[fic] Tarocchi Appropriati (Spike, Ivy, Drusilla, OC) R
Title: Tarocchi Appropriati (The Butterfly Dies In L.A. Remix)
Author: duh_i_read
Fandom: Buffy/Dollhouse
Word count: 1249
Rated: R for mentions of violence
Spoilers: Post Chosen for Buffy, none for Dollhouse.
Summery: There are stories in the cards.
AN: A remix of the fantastic " The Most Important Kiss He'd Ever Known" for thewhedonland remix challenge. I hope I did the original justice, as this story took on a wild life of it's own. Tarocchi appropriati are old school stories based on tarot cards. Any tense confusion or spelling mistakes are mine.
Prologue: The Reader
The minions woke up to Drusilla's laughter drifting through the house.
The five of them, huddled at the foot of the stairs, were use to the unpredictability of their mistress, found themselves suitably disturbed by the sound. Miss Drusilla was not an early evening person, prone to even more volatile moods then normal. At least until after breakfast. The head minion, Timothy, broke off from the group to grab a child from a crate in the cellar.
From the cellar of the old Victorian home, he could sill hear Miss Drusilla's laughter and the agitated footsteps of Tink, Fidget, Mycroft and Pete above him. He grabbed a freckled face boy from the crate and tapped his head against the top to stop his crying. Taking the stairs two at a time, he knocked gently on her door, the child limp tucked under one arm.
Taking an unnecessary breath, he walked in, “Mistress? I have your breakfast.” Mistress glided around the room in in her robe, the black feather trim framing her pale body.
“The threads are coming apart only to knot anew, each one holds their strand and see not the other.”
“Miss Drusilla?” As if noticing him for the first time, she turned on her toes to face him.
“My knight will find his rook, the cleverest rook of all and make him his. So much time has passed since a new baby was in the family.” She took the freckled face child from him and danced the child around the room.
“Mistress?” Timothy took a step into the room, eyes flicking from the closed window, to the canopy bed where Miss Drusilla laid the child in the center of the counterpane, to the vanity where her tarot cards were laid out. Her Sight was what kept the slayers from their door, so after another look at her, he stepped closer to the tall gilt vanity.
Four cards were laid out amidst her perfumes and dolls. Timothy read the names softly himself...
The Lovers
Lighting up the ninth cigarette, Spike cut through a small park. None of the people he passed smelled appetizing. Not the joggers, the drunk college boys, the drug runners or the women walking her dogs. The hazy feeling he woke up with dissipated, leaving a particular kind of hunger in it's wake, the kind that lingered even after he filled his belly.
Spike was on the hunt for someone special, someone...effulgent?
What a sop. He dropped the cigarette butt and took out another, catching the scent of blood and sugar. Around the curve of the path, a young man sat on a park bench, illuminated in a spill of streetlight, half a Twinkie in his hand and a dab of frosting at the corner of his mouth. The young man's heart sped up a little, and the curious look in his eyes was only edged with with the slightest suspicion.
Spike smiled. Perfect.
The High Priestess
It was just a tiny compulsion spell. Suggestive enough to get Topher out long enough for Ivy to scan this week's wedges without his nonstop word vomit and demands for snacks.
The spell itself was simple enough: a raven feather, a few strands of Topher's hair, beech shavings from a nearby park and three tall beeswax candles she dipped herself, etched with tiny runes. Inspired by her fellow witch, she set up in a bathroom off the kitchen, where the chefs had disabled the smoke detector. Just in case, she stuck an 'Out of Order' sign on the door, so she would not be disturbed.
A few words and a flick of flame was all it took. By the time Ivy returned, Topher was slipping on his plaid jacket and stepping into the elevator.
Awesome. She had the place to herself. Plus, a little fresh air never hurt anyone.
The King Of Cups
All evening, something nagged at Spike. Like something was missing. The night before was a little hazy, some bloke at the bar buying him drink after drink and a brawl afterward. Slipping on his jeans, he checked his coat. Keys to his bike, silver Zippo, wad of cash, flask, knife, cigarettes, copper medallion with some symbols on it and a stake.
He blinked at the last item. The night before, he staked five vampires, but he couldn't remember why. Rivals perhaps. LA was his territory now that Angel moved on.
He needed to eat, is all. Was nothing wrong with him a tender young thing couldn't cure. Replacing the contents of his pockets, minus the stake, he slipped on a shirt and left his crypt with a swish of his duster.
Justice
The little blond man raised his hand, catching the bartender's eye. “Another round for me and my friend.”
“Not your friend, mate,” Spike said, eye to eye with his tumbler, cheek pressed to the arm of his leather coat. “Don't need friends, Frank.”
Two more glasses were set down in front of them on white napkins, he downed half of his glass in one go, pushing the napkin aside in the pile of ruined paper.
“It's Danny. What about lovers?” Danny said.
Spike started to shred his napkin into strips. “Be real nice. Too bad the women I love want nothing to do with me. Can't ever be good enough. Or evil enough. I was plenty evil, once. Would have gobbled the likes of you up in a heart beat. "
Danny laughed, "I bet. Don't you just wish-"
"No.” Spike sat up, “You're a bloody vengeance demon. I'm not interested.”
“No? You spend all your time hunting demons, drinking pigs blood and masturbating to the TV before bed night after night. ”
Vengeance demons were tough buggers, slamming the blond up on the bar by his collar and dragging him down the length of the bar didn't phase him.
“By the way, we go by justice demons now,” Danny said.
“Shut. Up.” Spike slammed Danny's body against the bar with every word.
“Think about it. Give me a chant.” Danny dropped something on the bar, a worn copper medallion. Spike pulled back to punch him in the face, but the blond was gone in a ripple of air.
The bartender narrowed all three of his eyes at him. Spike grinned as the vampires at the pool table clutched their cues tighter.
“Anyone else-” The bartender swung his elbow out, cutting off his words. The fight was on.
Twenty minutes later, the bartender dumped him out the back door. Using the dumpster as leverage, he pulled himself to his feet.
“OK,” he told the ally, “I miss fists an' fangs and virgin blood. Can't pretend it didn't happen. Can't wish I could forget, start all over. Gonna go back to my crypt an'...” Drink the quart of pigs blood in his fridge and watch X Files reruns.
“Wish...wish I could be who I was.” Spike froze as soon he said that, but nothing happened, no demon appeared and he could feel the soul like a weighted thing. He fumbled for an unbroken cigarette. He lit it up and stumbled home.
A short time after the vampire left, Danyanka appeared in the ally. “Done.”
Timothy read the names softly himself...but none were the queen of wands, (Slayers) so he let himself out of the mistress's room with a few murmured words. Whatever Miss Drusilla was so joyous about? Did not concern him in the least.
Author: duh_i_read
Fandom: Buffy/Dollhouse
Word count: 1249
Rated: R for mentions of violence
Spoilers: Post Chosen for Buffy, none for Dollhouse.
Summery: There are stories in the cards.
AN: A remix of the fantastic " The Most Important Kiss He'd Ever Known" for thewhedonland remix challenge. I hope I did the original justice, as this story took on a wild life of it's own. Tarocchi appropriati are old school stories based on tarot cards. Any tense confusion or spelling mistakes are mine.
Prologue: The Reader
The minions woke up to Drusilla's laughter drifting through the house.
The five of them, huddled at the foot of the stairs, were use to the unpredictability of their mistress, found themselves suitably disturbed by the sound. Miss Drusilla was not an early evening person, prone to even more volatile moods then normal. At least until after breakfast. The head minion, Timothy, broke off from the group to grab a child from a crate in the cellar.
From the cellar of the old Victorian home, he could sill hear Miss Drusilla's laughter and the agitated footsteps of Tink, Fidget, Mycroft and Pete above him. He grabbed a freckled face boy from the crate and tapped his head against the top to stop his crying. Taking the stairs two at a time, he knocked gently on her door, the child limp tucked under one arm.
Taking an unnecessary breath, he walked in, “Mistress? I have your breakfast.” Mistress glided around the room in in her robe, the black feather trim framing her pale body.
“The threads are coming apart only to knot anew, each one holds their strand and see not the other.”
“Miss Drusilla?” As if noticing him for the first time, she turned on her toes to face him.
“My knight will find his rook, the cleverest rook of all and make him his. So much time has passed since a new baby was in the family.” She took the freckled face child from him and danced the child around the room.
“Mistress?” Timothy took a step into the room, eyes flicking from the closed window, to the canopy bed where Miss Drusilla laid the child in the center of the counterpane, to the vanity where her tarot cards were laid out. Her Sight was what kept the slayers from their door, so after another look at her, he stepped closer to the tall gilt vanity.
Four cards were laid out amidst her perfumes and dolls. Timothy read the names softly himself...
The Lovers
Lighting up the ninth cigarette, Spike cut through a small park. None of the people he passed smelled appetizing. Not the joggers, the drunk college boys, the drug runners or the women walking her dogs. The hazy feeling he woke up with dissipated, leaving a particular kind of hunger in it's wake, the kind that lingered even after he filled his belly.
Spike was on the hunt for someone special, someone...effulgent?
What a sop. He dropped the cigarette butt and took out another, catching the scent of blood and sugar. Around the curve of the path, a young man sat on a park bench, illuminated in a spill of streetlight, half a Twinkie in his hand and a dab of frosting at the corner of his mouth. The young man's heart sped up a little, and the curious look in his eyes was only edged with with the slightest suspicion.
Spike smiled. Perfect.
The High Priestess
It was just a tiny compulsion spell. Suggestive enough to get Topher out long enough for Ivy to scan this week's wedges without his nonstop word vomit and demands for snacks.
The spell itself was simple enough: a raven feather, a few strands of Topher's hair, beech shavings from a nearby park and three tall beeswax candles she dipped herself, etched with tiny runes. Inspired by her fellow witch, she set up in a bathroom off the kitchen, where the chefs had disabled the smoke detector. Just in case, she stuck an 'Out of Order' sign on the door, so she would not be disturbed.
A few words and a flick of flame was all it took. By the time Ivy returned, Topher was slipping on his plaid jacket and stepping into the elevator.
Awesome. She had the place to herself. Plus, a little fresh air never hurt anyone.
The King Of Cups
All evening, something nagged at Spike. Like something was missing. The night before was a little hazy, some bloke at the bar buying him drink after drink and a brawl afterward. Slipping on his jeans, he checked his coat. Keys to his bike, silver Zippo, wad of cash, flask, knife, cigarettes, copper medallion with some symbols on it and a stake.
He blinked at the last item. The night before, he staked five vampires, but he couldn't remember why. Rivals perhaps. LA was his territory now that Angel moved on.
He needed to eat, is all. Was nothing wrong with him a tender young thing couldn't cure. Replacing the contents of his pockets, minus the stake, he slipped on a shirt and left his crypt with a swish of his duster.
Justice
The little blond man raised his hand, catching the bartender's eye. “Another round for me and my friend.”
“Not your friend, mate,” Spike said, eye to eye with his tumbler, cheek pressed to the arm of his leather coat. “Don't need friends, Frank.”
Two more glasses were set down in front of them on white napkins, he downed half of his glass in one go, pushing the napkin aside in the pile of ruined paper.
“It's Danny. What about lovers?” Danny said.
Spike started to shred his napkin into strips. “Be real nice. Too bad the women I love want nothing to do with me. Can't ever be good enough. Or evil enough. I was plenty evil, once. Would have gobbled the likes of you up in a heart beat. "
Danny laughed, "I bet. Don't you just wish-"
"No.” Spike sat up, “You're a bloody vengeance demon. I'm not interested.”
“No? You spend all your time hunting demons, drinking pigs blood and masturbating to the TV before bed night after night. ”
Vengeance demons were tough buggers, slamming the blond up on the bar by his collar and dragging him down the length of the bar didn't phase him.
“By the way, we go by justice demons now,” Danny said.
“Shut. Up.” Spike slammed Danny's body against the bar with every word.
“Think about it. Give me a chant.” Danny dropped something on the bar, a worn copper medallion. Spike pulled back to punch him in the face, but the blond was gone in a ripple of air.
The bartender narrowed all three of his eyes at him. Spike grinned as the vampires at the pool table clutched their cues tighter.
“Anyone else-” The bartender swung his elbow out, cutting off his words. The fight was on.
Twenty minutes later, the bartender dumped him out the back door. Using the dumpster as leverage, he pulled himself to his feet.
“OK,” he told the ally, “I miss fists an' fangs and virgin blood. Can't pretend it didn't happen. Can't wish I could forget, start all over. Gonna go back to my crypt an'...” Drink the quart of pigs blood in his fridge and watch X Files reruns.
“Wish...wish I could be who I was.” Spike froze as soon he said that, but nothing happened, no demon appeared and he could feel the soul like a weighted thing. He fumbled for an unbroken cigarette. He lit it up and stumbled home.
A short time after the vampire left, Danyanka appeared in the ally. “Done.”
Timothy read the names softly himself...but none were the queen of wands, (Slayers) so he let himself out of the mistress's room with a few murmured words. Whatever Miss Drusilla was so joyous about? Did not concern him in the least.