Title: A Passing Shadow: Book II: Trick of the Light: Chapter 8
Author: VicNoir
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc.: please see Chapter 1.
Such bloody perfect sense that we all stood about gapin' at one another for a full minute or more, before the Slayer finally started in giggling. I say it was a giggle 'cause I don't know what else t'call it - but it wasn't like anythin' happy. Even when she dropped back to the sofa an' started in with the little snorts an' the tears rollin' off her face, there was nothin' funny about it. And they were all gobsmacked, and me with 'em, I'm ashamed to say.
It took the Lil' Bit, who'd been quiet that whole time - so quiet I hadn't even seen her there, sittin' as she was on the floor, at the other end of the sofa. Anyway, it was her that made the Slayer quit, and there was nothin' gentle about the way she took hold of her big sis an' shook her an' finally belted her a right good one across the jaw.
'Twas enough to shut her up, but the tears kept comin', on and off, all the rest o' the night. Even later, when we were busy fightin' off the forces of evil, I looked up an' caught her bawlin' - but I'm gettin' ahead o' myself again.
Anyway, the Slayer quit with the sniggers an' chortles, wiped her face with the backs of her hands, an' reached up to give Dawn a squeeze.
"So... there's a Slayer in hell? Another me?" She took a pause there, as if she couldn't quite wrap her mind 'round the entire meaning of that. Then she cut to the chase. "How do I get her out?"
An' then she let go with a bleedin' mighty hiccup. Sorta broke the tension, if you know what I mean.
"We'll need to do more research, certainly. This is hardly a common occurrence. In fact, I believe I can honestly say that, if it is indeed true, nothing like it has happened in the history of... well.... history." The Watcher ran his hand through his hair in that way that means he's right beside himself an' sat down heavy on the sofa next to the Slayer.
Willow opened her mouth to say somethin', and there was a hard thump against the back wall, an' then another. Cruller Boy dropped the stunned statue act an' flung open the door. Red's little witchy-bird fell in on the floor and lay there, lookin' stunned.
"Shut the door... they're coming... shut the - " An' she fainted dead away.
Then came the stench. It rolled in through the open door in waves, an' the Slayer couldn't get across the room quick enough shut it out. And with it came the low black shadowy blighters from the boneyard. They were glidin' about the room an' up an' down the walls, blottin' out the light.
"Everybody, get down!" That was the Slayer, taking charge. As if anythin' any of us could do would be enough.
Don't quite understand, do you, pet? We, the original band o' buggered, havin' faced down Glorificus an' any number of beasties with teeth an' claws enough to rend us all to bits - we? Outmatched by a lot of shadowy flit-abouts? Don't rightly know if I can make you see the truth of it, though.
All those fire an' brimstone TV scripture-cookers, with their rot about everlasting burning torment an' nary a drop to drink - well, I s'pose there's a point to it. 'Cause how d'you talk about it in a way folks can see an' feel an' touch enough to fear it? How d'you make anything or anyone know what hell really is? But it was in the room with us then, an' this is the best I can do to describe it...
There was a darkness there, right? But not the darkness of night, 'cause the night knows that the day waitin' just the other side of the blackest hour will knock it on its arse every time. The darkness of... despair, I reckon. Only not even that. There's no word for it in any language I know. It's what I tasted in the blood of every meal that ever came to me willingly, slinkin' along an alleyway, searchin' out an end to the world without havin' the guts to eat a bullet or pop some pills. It was in the eyes of that poor chit when Darla lifted her brat's carcass for her to see. It was in the way Dawn dug her nails into my arm whilst we were kneelin' next to the broken shell of the Slayer, all those months ago. An' it's in the heart of every true lover that's ever heard the words, "No. I'm sorry, no."
It isn't death. It's what makes you pray for death.
But only in small bites an' tiny tastes, 'cause nothin' alive nor undead could stand up long under the weight of it in any real amount. Hope always intrudes, don't it, to lift the burden? Even when it has no business bein' there, it finds a way to slip in an' save your soul, or save your sanity, or just save the soddin' day.
Not a lot of hope in that room right then, lemme tell you, ducks. That cold black despair, for lack of a better description, was ridin' high on the backs of those elusive little buggers, an' suckin' the will right out of us. We panicked, the lot of us, feelin' it invade, feelin' it slide under our skins an' into our heads, whisperin' that nothin' but surrender could ease the stifling weight of it. 'Twas the true nature of hell, right up close an' personal.
Harris went for the weapons chest. At least the boy was makin' the effort - I'll give him that. His chit was standin' in a corner, staring straight out in front of her at nothin' I could see. But I caught a glimpse at the look on her face, an' it weren't a pretty thing. Then I remembered the little ghoul what presented itself to me in the cemetery... the one with the maggoty peepers?
I grabbed her arm an' whirled her about... but her eyes rolled back into her head, an' she dropped where she stood. That made two of 'em down, with Red's bird still bein' out, an' the stench was gettin' stronger by the second.
"Don't look at 'em!" I yelled it over... over what? Nobody else was sayin' much of anything, but it was like shoutin' over a high wind.
Will an' the Slayer dragged Witchy-poo an' Demon Girl over behind the sofa. I turned to look for the Niblet an' caught her startin' in with the transfixed bit. I didn't stop to ask questions - just slung her over my shoulder an' heaved her behind the sofa with the others. Then me an' the Slayer both reached for the blanket to cover 'em. That's when I saw that the Chosen One was bawlin' again.
Harris was taking swipes at shadows with an axe. The Watcher was flippin' madly through one of his tomes, an' Red was standin' in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut an' hands over her ears, shriekin' a protection spell that wasn't doin' much of anythin' that I could detect.
The Slayer was perched on the back of the sofa, duckin' the flitterers right an' left. She knew enough not to track one for too long, but she was watchin' the bunch of 'em fly about, an' tryin' to formulate some plan of attack, from what I could tell. Her face was a picture - tears drippin' off her chin an' her eyes full of something I couldn't quite place - but she was all aglow, somehow, as if the chaos surroundin' her had lit a torch inside her.
An' lookin' back, o' course, it's simple enough to see. All that unholiness, all that profound evil - it called it out in her. Champion of the light, Heaven's own warrior? In what other kind of circumstance should she glow her bloody brightest, after all?
An' they avoided her, you know. All the rest of us, bein' assaulted by the stench an' the little visions of our creepiest, crawliest boogedy-boos - but not our girl. They made themselves a wide berth 'round her, as if the sparks flyin' off her might incinerate the lot of 'em.
Then the Watcher got himself up on the table an', raisin' a finger to the sky like some bloke from the Old Testament, he intoned the following: "Get thee behind me; thou art an offence unto me!"
All right... I reckon it was a New Testament chap after all.
An' the little blighters stuttered an' jerked a bit in their meanderings. There's no other way to describe it, really. The Watcher shouted it again, louder, liftin' his arms above his head. The flittin' shadows stuttered once more, as if they'd become a mite uncertain.
The third time Rupert raised his voice, Red an' Harris joined in. The fourth time, the Slayer added hers to the mix. The blighters were fadin', along with the stench, an' that caught-in-a-shitstorm might-as-well-give-up feeling.
The yelled it again, an' then they all looked at me.
Right. Like I'm gonna start spoutin' the very words of Christ. Fancied watchin' my tongue turn to cinders, did they?
Didn't matter in the end. They joined hands together, like the children of Heaven they were an' still are, an' called it out one last time... an' that was all. Don't know whether the shadow-bastards slid out under the door or just evaporated, but they were there an' then they weren't, an' that was all that counted.
We stood about for just a mo' or two more, an' then each of us found a spot to slump down, or lean, or just flat out lie back an' let the fact that we weren't awash in hell's own cesspool sink in an' take hold. After a while, Harris an' Willow went to look after the fallen soldiers behind the sofa, an' me an' the Slayer an' Rupert sat about, thinkin' deep thoughts.
Buffy reached over an' poked the Watcher to get his attention. He looked gray and old, leaning against a leg of the very table from which he'd vanquished the baddies.
"So... that was a really cool spell. Simple, but big with the effective. Where'd you find it?"
Willow piped up to answer her from across the room. "Matthew 16:23."
The Slayer looked doubtful. Sometimes the shoddy quality of the school system over here appalls even the likes of me.
"Biblical, pet. 'Twas a line Christ used on some wicked, worldly blokes that didn't see things quite His way." I looked over at Rupert. "Bleedin' stroke of luck it worked an' didn't make things worse, Watcher."
He struggled to his feet then, lookin' weary but right pleased with himself. "One thing I've learned in lo these many years in the trenches, Spike: when in doubt, go with the classics."
Not a bad motto, as it turned out.
tbc
Author: VicNoir
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc.: please see Chapter 1.
Such bloody perfect sense that we all stood about gapin' at one another for a full minute or more, before the Slayer finally started in giggling. I say it was a giggle 'cause I don't know what else t'call it - but it wasn't like anythin' happy. Even when she dropped back to the sofa an' started in with the little snorts an' the tears rollin' off her face, there was nothin' funny about it. And they were all gobsmacked, and me with 'em, I'm ashamed to say.
It took the Lil' Bit, who'd been quiet that whole time - so quiet I hadn't even seen her there, sittin' as she was on the floor, at the other end of the sofa. Anyway, it was her that made the Slayer quit, and there was nothin' gentle about the way she took hold of her big sis an' shook her an' finally belted her a right good one across the jaw.
'Twas enough to shut her up, but the tears kept comin', on and off, all the rest o' the night. Even later, when we were busy fightin' off the forces of evil, I looked up an' caught her bawlin' - but I'm gettin' ahead o' myself again.
Anyway, the Slayer quit with the sniggers an' chortles, wiped her face with the backs of her hands, an' reached up to give Dawn a squeeze.
"So... there's a Slayer in hell? Another me?" She took a pause there, as if she couldn't quite wrap her mind 'round the entire meaning of that. Then she cut to the chase. "How do I get her out?"
An' then she let go with a bleedin' mighty hiccup. Sorta broke the tension, if you know what I mean.
"We'll need to do more research, certainly. This is hardly a common occurrence. In fact, I believe I can honestly say that, if it is indeed true, nothing like it has happened in the history of... well.... history." The Watcher ran his hand through his hair in that way that means he's right beside himself an' sat down heavy on the sofa next to the Slayer.
Willow opened her mouth to say somethin', and there was a hard thump against the back wall, an' then another. Cruller Boy dropped the stunned statue act an' flung open the door. Red's little witchy-bird fell in on the floor and lay there, lookin' stunned.
"Shut the door... they're coming... shut the - " An' she fainted dead away.
Then came the stench. It rolled in through the open door in waves, an' the Slayer couldn't get across the room quick enough shut it out. And with it came the low black shadowy blighters from the boneyard. They were glidin' about the room an' up an' down the walls, blottin' out the light.
"Everybody, get down!" That was the Slayer, taking charge. As if anythin' any of us could do would be enough.
Don't quite understand, do you, pet? We, the original band o' buggered, havin' faced down Glorificus an' any number of beasties with teeth an' claws enough to rend us all to bits - we? Outmatched by a lot of shadowy flit-abouts? Don't rightly know if I can make you see the truth of it, though.
All those fire an' brimstone TV scripture-cookers, with their rot about everlasting burning torment an' nary a drop to drink - well, I s'pose there's a point to it. 'Cause how d'you talk about it in a way folks can see an' feel an' touch enough to fear it? How d'you make anything or anyone know what hell really is? But it was in the room with us then, an' this is the best I can do to describe it...
There was a darkness there, right? But not the darkness of night, 'cause the night knows that the day waitin' just the other side of the blackest hour will knock it on its arse every time. The darkness of... despair, I reckon. Only not even that. There's no word for it in any language I know. It's what I tasted in the blood of every meal that ever came to me willingly, slinkin' along an alleyway, searchin' out an end to the world without havin' the guts to eat a bullet or pop some pills. It was in the eyes of that poor chit when Darla lifted her brat's carcass for her to see. It was in the way Dawn dug her nails into my arm whilst we were kneelin' next to the broken shell of the Slayer, all those months ago. An' it's in the heart of every true lover that's ever heard the words, "No. I'm sorry, no."
It isn't death. It's what makes you pray for death.
But only in small bites an' tiny tastes, 'cause nothin' alive nor undead could stand up long under the weight of it in any real amount. Hope always intrudes, don't it, to lift the burden? Even when it has no business bein' there, it finds a way to slip in an' save your soul, or save your sanity, or just save the soddin' day.
Not a lot of hope in that room right then, lemme tell you, ducks. That cold black despair, for lack of a better description, was ridin' high on the backs of those elusive little buggers, an' suckin' the will right out of us. We panicked, the lot of us, feelin' it invade, feelin' it slide under our skins an' into our heads, whisperin' that nothin' but surrender could ease the stifling weight of it. 'Twas the true nature of hell, right up close an' personal.
Harris went for the weapons chest. At least the boy was makin' the effort - I'll give him that. His chit was standin' in a corner, staring straight out in front of her at nothin' I could see. But I caught a glimpse at the look on her face, an' it weren't a pretty thing. Then I remembered the little ghoul what presented itself to me in the cemetery... the one with the maggoty peepers?
I grabbed her arm an' whirled her about... but her eyes rolled back into her head, an' she dropped where she stood. That made two of 'em down, with Red's bird still bein' out, an' the stench was gettin' stronger by the second.
"Don't look at 'em!" I yelled it over... over what? Nobody else was sayin' much of anything, but it was like shoutin' over a high wind.
Will an' the Slayer dragged Witchy-poo an' Demon Girl over behind the sofa. I turned to look for the Niblet an' caught her startin' in with the transfixed bit. I didn't stop to ask questions - just slung her over my shoulder an' heaved her behind the sofa with the others. Then me an' the Slayer both reached for the blanket to cover 'em. That's when I saw that the Chosen One was bawlin' again.
Harris was taking swipes at shadows with an axe. The Watcher was flippin' madly through one of his tomes, an' Red was standin' in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut an' hands over her ears, shriekin' a protection spell that wasn't doin' much of anythin' that I could detect.
The Slayer was perched on the back of the sofa, duckin' the flitterers right an' left. She knew enough not to track one for too long, but she was watchin' the bunch of 'em fly about, an' tryin' to formulate some plan of attack, from what I could tell. Her face was a picture - tears drippin' off her chin an' her eyes full of something I couldn't quite place - but she was all aglow, somehow, as if the chaos surroundin' her had lit a torch inside her.
An' lookin' back, o' course, it's simple enough to see. All that unholiness, all that profound evil - it called it out in her. Champion of the light, Heaven's own warrior? In what other kind of circumstance should she glow her bloody brightest, after all?
An' they avoided her, you know. All the rest of us, bein' assaulted by the stench an' the little visions of our creepiest, crawliest boogedy-boos - but not our girl. They made themselves a wide berth 'round her, as if the sparks flyin' off her might incinerate the lot of 'em.
Then the Watcher got himself up on the table an', raisin' a finger to the sky like some bloke from the Old Testament, he intoned the following: "Get thee behind me; thou art an offence unto me!"
All right... I reckon it was a New Testament chap after all.
An' the little blighters stuttered an' jerked a bit in their meanderings. There's no other way to describe it, really. The Watcher shouted it again, louder, liftin' his arms above his head. The flittin' shadows stuttered once more, as if they'd become a mite uncertain.
The third time Rupert raised his voice, Red an' Harris joined in. The fourth time, the Slayer added hers to the mix. The blighters were fadin', along with the stench, an' that caught-in-a-shitstorm might-as-well-give-up feeling.
The yelled it again, an' then they all looked at me.
Right. Like I'm gonna start spoutin' the very words of Christ. Fancied watchin' my tongue turn to cinders, did they?
Didn't matter in the end. They joined hands together, like the children of Heaven they were an' still are, an' called it out one last time... an' that was all. Don't know whether the shadow-bastards slid out under the door or just evaporated, but they were there an' then they weren't, an' that was all that counted.
We stood about for just a mo' or two more, an' then each of us found a spot to slump down, or lean, or just flat out lie back an' let the fact that we weren't awash in hell's own cesspool sink in an' take hold. After a while, Harris an' Willow went to look after the fallen soldiers behind the sofa, an' me an' the Slayer an' Rupert sat about, thinkin' deep thoughts.
Buffy reached over an' poked the Watcher to get his attention. He looked gray and old, leaning against a leg of the very table from which he'd vanquished the baddies.
"So... that was a really cool spell. Simple, but big with the effective. Where'd you find it?"
Willow piped up to answer her from across the room. "Matthew 16:23."
The Slayer looked doubtful. Sometimes the shoddy quality of the school system over here appalls even the likes of me.
"Biblical, pet. 'Twas a line Christ used on some wicked, worldly blokes that didn't see things quite His way." I looked over at Rupert. "Bleedin' stroke of luck it worked an' didn't make things worse, Watcher."
He struggled to his feet then, lookin' weary but right pleased with himself. "One thing I've learned in lo these many years in the trenches, Spike: when in doubt, go with the classics."
Not a bad motto, as it turned out.
tbc