To The Pain (BtVS/PotC)
Title: To The Pain
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: BtVS/PotC
Words: 521
Notes: August Fic-A-Day Challenge- August 1
Disclaimer: I didn't create the characters, I'm just playing with them for a bit.
Anya sniffled. Stupid, really. Other people were supposed to cry when you died. You weren’t supposed to cry for yourself. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure she was dead. She’d been to many dimensions, but this one didn’t seem to be one of the ones populated by the dead. Actually, it didn’t seem to be populated by anyone.
All around, as far as she could see, there was nothing but barren desert. Merciless sun beat down, but didn’t actually seem to burn her. Looking down, Anya discovered that the wound she had had when she arrived had fully healed. Probably not dead, then. But how?
The last thing she remembered was fighting for her and Andrew’s lives in Sunnydale High. The ground had been starting to shake, and she remembered getting injured. Badly injured. It should have killed her. Then everything had gone white.
“It will be ok. Xander will come for me,” Anya told herself.
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, Anyanka.”
Anya stiffened. She knew that voice. And it was one she really didn’t want to hear right now, because it meant that things were even worse than she’d thought.
“Why not?” she replied, keeping her voice steady.
“As far as he knows, you’re dead,” D’Hoffryn said pleasantly. “And really, you should be. It was only my intervention that averted it.”
Anya didn’t bother to ask why. She wasn’t fooled by D’Hoffryn’s paternal pose.
“Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain,” she said, nodding.
“You did pay attention, then,” D’Hoffryn beamed.
“Where am I?” she asked. “And how did you managed to keep me from dying? That wasn’t a little scratch.”
She looked down at her torso. There wasn’t even a scar to show where the wound had been.
“Those two questions have the same answer. I called in a favor, from a victim of a woman scorned.”
“A man I cursed?” Anya demanded. She didn’t waste energy being angry that D’Hoffryn was turning her own solid vengeance work against her. She expected nothing less from him.
“Oh, no. You didn’t curse him. You just gave Calypso the idea.”
“Oh, bloody buggering hell! I’m in the Locker? No!” Anya exclaimed.
“Indeed. And now, if you’ll excuse me…”
With a last smile, D’Hoffryn vanished. Anya noticed he did so unnecessarily slowly, perhaps hoping she’d be idiotic enough to say something like ‘but you can’t just leave me here!’ She didn’t, of course, because she knew he would leave her there. That was the whole point. Apparently he’d found a better idea than sending hit demons to kill her.
Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain.
And pain this would be. He’d left her alone in the Locker. You didn’t die in the Locker. Time had no meaning there. You didn’t age. You just…existed.
Looking around, Anya spotted a pile of money. All kinds of money. Dollars, pounds, euros, yen, gold coins, silver coins, brass discs, and some more exotic forms that were either from demon cultures or hadn’t yet been invented by humans yet.
“You didn’t have to mock me!”
Mods, could I be tagged as 'author: grundy' please? (That's what I post under at TtH.)
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: BtVS/PotC
Words: 521
Notes: August Fic-A-Day Challenge- August 1
Disclaimer: I didn't create the characters, I'm just playing with them for a bit.
Anya sniffled. Stupid, really. Other people were supposed to cry when you died. You weren’t supposed to cry for yourself. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure she was dead. She’d been to many dimensions, but this one didn’t seem to be one of the ones populated by the dead. Actually, it didn’t seem to be populated by anyone.
All around, as far as she could see, there was nothing but barren desert. Merciless sun beat down, but didn’t actually seem to burn her. Looking down, Anya discovered that the wound she had had when she arrived had fully healed. Probably not dead, then. But how?
The last thing she remembered was fighting for her and Andrew’s lives in Sunnydale High. The ground had been starting to shake, and she remembered getting injured. Badly injured. It should have killed her. Then everything had gone white.
“It will be ok. Xander will come for me,” Anya told herself.
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that, Anyanka.”
Anya stiffened. She knew that voice. And it was one she really didn’t want to hear right now, because it meant that things were even worse than she’d thought.
“Why not?” she replied, keeping her voice steady.
“As far as he knows, you’re dead,” D’Hoffryn said pleasantly. “And really, you should be. It was only my intervention that averted it.”
Anya didn’t bother to ask why. She wasn’t fooled by D’Hoffryn’s paternal pose.
“Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain,” she said, nodding.
“You did pay attention, then,” D’Hoffryn beamed.
“Where am I?” she asked. “And how did you managed to keep me from dying? That wasn’t a little scratch.”
She looked down at her torso. There wasn’t even a scar to show where the wound had been.
“Those two questions have the same answer. I called in a favor, from a victim of a woman scorned.”
“A man I cursed?” Anya demanded. She didn’t waste energy being angry that D’Hoffryn was turning her own solid vengeance work against her. She expected nothing less from him.
“Oh, no. You didn’t curse him. You just gave Calypso the idea.”
“Oh, bloody buggering hell! I’m in the Locker? No!” Anya exclaimed.
“Indeed. And now, if you’ll excuse me…”
With a last smile, D’Hoffryn vanished. Anya noticed he did so unnecessarily slowly, perhaps hoping she’d be idiotic enough to say something like ‘but you can’t just leave me here!’ She didn’t, of course, because she knew he would leave her there. That was the whole point. Apparently he’d found a better idea than sending hit demons to kill her.
Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain.
And pain this would be. He’d left her alone in the Locker. You didn’t die in the Locker. Time had no meaning there. You didn’t age. You just…existed.
Looking around, Anya spotted a pile of money. All kinds of money. Dollars, pounds, euros, yen, gold coins, silver coins, brass discs, and some more exotic forms that were either from demon cultures or hadn’t yet been invented by humans yet.
“You didn’t have to mock me!”
Mods, could I be tagged as 'author: grundy' please? (That's what I post under at TtH.)