FIC: A Star in the Night
Mar. 11th, 2010 07:58 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
brutti-ma-buoni.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
still_grrrTitle A Star in the Night
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG
Word Count 634
Prompt 160 various
Characters/Pairing (if any) Ensemble
A/N: Another patchwork fic composed of titles here – this time of early Oscar winning films. If anyone cares to count all the film titles and gets the right number, there could be a drabble reward. But please note that one title is definitely Gone with the Wind!
SCENE: Sunnydale, CA, January 1999. Nightfall.
The divorcee sips her before-bed camomile tea, and wishes it were something tastier and actually caffeinated. Joyce isn’t sorry she came to Sunnydale, despite all that’s happened and keeps happening. She was right to make the break, move away from all those places tainted with Hank, with arguments and custody breakdowns, and Buffy’s mental collapse (and of course she agrees there’s no stigma in mental illness, but once you’ve come to associate a place with your daughter raving in a locked room, you develop a distaste for it. Even if, it turns out, your daughter was telling the simple truth, and has been living a double life ever since).
Joyce locks up, triple locks these days, and chants a little chant Willow taught her last summer. Just to keep the bogeyman away, she laughs. Because she’s met him. Sometimes, it seems like she’s forgotten how to sleep.
Meanwhile, the Dawn patrol is getting ready for action. Not actual outside action, because Mom and Buffy get really, really uptight when Dawn suggests helping out with the Slayer biz. But in her mind, Dawn follows her sister on the cemetery round. Twist, kick, stab, dust. And the world is safe for humanity once more. Dawn’s never seen the sunrise from this side of the night, so it’s not an actual dawn patrol either. But then the vampires would be tucked up in bed by then, so it would be pointless. She just likes the name.
Faith is bored of education. When’s this Slayer gig going to start for real? Being Buffy’s #2 is getting old, and Giles’s efforts to interest her in crystals are not helping. Faith has never been one for playing in a gang of little women; more for facing your danger head on. She can’t shake the suspicion she’ll never be a full member of the Scooby gang. Always coming in last. Well, she thinks, I won’t play that game anymore. They won’t know what’s hit’em.
Xander sleeps. Not a real, solid winter sleep as it should be – more like a midsummer night’s dream, half-waking in the heat. But he sleeps enough for the nightmares to come. Weird hallucinations, of wrestling swordfish competing before Cleopatra. Thrashing together, till one turns to the other and says, “So, this is Harris. He’s the Champ. Come and get it!” And Xander has to join their aquatic house party and swims with the fishes. Not in a good way.
Ellie Kingsley is going the way of all flesh down by the docks. A quicker, uglier, earlier way than most. Silly girl got caught up in one of Mr Trick’s more urgent deals. Not too clever, even when she was alive. Dead, she has a specially glassy-eyed stare. So the vampire tips her neatly off the dock, properly weighted. Food for those fishes now. As always, the public pays his torture money. They’re much better not knowing the truth about their little hometown. Though Trick, being a prudent member of the undead, has lifted her wallet before sinking her body. Double profits. And you can’t take it with you, after all.
Giles has missed this small tragedy. He sent Buffy on the usual round and is himself stuck in the library, continuing the search for what has made Sunnydale the hell it is. Surely not just the Hellmouth? There’s more – he can hear the symphony of a city off-key at its core. Something rotten indeed, that holds this place hideously spellbound. Someday, he will find it.
In the mansion, in deep dark, Angel longs to be a free soul. But is slowly, painfully realising, that he never will be. He will always be dangerous to Buffy. They will never have more than their one night of love; never have a chance to live their lives together. Hopes of anything more are gone with the wind.
***
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating PG
Word Count 634
Prompt 160 various
Characters/Pairing (if any) Ensemble
A/N: Another patchwork fic composed of titles here – this time of early Oscar winning films. If anyone cares to count all the film titles and gets the right number, there could be a drabble reward. But please note that one title is definitely Gone with the Wind!
SCENE: Sunnydale, CA, January 1999. Nightfall.
The divorcee sips her before-bed camomile tea, and wishes it were something tastier and actually caffeinated. Joyce isn’t sorry she came to Sunnydale, despite all that’s happened and keeps happening. She was right to make the break, move away from all those places tainted with Hank, with arguments and custody breakdowns, and Buffy’s mental collapse (and of course she agrees there’s no stigma in mental illness, but once you’ve come to associate a place with your daughter raving in a locked room, you develop a distaste for it. Even if, it turns out, your daughter was telling the simple truth, and has been living a double life ever since).
Joyce locks up, triple locks these days, and chants a little chant Willow taught her last summer. Just to keep the bogeyman away, she laughs. Because she’s met him. Sometimes, it seems like she’s forgotten how to sleep.
Meanwhile, the Dawn patrol is getting ready for action. Not actual outside action, because Mom and Buffy get really, really uptight when Dawn suggests helping out with the Slayer biz. But in her mind, Dawn follows her sister on the cemetery round. Twist, kick, stab, dust. And the world is safe for humanity once more. Dawn’s never seen the sunrise from this side of the night, so it’s not an actual dawn patrol either. But then the vampires would be tucked up in bed by then, so it would be pointless. She just likes the name.
Faith is bored of education. When’s this Slayer gig going to start for real? Being Buffy’s #2 is getting old, and Giles’s efforts to interest her in crystals are not helping. Faith has never been one for playing in a gang of little women; more for facing your danger head on. She can’t shake the suspicion she’ll never be a full member of the Scooby gang. Always coming in last. Well, she thinks, I won’t play that game anymore. They won’t know what’s hit’em.
Xander sleeps. Not a real, solid winter sleep as it should be – more like a midsummer night’s dream, half-waking in the heat. But he sleeps enough for the nightmares to come. Weird hallucinations, of wrestling swordfish competing before Cleopatra. Thrashing together, till one turns to the other and says, “So, this is Harris. He’s the Champ. Come and get it!” And Xander has to join their aquatic house party and swims with the fishes. Not in a good way.
Ellie Kingsley is going the way of all flesh down by the docks. A quicker, uglier, earlier way than most. Silly girl got caught up in one of Mr Trick’s more urgent deals. Not too clever, even when she was alive. Dead, she has a specially glassy-eyed stare. So the vampire tips her neatly off the dock, properly weighted. Food for those fishes now. As always, the public pays his torture money. They’re much better not knowing the truth about their little hometown. Though Trick, being a prudent member of the undead, has lifted her wallet before sinking her body. Double profits. And you can’t take it with you, after all.
Giles has missed this small tragedy. He sent Buffy on the usual round and is himself stuck in the library, continuing the search for what has made Sunnydale the hell it is. Surely not just the Hellmouth? There’s more – he can hear the symphony of a city off-key at its core. Something rotten indeed, that holds this place hideously spellbound. Someday, he will find it.
In the mansion, in deep dark, Angel longs to be a free soul. But is slowly, painfully realising, that he never will be. He will always be dangerous to Buffy. They will never have more than their one night of love; never have a chance to live their lives together. Hopes of anything more are gone with the wind.
***
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-12 06:49 pm (UTC)