RATING: PG
TITLE: Laughing into 1939 (1/1)
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask.
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: http://www.geocities.com/serpyllum/
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to large corporations, and were created by the brilliant writers for Buffy and Angel. No commercial use is intended.
Dedication: To Nestra. Happy birthday and many happy
returns. May all the eye-candy series be renewed.
He leaned against a pillar, lit a cigarette, and watched the swirling
crowd. Tinsel party hats, silks, broadcloths, and velvets,
laughing voices, satin slippers and patent-leather pumps. It
was pathetically human, how oblivious the partygoers were to
the abyss yawning before their feet; they spun, flirted, and
exchanged partners as if the wooden dance floor were stable and
permanent as a Roman road.
Against his will, his gaze returned to the dark-haired girl who
was the vortex of the party. She flitted from partner to
partner like the last butterfly of November, sipping, flirting,
promising, then dancing on to a new prospect. Not that the men
minded; the eyes of the rejected suitors followed her as eagerly
as those of the remaining hopefuls. Over the music and the
chatter her laughter rang out, musical, ephemeral, and useless
as the streamer of silver paper caught in the curls of her
hair.
Suddenly his glance was returned; the girl's dark eyes went wide, then her
face lit with a radiant smile. She tripped over to him, leaving a
clot of abandoned admirers protesting behind her. "We've not been
introduced... shouldn't we dance?" He discarded the cigarette, bowed,
and took her into his arms. She was light, graceful, and followed his
lead as if her destiny depended on his whim. A petty empire, but all
the fallen world had to offer.
They had made half a circuit of the room before she lifted her head
and smiled at him. "You're so quiet. Are you listening to
something they cannot hear?"
He smiled grimly. "The hoofbeats of the Four Horsemen, fair lady."
Why had he said that? Why would this frivolous child care
whether civilization came crashing down? After the fact,
perhaps, but never before. Butterflies didn't concern
themselves with the future.
The fathomless eyes flickered and became grave. "There are always horsemen, always. I hear
their hooves wherever I go. The moon looks down, unchanged,
while the people come and go to their eternal rest. But the
moon doesn't care at all. She never has, nor ever will."
"It's a sublunar world, true enough. But this time the horsemen are
real, butterfly. Your world will end. This never was much of a
peace, founded upon sand and ruins of broken promises. Before
you know it, everything you love will come crashing down. Enjoy
these pretty parties while you can; you dance over the abyss, and
one day you must slip and fall." How foolish to say such
things. She couldn't understand; wouldn't want to. Any moment,
she would certainly leave him for a partner adept at the sugared
nonsense the beautiful demanded as their tribute.
But the upturned face grew graver still, and she made no attempt to
leave him. "I think you see what I see. Will you come out to
the terrace and talk awhile? It's very lonely sometimes, in the
dark and the fog." Astonished, he let her break the embrace and lead him away from the
hubbub. Of all the people in all the world, an exquisite little
mayfly saw his vision and shared it. Perhaps it wasn't too late
after all; perhaps there remained some small hope for the human
race. ###
"Ready to go, pet?" The dark-haired girl looked up from the corpse
and smiled. "I like parties. All the presents, wrapped so
prettily. This one said the world might end. Wasn't he the
clever boy?"
Spike shrugged. "If he's all that clever, why's he dead?"
"But he's right. Dead people everywhere. Not at all like us. The
world is going to end. I saw it. Does that mean I'm not
clever?" Her face crumpled.
Spike gathered his sire into his arms, casually licking a drop of
blood from her chin. "Sssh, love. You're the cleverest one of
all. There's a lovely party, all just for you, and lovely
hunting to boot. What could be nicer?"
In the hotel ballroom behind them, crackers exploded, confetti and
streamers fell from the ceiling, and the partygoers cheered. The
New Year had arrived, full of promise and wonder. Spike took
his Princess by the arm and led her back to the feast.
Behind them, forgotten, lay the man for whom the world had ended
indeed, somewhat before time. Prophecy is a chancy vocation.
Inspired by the Al Stewart song of the same name, which is not (as far
as I know) about vampires.
Oh, the party draws them in.
For tonight is New Year's Eve,
It breathes and moves to a life its own
In its arms it's gathering all time.
From the dark he watches her
Moving in and out of the bobbing crowd.
If she even notices, she gives no sign
And she's laughing, laughing into 1939
Uncork your spirits and welcome it in.
Who knows what it's got up its sleeve?
Can't wait for it all to begin.
Stand by the girl with the purple balloon
The look in her eyes just lights up the room.
In the corner of her smile
She'll be seeing you soon
Under a mistletoe moon.