We continue to disclaim, ladies and gents:
We are not now,nor have we ever been in league with Sata… Erm. We meant Mutant Enemy…
Author's Notes: Just quickly today, we'd like to thank all our feedbackers/reviewers (if
you didn't get a response from us--SORRY!! It's been kind of hectic of
late.), half nekkid jogger man who *WORKS* those lycra shorts, the
dialogue guru, whoever decided five days of work or school a week was plenty,
the umbrella-toting penguin, men who don't need the book, and Nina's very own
professor of chaos, B.
OH! Italics indicate a dream sequence-- Just in case... ;o)
***
Hips undulate against him as her voice purrs insidiously in his ear… "My boy, welcome home." Tiny, deadly hands urge him towards a door, towards home and hearth, and he knocks…
Small brown eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with tears still unshed,
wary, peaking up from the through the crack between door and frame. A
quick blink and then another before recognition opens both eyes and door
wide. Smiling now, wariness
turned to delight with arms raised, begging an embrace.
Four words float through the air, innocent utterance… blasphemy.
Pale eyes, blue as the blood her dress signifies, gleam with mirth. Tinkling
laughter, dark, malevolent, cuts through night air as an invitation is given.
Past table and hearth, casual strides carry death slowly through what was never a happy home. Tiny hands tug on larger, stronger ones and girlish chatter summons others from a distant room.
Blue eyes gleam from a disfigured face…
Followed by shrill screams and little arms, clutching desperately to long, muscled legs. Brown eyes gleam black with terror as defender becomes assailant. High-pitched wail fades into a gurgle- becomes silence as scarlet warmth sprays forth. Quick gulps of innocent nectar, then casually tossed aside.
Waiting.
Scowling already, harsh words, clipped tones urge silence before father
sees what wicked, crimson-mouthed creature stands before him.
Disbelieving eyes survey the morbid scene as he stands. Rooted to
the spot. Frozen… Calling forth
Saints oft denied with one breath, cursing that which he sowed with his last.
Two long strides and razor fangs are buried to the gums. Bitter blood, pours forth, down the throat in great, long swallows. No sounds, no struggle as life is drained away.
A swish of skirts, flurry of brown material as she takes flight.
Running to overtake her. One step, two steps, blood still dripping
from teeth in a face now human. Hands stained red grab long, dark hair.
Yank, then yank again before she tumbles to the ground. Too
hysterical to scream as he reaches down to her, smiling… Reassuring… Then grasping arms so hard they
bruise as hope vanishes and soft brown eyes flutter closed with a prayer.
Hands fisted through hair wrench her head to the side before biting
forcefully, devouring her essence as she screams…
Reveling, feasting, and as the scream dies with her, delighted laughter tinkles again in the air.
The body drops to the ground and long, dark hair morphs, becomes golden
and green eyes, flecked with gold, stare sightlessly at the sky from sockets
that once housed eyes of brown.
Confusion.
Green eyes again, no longer staring sightlessly, tenderly studying… Then pain. Flesh tearing as metal pierces flesh and bone. Sharp gasp and green-gold eyes shine mercy and pity upon him.
Tugging, pulling, force from behind as tears spill down the face of beauty, the face of mate.
Darker blonde, longer with eyes of green again. No pity in them
this time as they stare up at him. Tender again, but more… deeper. Love?
A kiss, a scream, hasty retreat, and time moves backwards.
Staring into familiar eyes… like a distorted mirror and a massive jolt
before sinking slowly.
Flash of blonde… No noble attire but still the pale eyes of blue staring up at him before crumbling to dust on a rain soaked street. Staring at a tiny life left behind… blasphemy.
Black/blue strands almost masking onyx eyes that look deep into his, power radiating in terrifying waves, an unknown woman shakes her finger from a distance.
Torment. Pain. Hell. What could only be hell.
No people, not like the priests had promised, but populated with hordes
of demons, delighting in his torture.
Mocking, maiming, never ending.
Struggling in vain, violently restrained as blue hands reach slowly out to touch petal soft skin, emerald eyes shimmer again with salty tears before slowly disintegrating over the sound of his screams.
Casting chocolate eyes heavenward, shock as black eyes sadly return his stare and ebony hair with streaks of shimmering blue swirls around a shaking head.
"It's not supposed to be this way," the interloper intones sagely before dissolving into light.
Tiny hands, tugging on larger broader ones and attention shifts.
Looking down, brown eyes lock with brown as a bloody, mangled throat forces out the question, "Are you an Angel?"
Drenched in sweat, Angel awoke with a start... Scrambling to sit up right, unmindful of the thin linen sheet that fell to his waist, revealing tense, perfectly muscled shoulders and a taut abdomen that housed a quivering, clenched stomach...
The screams echoing in the air quickly permeated the lingering haze of sleep as he scanned his surroundings, looking for whatever hapless creature was responsible for those desperate sounds of terror.
Attempting to call out, he realized his raw throat was already working...
Finally recognizing the screams as his own, he broke down, descending into bloody memories as the nightmare lingered.
***
"Wait just a minute," the blond held up her hands, trying to bring a halt to her younger sister's rambling. "You did what?!"
"Now, Coeur, calm down…"
"What the hell do you mean, calm down?! You sent our warrior, our 'half-crazy with guilt warrior,' a nightmare? About killing his family?"
"And Buffy sending him to hell," Eir muttered miserably, tucking a stray blue strand behind her ear.
"AND HELL? Were you trying to…"
"Oh, you know damn well that wasn't intentional," the tiny Goddess interrupted indignantly, drawing herself up to face off with her sibling, "It was supposed to be a… motivational… dream."
Turning their attention to the scrying wall, both Goddesses sighed as they studied the distraught vampire. Lying prostrate in the sunny field beside the villa, tears ran unchecked down his face as sobs wracked his body.
"Hey… Are you ogling half dressed men again?" Demetria called cheerfully as she strolled through the entryway, squinting at the scrying wall to see what had her sisters so engrossed. "Ooh, it's our Warrior… Has he become a sun worshipper already?"
At her sister's identical scowls, she held up both hands defensively, "Sheesh. What pissed…" She was cut off as Eir pulled her roughly across the room to the western wall. Rubbing sore wrists, she complained, "Now that was just rude…"
"Fix it!"
"What? Fix what? The Wall? Is it stuck again," she thumped the wall with a fist reflexively before staring more closely at the image, puzzled. "Wait, is he… He's crying?"
Eir rolled her eyes impatiently, "Glad you've finally caught on, Sherlock… Yes, he's crying! He's *been* crying."
"Why? What happened,"
genuinely concerned now, she looked from one sister to another for answers
before turning her attention back to the wall.
"Eir broke him," Coeur
said, leveling a angry glare at the shame-faced Goddess of Chaos.
"I did NOT!" she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand in embarrassment.
"He wasn't lying in a sunny meadow sobbing yesterday, now was he?"
Sparks danced from Eir's dark eyes as she fisted her hands and turned away from her accuser, leveling hopeful eyes on the sister still studying the vampire's image. Slowly, pleadingly, she repeated her mandate, "Fix. Him."
With a heavy sigh, Demetria seated herself on the plush carpeting, her eyes never leaving the vampire's face, "Tell me what happened."
After taking fifteen minutes to explain the details of the botched dream-walk to Demetria, the three sisters squabbled as to whether or not they could interfere directly with Angel's state of mind, finally agreeing that since they had inadvertently caused the harm, they could not be faulted for making things right again. And from there things quickly fell apart…
"Why do you hate me?" De groused.
"We do not hate you," Eir groaned as Coeur erupted in a fit of giggles.
"You *must* hate me… What other reason could you have for wanting to torture me?"
"Really, De. It's hardly torturous to bend a little time, go down to Earth, finesse an attractive demi-god, and do some of that pesky healing you're so good at," Coeur teased.
Gritting her teeth, the redhead glared at her sister, "You know it's not the healing that I have a problem with, sister. It's the finessing of the demi-god."
"Hey! I happen to like Loki. Not only is he hot, but he's also got a great job, and he's entertaining," Eir defended her erstwhile friend, while crinkling her forehead in confusion, "Come to think of it, I still don't understand why you broke up."
"Well, I'm devoting an entire chapter in my book about their particular type of relationship, but, since you *are* my sister, I suppose I can give you a little preview," Coeur magnanimously informed her youngest sibling in a stage whisper, sweeping strawberry locks off her face and enjoying the looks of discomfort and rapt attention displayed on her either of her sisters' faces. "As the story goes…"
"Oh no," Demetria interrupted forcefully. "The story does not go, There'll be no 'the story goes' today. In fact, there is no 'story going' at all! Not even a fable, or, or a snippet. Nope, no 'story goes' *ever*-- or bad, bad things will happen!"
"Oookay," Eir stared at Demetria, taking in the flushed appearance and fidgeting. Rarely did she see her sedate sister so…worked up. This rare treat was going a long way to brighten her day. It nearly made up for the way things had gone during her dreamwalk. Nearly. Deciding to take advantage of the singular occasion, she pressed on, "So, he was… bad in bed? We could fix that! Coeur could give him an advance copy of her book."
Blushing nearly as red as her hair, Demetria covered her eyes with both hands. Snickering gleefully, Coeur patted Eir's hand. "Loki doesn't need the book, sweetie," exchanging a mischievous wink with her ally, she continued, "He could probably help me write parts of it; couldn't he, De?"
"I told you before, I am *not* discussing this. *We* are not discussing this. And, really, why can't one of you talk to him?"
"Well, we could, I suppose," Eir conceded, "But I think he'd be more, um, agreeable if you were the one doing the asking… Besides, if I went, I'd have to tell him why we need the access and how you would have to be the one going to the actual meeting to help some guy, and then… Well, you know Loki. He's still a little… territorial. Poor Angel would be the butt of every cruel joke Loki could dream up," knowing just which buttons to push, she finished dramatically, "That would hardly be fair to Angel, now would it?"
"If I go, you know I'll just ask him for more gory details about the two of you," Coeur smirked, knowing the battle was already won, "and you know he'll tell me… Now, shoo… Go see your hunk of an ex and talk him into letting you preside over his little meeting tonight."
"Yeah," the youngest chimed in, "and don't forget to fix Soulboy for us!"
"But…" De sputtered, wondering how her lazy Sunday-off had morphed into an uncomfortable meeting between her and her ex.
"But nothing; go on now so I can fill Eir in on all the juicy gossip you've been holding out on." Waving a hand dismissively, Coeur settled into a chair and began to regale the baby of the family with tales of the ill-fated romance between the mischievous Norse demi-god and their reserved sister.
With a loud groan, De placed her hand to her throbbing temples and shimmered out of sight…
***
Angel found his way to the entrance of the underground tunnel Whistler had described. He glanced around before approaching in fear of being watched, it was only him and the sounds of the night around him. The branches of the trees above Angel sighed in a strong breeze and he headed for the underground passage.
He was thankful for vampiric sight as he weaved through the dark tunnels until a great hall loomed up in front of him. He took deep un-needed breath of cool, musty air, as he nervously waited for others to funnel inside in front of him. As he took his turn entering the hall, the vampire was stopped by an oversized Jinn who grabbed him by the collar.
"Name," the yellow skinned creature hissed, his eyes turning red.
"Fantome," Angel answered letting his demonic visage appear momentarily.
The demon quickly released Angel and averted his eyes, "I apologize, Master… I did not know. I am your servant."
Angel hesitated, by not punishing a sub-demon, he would call attention to himself… Roughly he pushed the demon down and hammer fisted him in the jaw.
"Don't let it happen again," he growled softly and entered the dimly lit hall. His vampiric senses went wild. He was surrounded by humans, demons, trolls, fairies, elves and hobgoblins…
'Jesus, Mary and St. Patrick save me,' he thought, the old Irish-Catholic rites filtering through his unconsciousness.
'A creature for every nightmare,' he muttered, desperately trying to forget his own as a petite woman ascended a small stage and began to speak,
"Keeper of Bones
We know thy face
But we shall yet,
Out strip thy pace
Tonight we gather
To raise your scythe
To collect our bounty
For another's life."
Power radiated off the arresting red headed woman as she raised a portrait above her head of a young man and turned so everyone in the crowd could see his features.
"Even now, he breathes his lastLet his death come to pass!"
Immediately the image of the man, his name, and other personal information was inscribed in the crowd's memory. With careful grace, the delicate female set down the portrait and turned towards the audience, her bright green eyes found his, and seemed to stare into Angel's soul, healing him with a loving glance as she smiled softly and disappeared. He noted to himself that she seemed to be outfitted in beige leather pants similar to what he was wearing as he followed the crowd of killers headed for the door. While he contemplated the strange woman's soothing power over him, her reassuring voice rang through his mind: "We are always with you."
TBC…
Our apologies today to:
Mischievous Norsemen Nightmare creatures great and small Assassins who resent being lumped in with the sort of riff raff that kills for sport Exes Devils in blue dresses Devils not in blue dresses Non-devils in blue dresses Blue Dresses for their ubiquitous association with devils… Any one reading this on FF.net who has to put up with the wonky spacing!We're sorry!
