Plei - "startlement?" Is that deliberate? Because, hee!

To supplant my will upon the world.

Victor, can you fix this? The verb, to supplant, means essentially to usurp the place of something already in place. So basically, that sentence means that he's trying to replace his will upon the world. Which, well - I don't think that's what you meant, is it?

Plei - "startlement?" Is that deliberate? Because, hee!

Very much so. I snerked, considered not using it, and ran with it anyhow.

Startlement!

(bouncing with glee)

We love love love love this word. It's a Humpty Dumpty word. "When I use a word, it means what I want it to mean."

Startlement!

Deb, you're right about supplant. Fixed.

Oh, Victor, I do not think you could make me happier than you just did. So meta! So Fray! So everything! Bless you. t /Fay

Victor! Oh, I love you so. And your story is quite nice, too.

Heh. Thanks all. One more part to go. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.

Heh. Slightly different tone than Plei's, but also Dreamtree's challenge. Purely for fun.

On The California/Nevada Border

He was dreaming again. This was the worst part of two solid years of physical and psychic battling: he always seemed to be asleep, and sleeping usually meant dreaming. A bedroom in a rented bungalow in a seedy area between Summerlin and downtown Las Vegas was, apparently, no less dream-inducing than a motel in Denver, or a camper's cabin in Wyoming....

"Hullo, darling. Would you look at you? All tucked up there, and it's actually sunny out of doors."

Dreaming, certainly. He kept his eyes shut and waited for the voice to go away, drift off, morph into something less tempting, as dreams are wont to do. If he couldn't have the body that went with the voice, then he certainly didn't want the voice. Anyone would think the First was still -

"Rupert! Will you please stop mouthing 'go away' and open your eyes?"

He opened his eyes.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, short skirt, chunky shoes, clingy jersey top. Her skin, touched by a few random lines of sunlight that fell through the imperfectly drawn curtains, was glossy and kissed with a purple tint; her astonishing cheekbones seemed to cast their own shadows clear across his bed.

He found his voice. "Olivia?"

She grinned at him cheekily, her teeth gleaming in the dark bedroom. "You sound shocked."

"Dear heavens." No, it couldn't be. Could it? Surely..... "How - how did you get here?"

"Virgin Air, cabin class. Oh, you mean the why-how, not the transport-how? Right, well, your Slayer rang me up. Apparently, you'd left your old Rolodex lying about and Buffy felt, rather strongly, that you could do with a holiday, preferably in the company of someone who wasn't anyone you'd had to look at for the last year, and well, over the age of 25, even better." She got up and opened curtains, her face turned away from him. "I thought you were dead, damn it. When the Council headquarters was destroyed - you could have rung me, or something."

"I know. But I was - embroiled. And beyond busy." Giles rubbed his eyes and smoothed his tousled hair back off his brow. The sun felt warm, reassuring him: I actually am awake, he thought, and dead Anya's voice popped into his head, calling Olivia his 'orgasm friend.' He pushed it away. "So, I'm not dreaming?"

She turned back to him, her outline a blurred nimbus backlit by the morning sun. "No. And I must say, I think Buffy's quite right. I sat there for nearly an hour and watched you sleep, and you were muttering and moving the entire time. I doubt you've had a moment's worth of genuine relaxation in months." She paused, and watch him get his glasses in place. "Well, we're going to change all that. Come along. Get out of bed and get dressed. We're going to a town called Primm."

• * *

Later, many hours later, he spooned against her in the dark. He was spent, exhausted; the sex had been transcending in its duration and intensity. He knew he would sleep tonight, and if he dreamed, there would be no nightmares. He said as much, murmuring into Olivia's naked back.

She giggled sleepily. "I know. Unless you have nightmares about your MasterCard statement next month. There's nothing like five hours spent in America's largest factory outlet mall to soothe the soul."

• * *

Oh, Deb. This was nice. We DO seem to be writing happy endings for our characters lately, don't we?

"I know. Unless you have nightmares about your MasterCard statement next month.

Heh. I've had that nightmare.

I've had that nightmare.

Dude, I'm in the middle of that nightmare even as we speak.