Ngah. CaBil, I'm sorry, your story is v. well done but unfortunately amych broke me. I -- no, she broke me. I'm broken. With the gah.

(prior to which I'd been admiring erika's Munch, and wishing I knew him outwith her fic, but then - amych, and the broken-ness.)

I'm sure he would like to know you, too. In more than one sense, probably. I don't know very much about amych's heroes, but still, good story.

Schmoop, of a kind. This week's Open on Sunday drabble challenge is "ice Cream".

Leftovers (referencing I Will Remember You)

The ice cream, a soupy mass, sat on the table. It was liquefying slowly, its butterfat solids breaking down, returning to its original state. The Hyperion's fans were no match for the LA heat.

"Angel?"

His stance caught Cordelia's attention. Shoulders hunched, head bowed, the way a man might stand if he was fighting tears.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I - I just need to get rid of this ice cream."

"Since when do you eat ice cream?"

"It was left over." Something in his face broke. "From when Buffy was here last."

She stared, uncomprehending. This was not her memory.

And, another one. It's been too long since I played with Darla in Tuscany.

Darla

She found him wandering on the lungarno, the full moon bathing Florence in mystery and nacre.

He was pretty, Darla thought, very very pretty; full lips, black-oil eyes, crisp hair. Pretty Italian teenager. Such a lovely treat for a hot night.

She fell into step beside him. Three minutes was all it took to charm him. "Buy me a gelato?" she asked, and he hurried to comply.

In a twisted alleyway near the Palazzo, she dripped gelato on his ruined throat, and licked it off, mixing with his blood. His sightless eyes stared at Darla, at eternity, at ice cream.

unfortunately amych broke me. I -- no, she broke me. I'm broken. With the gah.

t preen It was a BD prezzie for me! t /preen

And what a perfect one it was, too. GUH. Fucking hotttt, man. Blew my circuits.

daym, Deb.

Blew my circuits.

Just what I was hoping to do. t g

Um. I actually read circuits as clitoris for a moment there. Which pretty much sums up my response, I guess.

blushing madly

Deb, gorgeous. Gutting. Literally, in Darla's case.

Fay, you ought to send that piece to Roz. We spent about 90 minutes late-night on the phone Saturday, and I told her about it. So very much guaranteed to make her happy.

because I live in the sainted hope that people are waiting breathlessly for my prose, everything of Nessuno so far since hte last bit. Alexander is at hte mercenary's inn to tell Guglielmo about a message he's brought

The young man dropped his eyes and fidgeted with his goblet. "The presence of Guglielmo il Sanguinante is requested at the Vatican at his soonest convenience. I'm to guide you."

"What, now? I've been out in the sun all day, I don't want to pull on my fancy clothes and go out again. I want a bath and a girl and more wine." He hid his smile at Alexander's discomfort behind his goblet. "Who sent you, anyway?"

"His Excellency Cesare Borgia."

Slowly Guglielmo pulled his feet down. "Cesare sent you." Alexander nodded uneasily. "And what does His Excellency want with me?"

"I don't know, signore. I was told he needed a messenger, I went to his chambers for instructions, he told me to come here and bring you back for a meeting."

He studied the boy carefully. "He asked for me specifically?" Alexander nodded. "Anyone else?"

"No, signore. His Excellency said you were to come alone."

"Oh, he'd like that, I'm sure." Guglielmo watched Alexander as he thought. "Did he mention our little encounter the other day."

"No, signore."

"Stop that. My name's Guglielmo, not signore. Stay here."

He got up headed for the stairs, hoping Isabetta hadn't gotten too far in her "I'm glad you're home" evening greetings.

He heard splashing and laughter when he reached Angelo's door. Maybe a visit to the Vatican was safer than interrupting the pair inside. But dalliance would have to take second place to the extreme inadvisability of going alone into possibly hostile territory without telling anyone. He reluctantly knocked on the door.

"Go away!" Angelo shouted. "I'm busy."

"Business, captain," Guglielmo called back.

An oath, then a bigger splash, then stomping footsteps coming to the door. Angelo pulled the door open, obviously unconcerned about his lack of wardrobe. Behind him, Isabetta squeaked and sank down to neck level in the big wooden tub that sat in the middle of the room. Guglielmo mentally congratulated her for having organized the bringing up and filling of the tub before her lover returned.

"What?" Angelo snapped.

Now that he could lower his voice, Guglielmo was less formal. "The boy was sent by Cesare Borgia, who wants me, specifically, to go up to the palace. Now. Alone."

Angelo frowned. "That's idiocy."

"I agree. But so is refusing."

"What's he want you for?"

"The boy doesn't know. He's waiting to go back with me."

"Alone, eh?" He glanced back thoughtfully at Isabetta and the tub. Isabetta began to pout.

"You can't go," Guglielmo said, fighting a pleased smile. "Me taking one of the men can be shrugged off as wanting a body guard. Me taking you is a threat."

"And so is summoning you at the end of the day." Angelo thought some more. "You'll take one of the men?"

Guglielmo nodded. "Is Thomas around?"

"He's not much less of a liability. But he is out in the stables. He can help pick someone to go with you."

"I'll check with him." He grinned at Angelo as he turned to go. "If I'm not home by morning, check the Tiber."

"Will . . ." Guglielmo turned around completely. Angelo stood in the doorway to watch him. "Be careful."

"Always."