Mercy seat part, um, 25
Aaaand we're still going.
I promise to get back to Fanon Fodder soon enough, but I seem to be on an angst-roll at the moment, meaning that this and a few other, darkish projects are going a lot smoother and faster right now. Must be the fact that it's getting full on dark at FOUR THIRTY right now.
Previous parts may be found here
Willow twitched in her invisible position over Dawn's shoulder as her best friend suddenly looked straight at her.
No. Nonononono. This couldn't be possible. //Oh god,// she sent. //What the hell--?//
"Willow." Xander's eyes flicked from her, to Dawn, and back. He was terrified. "You can't be here. You both have to leave. Now."
"Xander." Dawn's voice cracked. She leaned down to unlock the restraints on his wrists. Xander tried to jerk away from her.
"No, Dawn, put the mask back, and get out of here!"
"Like hell," Dawn yanked the metal cuff away from the chair. Willow was surprised at how easily it bent and twisted in her grip. "We're here to help you, and that means getting you the hell out of here."
"Not a good idea."
Willow and Dawn both spun. Xander, keeping his hand clenched on the arm of the chair, flinched away from the other voice. The voice of Picasso-Xander.
//What is this, multiple personalities?// Willow shook her head. //I thought we were working on schizophrenia.//
"Maybe it's a Freud thing." Dawn crossed her arms and glared at Picasso-Xander. "Id, I presume?"
Picasso-Xander smiled at her. He didn't seem to see Willow, although the Xander in the chair was glaring at the witch. "Pull the switch."
"Nuh-uh."
The mindscape whirled, and Willow was glad that she wasn't completely in Xander's head. Dawn looked like she might be sick.
Something red flashed in Willow's peripheral vision. She concentrated on it, and felt her eyes widen.
//The other door!//
Dawn spun in place, then staggered. "What?"
//The red door. Red, like the flowers. The other door.//
Chair-Xander seemed to sink into himself, closing his eyes. He murmured a curse. Picasso-Xander lunged for Dawn, who shrieked and dodged backwards.
"Willow,"
//Go open the door, Dawn.// Willow concentrated and pulled herself more fully into the mind-scape. Picasso-Xander twisted to face her, the black hole of his left eye seeming to swallow his face. "I'll distract Xander. The Xanders. Whatever."
"Not until I know what the hell is going on here." Dawn hovered next to chair-Xander.
"Pretty sure that's not going to happen, Dawn." Willow braced herself as Picasso-Xander lunged at her. He passed through her and whirled again, snarling. "We've got to do SOMETHING."
Dawn turned to chair-Xander, who was staring at Willow, now. The witch met his gaze, trying to send as many reassuring thoughts to him as she could.
He twisted his head slightly, but didn't break her gaze. "Are you evil?"
Willow rolled her eyes. "Please." She held out a hand as Picasso-Xander tried to punch her. He stilled, and the black hole shrank again. His expression was as lost as chair-Xander's was blank. "After all these years, you still don't trust me?"
Chair-Xander smiled slightly. "Never said that."
Dawn huffed a breath. "So? Verdict? Door or no door?"
Three voices, two of them Xander's, answered her. "Door."
Dawn grabbed at the spinning landscape and the door halted in front of her. It was a deep, blood red, with faint black streaks. Other than the color, it matched the door in the garden to a T. Both Xanders seemed to freeze as Dawn twisted the handle, then jerked on it, then started slamming her shoulder into it. "It's locked,"
Willow rolled her eyes. "So be the key." Picasso-Xander was getting antsy again, and she had to focus on holding him back.
"Yeah, HOW?" Dawn rammed her shoulder into the door again. It shuddered, but held. Willow noted briefly that the black streaks were actually cracks. Dawn growled something out low, under her breath, then paced back a few feet and ran full speed at the door, shoulder first. The cracks widened as she impacted, and then the door shattered in a haze of blue, green, and red. The Xanders stiffened and vanished.
The door opened onto an urban South African street, and a very angry young slayer.
The next part might be slightly delayed. I have it written, I'm just not, er, sure what order things go in, just yet. I've got about three or four threads here that are occurring simultaneously, combined with trying to keep the approaching info dump from overrunning the whole story, and making sure we don't lose track of what's happening to who, when, and . . . it's a story about schizophrenia, all right? It's bound to get a little confused.
I'm just not sure whether or not the fact that this story is making MY head hurt is a good sign or not.
I promise to get back to Fanon Fodder soon enough, but I seem to be on an angst-roll at the moment, meaning that this and a few other, darkish projects are going a lot smoother and faster right now. Must be the fact that it's getting full on dark at FOUR THIRTY right now.
Previous parts may be found here
Willow twitched in her invisible position over Dawn's shoulder as her best friend suddenly looked straight at her.
No. Nonononono. This couldn't be possible. //Oh god,// she sent. //What the hell--?//
"Willow." Xander's eyes flicked from her, to Dawn, and back. He was terrified. "You can't be here. You both have to leave. Now."
"Xander." Dawn's voice cracked. She leaned down to unlock the restraints on his wrists. Xander tried to jerk away from her.
"No, Dawn, put the mask back, and get out of here!"
"Like hell," Dawn yanked the metal cuff away from the chair. Willow was surprised at how easily it bent and twisted in her grip. "We're here to help you, and that means getting you the hell out of here."
"Not a good idea."
Willow and Dawn both spun. Xander, keeping his hand clenched on the arm of the chair, flinched away from the other voice. The voice of Picasso-Xander.
//What is this, multiple personalities?// Willow shook her head. //I thought we were working on schizophrenia.//
"Maybe it's a Freud thing." Dawn crossed her arms and glared at Picasso-Xander. "Id, I presume?"
Picasso-Xander smiled at her. He didn't seem to see Willow, although the Xander in the chair was glaring at the witch. "Pull the switch."
"Nuh-uh."
The mindscape whirled, and Willow was glad that she wasn't completely in Xander's head. Dawn looked like she might be sick.
Something red flashed in Willow's peripheral vision. She concentrated on it, and felt her eyes widen.
//The other door!//
Dawn spun in place, then staggered. "What?"
//The red door. Red, like the flowers. The other door.//
Chair-Xander seemed to sink into himself, closing his eyes. He murmured a curse. Picasso-Xander lunged for Dawn, who shrieked and dodged backwards.
"Willow,"
//Go open the door, Dawn.// Willow concentrated and pulled herself more fully into the mind-scape. Picasso-Xander twisted to face her, the black hole of his left eye seeming to swallow his face. "I'll distract Xander. The Xanders. Whatever."
"Not until I know what the hell is going on here." Dawn hovered next to chair-Xander.
"Pretty sure that's not going to happen, Dawn." Willow braced herself as Picasso-Xander lunged at her. He passed through her and whirled again, snarling. "We've got to do SOMETHING."
Dawn turned to chair-Xander, who was staring at Willow, now. The witch met his gaze, trying to send as many reassuring thoughts to him as she could.
He twisted his head slightly, but didn't break her gaze. "Are you evil?"
Willow rolled her eyes. "Please." She held out a hand as Picasso-Xander tried to punch her. He stilled, and the black hole shrank again. His expression was as lost as chair-Xander's was blank. "After all these years, you still don't trust me?"
Chair-Xander smiled slightly. "Never said that."
Dawn huffed a breath. "So? Verdict? Door or no door?"
Three voices, two of them Xander's, answered her. "Door."
Dawn grabbed at the spinning landscape and the door halted in front of her. It was a deep, blood red, with faint black streaks. Other than the color, it matched the door in the garden to a T. Both Xanders seemed to freeze as Dawn twisted the handle, then jerked on it, then started slamming her shoulder into it. "It's locked,"
Willow rolled her eyes. "So be the key." Picasso-Xander was getting antsy again, and she had to focus on holding him back.
"Yeah, HOW?" Dawn rammed her shoulder into the door again. It shuddered, but held. Willow noted briefly that the black streaks were actually cracks. Dawn growled something out low, under her breath, then paced back a few feet and ran full speed at the door, shoulder first. The cracks widened as she impacted, and then the door shattered in a haze of blue, green, and red. The Xanders stiffened and vanished.
The door opened onto an urban South African street, and a very angry young slayer.
The next part might be slightly delayed. I have it written, I'm just not, er, sure what order things go in, just yet. I've got about three or four threads here that are occurring simultaneously, combined with trying to keep the approaching info dump from overrunning the whole story, and making sure we don't lose track of what's happening to who, when, and . . . it's a story about schizophrenia, all right? It's bound to get a little confused.
I'm just not sure whether or not the fact that this story is making MY head hurt is a good sign or not.