2675, several more minutes later
I deeply dislike wandering through the underground. The damp smell of mold that almost makes me gag, and the slime that covers most surfaces is enough to make me want to remain above earth ground. A thick humidity permeates the air. Also, because many of the passages are narrow, fighting and stalking prey is difficult. Running is hard, too, because there are few entrances to the underground, and they are typically not tucked away in a corner but are in view of others who might wander past.
However, what bothers me the most about the underground is the enclosed feeling I get. Funny, but even after hundreds of years, I'm still claustrophobic in areas without the possibility of sunlight. Spike laughs at this aspect of my nature and teasingly asks me what kind of vampire am I to want sunlight so nearby. I explain that my need for sunlight is like the comfort that comes with leaving a vid on when no one's home or just having someone in the other room even if you aren't talking. And having sunlight behind a curtain keeps me centered. . . reminds me whom I was before. . . whom I still am. Spike seems to understand that.
My boots clump dully through the passageways, and I roll the stake over my fingers as I listen for any sign that Nabald might be nearby. I don my vampire mask to enhance my detection abilities.
I find an exit, but no one is nearby, and the door doesn't smell like it has been opened in the recent past. The metal in the door is warm to the touch. . . warmer than the air in the passageways. The sun is up, so Nabald hasn't gone outside.
Continuing to trail Nabald with caution, I reach a dead end. My brow furrows; I am fairly sure that he came this way. Sighing impatiently, I turn and face the length of the empty tunnel.
"Where *are* you?" I plant my hands on my hips. "I'm not here to play around; I'm here to kill you."
Silence.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," I singsong, flipping my stake lightly. "I know you're here."
More silence.
Then, a disembodied voice flows over the airways, "Who *are* you?"
I try to persuade him to speak more, so I can locate him. "Who do you think I am?"
"Obviously *not* Cynthia Waters."
I can't help laughing. "No. I'm not." I start toward the source of the voice, which is back the way I came. "Do you have any clue who I am?"
"Buffy. He called you Buffy." Nabald's voice is becoming clearer and more recognizable.
"Yes."
When he doesn't respond for a moment, I think I might have lost him until he speaks again, "Not *the* Buffy. . . Buffy Summers?"
"Got it in one, buddy."
"Such disrespect sounds odd coming out of your mouth, Miss Summers." Awe is evident in his next statement, "And if you're Buffy, . . . then, your companion must be. . . William the Bloody. Spike."
"Yes," I repeat, my other senses on edge. I keep moving the same direction.
"I hadn't realized he was still around. Thought he was long gone. And he's still with you. Wow. That's surprising. I never met him before, but I've heard tales. Heard he was really in love with that Drusilla chick. Must have taken her death pretty hard."
Got him. I reach into the inky darkness and grab Nabald's thick arm, pulling him into my field of vision and deftly flipping him onto his back.
On top of him, I defend my relationship with Spike, "Well, I don't see any woman hanging around you, so I must be doing something right."
One of his grey eyes winks at me, and he hefts me away. Using the push he has given me, I fall into a roll and am standing before he has a chance to hone in on me.
He lashes out at me first, and I stop his movement before he hits me, connecting a solid kick to his abdomen. Stumbling back, he chuckles in amusement. Striking out at me again, he lands a blow to my ribcage, and I grunt in response, flowing with the punch and falling into a cartwheel, so the impact is less. Ending up behind him, I attempt to kick his feet out from under him, but he is quick for being so big, and he sidesteps me. I block his next punch and kick with ease, all the while laying in some of my own.
Several minutes pass, and I begin to realize how evenly matched we are. We are each hitting our mark about the same number of times. My asset seems to be my speed and flexibility while his is strength. The blows he delivers are hard, and even in my blocks, I feel the impact of that strength in every fiber of my body.
While we are each regrouping, he grins at me. "Have you forgotten who I am, Miss Summers? I am a master vampire. . . older than even your William. I can promise this won't be an easy conquest for you."
We begin circling one another slowly like two giant cats waiting for the other to strike first.
"Nor do I expect it to be." I gesture at him to attack with both hands. "Bring it on."
"All right. You asked for it."
What he does next catches me completely off guard. He raises both hands toward me, and lightening flies from his fingertips. I narrowly miss being struck by the bolts as I tumble out of their path.
"What the hell?" I mutter to myself, jumping to my feet at the same time as his foot buries itself in my hip. I wince through the pain and take hold of his calf with both hands, dragging him down and dropping my stake.
After punching him in the face several times and drawing blood, I dive after my stake with the intent to properly stake him, but he hurtles his body on top of me, smashing and twisting my wrist with his weight. His blood drips in my hair, and I can feel the liquid running along my scalp. I shudder.
"Now what are you going to do, Miss Summers?" he whispers in my ear.
"What I want to know," I quip, figuring getting him to talk is my shot at overcoming him, "is how you did that nifty lightning bolt thingie."
"Magic."
"Where did *you* learn magic?"
"Had a little witch once. She taught me yoga and how to make a mean energy shake. And she taught me magic." His hands begin to rove over my body, and I feel his lips hovering over my neck.
When I recognize what he's doing, I almost shiver. In his blossoming arousal, his weight shifts, and I take advantage, using my legs to fling his weight over my head. I am up instantly and retrieve my stake with my non-mangled hand. Nabald remains on the ground, apparently a bit dazed and still aroused. I wrinkle my nose in disgust before flying at him.
Something in his face shifts at that moment, and he lets out a roar as lightning fires from his fingertips and lances through my body. The impact flings me back through the air. Crying out, I crumble to the dirt, cradling my stake to my chest. I lay unmoving, waiting for him to approach me. The faint smell of burnt flesh meets my nose; I'm definitely wounded.
He strides slowly toward me and leans to touch my shoulder. At that moment, I gather all my energy and spring upwards. With my smashed hand, I clasp at the stake and pull on the door handle above with my opposite hand. The heavy metal scrapes loudly as the door reluctantly gives in to my weight. Nabald screams when he realizes what's happening. I smile to myself.
And I see my first sunny day in over six hundred years.
TBC. . . still 2675. . . Thanks again for the wonderful reviews! You guys are really inspiring me to keep plugging away with this. And I'm actually really enjoying writing this! *g* :o)
I deeply dislike wandering through the underground. The damp smell of mold that almost makes me gag, and the slime that covers most surfaces is enough to make me want to remain above earth ground. A thick humidity permeates the air. Also, because many of the passages are narrow, fighting and stalking prey is difficult. Running is hard, too, because there are few entrances to the underground, and they are typically not tucked away in a corner but are in view of others who might wander past.
However, what bothers me the most about the underground is the enclosed feeling I get. Funny, but even after hundreds of years, I'm still claustrophobic in areas without the possibility of sunlight. Spike laughs at this aspect of my nature and teasingly asks me what kind of vampire am I to want sunlight so nearby. I explain that my need for sunlight is like the comfort that comes with leaving a vid on when no one's home or just having someone in the other room even if you aren't talking. And having sunlight behind a curtain keeps me centered. . . reminds me whom I was before. . . whom I still am. Spike seems to understand that.
My boots clump dully through the passageways, and I roll the stake over my fingers as I listen for any sign that Nabald might be nearby. I don my vampire mask to enhance my detection abilities.
I find an exit, but no one is nearby, and the door doesn't smell like it has been opened in the recent past. The metal in the door is warm to the touch. . . warmer than the air in the passageways. The sun is up, so Nabald hasn't gone outside.
Continuing to trail Nabald with caution, I reach a dead end. My brow furrows; I am fairly sure that he came this way. Sighing impatiently, I turn and face the length of the empty tunnel.
"Where *are* you?" I plant my hands on my hips. "I'm not here to play around; I'm here to kill you."
Silence.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," I singsong, flipping my stake lightly. "I know you're here."
More silence.
Then, a disembodied voice flows over the airways, "Who *are* you?"
I try to persuade him to speak more, so I can locate him. "Who do you think I am?"
"Obviously *not* Cynthia Waters."
I can't help laughing. "No. I'm not." I start toward the source of the voice, which is back the way I came. "Do you have any clue who I am?"
"Buffy. He called you Buffy." Nabald's voice is becoming clearer and more recognizable.
"Yes."
When he doesn't respond for a moment, I think I might have lost him until he speaks again, "Not *the* Buffy. . . Buffy Summers?"
"Got it in one, buddy."
"Such disrespect sounds odd coming out of your mouth, Miss Summers." Awe is evident in his next statement, "And if you're Buffy, . . . then, your companion must be. . . William the Bloody. Spike."
"Yes," I repeat, my other senses on edge. I keep moving the same direction.
"I hadn't realized he was still around. Thought he was long gone. And he's still with you. Wow. That's surprising. I never met him before, but I've heard tales. Heard he was really in love with that Drusilla chick. Must have taken her death pretty hard."
Got him. I reach into the inky darkness and grab Nabald's thick arm, pulling him into my field of vision and deftly flipping him onto his back.
On top of him, I defend my relationship with Spike, "Well, I don't see any woman hanging around you, so I must be doing something right."
One of his grey eyes winks at me, and he hefts me away. Using the push he has given me, I fall into a roll and am standing before he has a chance to hone in on me.
He lashes out at me first, and I stop his movement before he hits me, connecting a solid kick to his abdomen. Stumbling back, he chuckles in amusement. Striking out at me again, he lands a blow to my ribcage, and I grunt in response, flowing with the punch and falling into a cartwheel, so the impact is less. Ending up behind him, I attempt to kick his feet out from under him, but he is quick for being so big, and he sidesteps me. I block his next punch and kick with ease, all the while laying in some of my own.
Several minutes pass, and I begin to realize how evenly matched we are. We are each hitting our mark about the same number of times. My asset seems to be my speed and flexibility while his is strength. The blows he delivers are hard, and even in my blocks, I feel the impact of that strength in every fiber of my body.
While we are each regrouping, he grins at me. "Have you forgotten who I am, Miss Summers? I am a master vampire. . . older than even your William. I can promise this won't be an easy conquest for you."
We begin circling one another slowly like two giant cats waiting for the other to strike first.
"Nor do I expect it to be." I gesture at him to attack with both hands. "Bring it on."
"All right. You asked for it."
What he does next catches me completely off guard. He raises both hands toward me, and lightening flies from his fingertips. I narrowly miss being struck by the bolts as I tumble out of their path.
"What the hell?" I mutter to myself, jumping to my feet at the same time as his foot buries itself in my hip. I wince through the pain and take hold of his calf with both hands, dragging him down and dropping my stake.
After punching him in the face several times and drawing blood, I dive after my stake with the intent to properly stake him, but he hurtles his body on top of me, smashing and twisting my wrist with his weight. His blood drips in my hair, and I can feel the liquid running along my scalp. I shudder.
"Now what are you going to do, Miss Summers?" he whispers in my ear.
"What I want to know," I quip, figuring getting him to talk is my shot at overcoming him, "is how you did that nifty lightning bolt thingie."
"Magic."
"Where did *you* learn magic?"
"Had a little witch once. She taught me yoga and how to make a mean energy shake. And she taught me magic." His hands begin to rove over my body, and I feel his lips hovering over my neck.
When I recognize what he's doing, I almost shiver. In his blossoming arousal, his weight shifts, and I take advantage, using my legs to fling his weight over my head. I am up instantly and retrieve my stake with my non-mangled hand. Nabald remains on the ground, apparently a bit dazed and still aroused. I wrinkle my nose in disgust before flying at him.
Something in his face shifts at that moment, and he lets out a roar as lightning fires from his fingertips and lances through my body. The impact flings me back through the air. Crying out, I crumble to the dirt, cradling my stake to my chest. I lay unmoving, waiting for him to approach me. The faint smell of burnt flesh meets my nose; I'm definitely wounded.
He strides slowly toward me and leans to touch my shoulder. At that moment, I gather all my energy and spring upwards. With my smashed hand, I clasp at the stake and pull on the door handle above with my opposite hand. The heavy metal scrapes loudly as the door reluctantly gives in to my weight. Nabald screams when he realizes what's happening. I smile to myself.
And I see my first sunny day in over six hundred years.
TBC. . . still 2675. . . Thanks again for the wonderful reviews! You guys are really inspiring me to keep plugging away with this. And I'm actually really enjoying writing this! *g* :o)