I didn’t sign up this time because I wasn’t sure if I was going to have something done until now, and I wasn’t so wrong. I didn’t write a word until – yeah, until Seasonal Spuffy started (YAY!) and really lured my muse out. It’s not much yet, but it’s a start, and since it’s now exactly (almost to the minute!) 1 year that I posted here for the first time, and its a Free-For-All day, I thought I should celebrate it with a post…
I’m afraid it’s not Spuffy yet. It will be eventually,
Also, due to my fickle muse waking up so late, it’s unbeta-ed. So, in case you find a mistake or any weird expression (not a native speaker, so it’s not unlikely…), please tell me.
Era: Season 1 – 7 (these chapters: S1 and S2)
Summary: Glimpses into the story of a Slayer and a Vampire. A series of drabbles along the series, each of which can be read as stand-alone; sometimes two build a unit.
Word Count: 8 x 100
She turns in her bed, yawning.
“One minute,” she murmurs tiredly.
“Hurry up, honey,” her mom hollers from downstairs, “I’m leaving in 15!”
“I’m up, mom!” With blonde strands still covering her eyes betraying the lie, she wipes them out of her face, sighing.
Twelve minutes later she emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered, scenting of her spring flowers shower gel. There’s just enough time to take a bite of her sandwich and gulp down the orange juice her mother offers her with an encouraging look.
Buffy smiles. “I know, Mom. What can go wrong in a town called Sunnydale?”
Sounds just like a very bright place to live in.
And then it’s not.
Buffy feels the sun dim a fraction when she sees the volume. It reads ‘VAMPYR’ on its cover, and she wants to run, hide, move. To the North Pole, maybe.
But instead she returns to the tweedy man who proclaims to be her new watcher, returns as soon as she hears about the murdered boy. She can’t help it.
Her reward is two new friends on her first day, and a mysterious guy in the dark.
But a potential friend is dead.
That’s her penalty.
He calls himself Angel.
She’s not sure what makes him angelic. That he speaks in riddles? Is he sent from heaven? Or is it his beauty?
All she knows is that he makes her heart race in her chest. She doesn’t think that angels usually do that.
His name looks good when she writes it down. Especially when she writes it close to hers.
That’s a sign, right?
Buffy looks out of her window, smiling when she realizes that her look becomes longing. She longs for the sun to go down.
Because she knows, only then she’ll see him again.
He’s no angel. Not at all.
She wants to hate him so badly, but she still feels his kiss on her lips, sweet as cotton candy.
Sharp as a razor blade.
Her fingers glide over the wood in her hand, stroking over the edge the whittle knife left. It was a sharp edge, but it’s beginning to smooth under the caress her thumb applies. When she looks down she sees the faint glimmer of polished wood starting to show.
She sees his angelic face in her mind, distorted by the vampiric ridges.
She wishes her thumb could polish them away.
Giles said there’s no such thing as a good vampire.
But Angel killed Darla, for her.
What was she to him? Was she sort of his vampire wife, a hundred years ago? His bad wife, when he was still bad, too? His female counterpart in badness?
They killed together, Angel told her. For more than a hundred years.
She thinks that they could save lives together. For a long time. For as long as she lives.
She wants to be his female counterpart in goodness.
She hopes he’ll let her.
She just doesn’t know if she can kill vampires tomorrow.
She died last night.
That doesn’t sound so bad, right, if she can say it herself?
The Master killed her. She killed the Master.
A whole lot of killing, but she’s still alive.
Xander came after her to save her. He did this CPR-thing, and now she lives again.
Only because she has friends. Good friends that want her to be still around, even though a slayer isn’t supposed to have friends.
She’s a lot like a vampire that way, she thinks. Vampires usually don’t have people that care about them either.
She just hopes the Master isn’t the exception.
He tells himself it’s not about him this time. It’s only about restoring his dark princess’ strength.
He doesn’t need to prove anything to the world anymore, right? He’s The Slayer Of Slayers, after all. A vicious, ruthless vampire.
William the Bloody! This name has a ring to it, inducing respect in the demonic world and fear in those humans in the know.
A true evil.
His eyes caress the fragile figure, arms raised above her, softly swaying in the slanting moonlight to a rhythm only she can hear.
‘course it’s about her.
But a little anticipation can’t hurt.
She lost control tonight. Hacking and smashing the master’s bones until there was nothing left to bury.
Nothing left of the powerful vampire.
The one she hadn’t been scared of until a prophecy had told her to be. The same stupid prophecy that lured her down to him in the first place.
The one she’d been scared of even more after she’d defeated him.
Because somehow she still thought – what if the prophecy didn’t mean this death after all?
Now the prophecy is as dead as the master.
That’s when she knows – she didn’t lose control.
She took it back.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/582598.html