Warning- This chapter contains a little bit of violence and strong language.
I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. I truly wish I did, so that they could go on forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever... but alas. *sniff sniff* I don't own any of the characters except for the obvious ones, and I'm just going to kill them all anyway, so what does it matter? All right, I'm just a fanficer and Joss is the greatest writer of all time. I am at his mercy, whenever he returns my posts. Ahem... Well, I suppose it is almost time we get...
On with the show.
::Stuff and Nonsense- Night in the City::
The girl laid back her head, breathless from the physical exertion. "You sure got some energy, sugar. I have a couple of friends who would probably like to take you on."
Michael chuckled and walked over to the window. He played with the lace that kept his pants from falling to his knees. "Maybe later. After you have had a nap, perhaps we can search them out and..." Michael gave the girl a lascivious look and, all but purred.
The girl tossed her head and laughed. "Like I need a nap."
Michael turned toward the girl and jumped on top of her. The chair she was sitting in, fell back into a reclined position and she gasped. "I like the way you start sentences with the word like." Michael nuzzled the girl's ear and bit the lobe.
The blonde gasped and squirmed. "You're ready to go, again? You just... oh!"
Michael licked the girl's neck and chuckled. "Did I find a sweet spot?"
"No. I mean, yes, but... There is a guy standing at the door. I can see him in my vanity mirror." The girl pulled Michael's head up away from her neck.
Michael scoffed at the gesture and looked over the chair, at the doorway. "Tim. Hello." Michael gave the boy a grin and waved him closer. "Join the fun? She's really easy and quite drunk."
The girl bucked frantically and took a swing at Michael's face. "Asshole!"
Michael leaned back, before the girl could connect with his face, and chuckled. "Maybe not so drunk as earlier, but she was pretty sloshed when I met her an hour ago."
"An hour ago? You've grown pretty easy yourself there, friend." Tim put his hand out for Michael to take, so he could help him up from the girl's lap. "Come on. We've got to talk."
Michael quirked an eyebrow and looked at the proffered hand. "You want to talk? It's been a while since you wanted to do that." He took the offer and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Where the devil is my shirt?"
The girl swiveled her chair and rested her elbows on her knees. She was dressed in little more than a strip of lace and she didn't seem too concerned about it. "The shirt is next to the bureau, where you threw it. Are you leaving already?"
Michael pulled his shirt over his chest and straightened it down his torso. "I got what I came for, darling." He slipped on his sandals that he had been wearing and blew the girl a kiss, as he headed out the door after his friend. The girl's shriek reached them out in the hallway.
"You might want to duck." Tim chuckled, as a blunt object flew past his head.
The videotape had narrowly missed Michael's head. He knew from experience that if Tim told you to do something, it was wise to follow the order. He looked up at his friend and back at the woman, who stood in the doorway. The girl slipped back into her apartment and slammed the door shut. "You humans are so very touchy."
Tim shrugged and helped the 'boy' to his feet. "You made her feel like a whore instead of a lover. She knew you both would never meet again, but she still wanted to feel... cherished."
Michael looked confused by this, but said nothing. Instead he just peered into his friend's eyes and shook his head.
"What?" Tim asked, in frustration.
"You will never forgive me, will you?" Michael's face had drawn into a tight expression.
Tim knew that a lot was probably riding on the way he answered this question. He decided to just stall, while he figured out the best way to do that. "Want a beer?"
Michael knew what the young man was doing, but ignored it. "Who's buying?"
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The bar was like any other skanky dive, in the area, but Michael decided it was acceptable.
Tim shivered when he felt eyes crawl along his back. "Somebody is staring at me. I'm not sure I feel comfortable here."
Michael turned and nodded at the man in the corner of the bar, cloaked by the darkness. "Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile. There are so many that possess the gift, nowadays. He must feel your mind." Michael watched his friend closely and sighed. "The fact that I could kill the man with a thought doesn't seem to settle your mind any. Would you like to leave?"
Tim shook his head and took a seat at the bar. "No. Let's get our drinks."
The bartender saw his new patrons and smirked. "You boys are a little young to be buying drinks, aren't you? How old are you boys?"
"Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó." Michael crossed his arms across his chest and stared at the man, indignantly.
The bartender snorted and shook his head. He didn't like to admit he didn't know what was being said to him, because it would make him out as ignorant, but he really wanted to know what the kid had been talking about. He waved his beefy palm at Michael and directed his question at the blonde boy. "What was that about?"
Tim bit his lip and shook his head. "What he means to say is that he is older than you would expect. He ages really well, that is."
Michael leaned forward on his stool and pointed at a Guinness. "I'll pay you twice what each swig is worth and still drink you under the table."
The bartender gave the young man a beer and grunted. "I don't drink 'em. I just serve 'em."
Michael grinned widely. "Then, do your civic duty and serve, my good fellow."
The bartender grunted again and turned to Tim. "What'll you have?"
Tim shrugged. "Screwdriver? More orange juice, than vodka. Capice?"
The bartender walked away mumbling about kids and their 'damn slang terms'.
Michael chuckled and knocked back his beer. "What's troubling you, friend?" He put his beer down on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Did you kill that young woman that they were talking about on the radio?" Tim looked Michael in the eyes and tried to feel what he was feeling; see what he was thinking.
"Did I invite you into my mind? That is sort of rude barging in there like that, don't you think? Damn all of you empaths and telepaths." Michael took another drink and hissed, when he felt another nudge in his mind. He mentally threw the boy out of his mind, which was about the equivalent of a mental ass kicking. "Is leor nod don eolach."
Tim slumped back in his seat and groaned. He rubbed his temples and tried to shake off the pain. "I'm sorry, but you didn't seemed inclined to answer me."
"I wasn't given the chance to answer. Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde." Michael turned in his chair and stared at the television that was set up in the corner of the room.
"You never were very patient, though." Tim rubbed the tension knots that were forming in the back of his neck and winced.
"I've been around since the continents were joined, and you presume to tell me that I've never been patient?" Michael took another drink and gripped the bottle, until his knuckles turned white.
"Why did you want to befriend me? I'm little more than a kid, and I don't know what is what, half of the time." Tim brushed his hair out of his eyes. "That guy is still watching me, isn't he?"
"Yes. I'm about to show him how I feel about that." Michael held up his bottle, by the rim, and slammed the bottom against the bar. He held up the broken bottle and grinned at the shards that stuck in his palm. "Pain is lovely."
Tim grimaced, as he looked at his friend's bloody hand. "I beg to differ."
"This body registers pain as pleasure. It's almost glorious." Michael turned sparkling eyes to the blonde man next to him. "Want to take a swing at me?"
Tim almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "You want me to hit you?"
"More to the point, I want you to break my nose." Michael leaned into his friend and chuckled. "Lets start a brawl." He breathed huskily. Michael realized Tim's uneasiness and leaned back, with a shrug. "Well, if you won't help me, I want you to stand back."
"Michael, don't star... Oh, shit!"
Michael pulled back his arm and threw the broken bottle at the man in the corner. The bottle hit the man's windpipe and blood squirted from the wound, around the glass. The man grabbed at his throat and gurgled a protest, before slumping forward and passing out, from the pain. Michael stood and walked over to the bloody. He kicked the head a couple of times and sighed. "Too easy. He passed out before he could feel his death."
The room had cleared out, except for a few patrons who were frozen in fear, and the bartender. The bartender grunted and sniffed, from behind the counter. "I knew you were trouble!" The burly man reached down and picked up a shotgun, from underneath the ledge. He had it hidden there for if an emergency came up and he was pretty sure that this constituted as an emergency. He aimed it at Michael's head and whistled low and deep.
Tim dove over the counter when he registered what was happening. He pressed his back against the counter and prayed to whoever's god, that something would stop this violence. His eye's squeezed shut and he gasped when he heard the shot ring out.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
~*~ "Cad is ainm duit?" The boy is so long and lean. He looks like a runner, and he feels like a person I can trust.
"Tim. How do you know Gaelic?"
"Tá áthas orm bualadh leat. How do you know Gaelic?" He has floppy gold hair that resembls the sun during the Spring. His eyes are like the sky. He is nice to look at, at least.
"I learned from my grandmother. She was a grandchild of a Celt."
"She was a witch?" It would make sense. The Celts were pagans, who practiced the art of death. This beautiful creature could only be born of another's death and suffering.
"She... was. How did you know?"
Too long of a story. You'll know soon enough, anyhow. "Would you be my..." What is the English word?
"What is the Gaelic word? I can help you translate."
My mental block wasn't up and he doesn't even realize he's read my mind. He would probably be embarrassed, if he knew. I'll let it go. "Cara."
"Oh! You want to be friends?"
Friends? It sounds nice. Yes, friends would be good. "What would I have to do to be your friend?"
"Nothing. I don't have qualifications. Just don't shun my lil' sis if I let her hang around, okay? That really bugs me. You have any brother's or sisters?"
That's all? I could be nice to a human child. "No. I am alone." More alone than you would understand... friend. ~*~
Connor mentally sighed, as these images wracked his brain. Who was this boy, Tim? Who's memories were these?
Why couldn't he remain friends with Tim? They had been so close for so long. The girl had been the only one to stand in between their happiness! She had to get ill, that weekend. If she had just stayed inside during that thunderstorm, he could have spent a few more days with his friend, without interruption. The change would have taken place and they would have been able to remain close.
What was he thinking? Who the hell was Tim and why the hell did it matter that he would never be able to...What type of relationship was this, anyway? Shit. He had to get out of this darkness. This prison was driving him insane. He was inventing storylines, and he was pretty sure he could taste blood.
If only he weren't so old, he could understand the sanctity of living things. He had seen so much death that the living held no wonder any longer. It was nothing special to be alive. All things lived, until they died. Neither really made much difference in the long run. Souls and spirits lived on and on. Bodies were mere dirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust? What would it be like to be dust of the earth? Or was it salt of the earth? No, that was a cewrain group who were made of salt... Why were humans so confusing?
Holy mother of Spike! God damn this all to Hell! What in heaven's name was going on in his head? Was he alive? He damn well couldn't feel his toes, but for some reason he felt his heartbeat. It wasn't a physical feeling, so much as a mental feeling that it was still going, but... Nothing made sense! Why...
"Damn it, boy, shut up! I will let you free when I get what I came for."
Connor would have cringed if he were capable. Who is that?
"It's God, you stupid fuck. Now, shut up."
Wow, Connor thought confusedly, When had God started using the 'f' word?
TBC
-Hmm... The evil people will be confiscating my DSL, for the time being, but I'll still try to find ways to post. I'm crafty like that. Anyway, please review.-
--The subtitle was Night in the City by ELO--
---Gaelic translations---
Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile- A beatle recognises another beatle
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó- As old as the mist and older by two
Is leor nod don eolach- A hint is sufficient for the wise
Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde- Beware of the anger of a patient man.
Cad is ainm duit?- What is your name?
Tá áthas orm bualadh leat- Nice to meet you.
I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. I truly wish I did, so that they could go on forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever... but alas. *sniff sniff* I don't own any of the characters except for the obvious ones, and I'm just going to kill them all anyway, so what does it matter? All right, I'm just a fanficer and Joss is the greatest writer of all time. I am at his mercy, whenever he returns my posts. Ahem... Well, I suppose it is almost time we get...
On with the show.
::Stuff and Nonsense- Night in the City::
The girl laid back her head, breathless from the physical exertion. "You sure got some energy, sugar. I have a couple of friends who would probably like to take you on."
Michael chuckled and walked over to the window. He played with the lace that kept his pants from falling to his knees. "Maybe later. After you have had a nap, perhaps we can search them out and..." Michael gave the girl a lascivious look and, all but purred.
The girl tossed her head and laughed. "Like I need a nap."
Michael turned toward the girl and jumped on top of her. The chair she was sitting in, fell back into a reclined position and she gasped. "I like the way you start sentences with the word like." Michael nuzzled the girl's ear and bit the lobe.
The blonde gasped and squirmed. "You're ready to go, again? You just... oh!"
Michael licked the girl's neck and chuckled. "Did I find a sweet spot?"
"No. I mean, yes, but... There is a guy standing at the door. I can see him in my vanity mirror." The girl pulled Michael's head up away from her neck.
Michael scoffed at the gesture and looked over the chair, at the doorway. "Tim. Hello." Michael gave the boy a grin and waved him closer. "Join the fun? She's really easy and quite drunk."
The girl bucked frantically and took a swing at Michael's face. "Asshole!"
Michael leaned back, before the girl could connect with his face, and chuckled. "Maybe not so drunk as earlier, but she was pretty sloshed when I met her an hour ago."
"An hour ago? You've grown pretty easy yourself there, friend." Tim put his hand out for Michael to take, so he could help him up from the girl's lap. "Come on. We've got to talk."
Michael quirked an eyebrow and looked at the proffered hand. "You want to talk? It's been a while since you wanted to do that." He took the offer and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Where the devil is my shirt?"
The girl swiveled her chair and rested her elbows on her knees. She was dressed in little more than a strip of lace and she didn't seem too concerned about it. "The shirt is next to the bureau, where you threw it. Are you leaving already?"
Michael pulled his shirt over his chest and straightened it down his torso. "I got what I came for, darling." He slipped on his sandals that he had been wearing and blew the girl a kiss, as he headed out the door after his friend. The girl's shriek reached them out in the hallway.
"You might want to duck." Tim chuckled, as a blunt object flew past his head.
The videotape had narrowly missed Michael's head. He knew from experience that if Tim told you to do something, it was wise to follow the order. He looked up at his friend and back at the woman, who stood in the doorway. The girl slipped back into her apartment and slammed the door shut. "You humans are so very touchy."
Tim shrugged and helped the 'boy' to his feet. "You made her feel like a whore instead of a lover. She knew you both would never meet again, but she still wanted to feel... cherished."
Michael looked confused by this, but said nothing. Instead he just peered into his friend's eyes and shook his head.
"What?" Tim asked, in frustration.
"You will never forgive me, will you?" Michael's face had drawn into a tight expression.
Tim knew that a lot was probably riding on the way he answered this question. He decided to just stall, while he figured out the best way to do that. "Want a beer?"
Michael knew what the young man was doing, but ignored it. "Who's buying?"
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The bar was like any other skanky dive, in the area, but Michael decided it was acceptable.
Tim shivered when he felt eyes crawl along his back. "Somebody is staring at me. I'm not sure I feel comfortable here."
Michael turned and nodded at the man in the corner of the bar, cloaked by the darkness. "Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile. There are so many that possess the gift, nowadays. He must feel your mind." Michael watched his friend closely and sighed. "The fact that I could kill the man with a thought doesn't seem to settle your mind any. Would you like to leave?"
Tim shook his head and took a seat at the bar. "No. Let's get our drinks."
The bartender saw his new patrons and smirked. "You boys are a little young to be buying drinks, aren't you? How old are you boys?"
"Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó." Michael crossed his arms across his chest and stared at the man, indignantly.
The bartender snorted and shook his head. He didn't like to admit he didn't know what was being said to him, because it would make him out as ignorant, but he really wanted to know what the kid had been talking about. He waved his beefy palm at Michael and directed his question at the blonde boy. "What was that about?"
Tim bit his lip and shook his head. "What he means to say is that he is older than you would expect. He ages really well, that is."
Michael leaned forward on his stool and pointed at a Guinness. "I'll pay you twice what each swig is worth and still drink you under the table."
The bartender gave the young man a beer and grunted. "I don't drink 'em. I just serve 'em."
Michael grinned widely. "Then, do your civic duty and serve, my good fellow."
The bartender grunted again and turned to Tim. "What'll you have?"
Tim shrugged. "Screwdriver? More orange juice, than vodka. Capice?"
The bartender walked away mumbling about kids and their 'damn slang terms'.
Michael chuckled and knocked back his beer. "What's troubling you, friend?" He put his beer down on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Did you kill that young woman that they were talking about on the radio?" Tim looked Michael in the eyes and tried to feel what he was feeling; see what he was thinking.
"Did I invite you into my mind? That is sort of rude barging in there like that, don't you think? Damn all of you empaths and telepaths." Michael took another drink and hissed, when he felt another nudge in his mind. He mentally threw the boy out of his mind, which was about the equivalent of a mental ass kicking. "Is leor nod don eolach."
Tim slumped back in his seat and groaned. He rubbed his temples and tried to shake off the pain. "I'm sorry, but you didn't seemed inclined to answer me."
"I wasn't given the chance to answer. Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde." Michael turned in his chair and stared at the television that was set up in the corner of the room.
"You never were very patient, though." Tim rubbed the tension knots that were forming in the back of his neck and winced.
"I've been around since the continents were joined, and you presume to tell me that I've never been patient?" Michael took another drink and gripped the bottle, until his knuckles turned white.
"Why did you want to befriend me? I'm little more than a kid, and I don't know what is what, half of the time." Tim brushed his hair out of his eyes. "That guy is still watching me, isn't he?"
"Yes. I'm about to show him how I feel about that." Michael held up his bottle, by the rim, and slammed the bottom against the bar. He held up the broken bottle and grinned at the shards that stuck in his palm. "Pain is lovely."
Tim grimaced, as he looked at his friend's bloody hand. "I beg to differ."
"This body registers pain as pleasure. It's almost glorious." Michael turned sparkling eyes to the blonde man next to him. "Want to take a swing at me?"
Tim almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "You want me to hit you?"
"More to the point, I want you to break my nose." Michael leaned into his friend and chuckled. "Lets start a brawl." He breathed huskily. Michael realized Tim's uneasiness and leaned back, with a shrug. "Well, if you won't help me, I want you to stand back."
"Michael, don't star... Oh, shit!"
Michael pulled back his arm and threw the broken bottle at the man in the corner. The bottle hit the man's windpipe and blood squirted from the wound, around the glass. The man grabbed at his throat and gurgled a protest, before slumping forward and passing out, from the pain. Michael stood and walked over to the bloody. He kicked the head a couple of times and sighed. "Too easy. He passed out before he could feel his death."
The room had cleared out, except for a few patrons who were frozen in fear, and the bartender. The bartender grunted and sniffed, from behind the counter. "I knew you were trouble!" The burly man reached down and picked up a shotgun, from underneath the ledge. He had it hidden there for if an emergency came up and he was pretty sure that this constituted as an emergency. He aimed it at Michael's head and whistled low and deep.
Tim dove over the counter when he registered what was happening. He pressed his back against the counter and prayed to whoever's god, that something would stop this violence. His eye's squeezed shut and he gasped when he heard the shot ring out.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
~*~ "Cad is ainm duit?" The boy is so long and lean. He looks like a runner, and he feels like a person I can trust.
"Tim. How do you know Gaelic?"
"Tá áthas orm bualadh leat. How do you know Gaelic?" He has floppy gold hair that resembls the sun during the Spring. His eyes are like the sky. He is nice to look at, at least.
"I learned from my grandmother. She was a grandchild of a Celt."
"She was a witch?" It would make sense. The Celts were pagans, who practiced the art of death. This beautiful creature could only be born of another's death and suffering.
"She... was. How did you know?"
Too long of a story. You'll know soon enough, anyhow. "Would you be my..." What is the English word?
"What is the Gaelic word? I can help you translate."
My mental block wasn't up and he doesn't even realize he's read my mind. He would probably be embarrassed, if he knew. I'll let it go. "Cara."
"Oh! You want to be friends?"
Friends? It sounds nice. Yes, friends would be good. "What would I have to do to be your friend?"
"Nothing. I don't have qualifications. Just don't shun my lil' sis if I let her hang around, okay? That really bugs me. You have any brother's or sisters?"
That's all? I could be nice to a human child. "No. I am alone." More alone than you would understand... friend. ~*~
Connor mentally sighed, as these images wracked his brain. Who was this boy, Tim? Who's memories were these?
Why couldn't he remain friends with Tim? They had been so close for so long. The girl had been the only one to stand in between their happiness! She had to get ill, that weekend. If she had just stayed inside during that thunderstorm, he could have spent a few more days with his friend, without interruption. The change would have taken place and they would have been able to remain close.
What was he thinking? Who the hell was Tim and why the hell did it matter that he would never be able to...What type of relationship was this, anyway? Shit. He had to get out of this darkness. This prison was driving him insane. He was inventing storylines, and he was pretty sure he could taste blood.
If only he weren't so old, he could understand the sanctity of living things. He had seen so much death that the living held no wonder any longer. It was nothing special to be alive. All things lived, until they died. Neither really made much difference in the long run. Souls and spirits lived on and on. Bodies were mere dirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust? What would it be like to be dust of the earth? Or was it salt of the earth? No, that was a cewrain group who were made of salt... Why were humans so confusing?
Holy mother of Spike! God damn this all to Hell! What in heaven's name was going on in his head? Was he alive? He damn well couldn't feel his toes, but for some reason he felt his heartbeat. It wasn't a physical feeling, so much as a mental feeling that it was still going, but... Nothing made sense! Why...
"Damn it, boy, shut up! I will let you free when I get what I came for."
Connor would have cringed if he were capable. Who is that?
"It's God, you stupid fuck. Now, shut up."
Wow, Connor thought confusedly, When had God started using the 'f' word?
TBC
-Hmm... The evil people will be confiscating my DSL, for the time being, but I'll still try to find ways to post. I'm crafty like that. Anyway, please review.-
--The subtitle was Night in the City by ELO--
---Gaelic translations---
Aithníonn ciaróg ciaróg eile- A beatle recognises another beatle
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó- As old as the mist and older by two
Is leor nod don eolach- A hint is sufficient for the wise
Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde- Beware of the anger of a patient man.
Cad is ainm duit?- What is your name?
Tá áthas orm bualadh leat- Nice to meet you.