by Sassette » Fri Apr 26, 2002 6:58 am
**tommo: I'm afraid I can't tell you what I mean. That's classified. *cough* Or, uhh ... something like that.
**Bobos Mom: Thank you *G* Willow and Spike definitely have a bizarre relationship ... and it's kind of fun to play with. I mentioned on the old board, during the whole Anya/Tara roadtrip that I was planning on sending another odd pair of Scoobies somewhere ... that's what the Willow and Spike Train Ride was. Though, in the original plan up in my head, they made it all the way to LA. Then I realized that putting Fred and Willow in the same room could possible disrupt the space/time continuum, and I really didn't want to mess with that.
**Jennpurr: *blush* Why, thank you *G* And yeah, the Trickster is a total bastard ... and part of what's fun about him is that no one can be completely sure just how much of a bastard he really is ... the world may never know which bad things that have happened that he's actually responsible for. Heh.
**Drakkenfyre: Ummm ... sorry I broke you - glad the superglue helped. As for when the next update is - I'm thinking pretty much now *G*
**ExtraFlameyWT: Yes. Because you gave me a stern talking to (and because TX keeps IM'ing me every two minutes asking me if I'm done yet *G*) here's the update.
**blameburner: Mt. Saint Sass? *snicker*
AND ... a small warning ... this update went to a Very Strange Place. Like - a VERY Strange Place. Umm ... you'll see.
ANSWERING DARKNESS - 52b
Willow saw her opportunity, and she stepped through, feeling the Hellmouth close up behind her.
All sound ceased, except for a strange rhythmic 'whooshing' in Willow's ears, the peculiar energy of the Hellmouth pulsing all around her. She could feel the darkness inside of her answering that call, could feel it rising up and resting just under her skin, itching and begging to be released.
But she held on to it.
She needed it.
It would get her through the Hellmouth, and to Tara, and there was no way she was going to do anything that would keep her from running to Tara's side.
Not that she was running. The gooey inside of the Hellmouth was hard to move through, and she couldn't breathe. And everything was all sticky and jello-y and kinda' … squicky.
No, this would definitely not go down on her list of pleasant experiences to remember. But still, Tara was on the other side, and there was no question about moving forward - no question about whether or not this was all worth it - no question about whether or not this was a good idea.
This was the only idea.
She pressed forward because there were simply no options. Tara. Tara was in Hell. Tara needed her - was in terrible danger, and she didn't even know just how bad the situation was, and so Willow pushed on, her muscles straining against the goopy insides of the Hellmouth. She pushed and pushed, but everything was moving so slowly.
Frustration and anger and an urgent panic were her companions as she crept slowly along, the slick jell-o-yness sliding across her face and her hand. She still had Spike's coat on, one arm through the sleeve and the other in a sling against her chest, the coat draped around her, hanging down to her feet.
Her always-active mind pulled up strange inconsequential things, as it tended to do in the middle of a crisis. That's why she hated pressure - she couldn't stand it, and she knew she'd be babbling right then if she had been even semi-sure that opening her mouth would be okay. Things like how many licks >did< it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop jumped into her brain, or exactly why Spike listened to the Spice Girls - even thoughts of precisely how a half-camel would go about walking cropped up. Would it just kind of balance itself on its two legs and hop? Or maybe the pound made special little half-camel go-karts and it drove everywhere?
But related to all of those thoughts was Tara. Tara was an integral part of them - both their beginning and their end. Tara was essential.
And she was in Hell, and dammit, Willow was moving too slowly.
She growled low in her throat, her lips pressed tightly together, pushing and pulling with her one good hand, shouldering into the thick gooeyness that was the Hellmouth for all she was worth.
'Traitorous Brain! Focus, Willow,' she told herself inwardly, her mental tone harsh and insistent.
And then she was out of the Hellmouth, and she couldn't think at all as the fires raged up around her. But before she could do more than feel their heat searing her lungs as she took a deep breath, the ground broke beneath her.
She fell, an icy chill shocking her with its intensity as a deep pool of water swallowed her, carrying her down into its depths. In vain, she tried to rise up, to reach the surface again, but the dark waters claimed her, pulling her deeper and deeper.
Vaguely, she became aware of a strange tightness around her ankle, and she looked down, strands of her hear floating around her eyes and head, obstructing what little visibility she had. Something was pulling her … pulling her deeper and deeper and - she could feel it - further from Tara.
Her lungs screamed their agony at being denied oxygen once again, but she held her breath, hoping she would be able to escape before she drowned. And it was cold … so very cold … the watery icy against her skin, making her shiver and her teeth chatter beneath her closed lips.
The downward descent stopped with a jolt, and Willow looked up, seeing what appeared to be ice above her head, and above that the flickering light of the fire.
She probably wouldn't survive going up.
She looked down, the murky waters clearer here, the bottom of the pool giving off an eerie glow. But she barely stopped herself from gasping when she saw the shackle and weight attached to her leg.
Panic filled her, and she thrashed about in the water, her lungs burning with the need for air. Her mind went completely blank and pure survival instinct took over as she kicked and waved her arm about frantically, jerking her body this way and that as she tried to free herself.
Tears of frustration and fear leaked form her eyes, unnoticed in the surrounding water and her movements slowed as the numbing cold seeped into her muscles.
Her mind spun and her whole body ached, her extremities starting to numb. Think. She had to think. She'd never get out of here - would never find Tara - if she couldn't think. And hadn't she promised? Hadn't she promised to always find Tara? Or had Tara promised her? She couldn't remember - why couldn't she remember?
Doggedly, she reached down, grasping the chain, the rusty surface scratchy against her palms, pulling for all she was worth, little bubbles of air escaping her. The chain, though, wouldn't break. She hadn't really expected it to - this was Hell, after all, and she was reasonably sure nothing convenient would happen.
She shook her head in the water, cursing her wayward brain for taking these tangents when she had more serious matters to attend to - like getting Tara and getting out.
Her head turned this way and that, looking for something - anything - that she could use to escape this. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the others.
There were people everywhere, their skin pale, their lips blue. Some struggled against their chains, pulling and screaming, great bubbles of air drifting up from their open mouths. Some merely drifted, the strange currents in the water carrying them around on the end of their chain, their eyes dull and hopeless. Still others were unmoving, their jaws slack.
Willow pulled on her chain again, only this time, getting her feet onto the sandy floor. She held on, using the weight to keep her there, then took a step, then another, then set her feet as best she could and heaved.
The weight moved.
She almost smiled, but she moved again instead. She had no idea how she was going to get out of the water, or even if it was possible to do so, but she had a vague sense of the direction she needed to go.
So she headed towards Tara.
She headed towards hope.
Still, each movement was agony, both the nature of water and the almost burning cold slowing her down. But she kept onward. She had to keep going. As she passed one of the still figures, drowned and unmoving, its eyes popped open, and it started thrashing in the water, its pale white hands reaching for her.
Reflexively, she gasped, the water filling her lungs as her mind raged at her for doing something so stupid - for drowning herself when she had to find Tara. Dizziness swept over her as her lungs heaved in her chest, trying to draw in needed oxygen. Her vision blackened around the edges, and she fell, the hands that had clutched for her missing her entirely, even as she realized the true horror of this place - they all drowned, over and over again. And now it was her turn.
She choked then, a strange fit of coughing taking over her. Where was the air coming from? How did she have enough air in her lungs to cough at all?
A dark fluid poured out of her mouth, crackling as it flowed into the water, floating in a macabre imitation of a lava lamp towards the surface, and suddenly, Willow felt like she had just taken a deep breath of air.
Willow's eyes opened, and her vision cleared, and she saw the … person? … recoil away from her, its eyes focused on the darkness that had issued from Willow's mouth.
But she didn't have time to wonder about that. She didn't have time to analyze the situation, or figure out just how long she could survive underwater with the dark magick inside of her keeping her alive. Still, her mind turned it over as she moved onward, taking a few steps, setting her feet, then dragging the weight across the sandy floor. Hell, it would seem, considered her to >belong< there - and that made sense, in an eerie way. With so much of her body holding the dark power of a Hell God, why wouldn't she belong?
The thought was disturbing and had about a million different eerie strings attached to it, but it drew her attention away from the sheer terror of being submerged in HellWater - surrounded by poor souls doomed to drown over and over again for eternity - the chilling numbness of her limbs in the icy cold depths, and the pain in her chest where her lungs ached to be free.
Tara, she knew, would be thinking up ways to save these people. Errr, souls. Or whatever they were. Because it would be the right thing to do - the good thing. But Willow was all too aware that her time was running out, and though she wished there was something she could do to put an end to the … sheer cruelty and >wrongness< of the whole thing, she doubted there was anything she could do.
And what if she disrupted some kind of cosmic balance between good and evil by interfering? Her brow furrowed. Cosmic balance had a way of maintaining itself … she had read that somewhere. That paper - the one that one lady had written? What was her name.
The cold seeped into her, deeper and deeper, and she could feel the gears in her mind slowing. It was almost comfortable, the way her mind settled and relaxed. She was so used to her brain racing off in every direction that this almost seemed like a break - like a vacation. She couldn't really feel her fingers now, but that was all right. She really didn't mind. The way the iron chain had cut into them was uncomfortable - it was nice that she couldn't feel it anymore. Nice. A nice quiet vacation.
With a start, she shook off the lethargy, realizing that she hadn't moved as far as she thought she should have. She had to focus. A vacation without Tara wasn't a vacation at all, and so she had to go get her - to go find her, so she could properly enjoy her Hell Vacation.
She carried on, her efforts redoubling and a panic seeping into her consciousness. This was serious. This was urgent. This was Tara's life in danger. This wasn't like the SAT's where she could just take the darn things again if she didn't like her score - if she didn't score high enough on this test, a Hell God would escape Hell, Tara would probably be killed, and all her friends as well.
Step. Step. Set. Pull.
Step. Step. Set. Pull.
She counted them off. Three pulls. Five pulls. She kept going, feeling the darkness crackling inside of her lungs, the fiery feeling a stark contrast to the blood-chilling water around her. But she welcomed it.
It was ironic, she supposed, that The Trickster's attempts to kill her with Dark Magick was keeping her alive.
Unless it was all part of his plan.
Step. Step. Set. Pull.
But no - his plan was to get Tara. Willow wasn't part of his plan at all, except as bait - if she were, then why had it been so difficult to get through the Hellmouth?
No - somewhere along the line The Tricksters plan had derailed. She would see to it that it unraveled completely.
Step. Step. Set. Pull
And now she was mixing metaphors. She hated that.
Step. Step. Set. Pull.
Willow fell, completely disoriented as the chain disappeared, and she hit the hard stone floor hard, her head connecting with a solid crack.
A flash of light seared across her vision as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over her. She tried to take a breath, but couldn't, her lungs filled with … something. Nausea rose up in her, fierce and strong, and her stomach convulsed at the same time a deep hacking cough wracked her whole body.
Dark, angry magick poured out of her mouth, her whole body twitching as she both vomited and coughed up the thick black liquid. Her throat felt raw and hot, and her eyes teared up. The world spun and spun around her and all the while she shook, her lungs clearing the fluid from her airways.
But she couldn't get a breath around it … couldn't breathe, couldn't think - her head ached and she was so, so cold. And so, so tired.
The edges of her vision blurred as the world spun and she sagged against the rocky floor, everything going dark.
And in the dark, the whispers started, tickling the edges of her hearing, pulling her … somewhere … away … not in the direction she wanted to go at all. Tara was the other way. She had to get to Tara.
But she was pulled, deeper and deeper, into her mind, darkness swirling round and round and round and she fell and fell and fell, landing in a chair at a table. The table was familiar, as was the chair, and there was a crossword puzzle in front of her.
"No!" she yelled, looking around frantically. "No! I don't want to do the stupid puzzle," she screamed, tossing the paper away from her, looking over at the White Rabbit.
No, Anya … in her bunny Halloween Costume.
"You're running late," Anya said, looking at her seriously. "And punctuality is very important. Tardiness can result in lost revenue."
"Have to keep it all there … keep it all there … balance, balanced, balanced-er …" a low voice muttered to her left, and Willow turned her head. A stoop-shouldered little man with watery yellow eyes and red skin in a rumpled suit and tattered tie sat there, balancing teapots on a set of scales. A large hat sat upon his head, a tag that read "10/6" sitting atop it.
"Balance?" Willow asked, her face scrunching up. She looked around. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. The table sat in the middle of a garden, but that wasn't right - that's not where the table went. It was clearly an indoor table, and it couldn't be outdoors. Not like this.
"Oh, yes. Keeping a positive balance is very important," the White Rabbit - Anya - the White Rabbit said.
"No, no … not positive, not negative … balance, balance," the Mad Hatter muttered, shifting pots around and around. "I broke a pot … it's broken, broken … I have to make it balance."
"Late?" she squeaked, whipping her head around to look at the White Rabbit as those words sunk into her mind. "I can't be late!" Willow stood up, looking in every direction. She had to get to Tara. She had to find Tara.
"Running late, not late. There's a subtle but distinct difference," the White Rabbit said, nodding sagely. "But it's a very important date."
"No time to say 'Hello', Goodbye!" Willow muttered, gathering her blue skirt and apron up, and taking off at a run.
"Keep it all there! Don't forget the balance!" the Mad Hatter called after her.
"And don't bother running - you're only dreaming anyway," the Dormouse called, his voice sounding like Xander's. "You can't save her here … you have to go back!"
"I can save her … I >will< save her," Willow said under her breath, her legs pumping as she sprinted full out across the field. She couldn't be late … she couldn't be late … it was a very important date. And why had they been fighting anyway? It was a stupid fight - it was all so stupid. She had to apologize - to make it right. Tara would understand. And then they'd make up, and they'd go out for coffee and food - kisses and gay love, and everything would be fine - fine.
She didn't notice the lush greenery all around her, only running and running, cresting a hill and looking down upon the fair, where all the cards marched about, manning booths and passing out food. A section was roped off and they played croquet, the little mallets and balls a bit more active than she was used to - but it was a cultural fair, so who was she to judge?
But she was late - the White Rabbit had said so - and she should have already been there. Should have been there. With Tara. Where was Tara? She had to run … had to find …
She sprinted off again, pushing her way through the cards, not caring what suit they were - numbers didn't matter - they were in the way, and she pushed them, and they were falling - falling like a house of cards, crumbling around her as her world came tumbling down and a familiar voice yelled, "off with her head!"
"Off with hear head!" It echoed around, the only sound other sound but the shuffling of cards as a hand was dealt … a hand was dealt.
And the cards landed and streams of light were pouring out of Tara's head, the Queen of Hearts sitting beside her on the park bench, her fingers imbedded in Tara's skull. Willow's heart lurched, and she screamed.
Two black aces and two black eights loomed before her, but Willow just batted them aside and ran - running … running towards that bitch Queen who had stolen her heart - her Tara.
The cards fell, and the Queen of Hearts stood, one hand placed lazily on her hip, a look of mocking, sneering disdain on her face.
"Off with her head!" she yelled, pointing at Willow, and the cards moved, shuffling towards her, but Willow didn't care.
Where was Tara? Where did Tara go?
"My nummy treat? She had to leave. She had an appointment … she said she was late," the Queen of Hearts said, shaking her head, her hair falling around her face.
"You give her back to me," Willow said, her voice dangerous and low as she stalked up to the Queen of Hearts, tossing cards left and right.
"Or what? Your little pal The Trickster will give you enough power to hurt me? I'm on to you," the Queen said, smirking. "You never had the power. Not to save her, and not to avenge her. None of it was you. You're worthless."
"You >bitch!<" Willow spat out, her body shaking with rage, her hand connecting solidly with the Queen's face before she could consciously decide to slap her.
">I'm< a bitch?" the Queen asked indignantly, grabbing Willow by the upper arms and lifting her into the air. "You're the one who fell in line with his plans. You're the one who took my nummy treat and put it back into Tara. You're the one -"
"Shut up, shut up!" Willow screamed, thrashing about mid-air, kicking at the Queen as much as she could.
"You're the one who didn't finish the crossword. I told you that you weren't looking at the right questions. And you never found the right questions," she snarled, tossing Willow away from her. In a huff, she twitched her dress straight, then stalked off. "Off with her head!" she called over her shoulder, moving to her throne.
"What, you're not going to finish it?" Willow asked, rising unsteadily to her feet, glaring at the Queen, tears stinging her eyes. "Why don't you just finish it? Why don't you just kill me? I … Just kill me!"
"I can't," the Queen said with a simple shrug. "You took it from me. I can't win. Like that game of tic-tac-toe in that stupid movie you like so much and made Tara watch. But you won. You defeated me."
"You can't win," Willow said in a wondering tone. "Tara!" She took off running, away from the fair, away from the Queen … they weren't important - not now. Not the cards, not that bitch, nothing … just Tara.
She ran and ran and ran, breaking the treeline of a dark and eerie forest, the cool air in the shadows chilling her sweat-soaked skin. But still she ran, leaping bushes and dodging around trees, moving deeper and deep along the path.
"Willow!" a voice called, and she turned her head, seeing Buffy and Dawn in matching outfits.
"No, >you're< Tweedle-Dum!" Dawn said, pushing her sister playfully.
"But you're Tweedle-Dumber!" Buffy retorted, her attention pulled away from Willow.
Which was fine with Willow. She had to find Tara, and so she kept running.
The shadows lengthened, and deepened, and Willow's steps slowed, her breath and the pounding of her heart unnaturally loud in her ears. It was dark … so very dark. She could barely make out the path at her feet, but she had to keep trying. She had to find Tara.
A fork in the path appeared suddenly before her, signs pointing in every direction with one word on them. Hell.
A strange light appeared, and she looked towards it, making out a smile, and then a pair a blinking eyes in the darkness, a deeper shadowy form around them. She stepped closer, her head tilted to one side as she squinted, making out the vague outline of a cat in the tree.
"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" Willow asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where-" said Willow.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"-so long as I find Tara," she added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
Willow's eyes narrowed as a creeping darkness spread from the cat, crawling around her, then seeping into her skin.
"You," she growled out, approaching the tree. Her anger sparked and she glared at the Cat … this damn Cat who had caused so many problems.
"Who else?" the Cat asked reasonably.
"Where is she? Where's Tara? I love her - how DARE you?" she demanded, eyeing the tree speculatively and wondering how she could climb up there so she could kick the Cat.
"She's in Hell, Willow. You already knew that."
"How do I find her?" Willow ground out, kicking the tree instead when she realized she had no way of getting up there.
"Don't you know how? You always find her, don't you?"
"Willow, you're late!" the White Rabbit yelled, running down the path and waving her arms frantically. "She's my best friend, and you're going to be late!"
"I … I have to find her," Willow stammered, her anger ebbing, as she turned to look at the White Rabbit.
"Then go get her!" the White Rabbit yelled, slapping Willow across the face.
Willow awoke with a start, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to take in her surroundings. She sat up quickly, noting the residue black crackling liquid on the ground next to her.
She blinked a few more times, disoriented and confused by the abrupt change. Where - ?
Then she remembered - all of it, and she thought she might be sick again. She clamped down on the feeling, her mind tumbling around as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
She had to find Tara.
She just hoped she wasn't too late.
______________________________________
I Think The Hellmouth Tastes Like Chicken -- Autumn
