Who's Arvin Sloane? Can someone kill Ally? Slowly? Repeatedly?
Bunnies frighten me.
Anya ,'Help'
Buffista Fic: It Could Be Plot Bunnies
Where the Buffistas let their fanfic creative juices flow. May contain erotica.
Connie Neil - Jul 28, 2003 7:06:05 pm PDT #5534 of 10001
brillig
§ ita § - Jul 28, 2003 7:09:11 pm PDT #5535 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.
Arvin Sloane is the main bad guy on Alias -- who's obsessed with deciphering the Rimbaldi prophecies, written by some Renaissance Italian nutjob.
Connie Neil - Jul 28, 2003 7:17:13 pm PDT #5536 of 10001
brillig
Is Alias still on the air? Heck, I don't even know what station it's on.
sj - Jul 28, 2003 7:21:07 pm PDT #5537 of 10001
"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."
Yes. ABC.
§ ita § - Jul 28, 2003 7:34:21 pm PDT #5538 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.
Pretty lady, pretty men, fabulous wardrobe, and angst in buckets.
With pretty snappy fight scenes.
victor infante - Jul 28, 2003 9:43:52 pm PDT #5539 of 10001
To understand what happened at the diner, we shall use Mr. Papaya! This is upsetting because he's the friendliest of fruits.
When You Are Tired of London
Part Four: Willow’s Day
For Willow, England would always be a form of penance, and as London faded into the rearview mirror, this fact was made abundantly clear to her. It’s not that she hated London, but there was an energy flow through that city that near-maddened her, forces converging from all over the globe, way more than she’d ever felt in Los Angeles. Ley lines, she’d heard them called, or dragon lines. In many ways, London was the magical center of the world, and when she walked its streets, that energy pulsed through her, and her mind went to places she’d rather it didn’t. Things she’d been sent to England to atone for the first time.
London was a city full of ghosts, but none of them drowned out the ones she already carried with her. Indeed, it only amplified them.
She wondered what Kennedy was doing, but she found no resonance in the thought. She liked Kennedy a lot, but they were already drifting. Willow pushed the thought away, and lost herself as the trees began to emerge along the roadside.
The country house wasn’t too terribly far out of London, and was nestled against a stretch of forest and a field where a horse was running. A pretty, dark-haired middle-aged woman sat on the fence, watching the horse run. Willow parked and stepped out of the car.
“Elizabeth?” asked Willow, tentatively.
“You must be Willow,” said the woman. “Got your phone call. So, you wanted to talk to me about James, is it? What, you one of his new bits.”
“Not likely,” said Willow, mildly offended. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Willow hesitated a bit. “There’s been some threats."
Small trickles of laughter began snickering from behind Elizabeth’s clenched teeth. After a moment, Elizabeth stopped trying to restrain the laughter, and a full-fledged guffaw erupted.
“You don’t seem concerned,” said Willow.
“Concerned?” said Elizabeth. “Bugger that, I’ve been waiting for him to do something stupid and get himself knocked off for years. What is it? Gambling? Drugs? Some bird he’s shagging?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
Elizabeth just rolled her eyes at her.
“What, you some kind of copper, are you? Don’t right look it.”
“No, I’m… I’m kind of a private… investigator. Yeah. Sort of.”
“Right,” said Elizabeth, stepping off the fence. “You’re a detective. And I’m the zombie of the Queen Mum. Still, you want to know about James? I’ll tell you about James.”
The two walked to Elizabeth’s kitchen. Elizabeth pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses, and before Willow could protest, she found one of the glasses in her hand.
“You like the house?” said Elizabeth.
“Uh-huh,” said Willow. “It’s nice.”
“James paid for it. Every bit. When we got divorced, he didn’t even put up a fight for it. Said I could keep it. Didn’t even shrug much at the alimony demands.”
“Well, that sounds…”
“Said it was, and I quote, ‘a sound investment in his freedom.'”
“Ouch. That’s cold.”
“He’s not a cruel man, James. But that was the cruelest thing he could have said, and he damn well knew it.”
“Must have hurt.”
“Oh yes. Not that he’s ever shown an inkling of noticing. Men. Stupid, childish, gits. Only one thing on their mind, and it turns them into…”
“Beasts,” said Willow, flashing back to the sight of Oz and Veruca in the cage, she nodded as Elizabeth poured her another glass.
“Bloody right,” said Elizabeth. “Couldn’t keep his trousers on long enough to make it from the door to the car some mornings. Don’t think there’s an aspiring model in London he hasn’t shagged.”
“You’re still angry at him then?”
“Oh, of course I’m still angry at him. Damn near ruined my life, not to mention what the divorce did to the kids. But I’m not threatening him, if that’s what you’re getting at. Why should I? I don’t want for money, and frankly, if me or the kids need anything, it’s always on tap. His conscience is so guilty, he throws money if they look at him askance. No, I’m not your woman. I’m having my revenge by bleeding the bastard dry.”
“So, you’re dating someone else?” asked Willow.
“Oh, here and there. Nothing serious. Mostly don’t feel I need a man in my life. More wine?”
The glass was filled before Willow could protest. Suddenly, she was feeling mildly uncomfortable.
“James said something about, um, a knife?”
“Did he, now?” said Elizabeth, who was starting to laugh again. “Did he mention that he’d come around here looking for a tumble?”
Willow shook her head to indicate that he indeed hadn’t.
“Seems his pecker was out of order, and he came round here looking for a helping hand. Couldn’t resist giving the tosser a scare.”
“Did you…”
“Well, of course I did,” said Elizabeth. “Couldn’t resist, really. Never pass up an opportunity to let them know who’s on top.”
At this point, to paraphrase a line of poetry, Willow wasn’t certain whether she wanted to be this woman, fuck her, or run screaming from the room.
She took another sip of wine while deciding.
Lee - Jul 28, 2003 9:50:27 pm PDT #5540 of 10001
The feeling you get when your brain finally lets your heart get in its pants.
Nice Victor, very nice.
Small thing:
“Said it was, and I quote, ‘a sound investment in his freedom.”
You have an open single quotation mark here.
sj - Jul 28, 2003 9:50:56 pm PDT #5541 of 10001
"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."
Once again my insomnia gets rewarded. I love this bit. I have been waiting for this scene. Also, you are making me want to be in England very badly, even if Willow isn't liking London.
She liked Kennedy a lot, but they were already drifting.
This makes me happy.
flashing back to the sight of Oz and Veruca in the cage, she nodded as Elizabeth poured her another glass.
Very nice touch.
victor infante - Jul 28, 2003 9:56:33 pm PDT #5542 of 10001
To understand what happened at the diner, we shall use Mr. Papaya! This is upsetting because he's the friendliest of fruits.
You have an open single quotation mark here.
Thanks. Fixed, although I really DO believe that you should only need a full quote at the end of a sentence like that, style books be damned.
t shakes fist at the MLA
Once again my insomnia gets rewarded. I love this bit. I have been waiting for this scene. Also, you are making me want to be in England very badly, even if Willow isn't liking London.
Glad you liked. Was kind of dreading theese scenes, as important as they knew they were. Luckily, I get to go back to the comedy, soon!
sj - Jul 28, 2003 9:58:20 pm PDT #5543 of 10001
"There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."
Luckily, I get to go back to the comedy, soon!
This scene had some very funny moments.