Story: A few weeks after The Gift. This instalment is kind of a teaser - and has no Willow or Tara, I'm afraid. But subsequent ones will, I promise. Much Willow and Tara.
Rating: Ah, Perhaps someone should tell me how it works. The whole story has a fair emotional content, with tantrums, a little naughty language, and a very small amount of naughty touching. I want to entertain, not offend, so it doesn't really go beyond a few "Goddamns", as the saying goes. This one is a bit monster-heavy, but doesn't manage to stray into "Rawhead Rex" territory.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, etc etc. Do whatever you want with the story, except roll it up and stab me in the neck with it. May I also say that typo's are allowed, and not a sign of a disfunctional psyche
This is my take on the characters on the show. For this reason, I except full responibility in ruining them for everyone
Aftermath, by Wolfie (no, really, it says that on my birth certificate)
The earth moved. From the side, the freshly-laid mound looked almost like the chest of a prone man lying amongst manicured lawns. The movements of the chest were shallow and hitching; like breaths one might take when winded from a fall. Then, a huge, desperate gasp caused the mound to surge upwards. Its centre fluttered once or twice before it buckled and a hand, arthritic and pale, broke through, clawing at the night air. Another hand, as pained and clumsy as the first appeared beside it. The impression was one of a swimmer, trapped beneath the surface, trying to break free.
Suddenly, the whole plot erupted as a mud-caked form shouldered its way out of the ground. An upper torso became distinguishable; arms thrashing against the earth. A sound: Almost human, or, more exactly; that of a man's intertwined with a deep, predatory growl, could be heard as the figure battled to free itself. Finally, the earth tore apart in a great open fissure and the figure fell to one side, onto the grass. In the half-light of a nearly full moon, it was possible to see that this was a man; tallish but thin, dressed in what was once a fashionably high-cut dark suit. His once white shirt was almost transparent with sweat and wet mud. A tie hung skewed around his neck.
The man craned his head back in a spastic rigor, twisting and contorting in pain, and bellowed. Again, that dichotomy of sound punctured the silence as rudely as a nightmare invading a sweet dream. The moonlight dappled a face that rippled and thickened into a grotesque mask of hate and agony. From the mouth, which opened so wide that the skin at the sides seemed imminently to split, the canines lengthened, ripping the gums around them. Blood slid down and hung in distended droplets from their tips.
He dropped back to his knees and hung his head, exhausted. For a while, he remained completely motionless, shoulders hunched. Suddenly, he straightened, and with a puzzled expression resting incongruously across the aggressive features, he placed a hand over his diaphragm.
"Huh. No bweath", he lisped, his now enormous teeth getting in the way. He smacked his lips, tasting blood. He reached up and tentatively touched his mouth. What he found, however, made him start, and he began to explore his face with feverish fingers.
"Whath the Hell ith thith?" He screeched.
Another figure stepped lithely from behind a small tomb, dressed in a long, black leather coat and enormous, partially buckled biker boots. His hair was peroxide blonde, and he carried an air of swaggering arrogance.
"Yeah", the peroxide figure said. "Well, a damn site more than simply no breath." He spoke with an affected Cockney accent and seemed a little smug. He gestured at the other man. "I reckon you've been a bad, bad man. Been playing with some naughty types?"
The other man stopped and gingerly touched his neck, remembering an encounter.
"Uh-huh. A bit of nookie behind the Bronze, perhaps?" The Englishman bent forward conspiratorially. "Nice girl gave you the come-on, eh? Should know not to trust nice girls in this town. No, they definitely make a habit of changing their tune halfway through." He straightened, and evidently warming to his theme, continued. "Yep, the price one has to pay to get a shag in Sunnydale."
"Whath did thee do to thee?" He sobbed.
The Englishman grinned. "You're gonna have to learn to e-nun-ci-ate more clearly," he said, in measured tones. "Rather more dentistry in there now. You've been through a change, mate." His face suddenly rippled and his hollow, angular features dissolved into a mask of calculating, demonic fury. "Do you know what this is?"
The other man reacted in shock and recoiled. He stepped back and tripped, sitting down with a grunt. He stared up in terror at the monster before him. The Englishman took a menacing pace forward, then grinned, showing a vicious set of teeth.
"You're like me now. A Vampire."
Fear turned into confusion. "Huh?"
The Englishman stopped smiling and narrowed his eyes for a moment, before rolling them Heaven-wards. He sighed. "Great. Why do I always get the stupid ones? Silly bints can't resist sinking their teeth into no-neck football scholarship-types ... Although," he continued, glancing him up and down, "judging by your awsome physique, perhaps the chess club was more along your line. Still, that doesn't matter now, as you're immortal, not to mention half-demon."
"What? I don't understand." Bemused, the Vampire raised a hand and revisited his face and realised that he shared something of the Englishman's physiology.
"What's your name, mate?"
The Vampire glanced up. Speaking more slowly, but at least clearly, he said, "Oh, ah, Richard. Richard Thomas Betts."
"Well, Dick, to explain, seeing as you're obviously lacking in the nonce to work it out for yourself: The demon, in exchange for your soul, of course, gives you greater strength, speed, heightened senses, intelligence - although ..." The Englishman paused and grinned sympathetically. "... And you're already dead, so," he shrugged. "You've already got that one out of the way, so it's party time for Bonzo."
Richard Thomas Betts mulled these facts over. The Englishman watched dryly as Betts reached up and absently picked a clod of wet earth from his left ear. "Let me get this right. Ah, if I'm already dead, which ..." He blinked. "Wo! And, so, that must make me, like, live forever, right?"
"Dick, you are the most perceptive man I have ever met. Don't you ever believe what they say, you hear?"
Dick smiled shyly, a difficult feat to pull of, wearing a Vampire's feeding face.
The Englishman suddenly had a thought. "Say, you weren't bitten by someone called Harmony, by any chance? No? Oh, just wondering. Oh, please, go on."
"Well, I was just wondering. Now that I'm like, immortal, I guess there's nothing to be scared of?"
The Englishman shrugged. "Well, no. Unless you meet a Vampire Slayer."
"A Slayer. Of us? Are there lots?" That last question slipped into a shriller octave, as Betts jumped, and glanced hurriedly around him.
"Oh, no." The Englishman waved a hand dismissively, then held up one finger. "One. Usually. A girl; one chosen in all the world, blah, blah. It's very tedious, actually. Lots of mythical mumbo-jumbo. You know the deal. Mind you, Sunnydale was graced with its own Slayer for a few years. Here, I'll show you."
The Englishman turned on his heel and marched away. Betts scrambled to his feet and hurried after him.
"Hey, ah, sorry, I don't know your name ..."
"Spike" said Spike, over his shoulder.
"Spike. Ah, Spike, sh-shouldn't we be going the other way, if this Slayer's around here? Not that I'm scared -"
"You should be" called Spike.
"Right. So, ah ... Oh."
Spike had stopped in front of a grave. At its head, in front of them, stood a low, granite stone. Spike gestured offhandedly at it. Betts stooped and read:
"'Buffy Anne Summers, born' ..." He mumbled through the rest of the description, then paused. "Huh. 'She saved the world a lot'." He looked at his companion. "A 'lot'?"
"Oh, yeah. Killed loads of us. I fought her several times myself. Thwarted my plans a few times, I must say. I liked her." He paused, a faint smile softening the mask. "Oh, yeah. Liked her quite a lot."
"Huh?"
Spike shrugged his shoulders, and turned towards his companion, slipping a hand into his coat pocket. "Well, Dick, it goes like this: We met; we fought. I found myself, thanks in part to the US Government, unable to continue being the Big Bad, and well, frankly, I fell in love. With her. The Slayer of all people. Then the strangest thing happened. She died. Saved the world again, of course, but she left not only this nasty hole in Sunnydale, but also with a bit of a promise unfulfilled. My promise, to be exact. Not that I could leave it all to the others, now could I?"
Spike stepped sideways and in one, blinding movement, he swept a stake from his pocket and plunged it into Betts' chest. Richard Thomas Betts gasped, glanced down at the stake, and tried to say something.
"Oh, yeah. Damn. Forgot to mention. Sorry. Wooden stake: The only thing that'll kill you. Oh, apart from sunlight, beheading, but I guess that's a bit immaterial right now. Sends you straight to Hell."
Spike smiled apologetically as Betts' flesh exploded into ashes, leaving a startled-looking skeleton in its wake. Spike stepped forwards, until his face was a couple of inches from the skeleton. He gazed at it blandly for a moment, then reached up with an index finger, and prodded the skull between the eyes. The skeleton tilted backwards, then tumbled to the ground, whereupon that too shattered into a fine dust and disappeared. Spike glanced down, frowned and brushed a few flakes of ash from his lapels.
"Really must remember to take a step backwards," he said, then strode off into the darkness, humming to himself.
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Well, part the first. The next bit has promised Scoobiage, with some setting of the scene stuff. I wanted a bit of HG Wells' like monster description, kind of a predators from the dark, circa The Time Machine, but I guess it's come out more James Herbert, I'm afraid.
[This message has been edited by Wolfie (edited September 18, 2001).]
[This message has been edited by Wolfie (edited September 18, 2001).]
[This message has been edited by Wolfie (edited September 18, 2001).]