Prompt: 011 - Turkey
Title: When I’m Old...
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 640
Prompt: 011 Freehand - Turkey
Pairing: Oz/Willow
When I’m old….
The market in the little tourist town of Kusadasi in Turkey was a sea of people, a riot of colours that hurt the eye; everything you could possibly need was on sale, from lace to lychees, from saffron to silk. Willow pushed her way slowly along a packed aisle between stalls, smiling vaguely at their owners’ pleading gestures to buy, try, sit and drink mint tea with them. What was the hurry? It was hot, sunny, rest a while, then buy, buy, buy.
She had no time to waste; she was on a mission from Giles to find a magical statuette of a winged horse that was apparently badly needed for some spell. The text message had been jumbled - the Watcher might be brilliant at Watching but his use of modern technology was still just above nil.
Willow had only been in Athens for two days when the message came to move on to Turkey, to the tourist town of Kusadasi. Her meetings with a new Greek Slayer had to be postponed, this was more important, vital, don’t waste a minute, hurry, hurry, hurry.
It had taken her a couple of days to get here. And she was so tired of travelling. This was all her life consisted of at the moment. It was really Buffy’s job, to interview the new Slayers, tell them what had happened, explain what might happen in the future. And, to be fair, she’d done so quite conscientiously for five years. Only recently -
Willow stopped to examine a stall of fake antique trinkets. Her witch’s senses told her the statue was close by. But not here. A crowd of tourists pushed her against the edge of the table and she struggled to get free. Spun round and round, she lost all sense of direction for a few seconds, then, laughing, found herself in the next aisle, bumping hard into someone who grabbed her shoulders and said, quietly, as if they’d only spoken a few minutes ago,
“No blue hair. Didn’t you get the memo?”
The world went on spinning, round and round. “And this isn’t Istanbul,” she whispered.
“Still Turkey.”
“I’m not old.”
“I’ll settle for older.”
She wished she could focus, but there was too much colour, too much noise. He looked the same, guitar slung over his back; his hair very short and he had a tattoo on his arm.
He glanced round at the crowds as if seeking another friendly face. “On your own?”
A faint memory of Kennedy busy organising and ordering back in London came into her mind and vanished again. “Completely, yes, on my own. Alone, no one here but me.”
“That’s a yes then.”
“You?”
The faintest shadow of a smile appeared. “Always.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the rest of the Scoobies. “There was someone once - her name was Tara.” She could say it now and it was like pressing on an old scar. You never forgot, but the pain lessened with every passing day.
“I’d like to hear about her. Time for a coffee?”
His question jolted her back to the real world. There was no time for Oz. Not right now. She was in a hurry, she had to find the winged horse for Giles, then rush back to Athens to interview potential Slayers, find out why Buffy had flown back to the States leaving that odd message - “I know he’s alive.”
She had a busy, successful, interesting life. Her heart was packed carefully in ice and she was determined she would never be hurt again. Willow looked at the tattoo on Oz’s arm and smiled. It showed a little monkey wearing trousers. “All the time in the world,” she said.
ends
Author: lilachigh
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 640
Prompt: 011 Freehand - Turkey
Pairing: Oz/Willow
When I’m old….
The market in the little tourist town of Kusadasi in Turkey was a sea of people, a riot of colours that hurt the eye; everything you could possibly need was on sale, from lace to lychees, from saffron to silk. Willow pushed her way slowly along a packed aisle between stalls, smiling vaguely at their owners’ pleading gestures to buy, try, sit and drink mint tea with them. What was the hurry? It was hot, sunny, rest a while, then buy, buy, buy.
She had no time to waste; she was on a mission from Giles to find a magical statuette of a winged horse that was apparently badly needed for some spell. The text message had been jumbled - the Watcher might be brilliant at Watching but his use of modern technology was still just above nil.
Willow had only been in Athens for two days when the message came to move on to Turkey, to the tourist town of Kusadasi. Her meetings with a new Greek Slayer had to be postponed, this was more important, vital, don’t waste a minute, hurry, hurry, hurry.
It had taken her a couple of days to get here. And she was so tired of travelling. This was all her life consisted of at the moment. It was really Buffy’s job, to interview the new Slayers, tell them what had happened, explain what might happen in the future. And, to be fair, she’d done so quite conscientiously for five years. Only recently -
Willow stopped to examine a stall of fake antique trinkets. Her witch’s senses told her the statue was close by. But not here. A crowd of tourists pushed her against the edge of the table and she struggled to get free. Spun round and round, she lost all sense of direction for a few seconds, then, laughing, found herself in the next aisle, bumping hard into someone who grabbed her shoulders and said, quietly, as if they’d only spoken a few minutes ago,
“No blue hair. Didn’t you get the memo?”
The world went on spinning, round and round. “And this isn’t Istanbul,” she whispered.
“Still Turkey.”
“I’m not old.”
“I’ll settle for older.”
She wished she could focus, but there was too much colour, too much noise. He looked the same, guitar slung over his back; his hair very short and he had a tattoo on his arm.
He glanced round at the crowds as if seeking another friendly face. “On your own?”
A faint memory of Kennedy busy organising and ordering back in London came into her mind and vanished again. “Completely, yes, on my own. Alone, no one here but me.”
“That’s a yes then.”
“You?”
The faintest shadow of a smile appeared. “Always.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the rest of the Scoobies. “There was someone once - her name was Tara.” She could say it now and it was like pressing on an old scar. You never forgot, but the pain lessened with every passing day.
“I’d like to hear about her. Time for a coffee?”
His question jolted her back to the real world. There was no time for Oz. Not right now. She was in a hurry, she had to find the winged horse for Giles, then rush back to Athens to interview potential Slayers, find out why Buffy had flown back to the States leaving that odd message - “I know he’s alive.”
She had a busy, successful, interesting life. Her heart was packed carefully in ice and she was determined she would never be hurt again. Willow looked at the tattoo on Oz’s arm and smiled. It showed a little monkey wearing trousers. “All the time in the world,” she said.
ends