Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own The Lost World, Angel, or any of the wonderful characters mentioned below.
PROLOGUEMarguerite's catty eyes narrowed, her face becoming an expression of her current, irritable disposition. After a day of collecting specimens for Challenger, spending another two hours hiking to the "perfect" picnic spot was the last thing she wanted to do. The sweltering temperature wasn't making the journey any more enjoyable, either.
"If it weren't for this bloody heat..." she growled impatiently under her breath. Roxton, who was a pace or two ahead of her, hadn't heard this remark, or if he had, he made no effort to reply. Marguerite rolled her eyes. She was convinced they were lost. Why had she let Roxton talk her into this?
The two were alone as they made their way through the wilderness on their own makeshift path. Entranced with some new contraption he was working on, Challenger had stowed himself away in the lab, and Veronica and Malone were working in the garden. "Or at least they're supposed to be..." Marguerite thought with a smirk.
The cadence of Lord Roxton's steady marching ceased; they had reached their destination. He exhaled, admiring the view from atop the promontory. Marguerite opened her mouth to complain that their two-hour walk had better be worth it... but the enchanting view stole her breath away. She let its opulence overtake her, allowing a small, almost undetectable smile creep across her face. How did Roxton find these spectacular places?
"It's... amazing," Marguerite whispered, hardly audible. Roxton turned to look at the heiress warmly.
"I'd have to agree."
It was the middle of the afternoon, and WOLFRAM AND HART was bustling with hardworking attorneys-at-law. Yet they were not the only ones inhabiting this prestigious law firm. Meandering through the halls of the science department was a young woman formerly known as Fred Burkle.
Not long ago, she had become the host of an otherworldly entity. This 'spirit' had seized complete control over her body, and the violent infestation process had killed Fred. During this process, Fred's shell had been transformed... Illyeria, as this new being was now called, named after the entity that possessed the shell, saw the world through icy sapphire eyes, cold and unnatural; silky azure hair fell long below her shoulders, strands hanging in front of her smooth pale face.
Her step was heavier than usual. Her gaze, although still piercing as ever, seemed to spend more and more time resting on thin air, as if she were in deep thought. But perhaps there was something there, invisible to everyone else. She had been like this ever since the rest of the "gang" had drained her powers, snatched them from her like a ravenous wolf seizes its prey. She resented them for it... yet realized their intentions were not ill. Such a great concentration of power could not be contained in a human shell; it would have escaped-- causing mass destruction... perhaps even resulting in the annihilation of the Earth world. She now possessed not even half the abilities as before. Thinking of her losses, Illyeria felt all the muscles in her shell tighten, and she quickened her walking pace. Spewing with rage, she yearned to kill something.
From down the hall, Wesley, a man with a solemn air about him, was watching Illyeria, following her wherever she wandered. She stopped walking as Spike, a spunky vampire of whom she had never been quite fond, approached.
"Hey, uh, Illyeria..." he began tentatively, attempting a sincere tone, "if you ever... need someone to--"
"Talk to?" she interjected, sensing what he was about to say. Her head snapped around, and she stared straight into his eyes. "I do not wish to converse with puny Earth scum. You are filthy vermin, UNWORTHY TO GAZE UPON ME. I could snuff you out of existence in a second if I wished it so... I could pluck out your--"
"Hey! Hey! Hey! No need to get all worked up, love" Spike held his hands up near his face, as if to surrender. "Just..." His voice trailed off as he found himself at a loss for words. The corners of his mouth curled up and his eyebrows sunk a little, leaving him with an odd expression similar to a painful smile. With that, he swiftly slipped off, letting his black trench coat "swish" behind him.
It pained Wesley to see her suffer, no matter how well she disguised it. He had loved Fred... and seeing Illyeria like this reminded him of the anguish that had troubled the same face once before, as Fred had faded away.
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Author's note: it'd b great if u could R&R... this is my first fan fic, so please don't be too cruel!!! I've been thinking of resurrecting some characters from both shows... What do you think?