gillo
in
still_grrr
Prompt 162/3 A drabble and a ficlet
LJ went down just as I posted this yesterday, turning it into an illegible load of tripe which the mod could not in all conscience let through. If it was my fault, I'm sorry. If it was LJ's, I think I want to set a demon on them.
Fortunately it's free-for-all week now, so I can still post these. Both post-Chosen and linked by theme to some extent.
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Prompt: 162, recent Oscars
Characters/Pairing (if any): Xander
The Persistence of Memory
Even now, at times memory caught Xander round the throat, always unexpected. Moving on was a good theory; in many ways he had. Two years was a long while in Xanderworld.
When Dawn expressed a desire to go see a movie she’d heard of, he had no worries. It was pretty much a kids’ thing, about clay puppets, for Cripes sake. A cute dog and a strange Brit inventor. Funny, right? He’d seen some of the shorts, even.
He never expected the floods of tears that hit him when they walked into the lobby and he read the full title.
The film? Yes:
Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)
Title: Terms of Endearment
Author: gillo
Rating: PG 13 for rude words
Word Count: 407
Prompt: 162, recent Oscars
Characters/Pairing (if any): Ensemble
Terms of Endearment
The school bus was possibly less comfortable than even Giles had predicted. There was very little noise after the first hour; a few moans from the less-injured, occasional quiet murmurs, but most slept the sleep of the terminally exhausted.
Dawn sprawled across the back seat, drifting in and out of a doze. Right in front of her, Buffy hunched, alone in a double seat. Xander had ventured a word, but soon drifted forward to hear more about Anya’s heroic fight to defend Andrew. Several elements of the narrative were vaguely familiar; Xander had read almost as many comics as the nerd. For the moment he didn’t need to challenge the details, just accept the comfort. There would be time to find the truth, feel the remorse, expiate the guilt. Not now. His girl, his sweet, demonic capitalist, she deserved to be celebrated just now.
Faith sat across the aisle from Principal Wood. She kept glancing across at him, muttering, “Don’t die, you bastard. Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
Vi found she couldn’t rest, couldn’t sit still. She twisted round in her seat, saw Buffy on her own. Par for the course. No doubt planning another motivating speech. Still, this time Hero Girl had the right to say what she damned well wanted. Funny she’d been so quiet so far.
Giles was driving. Stupid bloody vehicle had rough suspension, no acceleration to speak of, and sod all comfort for the driver. That was exactly what he needed just now. Sooner or later he would have to think and plan. What would they do, these girls with new strength and powers? What would his own Slayer do? His girl, so bright, that fake smile pasted on her face, was stumbling about in darkness. Would his Buffy ever trust him again after the last few weeks? He had his doubts. He sighed. There was, as he’d said, always Cleveland.
Buffy saw and heard none of this. Running through her mind was a slow litany. Pet. Goldilocks. Insufferable. The One. She hadn’t wanted to be that, but she had her cross to bear. She didn’t pay much attention to the occasional tear that dripped down her nose, except a flashing thought that he would mock it. Her bad, rude vampire rarely passed up a chance to do that. Her dirty, boneheaded, shirty dope. The peroxided pest who’d saved the world. A lot.
The bus trundled on through the desert.
Fortunately it's free-for-all week now, so I can still post these. Both post-Chosen and linked by theme to some extent.
Author: gillo
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Prompt: 162, recent Oscars
Characters/Pairing (if any): Xander
The Persistence of Memory
Even now, at times memory caught Xander round the throat, always unexpected. Moving on was a good theory; in many ways he had. Two years was a long while in Xanderworld.
When Dawn expressed a desire to go see a movie she’d heard of, he had no worries. It was pretty much a kids’ thing, about clay puppets, for Cripes sake. A cute dog and a strange Brit inventor. Funny, right? He’d seen some of the shorts, even.
He never expected the floods of tears that hit him when they walked into the lobby and he read the full title.
The film? Yes:
Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)
Title: Terms of Endearment
Author: gillo
Rating: PG 13 for rude words
Word Count: 407
Prompt: 162, recent Oscars
Characters/Pairing (if any): Ensemble
Terms of Endearment
The school bus was possibly less comfortable than even Giles had predicted. There was very little noise after the first hour; a few moans from the less-injured, occasional quiet murmurs, but most slept the sleep of the terminally exhausted.
Dawn sprawled across the back seat, drifting in and out of a doze. Right in front of her, Buffy hunched, alone in a double seat. Xander had ventured a word, but soon drifted forward to hear more about Anya’s heroic fight to defend Andrew. Several elements of the narrative were vaguely familiar; Xander had read almost as many comics as the nerd. For the moment he didn’t need to challenge the details, just accept the comfort. There would be time to find the truth, feel the remorse, expiate the guilt. Not now. His girl, his sweet, demonic capitalist, she deserved to be celebrated just now.
Faith sat across the aisle from Principal Wood. She kept glancing across at him, muttering, “Don’t die, you bastard. Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
Vi found she couldn’t rest, couldn’t sit still. She twisted round in her seat, saw Buffy on her own. Par for the course. No doubt planning another motivating speech. Still, this time Hero Girl had the right to say what she damned well wanted. Funny she’d been so quiet so far.
Giles was driving. Stupid bloody vehicle had rough suspension, no acceleration to speak of, and sod all comfort for the driver. That was exactly what he needed just now. Sooner or later he would have to think and plan. What would they do, these girls with new strength and powers? What would his own Slayer do? His girl, so bright, that fake smile pasted on her face, was stumbling about in darkness. Would his Buffy ever trust him again after the last few weeks? He had his doubts. He sighed. There was, as he’d said, always Cleveland.
Buffy saw and heard none of this. Running through her mind was a slow litany. Pet. Goldilocks. Insufferable. The One. She hadn’t wanted to be that, but she had her cross to bear. She didn’t pay much attention to the occasional tear that dripped down her nose, except a flashing thought that he would mock it. Her bad, rude vampire rarely passed up a chance to do that. Her dirty, boneheaded, shirty dope. The peroxided pest who’d saved the world. A lot.
The bus trundled on through the desert.