I meant to do this forever ago, but this one's at least on-topic...a "Fledgling" take on "The Trial" (Angel/Homicide) “ John, I need you.” I hear her tarnished-bell voiceif first in dreams that are so vivid, it’s hard to believe humans think death is an end. From time to time on the street some kind of antenna I hadn’t been aware I had zeroes in on any slight blonde I see in the street, and not just because Charm City has fewer sylph-like tiny blondes. It’s not always much of a resemblance and I start to think I am imagining things.
Until one night, I’m at the docks, feeling the first beginnings of my cravings to feed, and I hear that voice, saying those words that maybe I’d hoped to hear since I was accosted over cheap lo mein. It came from a crate that I struggled to open and then brush some dirt off Darla’s body. Her eyes were bright, even feverish, but overall The Princess did not look well and it shocked me. Even though I thought of myself as unshockable, now more than ever.
“Of all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.” I quoted, and she favored me with a weak little smile that still made me feel that I had won a prize. She usually hated when I quoted from human art.
“I’m dying, John.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, as if she were human, as if she were Kay, who, I had noticed, was starting to spend more nights in her condo in Bodymore and I couldn’t go prowl until she’d turned her lights out.Had Dirty Harry Potter broken it off? I’d kill him. Not that I hadn’t run away from her declaration of love myself, of course, but that was almost like business.
“They’ve got some good doctors at Hopkins.”
Yeah, sure, Munch my man. Maybe you should see one first. Show some physician’s assistant your vamp face and say “It only hurts when I do this,” That should work! Moron.
“Um, I’m sorry, Darla,” I replied, suddenly met-my-ex nervous. As indeed I should be. “I just meant, you know…do you know what it is? Have you tried everything? That kind of thing…I’ve been at this creature of the night gig for a while, but I still don’t know the etiquette.”
“The etiquette,” she repeated, as if not quite sure she heard me correctly and then she did something I wouldn’t have believed if I wasn’t right there to witness it personally. She used that little voice I’d once gone mad for, lost my life to get closer to, in fact, to hum the Beach Boys’ classic car anthem “I Get Around”. Later on, when I found out what was up, I thought it was a sign of humor-through-adversity I had to respect. Maybe I’d never given her enough credit.