*** Please remember, I own no characters except for Blaine who I made up,
everything else belongs to the all might Joss, put another way, Joss' toys,
my sandbox
takes place a couple of months after the gift. ***
The tiny blond stood on the top of the steel beast, and the earth shook. Terrible things, the kind you feared were under your bed, yet you never looked stood around the base. And then she jumped, leaving a lone brunette, sobbing, and bleeding. But God the pain, the blond, her soul was being ripped, the white-hot searing pain! It went into eternity! And when it was too much to bear, the world refocused, and with a sickening thwack, she landed into the rubble. The sun fought the darkness and the monsters went away. And six figures walked, limped or were dragged from the shadows to the girl. She was so still. and the agony, the disbelief. The world was darkness again. Without her. The brunette, still crying, dismounted the beast, looking at the six, looking at the fallen. OH GOD! When did the pain stop? -
Blaine awoke with a start, he looked at his clock. 3 am. hmmm, well at least he had got some sleep. The same damn dream had been haunting him for months now. Pretty blond, jumps to her death. He felt what he'd imagine what she must have felt. Ha, he should have gone to see a psychiatrist two months ago, when they started. but the shrink would probably ask him if he was breast fed as a child, if he hated his parents, if he dressed like a woman. Make him write a bloody journal, waste his money and tell him he had an Oedipus disorder. Right! Ha, bloody likely, his mother died giving birth to him. Blaine picked up a pack of cigarettes, a pub would be open. Might as well drink himself out of the bone-crushing, head-wrenching, mind- numbing headaches he got from time to time.
* * *
Swaying down an alley, in the "bad part of town" very much drunk and out of money, Blaine found himself lost. "Funny how I can FIND myself lost," Blaine thought ironically. Eyeing a cardboard box purposefully, he decided it would be better if he slept off his drunken state. Besides, a box in an alley would be a hell sight more comfortable than his tiny bed in his cabbage smelling flat. Besides, he had nothing of value to steal, 'cept maybe his fathers old pocketknife he always carried around with him.
"Why is it that I'm always the one recruiting the reeking drunk ones out of the alleys?" asked a heavily accented Brooklyn voice.
"Who are you?" asked Blaine, gawking at the short man wearing hideous 70's retro clothes.
"Name's Whistler. Anyway, lately it is." The stranger said.
Blaine just stood there, God his clothes were an eyesore.
" And I can help you with those pesky dreams, about girls dying, that you've been having." Whistler continued.
" How did you?" Blaine started. "You can get rid of them?"
"Nope, but you can"
" Ah, your not some creepy churchy, Jehovah Witness types are you?" Blaine said backing away slowly.
" Nah, those folks scare even me. come on, I can help you."
Blaine stood in his spot; he didn't like having a strange invite him for a stroll at four in the morning. But he did know about his dreams.
"Oh would you just come! I'm not gonna hurt you!"
Blaine reluctantly moved in step behind the man. And even if he tried anything funny, he had his pocketknife. They reached a brown rusty car. Whistler unlocked the passenger side and pulled an envelope out of the glove compartment, and handed the package to Blaine.
" Do they look familiar?" Whistler asked.
Blaine looked down. It was a picture of the blond girl from her dream. The next was a group photo at a club, there was a cake .Happy Birthday Tara, hmm, they people in the picture, they were the ones that were in his dream. and on a piece of old yellowed paper was a sketch, of the only person missing from the photos, a handsome man, with a scar on his left eyebrow and a cocky grin.
"How in the hell??"
"Her name is. was Buffy Summers, and she is what you call a good guy. The very reason you're breathing, living still exist is because of her. She saved the world, a lot." Explained Whistler. "And those people in the pictures, they are her friends. her sister, Dawn, and Giles, Xander, Willow, Anya, Tara, and the last one there is Spike. Now there is a guy you never expected to change sides!"
"I don't understand," said Blaine.
"No one understands! That's my curse!" chuckled Whistler, every time he did this they all acted the same. Hell, the last guy he had done this for had a drinking problem too.
"Let me make this simple. monsters exist, and Buffy, was the only one who could stop them. Now, you're getting these headaches cause of who you are, and because she dyed. And now, we're giving you a chance to save the world."
"What? Who's we?"
"The powers, the big guys upstairs."
" You're a fucking loony! You're probably had more to drink than me!"
Just as Blaine had said that, a snarling man jumped from the roof of a nearby building. His features were twisted, grotesque, lurid; and lunged for them. Before Blaine could reach for his pocketknife, Whistler jabbed the attacker with a wedge of sharp wood. And the snarling man turned to dust.
"Monsters exist. And that there, was a vampire, same as ol' Spike in the drawing."
Blaine looked traumatized. "What do you want with me?"
"I want you to raise the dead," smiled Whistler.
takes place a couple of months after the gift. ***
The tiny blond stood on the top of the steel beast, and the earth shook. Terrible things, the kind you feared were under your bed, yet you never looked stood around the base. And then she jumped, leaving a lone brunette, sobbing, and bleeding. But God the pain, the blond, her soul was being ripped, the white-hot searing pain! It went into eternity! And when it was too much to bear, the world refocused, and with a sickening thwack, she landed into the rubble. The sun fought the darkness and the monsters went away. And six figures walked, limped or were dragged from the shadows to the girl. She was so still. and the agony, the disbelief. The world was darkness again. Without her. The brunette, still crying, dismounted the beast, looking at the six, looking at the fallen. OH GOD! When did the pain stop? -
Blaine awoke with a start, he looked at his clock. 3 am. hmmm, well at least he had got some sleep. The same damn dream had been haunting him for months now. Pretty blond, jumps to her death. He felt what he'd imagine what she must have felt. Ha, he should have gone to see a psychiatrist two months ago, when they started. but the shrink would probably ask him if he was breast fed as a child, if he hated his parents, if he dressed like a woman. Make him write a bloody journal, waste his money and tell him he had an Oedipus disorder. Right! Ha, bloody likely, his mother died giving birth to him. Blaine picked up a pack of cigarettes, a pub would be open. Might as well drink himself out of the bone-crushing, head-wrenching, mind- numbing headaches he got from time to time.
* * *
Swaying down an alley, in the "bad part of town" very much drunk and out of money, Blaine found himself lost. "Funny how I can FIND myself lost," Blaine thought ironically. Eyeing a cardboard box purposefully, he decided it would be better if he slept off his drunken state. Besides, a box in an alley would be a hell sight more comfortable than his tiny bed in his cabbage smelling flat. Besides, he had nothing of value to steal, 'cept maybe his fathers old pocketknife he always carried around with him.
"Why is it that I'm always the one recruiting the reeking drunk ones out of the alleys?" asked a heavily accented Brooklyn voice.
"Who are you?" asked Blaine, gawking at the short man wearing hideous 70's retro clothes.
"Name's Whistler. Anyway, lately it is." The stranger said.
Blaine just stood there, God his clothes were an eyesore.
" And I can help you with those pesky dreams, about girls dying, that you've been having." Whistler continued.
" How did you?" Blaine started. "You can get rid of them?"
"Nope, but you can"
" Ah, your not some creepy churchy, Jehovah Witness types are you?" Blaine said backing away slowly.
" Nah, those folks scare even me. come on, I can help you."
Blaine stood in his spot; he didn't like having a strange invite him for a stroll at four in the morning. But he did know about his dreams.
"Oh would you just come! I'm not gonna hurt you!"
Blaine reluctantly moved in step behind the man. And even if he tried anything funny, he had his pocketknife. They reached a brown rusty car. Whistler unlocked the passenger side and pulled an envelope out of the glove compartment, and handed the package to Blaine.
" Do they look familiar?" Whistler asked.
Blaine looked down. It was a picture of the blond girl from her dream. The next was a group photo at a club, there was a cake .Happy Birthday Tara, hmm, they people in the picture, they were the ones that were in his dream. and on a piece of old yellowed paper was a sketch, of the only person missing from the photos, a handsome man, with a scar on his left eyebrow and a cocky grin.
"How in the hell??"
"Her name is. was Buffy Summers, and she is what you call a good guy. The very reason you're breathing, living still exist is because of her. She saved the world, a lot." Explained Whistler. "And those people in the pictures, they are her friends. her sister, Dawn, and Giles, Xander, Willow, Anya, Tara, and the last one there is Spike. Now there is a guy you never expected to change sides!"
"I don't understand," said Blaine.
"No one understands! That's my curse!" chuckled Whistler, every time he did this they all acted the same. Hell, the last guy he had done this for had a drinking problem too.
"Let me make this simple. monsters exist, and Buffy, was the only one who could stop them. Now, you're getting these headaches cause of who you are, and because she dyed. And now, we're giving you a chance to save the world."
"What? Who's we?"
"The powers, the big guys upstairs."
" You're a fucking loony! You're probably had more to drink than me!"
Just as Blaine had said that, a snarling man jumped from the roof of a nearby building. His features were twisted, grotesque, lurid; and lunged for them. Before Blaine could reach for his pocketknife, Whistler jabbed the attacker with a wedge of sharp wood. And the snarling man turned to dust.
"Monsters exist. And that there, was a vampire, same as ol' Spike in the drawing."
Blaine looked traumatized. "What do you want with me?"
"I want you to raise the dead," smiled Whistler.