Rating: Haven’t a clue, but since there’s no real smut or violence…. [edited to add, err there may be some further along. Looks like the usual Kitten problem is raising its head again
Copyright Disclaimer:The usual..Joss, ME yada, yada, yada……. Oh and JG Ballard, of course.
Feedback: Please. Since this is my first effort I will need constructive feedback. Please be kind.
Archive: Whatever. I can't see it being so good you have to keep it
Summary: This takes place in an AU, totally different from the Buffyverse and as such is more an exploration of the texture of the weirdness that is Vermilion Sands, rather than an adventure per se. The premise is that Willow and Tara are disturbed by some-one else in their rented apartment. It quickly becomes apparent that something is not as it should be.
Author’s Note: Sci Fi Buffs amongst you may have noticed that this fic is grounded in the collection of short stories by JG Ballard called Vermilion Sands [1971]. I hope I haven’t strayed too far into plagarism . as ever the further I go into the fic the more it changes from the original concept
Vermilion Sands
The spiritual home of Vermilion Sands is I suppose an arc of desert from Phoenix Arizona to San Diego, by way of the classier bits of Las Vegas and a soupcon of Atlantic City thrown in for good measure. It can also be said to exist at various times along the northern shores of the Mediteranean. But one thing is sure, it does’nt exist in any Mediteranean or Arizona we may have ever known of.
Vermilion Sands: strange, hedonistic, avant garde, an over-lit garish beach resort in a space time you could never have visited……………………
The Studio at Coral D….Setting the scene
X had wound up in VS in order to recuperate from a bad bout of frostbite, collected in the far north whilst surfing the cold waves generated by the ice storms sweeping into northern lands from the high arctic. His warm-suit had given up the ghost when the piezzo-electric circuit which stopped him from freezing to death had malfunctioned after a particularly heavy wipe out. If it had’nt of been for his buddies heaving him out of the snow drift he would have certainly ended up as a rather tasty snack for a passing polar bear. Luckily the only report of bears lately had been of a juvenile measuring in at only 5m or thereabouts.
So as a complete contrast, he had ended up here - outside the main drag of VS, out at Coral D, in an abandoned studio last used, by the looks of it by a mad glider builder. Subsequent enquiries from the rental company elicited the response that a group of cloud sculptors had lived and worked there for a season, until one of their numbers was tragically killed in pursuit of his art. The place had remained empty since that time.
Driving westward on the highway to Lagoon West one day he had stopped to have a look at the coral towers. Gazing at these immense towers stranded on the floor of this fossil sea, he heard music coming from a sand reef some two hundred meters away. Slipping and sliding on the loose sand he had found a shallow basin among the dunes where the sonic statues had run to seed beside a run down studio. Sand rays, disturbed, scattered in front of him screeching and wheeling like a group of demented swifts. As he approached a ripple of colour shimmered over the front of the studio, coalescing subtly from an emerald green through to a rose tinted paleness. This was the first time X had ever come across a psychotropic house and he was intrigued. He walked around the half buried structure and tried to get some sort of other response from the house, but to no avail.
Somewhat disappointed, X made his way back towards the car. As he neared the roadway a sand devil spun over him making the fine dust and sand swirl and billow around. On its passing he noticed something nearby. A battered sign, sand-blasted and more or less horizontal proclaimed that the studio was up for rent; contact E-Z Homes Inc at Lagoon West. On an impulse X keyed up the contact number on the car’s com unit and enquired as to the terms on the Studio out at Coral D.
Two days later he was ensconced in the Studio. The rental company was so keen to get someone, anyone, into the place that they had offered to clean the place up, no references required, just a months rental in advance. X jumped at it. The decision was made easier and the rental, low as it was, more palatable by the fact that on the first evening there he heard the unmistakable sounds of thermal rollers coming in over the salt flats. He looked forward to kitting himself out to go surf the heat waves which he now knew would be nearby.
So the days passed. He healed, fetched a new board and cool-suit and went surfing.
After one particularly intense session he arrived back to find a battered car of strange provenance parked, badly, outside his studio, one wheel firmly embedded into a sand drift, scattered sonic statues bleating plaintively. Putting his board away he straightened out the worst of the carnage and entered the house, peeling off his cold-suit as he went. As he neared the living area he sensed that he was not alone, the house was throbbing in a most sensual manner the rose paleness was being suffused with waves of mellow raspberry. Surprised he hurried forward; the house had really done nothing since he took it over and his skills with the sophisticated circuitry were minimal. So it was a case of leaving well alone.
Entering the living area, there was nothing to see except the vista, which the panoramic windows afforded the occupant. Puzzled he turned away, only to spin back suddenly as he heard a low chuckle, followed by what could only be described as a contented sigh. There was only one place it could have come from…the wide settee situated in the middle of the room.
Without thinking, he strode across the room to confront whatever was there and was met with a pair of emerald green eyes framed by a shock of auburn hair. The owner of the green eyes let out a shriek and promptly shot upright and disappeared to the other end of the sofa, hunkered down to hide her…….nakedness? Wha?
As he gaped at this apparition, no, vision he failed to realise that he was being coolly appraised. Sensing a presence he finally realised that there was another, blond, blue eyed, also naked but displaying a lopsided grin who had just sat there, without a care in the world……..why?
His jaw dropped…jeez she really was a….cool customer, and rather nice too ………….Argh! no wonder she was so cool, he’d stripped off his cold-suit on the way in and was standing there butt-naked and…………he hastily darted away and gathered a large towel from the bedroom nearby. Grabbing another, just in case, he told himself, back he went only to be met by a furious barrage from the redhead who was now clothed in a rather fetching wrap,
“ Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” came the demand.
“Err, I was about to ask you that self same question” he retorted trying to make sense of the situation and regain if possible, the moral high ground “I live here, have done for at least 3 months now”
“Rubbish!” The blond interjected “ We’ve been here at least a fortnight and we’ve not seen you before, and what’s with this light show”
“ It’s a psychotropic house. It’s supposed to do this, although to be honest its not been this good since I got here. Emotions must have been running kinda high” said X cocking an eyebrow and finally, finally, registering what had been going down on the other side of the couch. “Oh well” he thought “ Old X, don’t bother trying those rusty skills out on either of these two, they’re taken.”
“ A psychotropic house?” exclaimed the redhead. “ No such thing, I would have heard of such a thing. I do science and computers, and…stuff. I think I would have read about it in Scientific American, or Nature or some other educational mag. Coz you know Research Girl and all that…that’s me…”
X gazed at her in something approaching concern as she rambled on.
“Will?” came a voice, curiously strained.
X turned to see the blond standing by the window, visibly shaking and holding onto a chair for support.
“What is it?” both X and the redhead exclaimed as one. The redhead turned and gasped, “ Oh my God, where’s the sea? “ she cried.
“Eh? “ X thought “ What the hell is going on here?”
Who were these girls, what were they doing in his house [although the ‘what’ had been pretty obvious at the time] and why were they freaking out all of a sudden?
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love and kisses
Still Waters
A candle is lit for Tara
See the flame, so small, so bright, forever
hehe, everybodys naked!