Title: The Complexities of a Detached Journalist
Author: Trina (a.k.a. Buffy Chit)
Contact: addicted_2_btvs@yahoo.com
URL:
Spoilers: Up to 7.16 'Storyteller'
Summary: After watching 'Storyteller', I got the strange urge to write a
story from
it. It's a short fic; Andrews POV about the events that have piled up
to, and
including, 'Storyteller'. Andrew thinks back on choices, both his and
some of the
surrounding people in the household, and voices his thought, mentally,
about
what he fears is ahead. Takes place before the final scene and lead up
to it.
Author's note: I appreciate non-angry reviews. Please, be gentle.
-The Complexities of a Detached Journalist-
So what's gonna happen now; that's what I wanna know. No one can answer me though, because they're as lost as I am. I mean, sure, the seal stopped working it's mojo on those students; and I guess that buys all of us a little time. But that doesn't even begin to answer anything. Like, is it permanent? Are we sure that me... crying over it actually closed it? How can we be sure?
None of this was ever presented on my board.
I don't even know how to feel. Buffy said that we didn't have to worry about it anymore. But, I mean, does she even know what question she's answering? So many people are flying at her with problems, throwing situations at her over and over like she didn't hear them the first hundred times. I used to do that.
But then I found a videocamera.
They're really extrordinary things, videocameras are. They take what's happening now, and form the information given to them through the lens and push it all into a little space, allowing you to view what has been captured. It practically works itself, except that it needs someone to direct it. Someone who doesn't want to be in the spotlight. Someone... who doesn't mind being the detached journalist.
No wonder I took the job.
Even a blind person would be able to see that I don't belong here. Earlier in the school basement, I told Buffy that we'd been throwing the word 'murderer' around, because, I mean, pretty much everyone the this household has killed someone; at one time or another, anyway. Of course, they all had their reasons, and they all admit what they did. Except for me; I seem to be the only one who had no good reason for doing what I did. I seem to be the only one who tries to make transparent excuses in order to hide from myself; in order to hide from the person that I am.
The person I became after I killed Jonathan.
I couldn't seem to face myself - my true reasons - for doing what I had done; for killing possibly the only person on this earth who considered me a friend. Couldn't face the fact that I listened, and obeyed, the commands of the true evil. The First. Let's go down the line, shall we:
Willow went all crazy with the dark magic last spring; even got the dark hair and veins to match her power. She killed Warren, who, at the time, I actually considered my friend. Now...well, I guess it doesn't matter what I think about him now; 'cause he's dead. Because of Willow. Because he fired too many shots and got shaky with a gun; killing Tara and missing who he thought was his biggest threat.
Guess he underestimated the power of a redheaded she-witch.
She doesn't deny it though. She gets upset and, on rare occassions, turns into him, but she doesn't deny or sugar-coat anything she did. Because she knows that she will pay reparations for what she did.
Spike payed his dues by picking up a soul, I guess you could say. Of course, I'd be lying if I said that's why he felt the need to regain what he had lost over a hundred years ago. But anyways, that's a very long story that would probably lead me onto a tangent which would deter me from getting back to the point.
Crud, where was I? Oh yeah, Spike...stupid tangents...
Anyways, even Spike had reasons for killing people for so long; his lack of pulse and room temperature-ness is reason enough. He's a vampire, it was his instint; his survival. If anything, I bet he embraces who he was and what he used to do, because it's proof of how much he's changed. Like, a merit badge...or something.
Anya killed because it was her job. It was a skill that was given to her over a thousand years ago. Killing...was her reason for living; it was the only thing that her existence based itself apon. She seems to be quite proud of some of the things she's done...to men. I've only heard a few of her stories, but believe me, that was more than enough reason to be thankful for her now permanent human visage. But, she wanted to give it up, you know, in the end. Plus, she's fighting off assassins courtesy of her former former boss, so I'd say that she's definately paying for what she's done.
So where does that leave me? I'm the only one who doesn't have an excuse that makes me look justified. I killed Jonathan for the sake of prolonging my illusion that Warren was really there; that I was going to live as a God. That everything was going to be okay. But now that I've closed that seal...now that I've confessed to the horrible thing that I had done, the illusion is gone. So...
What happens next?
I guess the only way that I'm ever going to solve any of these mysteries, is if I get up and join the people around me, who are just as anxious and clueless as I am.
I'm sitting in the bathroom again, and directly in front of me is the very thing that I have been pointing in everyone's face. I'm directing myself on how to breathe, because I seem to have forgotten. I reach in front of me and press the little red button, ready to record myself for the last time, as the detached journalist.
-=-=-=-=-=-
*click*
Breath in.
"Here's the thing..."
-The Complexities of a Detached Journalist-
So what's gonna happen now; that's what I wanna know. No one can answer me though, because they're as lost as I am. I mean, sure, the seal stopped working it's mojo on those students; and I guess that buys all of us a little time. But that doesn't even begin to answer anything. Like, is it permanent? Are we sure that me... crying over it actually closed it? How can we be sure?
None of this was ever presented on my board.
I don't even know how to feel. Buffy said that we didn't have to worry about it anymore. But, I mean, does she even know what question she's answering? So many people are flying at her with problems, throwing situations at her over and over like she didn't hear them the first hundred times. I used to do that.
But then I found a videocamera.
They're really extrordinary things, videocameras are. They take what's happening now, and form the information given to them through the lens and push it all into a little space, allowing you to view what has been captured. It practically works itself, except that it needs someone to direct it. Someone who doesn't want to be in the spotlight. Someone... who doesn't mind being the detached journalist.
No wonder I took the job.
Even a blind person would be able to see that I don't belong here. Earlier in the school basement, I told Buffy that we'd been throwing the word 'murderer' around, because, I mean, pretty much everyone the this household has killed someone; at one time or another, anyway. Of course, they all had their reasons, and they all admit what they did. Except for me; I seem to be the only one who had no good reason for doing what I did. I seem to be the only one who tries to make transparent excuses in order to hide from myself; in order to hide from the person that I am.
The person I became after I killed Jonathan.
I couldn't seem to face myself - my true reasons - for doing what I had done; for killing possibly the only person on this earth who considered me a friend. Couldn't face the fact that I listened, and obeyed, the commands of the true evil. The First. Let's go down the line, shall we:
Willow went all crazy with the dark magic last spring; even got the dark hair and veins to match her power. She killed Warren, who, at the time, I actually considered my friend. Now...well, I guess it doesn't matter what I think about him now; 'cause he's dead. Because of Willow. Because he fired too many shots and got shaky with a gun; killing Tara and missing who he thought was his biggest threat.
Guess he underestimated the power of a redheaded she-witch.
She doesn't deny it though. She gets upset and, on rare occassions, turns into him, but she doesn't deny or sugar-coat anything she did. Because she knows that she will pay reparations for what she did.
Spike payed his dues by picking up a soul, I guess you could say. Of course, I'd be lying if I said that's why he felt the need to regain what he had lost over a hundred years ago. But anyways, that's a very long story that would probably lead me onto a tangent which would deter me from getting back to the point.
Crud, where was I? Oh yeah, Spike...stupid tangents...
Anyways, even Spike had reasons for killing people for so long; his lack of pulse and room temperature-ness is reason enough. He's a vampire, it was his instint; his survival. If anything, I bet he embraces who he was and what he used to do, because it's proof of how much he's changed. Like, a merit badge...or something.
Anya killed because it was her job. It was a skill that was given to her over a thousand years ago. Killing...was her reason for living; it was the only thing that her existence based itself apon. She seems to be quite proud of some of the things she's done...to men. I've only heard a few of her stories, but believe me, that was more than enough reason to be thankful for her now permanent human visage. But, she wanted to give it up, you know, in the end. Plus, she's fighting off assassins courtesy of her former former boss, so I'd say that she's definately paying for what she's done.
So where does that leave me? I'm the only one who doesn't have an excuse that makes me look justified. I killed Jonathan for the sake of prolonging my illusion that Warren was really there; that I was going to live as a God. That everything was going to be okay. But now that I've closed that seal...now that I've confessed to the horrible thing that I had done, the illusion is gone. So...
What happens next?
I guess the only way that I'm ever going to solve any of these mysteries, is if I get up and join the people around me, who are just as anxious and clueless as I am.
I'm sitting in the bathroom again, and directly in front of me is the very thing that I have been pointing in everyone's face. I'm directing myself on how to breathe, because I seem to have forgotten. I reach in front of me and press the little red button, ready to record myself for the last time, as the detached journalist.
-=-=-=-=-=-
*click*
Breath in.
"Here's the thing..."