Ten Cent Pistol
Title: Ten Cent Pistol
Author: kerrykhat
Fandom: Riverworld (2010 SyFy miniseries)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Coughing and wheezing for breath, Buffy dragged her sorry ass out of the river once again.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and related characters; SyFy and Phillip José Farmer owns "Riverworld" and all related characters; I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Part of the Violence and Variations series. Title comes from the Black Keys song of the same name.
Word Count: 755
Coughing and wheezing for breath, Buffy dragged her sorry ass out of the river once again. She’d been hoping for a little longer between deaths, but it was hard when it seemed like she was the only person taking a stand against the grail slavers that seemed to fill Riverworld.
Flopping down on the sand, she lay on her back and stared up at the sky. She didn’t know how long it’d been since she’d been stabbed through the gut by a particularly nasty looking French soldier and now. It could be as little as a few minutes to as long as several months. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing how long that time actually was. There were no clocks, no calendars, nothing to mark the passage of time other than the sun’s movement. It made it beyond annoying when trying to figure out how long she’d been here.
“Ugh,” Buffy groaned softly to herself, finally pushing herself to a sitting position. Squinting at the mountain in the distance, Buffy scratched her head thoughtfully before turning towards the forest behind her.
“Weird,” she muttered to herself, falling into her bad habit of talking to herself. It kept her from going crazy with all the silence going on.
She was more than fairly certain this was close to where she’d stashed some weapons a few deaths ago. It’s become standard operating procedure with her to take what weapons she could find and hide them around the planet. Weapons, unlike her clothes, didn’t come through the river with her, and she hated to be caught unprepared.
Her weapons and dried fruit were right where she thought they were, and she quickly loaded up before hiding what remained back in its hidey-hole.
She walked for almost two days before encountering any sign of human presence. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary, but it still made her wary. Areas this devoid of people usually meant bad things up ahead.
Late on the second day, Buffy stopped short, listening intently. Were those saws? Looking up, Buffy spied a low-hanging branch and began carefully climbing up the tree. She’d found height to be a good way to equalize her uneven numbers.
Moving cautiously from tree to tree, she paused when she caught sight of a clearing. Hunkering down on the sturdiest branch she could find, Buffy peered through the trees to try and get a better look.
“Faster!” a voice shouted, echoed by the sharp crack of a whip.
Her lip curled in disgust. Grail slavers. She stayed hidden, though, and continued to observe.
In the distance, hard to make out with the branches obscuring her vision, she could see the beginnings of a fort being constructed. She frowned, surprised at the sight. This was new. Most of the time grail slavers just kept everybody in crude, easily destroyed shelters. Nobody tried to build anything of permanence here, something which continued to surprise her. This appeared to be the exception, however.
Hearing footsteps below her, Buffy drew herself in tighter and peered down. Two men on horseback were passing beneath her, one heavily armored and one wearing more everyday type of old fashioned clothes.
“How much longer do you think this will take?” the armored man asked, his voice accented. That was another oddity about Riverworld: she could understand pretty much everybody, despite what would normally be language barriers. She didn’t know if this was because of the mysterious “Caretakers” Burton had referred to at least a dozen deaths ago, or something completely different. She hadn’t a chance to find out yet.
“In due time, Your Excellency,” a familiar voice replied, and Buffy almost fell out of the tree. Speak of the devil. Or think of the devil, rather. She hadn’t seen Burton since he killed her and she promised to return the favor.
“Very well, Burton. But do not test my patience.” The two men continued to ride away from Buffy’s hiding place, talking about the fort’s construction.
Buffy waited until everybody was gone and darkness began to fall before carefully extracting herself from the tree. Brushing her sore hands against her pants, she eyed the fort thoughtfully. From here, the fort looked to be made of wood, and wood, she’d found, burned beautifully in any dimension.
I told you I’d return the favor one day, Burton, Buffy thought, walking away from the fort so that she could find a safe place to sleep. And I’m going to get some straight answers out of you before I do.
Author: kerrykhat
Fandom: Riverworld (2010 SyFy miniseries)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Coughing and wheezing for breath, Buffy dragged her sorry ass out of the river once again.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and related characters; SyFy and Phillip José Farmer owns "Riverworld" and all related characters; I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Part of the Violence and Variations series. Title comes from the Black Keys song of the same name.
Word Count: 755
Coughing and wheezing for breath, Buffy dragged her sorry ass out of the river once again. She’d been hoping for a little longer between deaths, but it was hard when it seemed like she was the only person taking a stand against the grail slavers that seemed to fill Riverworld.
Flopping down on the sand, she lay on her back and stared up at the sky. She didn’t know how long it’d been since she’d been stabbed through the gut by a particularly nasty looking French soldier and now. It could be as little as a few minutes to as long as several months. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing how long that time actually was. There were no clocks, no calendars, nothing to mark the passage of time other than the sun’s movement. It made it beyond annoying when trying to figure out how long she’d been here.
“Ugh,” Buffy groaned softly to herself, finally pushing herself to a sitting position. Squinting at the mountain in the distance, Buffy scratched her head thoughtfully before turning towards the forest behind her.
“Weird,” she muttered to herself, falling into her bad habit of talking to herself. It kept her from going crazy with all the silence going on.
She was more than fairly certain this was close to where she’d stashed some weapons a few deaths ago. It’s become standard operating procedure with her to take what weapons she could find and hide them around the planet. Weapons, unlike her clothes, didn’t come through the river with her, and she hated to be caught unprepared.
Her weapons and dried fruit were right where she thought they were, and she quickly loaded up before hiding what remained back in its hidey-hole.
She walked for almost two days before encountering any sign of human presence. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary, but it still made her wary. Areas this devoid of people usually meant bad things up ahead.
Late on the second day, Buffy stopped short, listening intently. Were those saws? Looking up, Buffy spied a low-hanging branch and began carefully climbing up the tree. She’d found height to be a good way to equalize her uneven numbers.
Moving cautiously from tree to tree, she paused when she caught sight of a clearing. Hunkering down on the sturdiest branch she could find, Buffy peered through the trees to try and get a better look.
“Faster!” a voice shouted, echoed by the sharp crack of a whip.
Her lip curled in disgust. Grail slavers. She stayed hidden, though, and continued to observe.
In the distance, hard to make out with the branches obscuring her vision, she could see the beginnings of a fort being constructed. She frowned, surprised at the sight. This was new. Most of the time grail slavers just kept everybody in crude, easily destroyed shelters. Nobody tried to build anything of permanence here, something which continued to surprise her. This appeared to be the exception, however.
Hearing footsteps below her, Buffy drew herself in tighter and peered down. Two men on horseback were passing beneath her, one heavily armored and one wearing more everyday type of old fashioned clothes.
“How much longer do you think this will take?” the armored man asked, his voice accented. That was another oddity about Riverworld: she could understand pretty much everybody, despite what would normally be language barriers. She didn’t know if this was because of the mysterious “Caretakers” Burton had referred to at least a dozen deaths ago, or something completely different. She hadn’t a chance to find out yet.
“In due time, Your Excellency,” a familiar voice replied, and Buffy almost fell out of the tree. Speak of the devil. Or think of the devil, rather. She hadn’t seen Burton since he killed her and she promised to return the favor.
“Very well, Burton. But do not test my patience.” The two men continued to ride away from Buffy’s hiding place, talking about the fort’s construction.
Buffy waited until everybody was gone and darkness began to fall before carefully extracting herself from the tree. Brushing her sore hands against her pants, she eyed the fort thoughtfully. From here, the fort looked to be made of wood, and wood, she’d found, burned beautifully in any dimension.
I told you I’d return the favor one day, Burton, Buffy thought, walking away from the fort so that she could find a safe place to sleep. And I’m going to get some straight answers out of you before I do.