But who was the first lamb led to nuptial slaughter?

Damn. No clue - I didn't keep track of John's wives.

There must be site or nine at which that info is housed...

I don't think he did, either. And you'd think so, right? But I haven't found it yet. SF/fantasy people are just more on top of that shit. I ended up googling myself accidentally while looking, and surprise! I'm not blind.

Munch POV: When I saw Kay on the stage, I thought it was a flashback to the '70s. Not that I knew her then, more like I had finally cracked the code on all those cockamamie seminars Alicia, my first wife, and the softest heart of my Nordic Goddess period, used to drag me to. Alicia was big on saving the planet, positive thinking, and making your desires manifest. Guess which part was my favorite. (I swear to God, Vishnu, whoever, that I did try. But all I could truly visualize was us being treated like suckers. And, honestly, who can be quiet that long? Anyone that can, I don't trust. They're hiding something, nu?)

Anyway, I felt that I missed Kay so much, I'd called her into being. Of course, even my imagination couldn't have called up that little song and dance, even if I suspected Howard of having hidden...dimensions. Even sitting next to the Princess it gave me a shiver.

Ah, Alicia. Still on the top five breast list.(The Princess is on the top twenty but I wonder sometimes if she shouldn't be in some Hall of Fame all to herself, some lifetime achievement Mammary Class, given the three hundred years faithful service.) Alicia had shampoo commercial hair, bright blue eyes, the whole Breck girl thing. I admit that was the first attraction...the heart attack my parents threatened when I brought her home. I tell people sometimes that my first disappointment as an adult was when they failed to have it...it's a great line, but I've said it so much, I'm not sure I believe it now.

-more-

Alicia wanted to save the world. And me. I'm not sure which was the greater lost cause. And I gave her hell, cause she was nice, and would take it. And I'm not. How dare she believe in me? She fucked with the whole misunderstood thing I had going, huh?(Great. Ten minutes with Kay, I'll probably do that for three days...Munch's Love at Midlife. Gulp. Is it still midlife if you die first?) I'd run a stake through my own heart fifty times to escape the look of horror on her face, brief though it was. I was going to tell her, but Little Lord Fauntleroy outed me. Him, I wouldn't mind scaring. "I have fangs and you don't. How do you like those odds, babe?" And, spare me the dime-store psychology on how Felicia sounds like Alicia and how I wanted to recapture...something.I've got it, Dr. Freud.

Is it still midlife if you die first?

There's an entire subset of fic waiting to be tackled, right there. I swear.

erika, would his "They're hiding something, no?" be more Munch as a "They're hiding something, nu?"

Hmmm. This week's drabble theme was "unconventional', apparently meaning behaviour unusual to a character, among other things. So...

Unbecoming

This is all wrong. She knows it.

Her excuse is the missing amulet, no power, can't help the feelings, human until she gets it back. D'Hoffryn's no help - all he's willing to do is demand she get it back. Useless, that's what he is - after all, he's a man.

She's been human before, and she didn't like it. It hurt. She chose the other path, Aud becoming Anyanka - her choice.

So this is wrong. But for a moment, silk sliding down her legs, stepping out of her knickers as Xander's jaw drops, she doesn't give a damn.

It's so nice when the muse starts clicking again

Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen filled most of the air on the rest of the trip into the mountains. Joyce told a tale of sneaking into a Springsteen concert, but only after making Xander swear he'd never tell Buffy. The mother-daughter negotiating field was delicately balanced enough without adding material like Joyce lying to her own mother about a sleep-over with a friend as cover for going to the forbidden concert.

The side roads that led away from the park entrance were busier at this time of year. By the time they reached the rutted turnoff marked by the small roadside shrine of Saint Eugene, though, they hadn't seen another vehicle for half an hour. Xander slowed for the turn, then hesitated.

Joyce started to ask what was wrong, but then she remembered Anya hopping out of the bus to identify the shrine on the last trip up here. If there had been anyone else to ask to drive her up here, she would have asked them. She hated dragging Xander through the memories of everything that had happened.

Xander glanced over at her cautiously, but he seemed to relax when she didn't say anything. Without a word, he drove on.

The air was drier and dustier in August. Rabbits and mule deer leaped out of hiding in the bushes as the car drove past. Joyce lowered her window and leaned out, letting the wind blow through her hair. It made a good cover for the tears that threatened.

This was the summer she thought she'd never see. When doctors used words like glioma and cerebrum and operable, a woman's long-term planning was suddenly defined in days and weeks, not seasons. Then the Glory thing had blown up, and it was all Joyce could do to hang on to Dawn's survival, much less her own. It had taken weeks after Glory's defeat for Joyce to start thinking again of the future as something that might be counted in years. She'd had a follow-up visit with her neurosurgeon three days ago, and Dr. Isaacs had told her that all the scans showed clean. All that was left to do was to continue her exercises to regain what function she could, plus a check-up in a year, just to be sure.

She sniffed, hoping the sound of the wheels on the dirt road would cover it. She was going to be all right. Her daughters were safe. The world was a beautiful place. It was such a damned shame that not everyone got to feel like this.

She pulled her head in and looked at Xander, who was glaring out at the road. No one as young as he should have those lines between his eyebrows. "Thank you," she said.

He blinked in surprise. "Huh? Um, you're welcome, I guess. For what?"

"For driving me this weekend. I know this brings up bad memories--and, don't worry, I'm not going to go into them anymore. But it makes it even more kind of you to come all this way with me."

He shrugged and started to reel off some witty reply, then subsided. "You're welcome," he finally said. "And thank you, too."

She nodded and started watching ahead for the first sign of the convent.

The valley opened before them in the hot summer afternoon. The wheat in the field was as tall as the windows of the Land Rover, and the heavy stalks waved like a patriotic commercial in the breeze.

Joyce sighed in pleasure. "It looks just like my uncle's place in the Imperial Valley. I always loved watching the different colors of the crops in the wind."

Xander peered briefly out into the fields. "Do you see anybody working?"

"They're probably all inside. Wheat doesn't really need much looking after at this time of year. Oh, I wish there was a way I could have warned them we were coming, I hate just dropping in on people like this."

The gates--roughly repaired but whole--were still open to all comers. Xander fought the shiver of deja vu that took him as he drove carefully through the gateway, mindful of the chickens milling around the courtyard. He turned off the engine, then realized he was reluctant to raise his eyes from staring at the steering wheel. The last time he'd seen this courtyard, the bullet holes were still fresh in the walls, the courtyard still showed dark stains, and the smell of blood still hung in the background.

Finally he forced himself to look up--at a view as pristine and peaceful as the last time he'd driven into this place. The walls of the buildings were newly whitewashed; the dirt of the courtyard was neatly brushed. The timelessness of the place rolled on, unmarked by the events of a couple of very busy days in its long history. He took a deep breath and was able to let it out without any of the shakiness he'd been afraid of.

From out of the chapel came a familiar figure. Sister Agnes was peering at the vehicle curiously, then a huge smile appeared. "Joyce Summers? Oh, blessed Mother, how wonderful to see you!"

Joyce unsnapped her seatbelt and opened her door. "Careful!" Xander said quickly as she climbed out, but she neither paid attention to him nor to any issues of her balance. She did hold on to the door for a moment to regain her equilibrium, then took a few steps to meet the Mother Superior's hug.

Other sisters appeared from various spots, and they all sounded quite pleased and excited to see the visitors. Giving a completely fake sigh of resignation, Xander also climbed out of the Land Rover, ready to greet the women who had declared themselves proxy aunts.

Sister Agnes, though, got to him first. "Xander, dear boy," she said as she hugged him. She pulled back to look at him, but she didn't say any of the things he expected. She only studied him for several moments, nodded briefly to herself, then hugged him again. He was hugging her back when something impacted against his left ankle.

"Za-er! Za-er!"

"What the--" He looked down to find a somewhat bigger Baynar glued to his leg, grinning up at him in toothy demon delight. "Did you just say my name?"

Sister Agnes laughed. "Yes, his English is getting much better. We now at least know what language he's babbling incomprehensibly at us in."

Baynar bounced. "Za-er!"

Xander finally laughed. "Hey, little dude." He crouched down and scooped up the little demon into a fierce hug.

Click away, oh connie's muse!

the heavy stalks waved like a patriotic commercial in the breeze.

Reverse the phrases so that "the heavy stalks waved in the breeze like a patriotic commercial." Otherwise it reads as though the commercial was in the breeze.

the dirt of the courtyard was neatly brushed.

Raked or swept, rather than brushed?

Baynar! I love Baynar.

Yay, connie's muse! More, please. That greedy tag just never closes.