More X-Files drabble
Beyond the Sea
He doesn't go back to the hotel at first, back to where Fred and Gunn will have questions, where it still reeks of Angelus.
Instead, he goes to Justine's apartment. It's small, worn-out, filled with pictures of his father and her sister. She's shaking, she smells like triumph, like an animal who's brought down its first kill.
She lights the candles that surround her collection of images, the flames reflecting off the small, soft, still versions of her face, trapped behind glass, reflecting in her eyes. He watches carefully; there's no peace there.
Peace, he realizes, is just another lie.
Very nice, PMM. And Justine! Justine!
Whoooooo yeah, Plei. These just keep getting better.
The Resurrection Gambit
Part Seven: Why I Hate Shanghai
“Next round’s on me,” said Xander, rising from the table, smiling broadly and walking briskly toward the bar. Dawn watched him wordlessly, knowing full well that his appearance of affability was merely an act.
Xander, for his part, was wondering why every seedy bar he ended up at, in every corner of the world, always had American classic rock playing. Someone had downloaded the Eagles’ “Greatest Hits” into the sound system, and “Desperado” was casting a melancholic pall across the room.
Funnily enough, in a similar bar in Japan a few years back, the same song had prompted an impromptu sing-along. He thanked whatever gods were listening for the small mercy of that not happening here. Not today. Today, he wanted to actually feel the melancholy. “The music of pain.” He smiled genuinely at the thought of once being devastated at Buffy not going to the Prom with him. Or was it Homecoming? One of those. It seemed so long ago. He glanced over his shoulder at Dawn, who was not-so discreetly watching him.
He smiled, and turned back to catch the bartender’s attention, when a flash of memory danced across his brain. Him, on a Shanghai rooftop, the stake in his hand, the look of mixed horror and relief on Angel’s face as the point pounded into his heart, then suddenly only the swirl of dust. The banshee shrieks of Angel’s soul as the Juris siphoned it from his body, a column of dark-tinged light erupting into the night sky. Dawn’s shrieks as Drusilla forced her down onto her back, fangs sinking into her flesh. The horror and revulsion he felt when he knew he couldn’t possibly reach her in time. The sudden relief as Wesley grabbed Drusilla’s hair, yanked her head backwards and slit her throat. The feeling of defeat as he watched the Aurelius Gem tumble between dimensions into Hell. The haunting memory of the Juris uttering just one, simple word, which reverberated now inside his head.
“Judgement.”
He was crying now. Not giant Lucille Ball sobs, just thin creeks running down his cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed their starting.
Dawn was suddenly beside him, wiping the tears away. He kissed her gently on the lips, and regained his composure enough to order drinks. If the bar patrons had noticed anything, they said nothing. In some places, it paid not to notice things.
And still, the Juris’s last words haunted him.
“Judgement,” thought Xander. “But for whom?”
Victor, this is shaping and sharpening as you go along. There are a couple of things - can I ping you in email?
By all means, Deb. May not be up much longer.
Victor, insent.
A couple of quick things:
"affableness" should, I think, be "affability."
Should that very last who be a whom? I always confuse when to use who and when to use whom.
There's a phrase - about Drusilla "descending upon" Dawn - that made be blink, because where is Dru descending from? They're on a rooftop in Shanghai, Angel is getting soulsucked and then slain, the Juris appears and the general impression I got is that Dru dropped out of the sky; that's because of the "descended upon". I read it literally. Could you clarify where Dru was coming from?
And then could you go write more?
Yeah. Wow, Victor. I'm loving this. More! Please, more!
