Disclaimer: Characters of Buffy and Spike belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 'Grr Arg', not me. No profit being made.
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Part Five
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"The bright day is done; and we are for the dark." -W. Shakespeare.
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Interlude:
The man lounged carelessly against the cast-iron railing of the balcony, absently stroking its steely chill beneath the fingers of one pale elegant hand. The richness of the tapestry of noise the city produced at night assailed him, and he smiled; the noise of cars and people to him, as the sound of cicadas to most.
Modern society lacked mysticism, lacked faith. He found a strange sort of beauty in the ignorance of the masses, felt a bizarre, condescending sense of propriety towards them; a vengeful God on his throne above them. For most people, such whimsical thoughts would have been immediately pushed aside, dismissed self-mockingly. For this man, such thoughts were nothing more than a precise statement of truth.
He ran his hand over the features of the woman draped against him. Tracing patterns on her eyelids.
Now, what was her name? Ah, yes; Karen, that was it. Smiling somewhat sadly, he moved away from the window, casually dropping her corpse to the plush floor.
He'd meant to be more of a gentleman with her, really. He so often tried to send them to their peace gently, but for some reason they never understood. Always tried to resist, always provoked him so... He sighed airlessly. The marble column of her throat had been so smooth under his hand, he couldn't enjoy the feel of it anymore; not since he'd ripped it out.
Walking over, with his foot, he scattered the pile of ashes he knew were sitting next to the bedroom door. Alex. The boy'd never learnt any manners. It was consolation that William was here though; even if he hadn't been given the warmest welcome. He'd never met Spike, but he had heard of him, or more specifically, the vampire grapevine was alive with talk of his exploits back at the Hellmouth; of his role in teaming up with a _Slayer_ of all people, to bring down Angelus. While they conjectured, he was certain, the scenes playing against his eyelids, dancing in his dreams.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he smoothed the satin coverlet; creating a picture of the boys face in his minds eye, from what Alex had told him.
And then there was the matter of the Slayer, here, in his city. A pretty girl, also running through his dreams. Yes, he was definitely looking forward to talking to William the Bloody. Perhaps he would even forgive the boy his rumoured indiscretions if he proved his loyalty. After all, he was rarely given the opportunity to recruit a Master. It would simply be a matter of bringing him here... willing or no.
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Closer to Hate: Chapter Five
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You wear guilt Like shackles on your feet Like a halo in reverse -Halo, D.Gahan
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Blood oozed from a cut on Buffy's lip, as she ducked, cat-quick, the force of the vampires kick missing her by inches. Fleetingly, she considered the possibility that this time, she'd bitten off more than she could chew.
The docks had been crawling with the undead when she'd arrived, and the three that surrounded her now were putting up a good fight. The young, inexpericenced vampires that seemed to abound here, were usually no challenge at all for her. Tonight though, exhaustion was creeping in, threatening to spill over the edge of her consciousness, as she drew back from her quarry, teeth bared in a macabre grin.
Lack of sleep threatened to overwhelm her, and her stomach was tied in knots from hunger. The last of the cash she'd brought with her had been spent on breakfast, a meal she'd forced herself to eat, the food like cardboard in her mouth. She felt like a shadow of herself- hollow, empty, dark; yet also weightless, free from caring.
Smiling still, panting from exertion, she beckoned the three, as they stood there, dumbly watching her; still convinced that somehow she was bluffing them, almost unnerved by her unwavering smile.
"Aw... you big bad vampires afraid of little old me?" she batted her lashes provocatively, eyes stony.
The three vampires looked at one another, silently weighing up the situation. All were young, all had seen several of their companions perish at this girls hands. Uncertainty, and, yes, fear, warred with bloodlust in the glances they exchanged. Buffy gave an exasperated sigh.
"Look, I'll even throw away the stake, 'kay? Think you can take me now, dead-guys?"
The pointed wood landed with a clatter a few metres behind her, as the first vampire charged.
She was a second too late to dodge him, the momentum of his weight hitting her, bearing her to the ground. The cold wet concrete knocked the wind out of her, stunning her slightly. Giving a roar of triumph, the demon on top of her lunged for her neck. Working her leg up just in time, she threw him backwards, hard. He landed with a shriek of rage against a container that lay under the eave of a nearby storehouse.
Sucking air into her abused lungs, Buffy swivelled, barely fast enough to miss the second vampires swing. As she concentrated on keeping him at bay, the third vamp rushed her from behind, pining her arms. Throwing her head back viciously, she heard the satisfying crack as her skull connected forcefully with his forehead. Momentarily stunned, his hold loosened enough for her to struggle free, whipping her leg out to catch the other vamp in the stomach. He doubled over, groaning; striding forward, she wound his hair around her fist, looping her arm around his throat and stomping on his hamstring to bring him down.
As the vamp she held struggled, she glanced quickly around, observed the other two vamps had almost recovered their senses.
She slammed into the ground the head of the struggling vampire she had pinned; spotting what she needed.
Bringing her foot down hard on the trapped vampires back, she heard something crack. Loosening her hold on him she dashed the two steps over to where she'd spotted the stake. Hearing it skitter across the concrete as she stepped on it, she retrieved it quickly; spinning around as her vamp-sense warned her,
that the first vamp was back in the game. He caught her across the face, backhanding her savagely, fist wrapped in a chain he must have yanked off the container. She flew backwards, hitting the wall hard, yet somehow managing to keep her grip on the stake. The vamp advanced, grinning, assured that he had won.
"Well, guess I bagged her myself, boys... "
She stayed against the wall, breathing hard, biding her time, thanking God she hadn't passed out. The stake she clasped tightly against her, partly hidden behind her back.
"Aw... is the widdle girlie all tuckered out?"
He was so close she could smell him, as he leaned over her neck... And in that second she jerked her hand forward, impaling him. She almost fancied she could see the suprise on his face as he exploded into dust. Brushing herself off, the pain from her face starting to get through, she pushed herself off the wall, surveying what was left. One vamp with a broken back- she could finish him off anytime, no cause for worry there- and one vamp staring at her fearfully. She bared her teeth at him, and he bolted with as much dignity as he could muster, justifying it by telling himself his sire would want a full report of this incident.
"Oh, God... "
Having waited until he was out of sight, Buffy crumpled, a painful awareness of how close to death she'd come, and how careless she was being, sweeping over her. Her whole life these days was imbued with the sense of unreality that came from constantly being in near-fatal situations. She couldn't help having the feeling, each time it happened, that somewhere, somehow, she had died, that pieces of her were dying all the time, no matter what she did. At the same time, she welcomed the buzz being so near death gave her.
At one time,
she'd wanted to avoid her destiny. To talk clothes and boys, go on normal dates, bitch about exams-
She'd changed though. She embraced this, now. Lived for it. And if she died for it, well, who would know to mourn her? At those moments, when the adrenaline pumped like wildfire through her veins, every extremity tingling, filled with the edgy excitement of the fight, she could be fully, painlessly alive, not thinking, caught up in physicality and instinct. Then, she could forget the girl called Buffy Summers, forget parents and friends; forget everything except the movement, the hunt.
The thought came unbidden, as it always did. Her breath hissed between her teeth as his name conjured a pain within her that could never compare with the mere physical beatings she took from vampires. She focussed somewhat successfully on the pain in her face, banishing all thoughts of him from her, until the chill of the wall behind her back brought her back to the present. The stake was still clutched in a deathgrip in her right hand, and she tucked it into her pocket. Rising to her feet she assembled the ripped vestiges of her clothes as best she could, with her hands wiping the worst of the mud and blood from herself. The cuts and bruises on her face were probably most noticeable, but, judging by the feel of them, were on the way to healing already. Grabbing her bag from where she'd stashed it behind the container, she started to walk away; stopping as an afterthought to dust the crippled vampire, still writhing on the ground.
Maybe it was time to get some food and rest.
She dismissed the thought, but not consciously, telling herself it was still a few hours till dawn. Maybe there'd be a few vamps cruising that park she'd passed on the walk here. Then, in the morning, perhaps she'd see if she could find a shelter or something to clean herself up.
- Perhaps... -
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