. So I am telling you, here, now, stand down!"
Romana's expression doesn't change as he speaks, and with someone who reacts to perceived threats with extreme violence, that's not necessarily a good thing. Romana just stands there for a moment after he's finished speaking, her eyes fixed on his. "No," she says icily after a moment, takes two, three steps back, pulls a gun, and fires. Two shots in the chest, one in the head, and Jack's dead before he has time to even begin to react. Angel reflexes help with that, and Romana is certain he is nothing close to an innocent.
almost time to go
jason webley
It's almost too much. He almost lets himself crack, lets the overwhelming pressure out of his chest, gives into the urge to bury his face in her hair and scream or cry or he doesn't know what any more.
But he can't. He's the leader, the commander - at least, he was - and so much of him is still holding himself up, keeping him strong for his team. So he just hangs on. Lets one hand stroke her hair, lets the other hold her as close as they can be, doesn't blame her for breaking apart. It's almost nothing, and he desperately wishes it would be enough.
Don't go don't go don't go don't go, not again, please... It keeps running through her head, though she doesn't even come close to saying it. She knows it won't stop him. He has to go, there's no choice and it probably is for everyone's good. She knows that they'll probably survive without him, that Gwen's perfectly capable.
That doesn't make any of it any better.
burn it to the ground
nickelback
Missy arches an eyebrow. On one hand, there are archangels around and that's five kinds of no fun, but on the other hand...
Well, if this building's already fallen down around everyone's heads once, who are they to fight what could had the potential to be a very fun (and disturbing trend)? She looks over at Logan, grinning wickedly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
She certainly hopes so, because she's already taking the dog collar off her neck, and that's the Missy Ashford equivelent to taking the gloves off.
..."Ten seconds," Malek says, grinning fit to burst.
Then he kicks back his entire horrifying coffee drink in a go, exhaling loudly and slamming the mug back down on the table. He pushes his chair back and stretches. "Always up for a party. Let's bring down the house."
everybody knows
leonard cohen
"If... angels fight demons and demons fight angels..." Tay doesn't want to go there, but she can't help it. "Where does that put me? I'm an angel, but I'm a guardian, my ward is a demon. I can't fight 'them' because I have to protect one of them. Which means that I'll be fighting against 'us', sometimes."
There is probably no way that this could get more awkward unless Romana came tearing out of her room with a vengeance, but then it wouldn't so much be awkward as potentially deadly. Or both. Which is not a good mix on any level.
For a long time, Vincent can't actually figure out what to say to that, because what she's saying makes perfect sense and it's a legitimite concern, but gray areas aren't his strong suit. What he settles on is probably the worst answer he could have come up with that didn't involve the words 'murder' and 'infidel.'
"I... Don't know."
I only have the full .zip up for download right now - I'll try and manage individual songs tomorrow, when I'm not quite so tired. And I apologize to everyone whose tags I butchered to fit into the excerpts. ^^ Merry Christmas, beyondtherift. I love you all very much. (You can tell by how I finished the majority of this over the course of one day so it would be up for Christmas.) ♥
full mix download
links to threads are hidden in the first line of each excerpt
city of refuge
grant lee phillips
A searing blue light flashes in the lobby, depositing a pile of bodies in the middle of the floor. There's no ceremony to it: a good half of them are unconscious or tranqed out, everyone is bloody, and if there was a Hell and it had chewed them up and spat them back out they'd hardly look worse.
Jack disentangles himself. "We need help in here! We need medics, stretchers--"
...and then he's on his knees again, laying out the ones who can't move and helping the ones who can. They're a mass of blood and bones and flesh and wounds and he's nowhere near enough to keep them all together - and he's going to try, God damn it, he's going to try until it kills him and he's going to keep trying even then, because the people looking after these people down here are him, the Doctor, and Martha, and the Doctor and Martha are down.
look for me (i'll be around)
neko case
"You know you've come here in part for my birthday. I assume a healthy dose of curiosity must have been an equal lure. Before we break out the cakes, I want you all to know why, precisely, this birthday of mine is so important. I would like to show you."
His hand fists, and a tremor passes through his body as he broadcasts: a wave of pure Neqa'el power rides hard on a rush of południca talent, flooding the garden with pain and a temporary madness. Migraines flash in his guests' minds, optical nerves scream and register too much light and too much colour. Even when he lifts the pain he keeps them there with the spectacular auras he's forcing through their eyes, and his voice booms through the sound system and resonates weirdly in disoriented ears.
"It is my three hundred and fiftieth birthday today. And I have survived in this world of Angels and Demon-hunters and Demons of Calisto's ilk. But I am coming to the resolution that surviving is not enough for me."
bring the night on
eve 6
Martha's spent much of her return under self-sedated sleep. And then she ran out of sedatives, there was the inevitable emotional fall out, which turned into angry obsessing and made her write that journal entry to her only torturer that remains alive, stew for longer in her own fury, showering until her skin began to burn.
By the time she got out, Shephard had responded. I'm a warrior. You're a doctor. Do the math. Why can't she be both?
Her fist slams into the punching bag again, shaking. It's not about being smart anymore. It's about not giving in.
There's so much she can't stop long enough to think about. What the Doctor did. How she can't find the words to talk to him about any of that. What could have happened if-
What did happen.
what about us?
john barrowman
Des stands slowly. "It's not ending like this. I haven't come this far to lose two people I care about to their own personal hells."
"What do you mean, this?" What does Martha mean by us? The Doctor knows what he'd mean if he said it, but what Martha makes of it, or Des... he's not quite as sure, and he realizes for the first time just how much that bothers him.
Des doesn't look at the Doctor even though he's addressing him now. "This, Doctor, is the start of a downward spiral to the three of us not being the three of us anymore... Because haven't you noticed that it's been the three of us for a really long time? I don't want to lose that. So whatever it is that's come between us since that night, I want it gone, and I don't know to do that yet, but I'm going to find out, because it's not worth continuing if everything we worked so hard to save crumbles apart in the aftermath."
don't fear the reaper
him (his infernal majesty)
Now that he's a Neqa'el, Elashte spends a lot of time... listening. Sitting in a quiet room, jazz in the background, tuning into the ebb and flow of thoughts which wash over the city. At the moment he just hears scraps, like paying no particular attention in a crowded room, but even that's fascinating.
So he 'hears' it when someone who hadn't existed suddenly exists, soaked in plague.
He was in Europe for the Black Death. He knows the mental scent of plague as well as anything--the fear, the seeping terror, the distrust so ubiquitous that it turns against the air you breathe and your own blood, and this man reeks of every bit of it. It's faint--he has to push his way through the psychic distance, push to see where he is, push to see through his eyes. It leaves him with a throbbing headache and a dire confirmation: plague has come to Chicago.
life less ordinary
carbon leaf
Gwen is in a bed. She registers that much, if not much more initially. She's in a bed and Rhys - no, Mathias is curled up around her protectively, half-clinging to her, and very much asleep if the rhythm of his breathing is any indication. She coughs, wincing a bit at the sharp pain in her chest, and shifts a little to settle herself more comfortably against Mathias. She's not feeling great, but no worse than she remembers feeling the last time she was conscious, so she's not complaining.
Mathias shifts a bit, and wakes up, blinking sleepily at her in just-woken-up confusion. His eyes go wide, and he makes some sort of strangled gasp as he wraps his arms around her. "Gwen! You're awake!"
He takes her face in his hands, kisses her soundly (if quickly, so she doesn't have to cough into the kiss or anything - that is not romantic), and pulls back to look at her. And, with all seriousness, says, "I love you."
That was... very important. Yes.
i hate everything about you
three days grace
"Taylor Barnam," he says. "Of the Barnam Archangel family. You should not be here." He inhales. "You think you've found your Ward. This is a statistical and pragmatic impossibility. The prudent course of action would be to get out now and examine these feelings from a distance; call your father, seek counselling from Romana or your friend Bianca, take a bus out of the city; anything so long as it doesn't place you here. You shouldn't be here. A girl of sixteen has no business in a company of demons."
He knows it's futile, even from the start. He might not know exactly how futile, but were it that easy to turn off a Guardianship....
"I think I've-- WHAT? No. No no no fucking NO!" And then she screams.
"WHY?" she shouts at the ceiling, presumably addressing higher powers or the universe at large or something. "WAS IT JUST NOT BAD ENOUGH YET?"
addicted
kelly clarkson
He presses her backwards a few steps - gently, so she's not startled, until he's backed her against a tree. Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but easier for her to stay on her feet with something to lean back against... which is just as well, because he chooses now to grind against her, nipping her lower lip again, harder than before. On reflection, comfort may not be the primary concern here.
Martha gasps, startled anyway. She moans, again. Tears spring up, burning her eyes, because it hurts. It feels amazing, but it hurts. And for a moment she flashes back to that warehouse. To a knife grinding inside of her. She needs him to fuck her to forget about the knife. It hurts even more.
"I need you," she growls, just under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
It's not true. It feels like it's true, but it's not.
monochrome
covenant
He's already programming the coordinates into his wrist device, and quirks an eyebrow at Jack when he's done. Are you going to let me touch you, or do we have to do this the hard way? Not that it's that much harder for Jack to get the coordinates from him, but that's entirely beside the point.
It's a call, but Jack's decisive. It's worth more, right now, to get Hart to trust him. He looks at Hart with what's almost a challenge. They know how things stand. Hart tries anything and Jack will snap his neck. Jack goes for anything and Hart will step back and put a gun to his chest. No sneaking a sedative into him now, unfortunately.
He extends a hand, not far, inviting Hart to come to him. It's a none-so-subtle signal of how he's decided the power will go - John submits, he alphas. He'll see how John responds to that spin on things.
give me novacaine
green day
Jack materializes in his room with a foul mood, serious nausea, and a splitting headache, drops the confiscated stuff, pulls off his greatcoat to drop it on the pile, and heads for the bathroom.
Where he immediately throws up an impressive amount of alcohol, and most of a pub lunch.
Fucking bar food. Fucking malfunctioning teleport. Fucking John Hart, making him dig so deep into his own personal darkness he's not actually sure if he's out again yet.
It's not uncommon - in fact, it's usual - to have some down time between mission completion and debriefing. It'll afford him the time to take a shower and some painkillers. At the moment, he's giving serious consideration to tranqing himself out and letting the headache pass.
If only other issues were so easily resolved.
lessons in love
declan bennett
The Doctor lunges forward to cover the rest of the distance between them, half-tackling her and then clinging as tightly as he can. If he's supposed to be saying something now, it'll have to wait a moment until he's able to breathe again.
Martha gasps. It takes just a moment to get over the surprise and to force her fingers to stop clenching the sheet. As soon as the moment passes, she wraps her arms around him. When he'd left, she had thought a million things. None of these thoughts included getting to hold him like this again any time in the near future.
The Doctor buries his face against her shoulder, and just... stays there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her, feeling her heartbeat against him, the warmth of her skin. "I'm sorry," he says again at last, his voice muffled against her shoulder. Apparently he can't say that enough times.
"It's okay. Never... blamed you either. Not for anything."
edge of the earth
30 seconds to mars
"...your only reason to believe that he's done anything wrong is because he now has a guardian angel." Jack's voice is rising, now, volume up but pace and tone controlled. "Everything changes, Ms. Angelos! Systems like this world's fall apart like that, and you can't force them back to order by hunting down discrepancies. You have no idea what's going on, and you need to step back and analyse the situation like a responsible leader before you go charging into anything and getting people killed. So I am telling you, here, now, stand down!"
Romana's expression doesn't change as he speaks, and with someone who reacts to perceived threats with extreme violence, that's not necessarily a good thing. Romana just stands there for a moment after he's finished speaking, her eyes fixed on his. "No," she says icily after a moment, takes two, three steps back, pulls a gun, and fires. Two shots in the chest, one in the head, and Jack's dead before he has time to even begin to react. Angel reflexes help with that, and Romana is certain he is nothing close to an innocent.
almost time to go
jason webley
It's almost too much. He almost lets himself crack, lets the overwhelming pressure out of his chest, gives into the urge to bury his face in her hair and scream or cry or he doesn't know what any more.
But he can't. He's the leader, the commander - at least, he was - and so much of him is still holding himself up, keeping him strong for his team. So he just hangs on. Lets one hand stroke her hair, lets the other hold her as close as they can be, doesn't blame her for breaking apart. It's almost nothing, and he desperately wishes it would be enough.
Don't go don't go don't go don't go, not again, please... It keeps running through her head, though she doesn't even come close to saying it. She knows it won't stop him. He has to go, there's no choice and it probably is for everyone's good. She knows that they'll probably survive without him, that Gwen's perfectly capable.
That doesn't make any of it any better.
burn it to the ground
nickelback
Missy arches an eyebrow. On one hand, there are archangels around and that's five kinds of no fun, but on the other hand...
Well, if this building's already fallen down around everyone's heads once, who are they to fight what could had the potential to be a very fun (and disturbing trend)? She looks over at Logan, grinning wickedly. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
She certainly hopes so, because she's already taking the dog collar off her neck, and that's the Missy Ashford equivelent to taking the gloves off.
..."Ten seconds," Malek says, grinning fit to burst.
Then he kicks back his entire horrifying coffee drink in a go, exhaling loudly and slamming the mug back down on the table. He pushes his chair back and stretches. "Always up for a party. Let's bring down the house."
everybody knows
leonard cohen
"If... angels fight demons and demons fight angels..." Tay doesn't want to go there, but she can't help it. "Where does that put me? I'm an angel, but I'm a guardian, my ward is a demon. I can't fight 'them' because I have to protect one of them. Which means that I'll be fighting against 'us', sometimes."
There is probably no way that this could get more awkward unless Romana came tearing out of her room with a vengeance, but then it wouldn't so much be awkward as potentially deadly. Or both. Which is not a good mix on any level.
For a long time, Vincent can't actually figure out what to say to that, because what she's saying makes perfect sense and it's a legitimite concern, but gray areas aren't his strong suit. What he settles on is probably the worst answer he could have come up with that didn't involve the words 'murder' and 'infidel.'
"I... Don't know."