(Untitled)

Dec 14, 2011 13:40

Standing on Union Street in the chill darkness of a December's eve in London, he was only a few blocks from where the home he and his mother had shared had been. On the third day, he'd gone to look, finding that the buildings weren't quite what he remembered. In place of their brownstone was a candlemaker's shoppe, and he'd gone inside, coming out ( Read more... )

mitchell, buffy summers, item post, fred burkle, ellen parsons, spike, saffron

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chose December 19 2011, 05:25:42 UTC
All that brilliant snow and novelty aside, this year's winter prank - and she hopes that's all it is - leaves Buffy feeling deeply unnerved every now and then. It sunk in within the first few days for her, that this is London as Spike knew it when he was alive, and briefly, that realization was accompanied by some excitement. But in the weeks since, she has been feeling a growing sense of déjà vu, and a few days ago, she finally realized why: she has been here before. Not in reality, and never in such lucid detail, but there were nights when she visited these times in dreams, reliving some of Angel's darkest moments at the First's behest. Even on the island, undisturbed sleep has always eluded her, but the nightmares of late have been particularly brutal.

When she can help it, she focuses on the parts of this city that belong to the island, or to Spike, as opposed to those that are Angel's to haunt. Spike makes it easy tonight, manifesting almost miraculously on a stoop just ahead, and when she greets him, she looks and feels genuinely happy. (Relieved is a type of happy, isn't it?)

"Quiet man sits alone in the dark with box," she says, as if reciting a newspaper headline, as she sits down beside him. "It's pretty. Almost feminine looking, some might say."

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nobler_things December 20 2011, 05:13:51 UTC
"Are you narrating?" he asked, amusement curling his lips. A bit of that weight, that darkness, seemed to life, simply from having her near.

Flipping open the box, the song began to play, a soft metallic clang as the little gears turned inside.

"Belonged to me Mum. She didn't have many pretty things, never had want of them, but these were her favorites."

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chose December 28 2011, 11:25:46 UTC

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