More story telling and thanks...
Mar. 30th, 2005 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkat[Thank you to everyone who replied to the locked post - appreciate your sentiments, no time to respond unfortunately. Hellish work week. And most of the weekend was offline. When I come home I decompress by writing this story and vegging in front of tv. Also thanks to the people responding to these story posts, really appreciate your comments. Nice to know someone besides myself is enjoying it.]
Been an incredibly stressful frustrating day, so we'll see how much of that is reflected in my drabble. Just making this up as I go guys. And it's more of an exploration of two characters, their relations with each other and the world around them then anything else I guess. A quiet tale, no sex and no violence.
Where we left off - Will (Spike) had just gone to make Buffy dinner and she was reflecting on their last night together ...
Dinner, or supper as Will called it, was a simple affair. Far simpler than Buffy imagined it would be. Not that she was certain what she imagined he'd make exactly. The fried onion thing he used to go on about or some spicy gourmet meal? Instead they had venison stew, homebaked bread courtesy of Charles Gunn, and a tossed salad with a mild vinagrette. The stew was rather good but not too spicy. For drinks, he poured iced tea - made with water from a nearby spring and some mint that grew on the mountain side. He set it up in an alcolve next to the living room, that faced the back of the mountain. A crescent moon shown dimly through the leaves lighting the garden in front of the windows, on the wall behind her, with a pale light. The wall facing her contained five pictures, in fine wooden frames. A few were English Landscapes, but most were portraits. She recognized Angel's style. None of people she knew or recognized, except possibly Wesely and the tall black man she'd met outside.
In the center, the place of honor, was a portrait of a woman, painted with oils. Fine boned. High cheek bones. Wide brown eyes matching soft brown hair.
She reminded Buffy a bit of a waif or lost fawn, her expression one of almost complete innocence and gentleness. Yet, there was also an odd intelligence about her, an sophistication that made one think of Audrey Hepburn sans the wardrobe.
"Liam did those," Will said, following her gaze.
"I figured as much. The style is similar...to the drawings you have in the living room. Whose the woman? I'm not sure I met her."
"Winnifred Burkel. Or Fred as we used to call her. Killed by an old demon that took possession of her body only to destroy her soul. Not quite the same as vamps - when we kill you, your soul gets to escape. With Fred? It just burned it up along with all her insides. We tried to stop it, Liam and I. Too late."
Buffy winced. "I'm sorry. Were you close?"
"Didn't know her that long, but yeah, we were close. Close enough. She..." he paused, as if he were hunting the right words. "She was one of those rare people that you are told about but do not quite believe exist until you meet them. Compassionate to her core. She believed in the old man's mission more than the old man did, I sometimes think. Real lady. You'd have liked her, I think."
Buffy nodded, lasping into silence as he finished setting the table and then sat down at its head, instead of opposite her as she expected. Almost as if he didn't want to be looking at her head on, although it could also be because he was closer to the kitchen. As she was about to take a bite of the stew he'd brought her, she paused, noticing from the corner of her eye that he'd bent his head and was mumbling something, then reverently crossed himself. The gesture startled her and for a moment she just starred at him, forgetting she had a spoon halfway to her mouth dripping with food. When he opened his eyes and glanced at her in bewilderment, she smiled nervously and ate the bite of stew.
"When did you become religious?"
He shrugged. "Don't know what you mean. Always been religious. Spiritual not so much, but religious? " He chewed thoughtfully. "Well, as religious as a vampire can be, I suppose. Not that I cared. Didn't care about all powerful much as a vamp - except getting my thrills. Course when you're already aligned with hell, bit hard to care much about the other end of the spectrum. Did care about religion though - the rituals, the religious icons, those fascinated the demon in me for some reason. It had this insatiable desire to defecate on or desecrate all religious artifacts. When you're a demon that's what you do, spit on holy relics, makes you perky. Course, the more religious you were as a human, more you want to defecate them as a demon."
Upon reflection, it made sense. As long as she'd known him, Spike had taken great pleasure in spitting on anything and everything holy or religious or
in any way shape or form sanctified by humans. Until now, she never considered why. She had figured it was just something vampires did. Breaking her own rule, she still had a tendency to lump all vamps into one category, assuming they acted and behaved exactly the same. Odd, considering experience had taught her time and again otherwise. Spike and Angel were as different as night and day.
"Suppose that makes sense. Never really thought about it, much. I just assumed.."
"Demons just destroyed things?" He chuckled, dipping some bread in the stew.
"Pretty much."
"Not untrue. They do. But what you got to take into consideration is why they do it. For each demon it's different. Not unlike humans actually or animals. Even within the same species it's different. You know better than anyone the biggest mistake you can make while hunting vampires is to think they are all alike. Aren't. Each one's behavior and attitude depends on the human it killed. That's what happened with the demon that killed Fred - it had to deal with the personality of the person it killed. It didn't get to just forget the personality, forget who Fred was - doesn't work that way. When demons take over a human body they act like a parasite, they don't get to create their own personality, they get the human personality they infected. Assuming of course it's a vampire, if it's an old one - like the one killed Fred, you get a split personality, the two duking it out. Everything they do is affected by who that person once was. What that person liked, hated, loved - all of it. Course depends on the demon or virus. Each one is different. "
"So the person isn't gone?"
"Not completely. Soul's gone. But the personality, mind, memories, feelings,
that stuff? Still there. Still present."
"But corrupted."
He touched his nose. "Exactly. Corrupted. Twisted. What the human cares the most about, the vampire wants to destroy."
"Yet, your demon sought a soul to prevent itself from doing that," she said.
He stared at her for a moment. Then swallowed and nervously averted his eyes.
"What makes you think that was the demon's idea?" He mumbled.
She watched his face, the lines were deep around the eyes and mouth, and she saw a weariness reflected in his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a while, just eating, chewing, dipping bread, sipping tea.
"How's the stew," he asked, breaking it.
"Good. Thank you."
"Sorry there's no wine. Haven't kept any liquor in the house for a few years now."
"Why?"
"Don't fancy it much, I guess. Or my body doesn't. Metabolism is all wacked.
Did try to drink when I first...well, made myself bloody sick is what I did.
Same with the fags, can't smoke any more either, not without hacking. Bloody lungs can't take it. When Charely comes by, he brings his own then takes it back down the mountain with him. Should have told him to leave it for you this last time."
"Not a problem. I'm good. Never been much of a drinker myself, if you recall."
He laughed, a short quick burst. "No, you weren't were you?" And for a little while the awkwardness between them disspaited, laughing over a common memory.
[Not the best stopping point, I know, but I must eat and besides it's done its job drained the stress out of me. Writing a story, any story, there's no high like it in the world.]
Been an incredibly stressful frustrating day, so we'll see how much of that is reflected in my drabble. Just making this up as I go guys. And it's more of an exploration of two characters, their relations with each other and the world around them then anything else I guess. A quiet tale, no sex and no violence.
Where we left off - Will (Spike) had just gone to make Buffy dinner and she was reflecting on their last night together ...
Dinner, or supper as Will called it, was a simple affair. Far simpler than Buffy imagined it would be. Not that she was certain what she imagined he'd make exactly. The fried onion thing he used to go on about or some spicy gourmet meal? Instead they had venison stew, homebaked bread courtesy of Charles Gunn, and a tossed salad with a mild vinagrette. The stew was rather good but not too spicy. For drinks, he poured iced tea - made with water from a nearby spring and some mint that grew on the mountain side. He set it up in an alcolve next to the living room, that faced the back of the mountain. A crescent moon shown dimly through the leaves lighting the garden in front of the windows, on the wall behind her, with a pale light. The wall facing her contained five pictures, in fine wooden frames. A few were English Landscapes, but most were portraits. She recognized Angel's style. None of people she knew or recognized, except possibly Wesely and the tall black man she'd met outside.
In the center, the place of honor, was a portrait of a woman, painted with oils. Fine boned. High cheek bones. Wide brown eyes matching soft brown hair.
She reminded Buffy a bit of a waif or lost fawn, her expression one of almost complete innocence and gentleness. Yet, there was also an odd intelligence about her, an sophistication that made one think of Audrey Hepburn sans the wardrobe.
"Liam did those," Will said, following her gaze.
"I figured as much. The style is similar...to the drawings you have in the living room. Whose the woman? I'm not sure I met her."
"Winnifred Burkel. Or Fred as we used to call her. Killed by an old demon that took possession of her body only to destroy her soul. Not quite the same as vamps - when we kill you, your soul gets to escape. With Fred? It just burned it up along with all her insides. We tried to stop it, Liam and I. Too late."
Buffy winced. "I'm sorry. Were you close?"
"Didn't know her that long, but yeah, we were close. Close enough. She..." he paused, as if he were hunting the right words. "She was one of those rare people that you are told about but do not quite believe exist until you meet them. Compassionate to her core. She believed in the old man's mission more than the old man did, I sometimes think. Real lady. You'd have liked her, I think."
Buffy nodded, lasping into silence as he finished setting the table and then sat down at its head, instead of opposite her as she expected. Almost as if he didn't want to be looking at her head on, although it could also be because he was closer to the kitchen. As she was about to take a bite of the stew he'd brought her, she paused, noticing from the corner of her eye that he'd bent his head and was mumbling something, then reverently crossed himself. The gesture startled her and for a moment she just starred at him, forgetting she had a spoon halfway to her mouth dripping with food. When he opened his eyes and glanced at her in bewilderment, she smiled nervously and ate the bite of stew.
"When did you become religious?"
He shrugged. "Don't know what you mean. Always been religious. Spiritual not so much, but religious? " He chewed thoughtfully. "Well, as religious as a vampire can be, I suppose. Not that I cared. Didn't care about all powerful much as a vamp - except getting my thrills. Course when you're already aligned with hell, bit hard to care much about the other end of the spectrum. Did care about religion though - the rituals, the religious icons, those fascinated the demon in me for some reason. It had this insatiable desire to defecate on or desecrate all religious artifacts. When you're a demon that's what you do, spit on holy relics, makes you perky. Course, the more religious you were as a human, more you want to defecate them as a demon."
Upon reflection, it made sense. As long as she'd known him, Spike had taken great pleasure in spitting on anything and everything holy or religious or
in any way shape or form sanctified by humans. Until now, she never considered why. She had figured it was just something vampires did. Breaking her own rule, she still had a tendency to lump all vamps into one category, assuming they acted and behaved exactly the same. Odd, considering experience had taught her time and again otherwise. Spike and Angel were as different as night and day.
"Suppose that makes sense. Never really thought about it, much. I just assumed.."
"Demons just destroyed things?" He chuckled, dipping some bread in the stew.
"Pretty much."
"Not untrue. They do. But what you got to take into consideration is why they do it. For each demon it's different. Not unlike humans actually or animals. Even within the same species it's different. You know better than anyone the biggest mistake you can make while hunting vampires is to think they are all alike. Aren't. Each one's behavior and attitude depends on the human it killed. That's what happened with the demon that killed Fred - it had to deal with the personality of the person it killed. It didn't get to just forget the personality, forget who Fred was - doesn't work that way. When demons take over a human body they act like a parasite, they don't get to create their own personality, they get the human personality they infected. Assuming of course it's a vampire, if it's an old one - like the one killed Fred, you get a split personality, the two duking it out. Everything they do is affected by who that person once was. What that person liked, hated, loved - all of it. Course depends on the demon or virus. Each one is different. "
"So the person isn't gone?"
"Not completely. Soul's gone. But the personality, mind, memories, feelings,
that stuff? Still there. Still present."
"But corrupted."
He touched his nose. "Exactly. Corrupted. Twisted. What the human cares the most about, the vampire wants to destroy."
"Yet, your demon sought a soul to prevent itself from doing that," she said.
He stared at her for a moment. Then swallowed and nervously averted his eyes.
"What makes you think that was the demon's idea?" He mumbled.
She watched his face, the lines were deep around the eyes and mouth, and she saw a weariness reflected in his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a while, just eating, chewing, dipping bread, sipping tea.
"How's the stew," he asked, breaking it.
"Good. Thank you."
"Sorry there's no wine. Haven't kept any liquor in the house for a few years now."
"Why?"
"Don't fancy it much, I guess. Or my body doesn't. Metabolism is all wacked.
Did try to drink when I first...well, made myself bloody sick is what I did.
Same with the fags, can't smoke any more either, not without hacking. Bloody lungs can't take it. When Charely comes by, he brings his own then takes it back down the mountain with him. Should have told him to leave it for you this last time."
"Not a problem. I'm good. Never been much of a drinker myself, if you recall."
He laughed, a short quick burst. "No, you weren't were you?" And for a little while the awkwardness between them disspaited, laughing over a common memory.
[Not the best stopping point, I know, but I must eat and besides it's done its job drained the stress out of me. Writing a story, any story, there's no high like it in the world.]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-30 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-04 03:08 pm (UTC)Meant to say "defecate on". At any rate corrected.