Taming the Muse Prompt 15, Sunset, Sunrise, BtVS, PG
I'm going visiting Sparrow2000 tomorrow, so I am posting early. This is a bit short and a bit rushed. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Title: Sunset, Sunrise
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #15 - Glissade
At: tamingthemuse
Rating: Pg
Summary: A short epilogue to Drifters, which was the first story I ever wrote.
Note: I played with the prompt a little - went for the musical, rather than the physical version.
Word count 884
Sunset, Sunrise
Once the decision to go back to Sunnydale was made, their aimless, carefree wandering was over. Now they had a purpose and a goal. The delay imposed by the need to earn some money for gas, chafed and then the further delay when Oz realised that the poor old van needed some attention before they could hammer it across the width of the whole country, was worse. Watching the mechanic swarm across it's exposed engine, as smooth and slow as molasses, should have reassured Xander that the job was being done well, but his temper was frayed by it, instead. He went shopping for food for the two-day trip, leaving Oz to answer questions, take instructions and humour the old guy's mumblings about young people today who didn't know how to look after their things. Eventually though they were on their way, heading for St Louis so they could turn west.
Driving the main highways was a new way of travelling. They had always used side roads in their previous travels. Now they dodged the trucks and watched the miles flow past. The grocery bags on the front seat, between them, filled the gap where a small body should have been. For some reason neither of them felt right sitting in that spot. Driving in shifts they hardly paused for more than bathroom breaks.
Kansas and Colorado were far behind and they were well into the mountains as the sun began to set on their second day of travel. Xander's eyes felt gritty with fatigue and glancing across he saw that Oz was in no better shape. Commonsense re-asserted itself and by common consent they pulled off the road when a signpost offered scenic picnics. Xander drove carefully up the meandering track into the mountains themselves.
The picnic spot was deserted and had a few brick hearths on the edge of a clear area of grass. It gave them the space and the quiet they needed. The familiar routine of making camp again brought back memories of other nights, when there had been three of them doing the chores. They cooked over the open fire and then sat together, watching the flames. Xander felt the silence acutely, not knowing how to break it without sounding crass. So he was relieved at first when Oz began to talk.
"This isn't right," he said. "This isn't us. We're doing it all wrong."
Xander's heart skipped with dread. "You don't want to do this?" He asked.
Oz looked puzzled. "No. I mean, I do, yes. I think we have to. At least, I think I do. Don't you?"
Xander took a few moments just to breathe. "Are you talking about going home?" He asked, once he had calmed his momentary alarm.
"Yes, of course. Are you not okay with that?" He sounded... vulnerable, all of a sudden.
Xander rushed to reassure. "Yes, man. Of course. We have to go home." He paused to think back over what Oz had said. "So what isn't us?" He added.
Oz's face lightened. "This rushing," he explained. "We've done over a thousand miles in the last twenty six hours. We still have five hundred ahead of us. We could be home tomorrow if we keep on like this. But I don't know if that's the way we should come home. You know?" He got up and wandered over to the van, leaving Xander to ponder that idea.
Xander stared into the embers, finding himself fascinated by the way a single flame seemed to hover over a log, which was otherwise untouched by the fire. It didn't look as if it was connected to the wood that he knew fed it - as if it was a separate entity, and he realised that Oz was right. Turning his head, he watched Oz return with his guitar and he shifted over on the blanket to allow Oz to sit cross-legged. Oz hugged the guitar to his chest for a moment, before shifting it so his right hand could gently strum the strings and his left play their delicate patterns on the neck.
"We could buy a map and take the back roads," Xander offered. "Could miss Vegas entirely, if we're lucky."
Oz looked up and caught his eyes, and smiled. His fingers speeded up and a melody took form in the air around them. Xander felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax for the first time in days and he hefted another few sticks into the hearth, rekindling the fire to more vigorous life. He reached into the icebox and pulled out a soda. It was warm and overly sweet as a result, but sitting under the clear, star-filled sky, with Oz's music becoming more complex and lighter, it tasted as good as anything he could imagine. And when Oz finally ran his fingers down the fret-board in a shimmering glissando and put the instrument aside, it seemed quite natural to lean against him in companionable silence and watch the fire die, before they crawled into the back of the van to sleep. Main highways and the relentless bullying of time-driven trucks were not the way they would go home, but home they would go, carrying their memories of Nikki, their resolve and their newly reshaped friendship, securely with them.
Title: Sunset, Sunrise
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #15 - Glissade
At: tamingthemuse
Rating: Pg
Summary: A short epilogue to Drifters, which was the first story I ever wrote.
Note: I played with the prompt a little - went for the musical, rather than the physical version.
Word count 884
Sunset, Sunrise
Once the decision to go back to Sunnydale was made, their aimless, carefree wandering was over. Now they had a purpose and a goal. The delay imposed by the need to earn some money for gas, chafed and then the further delay when Oz realised that the poor old van needed some attention before they could hammer it across the width of the whole country, was worse. Watching the mechanic swarm across it's exposed engine, as smooth and slow as molasses, should have reassured Xander that the job was being done well, but his temper was frayed by it, instead. He went shopping for food for the two-day trip, leaving Oz to answer questions, take instructions and humour the old guy's mumblings about young people today who didn't know how to look after their things. Eventually though they were on their way, heading for St Louis so they could turn west.
Driving the main highways was a new way of travelling. They had always used side roads in their previous travels. Now they dodged the trucks and watched the miles flow past. The grocery bags on the front seat, between them, filled the gap where a small body should have been. For some reason neither of them felt right sitting in that spot. Driving in shifts they hardly paused for more than bathroom breaks.
Kansas and Colorado were far behind and they were well into the mountains as the sun began to set on their second day of travel. Xander's eyes felt gritty with fatigue and glancing across he saw that Oz was in no better shape. Commonsense re-asserted itself and by common consent they pulled off the road when a signpost offered scenic picnics. Xander drove carefully up the meandering track into the mountains themselves.
The picnic spot was deserted and had a few brick hearths on the edge of a clear area of grass. It gave them the space and the quiet they needed. The familiar routine of making camp again brought back memories of other nights, when there had been three of them doing the chores. They cooked over the open fire and then sat together, watching the flames. Xander felt the silence acutely, not knowing how to break it without sounding crass. So he was relieved at first when Oz began to talk.
"This isn't right," he said. "This isn't us. We're doing it all wrong."
Xander's heart skipped with dread. "You don't want to do this?" He asked.
Oz looked puzzled. "No. I mean, I do, yes. I think we have to. At least, I think I do. Don't you?"
Xander took a few moments just to breathe. "Are you talking about going home?" He asked, once he had calmed his momentary alarm.
"Yes, of course. Are you not okay with that?" He sounded... vulnerable, all of a sudden.
Xander rushed to reassure. "Yes, man. Of course. We have to go home." He paused to think back over what Oz had said. "So what isn't us?" He added.
Oz's face lightened. "This rushing," he explained. "We've done over a thousand miles in the last twenty six hours. We still have five hundred ahead of us. We could be home tomorrow if we keep on like this. But I don't know if that's the way we should come home. You know?" He got up and wandered over to the van, leaving Xander to ponder that idea.
Xander stared into the embers, finding himself fascinated by the way a single flame seemed to hover over a log, which was otherwise untouched by the fire. It didn't look as if it was connected to the wood that he knew fed it - as if it was a separate entity, and he realised that Oz was right. Turning his head, he watched Oz return with his guitar and he shifted over on the blanket to allow Oz to sit cross-legged. Oz hugged the guitar to his chest for a moment, before shifting it so his right hand could gently strum the strings and his left play their delicate patterns on the neck.
"We could buy a map and take the back roads," Xander offered. "Could miss Vegas entirely, if we're lucky."
Oz looked up and caught his eyes, and smiled. His fingers speeded up and a melody took form in the air around them. Xander felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax for the first time in days and he hefted another few sticks into the hearth, rekindling the fire to more vigorous life. He reached into the icebox and pulled out a soda. It was warm and overly sweet as a result, but sitting under the clear, star-filled sky, with Oz's music becoming more complex and lighter, it tasted as good as anything he could imagine. And when Oz finally ran his fingers down the fret-board in a shimmering glissando and put the instrument aside, it seemed quite natural to lean against him in companionable silence and watch the fire die, before they crawled into the back of the van to sleep. Main highways and the relentless bullying of time-driven trucks were not the way they would go home, but home they would go, carrying their memories of Nikki, their resolve and their newly reshaped friendship, securely with them.