Fic: Exchange Rate
Title: Exchange Rate
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series
Word count: 268
Prompt: Creepy Cruise (angst)
God, it was cold. It was so cold that she wondered if Spike could feel it. It was so cold she couldn’t even shiver; the only part of her that could shiver was her rattling breath, once it was expelled from her body. She tried hard to make it so that her words didn’t shake: “Answer me.”
The ferryman did not.
She reached out and gripped his bony shoulder in a vice. It creaked and dust fell into the air. “Tell me. Tell me, or bring me to him.”
The ferryman turned, so slowly, and dark gaping sockets, like the mouths of caves, met her eyes. White skin stretched over scaffold. And rattling breath: “If he is dust, he is dust. Vampires do not make it here.”
“He’s not-He has a soul. And this river,” she looked down, finally, and saw swimming and squirming things, bodies, screaming, “this river is full of them.”
But the ferryman was looking ahead again. The boat bumped against the shore. Buffy ground her teeth together, got up and off. “Do you take credit cards?” He didn’t get the joke, and anyway, she’d paid already.
To the throne room it was. She paused for just a second, thinking it’s cold, so cold, then headed on.
“Souls,” his voice rattled from behind her. “We take souls.”
She stopped. The beginnings of a laugh froze in her throat; she suddenly got the sense that he wasn’t joking. She took a moment to steady herself before walking on once more. She let the laugh thaw. “A soul for a soul? I can do that easy.”
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-series
Word count: 268
Prompt: Creepy Cruise (angst)
God, it was cold. It was so cold that she wondered if Spike could feel it. It was so cold she couldn’t even shiver; the only part of her that could shiver was her rattling breath, once it was expelled from her body. She tried hard to make it so that her words didn’t shake: “Answer me.”
The ferryman did not.
She reached out and gripped his bony shoulder in a vice. It creaked and dust fell into the air. “Tell me. Tell me, or bring me to him.”
The ferryman turned, so slowly, and dark gaping sockets, like the mouths of caves, met her eyes. White skin stretched over scaffold. And rattling breath: “If he is dust, he is dust. Vampires do not make it here.”
“He’s not-He has a soul. And this river,” she looked down, finally, and saw swimming and squirming things, bodies, screaming, “this river is full of them.”
But the ferryman was looking ahead again. The boat bumped against the shore. Buffy ground her teeth together, got up and off. “Do you take credit cards?” He didn’t get the joke, and anyway, she’d paid already.
To the throne room it was. She paused for just a second, thinking it’s cold, so cold, then headed on.
“Souls,” his voice rattled from behind her. “We take souls.”
She stopped. The beginnings of a laugh froze in her throat; she suddenly got the sense that he wasn’t joking. She took a moment to steady herself before walking on once more. She let the laugh thaw. “A soul for a soul? I can do that easy.”