Fic: Bloody Awful Poetry Redux
Title Bloody Awful Poetry Redux
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG13
Word Count 1300
Prompt 187 - English
Characters/Pairing (if any) Giles, Tara, Anya, Buffy, Willow, Xander
A/N: originally for the_jossverse, where I was inspired to follow up on my first ever seasonal_spuffy entry: Bloody Awful Poetry Day. I wanted to give other characters a chance to demonstrate their..."skills".
I’m Rupert, Lord of Libraries
I wield my weighty tomes
Like mace or sword; and vampires all
Do tremble in their homes
Here comes my knight (a lady fair,
Yet stronger than she looks).
She’s wondrous strong, and bold and brave.
If only she liked books...
And her esquire, young Harris too
He follows where she walks
Adores her skills, watches her move
With his eyes on stalks.
The sorceress is with them too
Our Willow, ever stronger
She dyes her hair a flaming red
And loves men no longer
[Giles turned to a new page]
Our quest today, to find and kill
That bloody vampire Spike
We’ve had enough of all his tricks
It’s time he-
“Whatcha doing?” Buffy spoke from altogether too close for comfort. Evidently Giles’ Watcher skills were distracted by the shameful thrill of... writing really foolishly bad poetry. Oh dear.
“Er- Hello Buffy!” He slipped the compromising notebook surreptitiously beneath a pile of papers.
Too late, apparently. “Not again! I told you, Giles. No matter how bored you are, or how many plans you make, we’re not killing Spike this week.”
Giles felt exactly like a silly old fool. Which he wasn’t. Honestly. Just bored, and longing to spring into action. It had been an insanely tedious month since the Initiative went down.
“Oh well. Beach picnic, is it?”
“Nope. Riley has to work, and it’s kinda cloudy so...”
“So none of you fancy doing the beach barbecue cleanup. Quite.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose at him, chidingly. “So we thought we’d hang here. Scan some prophecies, file some spells. Maybe... write some poetry?”
Oh crap.
“Why would you do that?”
“Well, I’m taking a poetry class next semester.” Giles breathed again, too soon- “And it seemed to be very enthralling for you. Didn’t even hear us knock.”
Us?
Yes, now Giles finally looked behind him, there they were, Xander, Willow and Anya... and Tara in the background too.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. (He was even sounding like Spike now.)
There was only one way to carry this off. Academically. “Well, it’s a splendid mental discipline, certainly. I’ll be fascinated to see what you come up with.” And Giles just happened to have volumes worth of poetry criticism, one of the few sections of the school library to have escaped destruction. By some blessed fluke the gang were in co-operative mood. Didn’t even ask to see his poem. And for a couple of sweet, sweet hours, they were occupied.
But then... oh then came the terrible, the inevitable... the reading of the poems.
*
“Okay, so I was attracted to haiku because... because it’s short, okay?” Buffy fumed at Giles’ stifled groan. Teen haiku - is there anything worse? (No, scratch that. Anya’s was bound to be worse.)
Slayer swings her stake
Sidesteps onrushing vampire
Finds unbeating heart
Heart mind spirit hand
Combined strength renders the parts
Greater than their sum
Actually... “That’s really not bad, Buffy. Thank you.”
“Your surprise touches me Giles. Deeply.” Buffy grinned at him, and gratefully passed the baton to her left.
*
“Whatcha got, Will? We’re all ears. Not literally, not wishing to be literally, just in case anyone’s in doubt, but otherwise, all ears.”
“I’m not telling the form I’m using, okay? You have to guess, otherwise it’s no fun.”
Hear me, goddess on high
Each word weighed and thine
Counting syllables for you, our mystic
Asking for your grace, a plea
To raise our ridiculous lot
Ever towards the sublime.
On the last word a small whirlwind passed through the flat, casting only tiny cute lightning onto- oh dear, a rather nice pseudo-orientalist throw in delicate silks. Which did not look better covered with singed holes.
“Oh...poop.”
Giles sighed, with ever deeper patience. “Willow, I’m afraid Hecate isn’t fond of acrostic calling. Even double-acrostics seem to irritate her rather. I’m afraid poetry and spellcasting don’t really mix; or at least, not in ways which are likely to benefit us.”
*
“Is it my turn yet?”
“All right, Anya. Let’s hear it.”
She sprang up, ready to declaim in style. “I’ve decided to go with clerihews. I find this a highly efficient form - it sums up whole lives in four lines. None of those boring long verses, but it rhymes, so you can tell it’s really poetry. But it is surprisingly hard to rhyme some of your names, and I got bored. In the end I focussed on those who really matter in my life.
“Which is why there are only two.
“And one of them is about me.”
Alexander Lavelle Harris-
(Tara mouthed a discreet ‘Lavelle?’ to Willow, who nodded solemnly. Not laughing at Xander’s middle name was her duty as a best friend from way back.)-
Is surprisingly easy to embarrass
He has yet to identify his ideal career
Though there is worthwhile money to be made in stripping, I hear
The Demon Formerly Known As Anyanka
Is sufficiently talented to become a leading banker
But now she’s Anya Christina Emanuella
Which appears to have limited her career choices to lunch-lady or ice-cream-seller.
Anya sat down again, slightly depressed at the summary of her life after all. Xander patted her hand, and received retribution.
*
“Come on, Xander. I’ve contributed my portion of the evening’s shabby old-fashioned entertainment. It’s time to hear yours.” Anya looked at him encouragingly, though with slight worry about what was coming next.
Justified worry. Xander had been suspiciously quiet all afternoon. “I want to make it clear that spending the afternoon writing bad poems was not my idea. And that I only participated because I have nowhere else to go and no other friends. Okay?”
“Graciously done. Please read yours; then we can all... stop this.” Giles thought muzzily that there must have been a time before this eternal bad poetry reading, but...
And then things got worse.
There once was a Watcher called Giles
Who suffered from terrible pi-
“Thank you, Xander. I think you’ve got the hang of the form, certainly. Perhaps we’ll leave it there. Right, well, that’s about it-”
A small cough interrupted him. “I’m sorry, of course, Tara, you must have your turn." Dammit.
*
“I, uh, I liked the Ssssapphic ode form,” said Tara. Behind her, Willow froze the room with a Just-One-Snicker-Buster-and-You’re-Toadmeat glare. The room quailed, and assumed a mass expression of supportive interest.
A power swells, alive and new
Demanding urgent homage. We
Obey. Selene honours us.
New moon rising
To span your waist with both my hands
To kiss your nape, and smell your hair
Are pleasures, rich and mystical
The goddess smiles
Alone together, paradox
Of two made one and interweaved
The dark is kind, we smile unseen
Loving the night
A whisper, grey and nearly-here
Potential on the breeze, it sings
Of futures, lying or untrue
It’s almost dawn
It was streets better than the rest.
And had set fire to nothing, Giles noted with approval. “That was beautiful, Tara. Thank you. Tell me, your last line... it sounds familiar. Do you know where it came from?”
“No, it just... seemed the way to go. And thank you, Mr Giles. I’m glad you liked it. I guess it’s your turn now? You had way more time - I'd love to hear the poem.”
And Tara smiled, a sweet encouraging smile. With just a hint of a giggle behind it. This girl knew how to watch, and deduce and- dammit. He was going to have to read out his awful poem because of her.
[fade to black]
*
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG13
Word Count 1300
Prompt 187 - English
Characters/Pairing (if any) Giles, Tara, Anya, Buffy, Willow, Xander
A/N: originally for the_jossverse, where I was inspired to follow up on my first ever seasonal_spuffy entry: Bloody Awful Poetry Day. I wanted to give other characters a chance to demonstrate their..."skills".
I’m Rupert, Lord of Libraries
I wield my weighty tomes
Like mace or sword; and vampires all
Do tremble in their homes
Here comes my knight (a lady fair,
Yet stronger than she looks).
She’s wondrous strong, and bold and brave.
If only she liked books...
And her esquire, young Harris too
He follows where she walks
Adores her skills, watches her move
With his eyes on stalks.
The sorceress is with them too
Our Willow, ever stronger
She dyes her hair a flaming red
And loves men no longer
[Giles turned to a new page]
Our quest today, to find and kill
That bloody vampire Spike
We’ve had enough of all his tricks
It’s time he-
“Whatcha doing?” Buffy spoke from altogether too close for comfort. Evidently Giles’ Watcher skills were distracted by the shameful thrill of... writing really foolishly bad poetry. Oh dear.
“Er- Hello Buffy!” He slipped the compromising notebook surreptitiously beneath a pile of papers.
Too late, apparently. “Not again! I told you, Giles. No matter how bored you are, or how many plans you make, we’re not killing Spike this week.”
Giles felt exactly like a silly old fool. Which he wasn’t. Honestly. Just bored, and longing to spring into action. It had been an insanely tedious month since the Initiative went down.
“Oh well. Beach picnic, is it?”
“Nope. Riley has to work, and it’s kinda cloudy so...”
“So none of you fancy doing the beach barbecue cleanup. Quite.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose at him, chidingly. “So we thought we’d hang here. Scan some prophecies, file some spells. Maybe... write some poetry?”
Oh crap.
“Why would you do that?”
“Well, I’m taking a poetry class next semester.” Giles breathed again, too soon- “And it seemed to be very enthralling for you. Didn’t even hear us knock.”
Us?
Yes, now Giles finally looked behind him, there they were, Xander, Willow and Anya... and Tara in the background too.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. (He was even sounding like Spike now.)
There was only one way to carry this off. Academically. “Well, it’s a splendid mental discipline, certainly. I’ll be fascinated to see what you come up with.” And Giles just happened to have volumes worth of poetry criticism, one of the few sections of the school library to have escaped destruction. By some blessed fluke the gang were in co-operative mood. Didn’t even ask to see his poem. And for a couple of sweet, sweet hours, they were occupied.
But then... oh then came the terrible, the inevitable... the reading of the poems.
*
“Okay, so I was attracted to haiku because... because it’s short, okay?” Buffy fumed at Giles’ stifled groan. Teen haiku - is there anything worse? (No, scratch that. Anya’s was bound to be worse.)
Slayer swings her stake
Sidesteps onrushing vampire
Finds unbeating heart
Heart mind spirit hand
Combined strength renders the parts
Greater than their sum
Actually... “That’s really not bad, Buffy. Thank you.”
“Your surprise touches me Giles. Deeply.” Buffy grinned at him, and gratefully passed the baton to her left.
*
“Whatcha got, Will? We’re all ears. Not literally, not wishing to be literally, just in case anyone’s in doubt, but otherwise, all ears.”
“I’m not telling the form I’m using, okay? You have to guess, otherwise it’s no fun.”
Hear me, goddess on high
Each word weighed and thine
Counting syllables for you, our mystic
Asking for your grace, a plea
To raise our ridiculous lot
Ever towards the sublime.
On the last word a small whirlwind passed through the flat, casting only tiny cute lightning onto- oh dear, a rather nice pseudo-orientalist throw in delicate silks. Which did not look better covered with singed holes.
“Oh...poop.”
Giles sighed, with ever deeper patience. “Willow, I’m afraid Hecate isn’t fond of acrostic calling. Even double-acrostics seem to irritate her rather. I’m afraid poetry and spellcasting don’t really mix; or at least, not in ways which are likely to benefit us.”
*
“Is it my turn yet?”
“All right, Anya. Let’s hear it.”
She sprang up, ready to declaim in style. “I’ve decided to go with clerihews. I find this a highly efficient form - it sums up whole lives in four lines. None of those boring long verses, but it rhymes, so you can tell it’s really poetry. But it is surprisingly hard to rhyme some of your names, and I got bored. In the end I focussed on those who really matter in my life.
“Which is why there are only two.
“And one of them is about me.”
Alexander Lavelle Harris-
(Tara mouthed a discreet ‘Lavelle?’ to Willow, who nodded solemnly. Not laughing at Xander’s middle name was her duty as a best friend from way back.)-
Is surprisingly easy to embarrass
He has yet to identify his ideal career
Though there is worthwhile money to be made in stripping, I hear
The Demon Formerly Known As Anyanka
Is sufficiently talented to become a leading banker
But now she’s Anya Christina Emanuella
Which appears to have limited her career choices to lunch-lady or ice-cream-seller.
Anya sat down again, slightly depressed at the summary of her life after all. Xander patted her hand, and received retribution.
*
“Come on, Xander. I’ve contributed my portion of the evening’s shabby old-fashioned entertainment. It’s time to hear yours.” Anya looked at him encouragingly, though with slight worry about what was coming next.
Justified worry. Xander had been suspiciously quiet all afternoon. “I want to make it clear that spending the afternoon writing bad poems was not my idea. And that I only participated because I have nowhere else to go and no other friends. Okay?”
“Graciously done. Please read yours; then we can all... stop this.” Giles thought muzzily that there must have been a time before this eternal bad poetry reading, but...
And then things got worse.
There once was a Watcher called Giles
Who suffered from terrible pi-
“Thank you, Xander. I think you’ve got the hang of the form, certainly. Perhaps we’ll leave it there. Right, well, that’s about it-”
A small cough interrupted him. “I’m sorry, of course, Tara, you must have your turn." Dammit.
*
“I, uh, I liked the Ssssapphic ode form,” said Tara. Behind her, Willow froze the room with a Just-One-Snicker-Buster-and-You’re-Toadmeat glare. The room quailed, and assumed a mass expression of supportive interest.
A power swells, alive and new
Demanding urgent homage. We
Obey. Selene honours us.
New moon rising
To span your waist with both my hands
To kiss your nape, and smell your hair
Are pleasures, rich and mystical
The goddess smiles
Alone together, paradox
Of two made one and interweaved
The dark is kind, we smile unseen
Loving the night
A whisper, grey and nearly-here
Potential on the breeze, it sings
Of futures, lying or untrue
It’s almost dawn
It was streets better than the rest.
And had set fire to nothing, Giles noted with approval. “That was beautiful, Tara. Thank you. Tell me, your last line... it sounds familiar. Do you know where it came from?”
“No, it just... seemed the way to go. And thank you, Mr Giles. I’m glad you liked it. I guess it’s your turn now? You had way more time - I'd love to hear the poem.”
And Tara smiled, a sweet encouraging smile. With just a hint of a giggle behind it. This girl knew how to watch, and deduce and- dammit. He was going to have to read out his awful poem because of her.
[fade to black]
*