From : Chihuahua
Date : 30th March 2003
Disclaimer : I don't own any of the TRA:JQ characters and neither do I own any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No money is made out of this fic. Don't sue me as I'm not sure I can afford Ally McBeal.
Category : A, JJ-HR, DBN-HR, F, E, JQ/Buffy Crossover
Rating : Parental guidance is advised.
Author's note : This takes place after Season 2 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This is my account on what happens and is based fully on my own creativity.
Archiver's Permission: Granted to those who want it. Just inform me on where it can be found.
CHAPTER 5: MIND GAMES"I see that the boy is still enamoured with you," mused the dark imposing figure, a smile spreading on his pale face. "It's an advantage… a rare one indeed."
Jessie remained silent, not wanting to anger her lord, and yet feeling a sense of deep guilt.
Her silence piqued his interest. "Your soul makes you weak, vulnerable to the boy's charms," he spat, rage flickering in his eyes.
"I will not fail you," Jessie insisted, her temper beginning to fray. Daerian's suspicion and doubts were beginning to annoy her immensely.
"Your soul might!"
"I control my soul!" She received a grunt in response. "Why are you so nervous?" she asked, her eyebrow arched.
"Nervous? Why
would I be nervous?" came his typical response.
Why couldn't he just
answer a simple question? Why did he always have to answer with another
question?
"You tell me," Jessie said artfully.
There was a sudden blur, and Jessie suddenly felt herself flying backwards. Her back slammed hard against a hard surface, a wall. She gazed now into his feral amber eyes, eyes of a killer.
"Don't play games with me, little girl," he spat now, his accent a little more distinct than it usually was.
"I'm not playing anything!" Jessie hissed back, choking slightly, not because she needed air, but because his vice-like grip was squeezing her windpipe, making it hard for her to speak.
His grip did not loosen. His features lost their demonic appearance, which he loathed to show but his strength did not ebb away.
"Darlin', let her go," cooed a velvety voice, its coquettish tone unmistakeable. "She may yet prove useful." Prumiva flashed Jessie a toothy smile, her lips drawn back to expose her ivory fangs. 'Wouldn't you, dearie?"
His fingers relaxed, and Jessie slipped down, her hands testing her tender throat.
"We'll be keeping an eye on you, dear," Prumiva said, her slender hands luring Daerian along to their chambers.
"Nothing new there," Jessie muttered. She peered out of a barred window. The sun was just beginning to rise, its first bright rays caressing the horizon.
"Till next time, Jonny." She was adamant.
***
The mists cleared, revealing their concealed wonders. It was all different this time. There was no Oriental garden, no bright sun. There wasn't even the sweet scent of blooming blossoms.
Twilight engulfed him, the rich dark velvet of the heavens emblazoned boldly with generous dustings of stars. Warm gentle waves washed over his bare legs and his feet felt the smooth pebbles under them. The air was tangy, saturated with the salty smell of the sea and the rich fragrance of ripening Mediterranean olives.
"Isle of Mykonos?" Jonny asked, feeling the warm ocean breeze in his hair.
"Another special memory," came the confirmation.
"Our first time," he said fondly. He turned slowly to see her standing behind him, glorious as a nymph.
Her lustrous hair was tossed gently in the wind, her skin still a deathly ivory.
"Why is it that I can never remember you as you once were?" he asked. "As in when you were alive?"
"This isn't a memory. The setting may be, but this is our bond."
"So I can't just dream you up in anything I want?"
"No. I'm dead, Jonny, you'll have to deal with it."
She waded closer to him, the bright wrap she had fastened seductively around her waist floating about her as she ventured into deeper waters.
"You look almost exactly as I remembered you," she whispered, taking in his lean frame. "You're even wearing the same shorts." She looked at his black surfer shorts with the purple tribal motives.
He laughed softly. "You look different. Paler."
They were kissing now, the clear water rippling around them.
"Why are you doing this?" she breathed. "Why are you following me?"
"Because I love you."
"Then set me free."
"I will."
"Then go away. Leave!" she said, stepping aside.
"Not yet. Not until we're finished," he said, his obstinate streak returning.
She laughed bitterly. "Are you blind?" she demanded. "We are finished! I died! That's about as finished as it can get!"
"Your soul is still here."
"My soul's here. Trapped in this!" She morphed, her face turning feral. "Is this what you wanted? To see me like this?"
"I'll free you!" he yelled.
"How?" she yelled back, but he was gone. The link was severed.
***
"You always fall for evil chicks?" Buffy's voice greeted him as he returned from his spiritual conference.
"I thought you were in the shower," he said, worried about how much she may have seen.
"Just came out. So, about my question…"
"No, that would be my brother," Jonny replied, a crooked smile stretching on his face.
"How evil?"
"A daughter of a megalomaniac, a succubus, some crackheads and a nut who wanted to overthrow his kingdom by killing its heir." Jonny struck off each one with a finger.
"His kingdom? What's he, like royalty or something?"
"Pretty much. The sole heir to a country in India."
"Does that make you some kinda Arabic sheikh or something?" Her interest was definitely piqued.
Jonny shook his head. "Just a normal everyday guy," he said, in a somewhat rueful tone. "With Slayer credentials," he added. "I'd give it all up, just to…"
"She really did a number on you, huh?"
He simply nodded. "Enough about me, what about you. You running from your own demons too?"
"I killed my boyfriend," she said, her tone blunt and abrupt.
Jonny raised an eyebrow, his tone rather unsure. "You did what?"
"I killed him. He was a vampire, he wanted to destroy humanity, so I had to kill him." Her tone was factual, devoid of any humanity.
"But how…?"
"He had a soul… he was cursed with it by some gypsies he dissed. He lost it when he experienced a moment of true happiness…" She trailed off, somewhat embarrassed.
Jonny nodded in understanding. "Well, from one necrophile to another, welcome to the club." He smiled.
"A what?"
"It just means that we screw dead people," he quipped.
Her face was a mask of scandalous rage, and then she laughed. "I guess we are twisted in a way."
"Oh yeah! It's so perverse, let's never think of it this way again!"
"Deal," she said, holding out a hand.
"Deal," he affirmed, slapping her a high five.
"I'm turning in. We're gonna need to get jobs to continue living here. I mean, it's not much, but it sure as Hell beats living on the streets." She jumped into bed, pulling up the covers.
"Yeah." He curled up in his corner.
***
Jessie was startled from her slumber by a cold touch on her neck. She recognised that icy touch anywhere and rolled over to face Daerian. His form was a shadowy darkness against the gloom of her cell. Even so, she could see his dark intense eyes and his dark hair that was perfectly coiffed.
"What do you want?" she demanded, angered by her rude awakening.
She could see his smile, a flash of white against the gloom. "You're a radiant one, aren't you?" he asked, moving closer to her. Close enough for her to smell his musky scent.
"Yeah, I'm a real firecracker!" she shot back, ready to fend him off.
"Why the resistance, my dear?" he coaxed.
"One, because you're involved. Two, because I'm not interested!"
His featured clouded over. Anger furrowed his brow. "Am I not your master?" he roared.
"That you may be, but I'm not your slave! You don't own me!" Jessie spat back, her brazen poise accentuated by her flashing emerald eyes.
"It's that boy, isn't it? That Slayer-pup!" Daerian fumed, his chest heaving with his anger. "You still love him. Your heart is still his!"
"My heart's my own. And he isn't a pup!"
"Oh no, my mistake," Daerian said in mock regret. "He's a full-grown man, young but nevertheless a man."
"At least he'll always be a better man than you ever were!" she snapped.
Daerian's handsome features contorted with rage. "Am I not better than him? Am I not more powerful than he'll ever be? How is he better?" he raged.
"He's him." Her answer was curt, but her words resounded deep into Daerian's mind. "And you'll never be him. You're nothing like him!"
Daerian smiled a knowing smile, his eyes taunting her. "Oh, but I am him, in so many ways."
Jessie stared incredulously at him. "How?" she enquired.
"That's a tale for another night." He swept out of her cell, his jacket flapping.
"Curious aren't you, dear?" That light fluttery voice echoed off the thick walls. As if borne of darkness, Prumiva stepped out of the shadows, her raven curls a bouncing mass. "How can my handsome brute compare to your pup?" Her smile contained that same knowing bravado as Daerian's.
Jessie bit back her temper. She sensed the vampire's ageless wisdom and brutality. Even as she watched now, that porcelain mask of fragile beauty barely hid the underlying cruelty. She nodded. "Tell me."
"Better yet, I'll show you," the sultry temptress said, pulling out a crystal vial of clear liquid. Her bangles jangled a little with her movements. "Drink it, and all will be shown."
"What is it?" Jessie asked, reaching for the vial, but uncertain about the water-like substance that flowed freely inside.
"A potent blend of herbs. It has a dulling effect on the nerves, and you will find it easier to lose yourself in the story."
"You mean it pretty much acts like a tranquilliser with the kick of pot?" Jessie asked, still suspicious.
"More or less. Now drink it."
Jessie complied and downed the entire vial. The liquid burned her throat as if she had just swallowed a mouthful of flaming liquid. Jessie writhed for a second in agony, and then the pain disappeared. She felt a soothing sensation overtake her senses, lulling her off to sleep. Her vision blurred a little and all movement seemed to have a slow motion effect as Prumiva's movements slowed down into a hypnotic trance-like state.
***
455 DC, ASHQELON
A rugged young man slid off the soft bed silently, his naked form catching the dim lights of the multiple candles of animal fat that were placed all around the room. He gazed once more at the luxury that surrounded him; the lavish Indian drapes that hung at the windows, the silk tapestries that hung from each wall, stretching from wall to ceiling. The bed he had lain on was laid down with soft linens and beautiful furs, littered with soft down pillows. It was a far cry from his stone bed.
"Going so soon?" a voice brought him back to reality.
"I fear that your master will soon be home," he replied artfully, nodding at the deepening shadows. He clutched his modest toga and slipped it on, cinching his belt at the waist.
The woman nodded thoughtfully. "Yet again, I thank you for your services."
"It was my pleasure, as I hoped it was yours, mistress," he replied hastily. He often felt uncomfortable when his clients studied him so closely, as the woman was as she took in his boyish features. He was just nineteen summers old, a strong youth with dark curly hair and deep-set brown eyes that melted many hearts. His skin was smooth and a deep tan all over, stretched over a sinewy body that was considered slender by many.
She smiled languidly and nodded. "Eurythes will have your payment ready for you," she said, getting dressed herself. She had dismissed him, like the whore he was.
He nodded and made his exit. He collected his small fee of money and set off for his next client. He made a quick detour to the place that he considered home. The baths was a recreational venue for many of the city's privileged men, as it provided them a place to relax and socialise among themselves. It was also a place where many sought the companionship of alien ladies.
He glanced at the sign chiselled into the doorway of the baths, reading the familiar text for the millionth time in his life: 'Enter and Enjoy'. The Greek inscription had been the first thing he had learnt to read, taught by one of the bath's regulars, an elderly colonel who frequented his mother's quarters.
As he had learnt from a very early stage, the baths were not simply a place of relaxation, they were a place of unbridled lust and the whores, his mother included, often 'entertained' strange men in exchange for money. The back of the baths had been converted into different stalls, each quarter consisting of a stone bed and hardly anything else. Here, the men satisfied their lust and often left behind their comments on the walls.
As he walked down the corridors now, he saw the various belongings of the visitors in the lockers. Above, were mosaic designs depicting various erotic poses and pictures. He had studied these pictures many times over the years as his mother was 'working'.
His mother had been a popular choice amongst the men and had therefore been granted many gifts. As a result, the old colonel, his father, had arranged with the pimp to allow her to raise her son and he was willing to pay him an undisclosed amount per month. The money had allowed her to keep and raise her son, although it did not pay for much else.
Walking into the cell he shared with her now, he dropped a few coins onto the bed where she lay, recovering from her last job. "Here's enough for some bread and cheap wine," he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the head. He grimaced at the reek of manly sweat that still clung to her.
She smiled and nodded. She had never asked where the money came from, for fear that her son might decide to lie to her.
He nodded and exited the cell, disgusted at the moans and grunts he heard all around him. The stench of lovemaking was pungent all around, mingling with the sweet heady smell of opium. It was a smell that he was familiar with, and yet it sickened him.
He hated the life, and yet he knew that it was their only chance for survival. The social structure was a rigid stigma that was impossible to break. Prostitutes and their children had no other place in society. Ashqelon was a modern city, a bustling city or traders and merchants and all trades. Even now in the early hours of twilight, many traders still opened their stalls, promoting their wares shamelessly.
He sighed as he saw the slave trader, seeing his collection of slaves. He pitied the children behind the bars. He was free unlike them, although his profession made him no better in the eyes of society. A hypocritical society that used its whores and gigolos ardently and persecuted them relentlessly.
He was discreet about his doings; the exploitation of the body of a boy or man for sexual gratification was outlawed. Christianity was still a young religion, and although its powers were growing, many still adhered to the old customs.
His sharp eyes caught sight of a well-dressed gentleman standing alone by the sidewalk. The man signalled him over with a quick nod. He led him behind a building, hidden from the view of the public.
"How much to make you my bitch?" the man asked arrogantly, his hand loosening the girdle of his fine tunic.
He bit back this indignant remark and answered as humble as possible, "Six solidi, sir, and I am yours for your enjoyment."
The man contemplated it for a minute, and then nodded, gesturing for him to follow him into the shadows. "Come here, my bitch!" he commanded. Suddenly, he lunged forward, fingers looking more like deadly talons and eyes blazing with feral lust.
Daerian stepped back and slammed a stake into the man's chest, waiting for the satisfactory whoosh that followed a well-aimed stake through the chest.
"Stupid thing!" he spat, kicking at the clod of dirt that lay on the ground. He stuck his stake back into its hiding place and left the alley.
Daerian had been slaying the undead for a few years now, ever since he had learnt of his gifts when he was thirteen. Even at that young age he had been a popular gigolo, although more frequently used as a serving boy in the households of the rich on certain occasions. His mother's pimp had doubled as his agent, 'renting' the boy out to supplement his income.
***
Daerian tipped the sparkling crystal canter, filling the empty goblet with deep ruby liquid. The rich floral bouquet of the heady wine wafted to his nostrils, enticing him with its richness. Ignoring his desire, he smiled at the noble lord before taking a few steps back, away from the man's grasping hand, which had a while ago been fondling him.
As he returned to his corner, he saw the man wink briefly at him, before making a lewd motion with his hands under the table where others would not spy them. Daerian's eyes roved the vast dining room for the umpteenth time that night, taking in the scenario. A dozen or more young serving boys such as himself were positioned strategically around the immense dining table that seemed to be over laden with meats of such a variety that he didn't even know existed. Slabs of bread littered the table, crumbs scattered on the floor. Noblemen from many places were seated around the table, helping themselves to enormous portions of food, talking and laughing as wine was poured unbidden.
He hurried forward to refill yet another goblet, the fragrant aroma of the wine engulfing his senses, dulling them. In his stupor, he accidentally overfilled the cup, spilling some of the wine on the robes of a nobleman. The deep garnet drops stained the man's pale robes.
"I'm so sorry, sir," he apologised profusely, very aware of the horrors that awaited him for his carelessness. "I'm so sorry…"
The man smiled at him and rose a hand to settle the host who had risen from his seat in anger at having been embarrassed by a serving boy in front of all his guests. His features were contorted with rage but he returned to his seat.
"There is no need for anger, Pericoples," the gentleman advised. "It's just a small stain," he reassured Daerian, who was still trying to sponge out the stain. The man looked pointedly at his host and said, "If I may borrow the boy for a while to help me clean this stain?"
The host nodded, his glare intently focused on Daerian.
Daerian followed the man out of the dining hall, his heart racing. He wasn't sure if the man would whip him for soiling his robe. Suddenly, the man stopped, and pulled him into a silent hallway.
"Strip!" he commanded, his hands already tugging at Daerian's simple toga.
Hesitant at first, but spurned by his fear of what was to come, Daerian did as he was told. He stood nervously in front of the man, naked. The man began a thorough inspection of his body, until suddenly, he gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"You may get dressed," he said kindly now, handing Daerian his toga, which the boy immediately slipped on, embarrassed by his nakedness. "You're the one I've been searching for."
"Why have you been searching for me?" Daerian asked cautiously, afraid of provoking any anger.
"This." His finger pressed on a spot on Daerian's back, just slightly above his left shoulder blade. "The mark of the Slayer."
"What mark?"
The man presented a small silver mirror and angled it behind Daerian so that he could see the mark in question.
"A birthmark? That's my birthright?" Daerian demanded incredulously.
"It's not just a birthmark, it's the mark of the Slayer, of your lineage anyway. Notice the shape of it, somewhat like a shapeless bird?"
"It looks like a shapeless blob to me. Look, if you wanted me to perform any favours for you, sir…"
"I do not require any 'favours' from you, you arrogant wretch… I require you to trust me," the older man blustered, turning red.
"You want me to trust a nameless stranger I'm just appointed to serve at a banquet?"
"You forget your place, slave!" the gentleman thundered. Then he simmered down, suppressing his rage. "If you must, my name is Antius, son of Laeson. I've been sent to you from the Watcher's Council, to monitor your progress and to further train you, to enable you to hone your hidden talents to their maximum potential."
"What hidden talents?"
Without a word, Antius suddenly unsheathed an ornate dagger from his robes and lunged at the boy. Daerian moved in towards the dagger, veering off course at the last possible moment. Using the heel of his palm, he struck Antius on his inner forearm, following with sharp wrench of the dagger, tossing the weapon aside before felling the man onto his back, straddling him with a fist poised to punch.
Antius laughed, his breath smelt of wine and beef. "You're ready, my boy. Yes you are."
Daerian didn't budge, still mistrusting the fallen man. "You tried to kill me!"
"It was merely a test to test your level of competence," Antius protested, struggling to get up. "To show how prepared you were."
"How prepared I was to save myself? In that case, I'm very prepared… but I still don't understand."
"I'll explain better if you let me up."
Daerian complied, getting off the man, but making no attempt to assist him. "Speak fast, we've been gone long enough and I must return to my duties, as you to your feast."
"Fair enough, but I'll need longer than a few minutes, so will you meet me before sunset tomorrow in the market square?"
Daerian nodded and followed to man back to the dining hall. He began his duties of a slave boy immediately, refilling goblet after goblet, subjecting himself to the blind groping of drunken men.
The sun was low on the horizon, its dying rays colouring the sky a multitude of colours, the chromatic wonders seemingly a celestial masterpiece. Daerian swept his surroundings with a casual gaze, searching for Antius.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, shifting the shoulder length strands away from his face. His blue toga flapped gently in the warm zephyrs and he wished he had brought something warmer along as the temperature was dropping.
He caught sight of the man just as the sun sank beneath the horizon, and darkness swallowed the world.
"You're late," he said curtly, no longer using the humble tone he had been brought up to use. He sensed that he had a hold over this man and he would not have to put up with any disrespect.
Antius flushed, but he bit back his words. He handed Daerian a sharp wooden stake, freshly sharpened as the crude splinters bit into Daerian's hand as he gripped it.
"This is all you will need for tonight," Antius said, acknowledging the stake.
"What's it for?"
"You'll see."
Daerian glared obstinately at the man. "Tell me or this meeting is over." His threat worked, as he had suspected, this meeting was of much importance.
"Fine. But you must follow me," Antius reasoned.
"Fair enough. Lead the way," Daerian said, his tone more courteous now.
He followed the man through the deepening darkness, the streets occasionally lighted up by glowing torches that also provided some heat. At last, they stopped.
"Where are we?" Daerian asked, his grip tightening on his stake. "What are we doing here?"
"Work."
Daerian twirled the stake he had been given idly, still puzzled. The sun had set a while back, and Antius was yet to show him what was so damn important in a cemetery. He listened intently, feeling a strange sensation surge through his body as he heard a strange scraping. It almost seemed subterranean, the scratching getting clearer now.
A moment later, the earth erupted from under him, a pair of clawed hands barely missing his ankles. Daerian threw himself backwards, landing neatly on his hands before flipping over. Subconsciously, the stake had become an integral part of his weaponry, poised for the kill.
The pair of hands had managed to pull about half of the creature's torso out of the fresh earth. Yellow eyes glinted at him, as a feral growl was unleashed.
"Stake him!" Antius ordered, appearing from behind a tombstone.
Drawing a deep breath, Daerian lunged in with a hard kick to the creature's head before plunging the stake into its chest. The ugly apparition howled into the night, a cry of pure anguish and raw rage.
"Again! This time, aim for the heart!" Antius snapped.
"I did!"
"Stab him on the left side!"
Daerian nodded and quickly withdrew the stake, and plunged it in again, this time hitting home as the snarling beast erupted in an explosion of dust.
"You're getting there." The comment was dry, devoid of any expression.
Daerian whirled around, anger etched on his features. "What the hell is going on here?" he snapped, picking up the fallen stake and pointing it at Antius, barely inches away from piercing the older man's chest.
"You're the Destined." Antius' deadpanned non-explanatory.
Daerian pushed the stake closer, the splintered end grazing Antius' heaving chest. "Explain that or I'll…" He exerted some pressure on the stake, the tip punctuating his meaning.
Antius breathed deeply, regretting it immediately as he let out a gasp of pain. "You're the Destined One of your generation to stand up against the forces of darkness. That's your sole birthright, to hunt down and slay every single last vampire and demon that stands in your path till the day you die."
A wistful look of satisfaction crossed Daerian's face. "That's it?" he asked, his tone somewhat incredulous. "You drag me out here for me to stick a stake into some creature, and then tell me some nutcase story?"
"You asked," Antius muttered. "And that's not all. You've been blessed with awesome powers, gifts that will greatly assist you in your battle against evil."
"Gifts? You mean that's what you've been testing me for?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, assuming that this is the truth, what happens after I die? No more sacred warrior?"
"The instant you die, another one is Destined, inheriting the same birthright."
"That makes sense," Daerian said, his face revealing that he thought otherwise.
Antius felt his blood begin to boil. Brashly, he shoved aside the stake, ignoring the pain as the point grazed his chest. "Look, I understand that this might be a shock to you. I never once thought that the Destined would be a…" He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase his next sentence.
"A what? A slave?" Daerian sneered.
"Well, yes. One would be let to envision the Destined as an aristocrat, royalty even, to be given such an honor!" Antius defended.
Daerian threw back his head and laughed. "You really think that royalty would get off their fat behinds to stick skewers into anything other than pigs and goats? You really are a fool, old man!"
Antius glowered. "Then why don't you show me how mistaken I am?" he challenged.
"Fine!"
"Meet me here again tomorrow night."
"Fine!" Daerian stormed away, throwing his stake aside as he strode away.
Antius looked over to see where the stake had gone. He smiled when he saw an impaled statue.
To be continued…
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