The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe - Willow & Tara Forever

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 Post subject: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Thu Nov 20, 2008 10:41 pm 
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2. Floating Rose
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Unbreakable Ties (NC-17)

Summary: This takes place in what I wish the Wishverse was. I’ve taken a lot of liberties here, I haven’t watched anything pre-season 4 (or post-season five for that matter) for a while. So if some things don’t sound too right, concerning the Order of Aurelius and all that, kindly have the kindness to forgive me. The basic plot is, there’s a chosen witch who has the power to bring about the end of the Master’s reign in Sunnydale, as a prophecy foretells, and the Master has asked Vamp-Willow and Vamp-Xander to find her and bring her to him.

Disclaimer: If I owned them…I would probably have more than an old 2-dollar bill in my wallet.

Feedback: I’ll beg if I have to.

A/N: Important. “Hey author, will this story have blood?” “Why yes, kids, it’s about vampires.” “Will it have sex?” “Oh, yes, plenty of it.” “Barry White sex, or the rough stuff?” “Vamp-girls on human girls, whuddaya think?” “Will it have S/M?” “S…M, and a whole bunch of other letters. Maybe even vowels.” But seriously…you’ve been warned. Respect my ominous authority =p.

~~~

Chapter 1 "I've Got Her"

So very bored, the young, diminutive vampire sat beside her male counterpart—older by two days—inside the borrowed car, “are we there yet?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked the question in the hours upon hours they’d been on the road, and always the leather-clad, soulless creature beside her responded: “tell ya when we’re there.”

What’s the point of knowing after-hand, Xander, you idiot? She thought, but did not voice her concern. In the first place, she wasn’t particularly concerned about it. She knew they were heading north, by the frequency of green, the rarity of concrete. She could also surmise that they’d been driving for a while, by the rate in which the cows were starting to look like delicious prospects.

“It’s getting early,” the red-headed vampire spoke languidly, “we’re not sleeping in the car, are we?”

“Of course not, my darling little Willow; the Master arranged a place for us to stay. When we get there,” Xander spoke the last line ominously, as if to tease his partner.

Willow’s green orbs rolled girlishly; she ignored the bait and focused her eyes on the absolute quiet and darkness of a night on the countryside. So different from the vampire’s dear city—always pulsing and buzzing with life. The vampire could feel that buzzing inside her head now; the feeling that scores of busy humans gave her—the desire to feed. There’s a beehive in my spine. She missed it and wished that the Master did not have the foresight to put her in charge of what was supposed to be Xander’s mission.

The Master and Xander had been whispering about this or that for months; and from what Willow knew about it, it was some serious business. Curiosity would entertain her at random intervals but she felt no attachment to the matter. That is, until the matter had attached itself to her.

The Master’s whisperings had come to a head and a halt as he’d announced to the Order that Xander was to be sent on a mission of utmost importance; an endeavor which could turn the tide of destiny in their favor, or leave the Order buried in its wake.

“And that bumbling idiot is the one you choose to put in charge of it?” Her older brother, Spike, spoke with a roll of his eyes and a sardonic sneer which was aimed at Xander’s shadowy countenance.

“I’m the one who found out about the prophecy, you bleached bastard—tell him Master!” The young, foolhardy vampire turned to the ancient beast he called a master with a protuberant gaze, eager for any sign of recognition.

Spike had his hand at the boy-vampire’s throat in an instant, “don’t talk to your Daddy that way, boy.”

The rivalry between Xander and his Sire was one of multiple layers. The older vampire had never cared for the brown-haired boy and had sired him simply to spite the Slayer. He was not there the night that Xander had clawed his way out of his own grave; confused, hungry, undead body buzzing with the unfamiliar power it now held. He was not there when Buffy had nearly taken his un-life at its very beginnings ( she had waited for him in the shadows and rushed at him, his narrow escape coming in the form of a lucky front-kick and a speedy exit). He was not there when Xander found his way to the Bronze, daylight fast approaching, desperately pleading the doorman to believe that he was indeed part of the brotherhood formed by the Order of Aurelius.

Spike’s indifference to his Childe caused a great resentment to brew inside of Xander, a resentment which would often show itself in Xander’s behavior toward the Master. He was the constant seeker of approval when it came to the archaic monster, and went through any lengths to gain that approval.

“Let me go, Spike,” Xander hissed.

“Always asking Daddy for favors,” the blonde released his grip, not albeit roughly.

The Master looked between the two male vampires twice before fixing his gaze on Willow, “Willow, you should accompany Xander on his expedition. Surely Willow the Wicked should have no trouble with what this small task entails.”

Willow’s smirk parted her lips prettily, belying the power which surrounded her thin frame, “And what is it that the task entails…exactly?”

“The White Hats are up to their desperate attempts. As amusing as they are, usually, they’re invoking prophecies this time,” the old vampire reached for his leather jacket’s front pocket to carefully unfurl a scrap of yellow parchment.

Him and his prophecies, the redhead thought with an amused twinkle in her eye.

“The prophecy reads: “A witch borne from generations Six shall arise. Power so white she alights the very nights. Should this light touch the Master of Old it shall bring His demise. But should the Dark mark her Heart, she will be bound to it by unbreakable ties,” his long, gnarled fingers presented the aged paper to Willow; a crooked fingernail pointing to a particular mark, “that is the witch’s insignia.”

Willow’s intelligent green eyes brightened as she scanned the parchment intensely, “and how do we know where to look for the little witch?”

“We don’t,” Xander spoke proudly, smiling even as he rubbed his smarting neck, “but the White Hat that was carrying the prophecy in his back pocket does. And luckily enough, he’s tied up in our basement.”

The White Hat in question, a puny, stoic, scrap of a boy had proven hard to break. Xander had almost killed him more than once, when Willow, who had been strewn on a chair watching the fun, grew bored of Xander’s humdrum forms of torture.

The redheaded vampire slinked across the dingy basement, her fingers trailed playfully along the bars of the boy’s small cell before she dragged the gate open. She eased down alluringly to kneel at the boy’s left side, Xander at his right, watching the scene before him with the gratified smirk of a spectator who already knew how the game would end.

“Are you a canary?” She had asked breathily, like it was some delightful secret shared between the two.

“W-what?” The exerted boy asked, before his breath was taken by the horrified scream that gripped his lungs as the index finger of his left hand was ripped away from him as easily as if the beautiful girl above him were picking flowers for her beau.

Willow sucked on the bleeding digit coquettishly, before asking again, as if the gruesome incident had never occurred, “are you a canary?”

“Yes,” the boy gasped out, horror having overtaken his heart and countenance under the ministrations of the gentle, milky hands of his torturer.

“Do you like to sing?”

There was a minute’s pause as the boy’s brows furrowed, whatever battle raged within his head and heart having apparently been lost, “Yes.”

The vampire grinned wryly, too easy, “sing for Willow.”

The boy had told them that Giles recognized the insignia as that of a very old, very powerful generation of witches. He had known one of them; a beautiful girl he’d met in England who had moved to America. The last he’d heard she gave up the craft, married and had children. This was years ago but he traced her letters and found an address. He would arrange a meeting with her soon, which meant that the Order was short on time.

Next night, at the crack of moonlight, they had set off for a nowhere farm in central California.

A screeching halt was what ultimately ceased the young vampire’s musings. They nearly ran into the wooden fence separating the road from someone’s property, “is this it?” Willow asked, unperturbed by Xander’s reckless driving.

“More or less. It should be,” the boy stepped out and took an unnecessary breath, “it smells so clean here.”

Willow pouted prettily as she followed Xander through the wooden fence, “you can’t smell any humans around.”

“C’mon let’s try to spot the house,” the boy broke into a run, Willow following closely behind.

The two vampires seemed a blur of shiny leather in the ivory light of the first few hours past midnight as they whizzed past the fields of grain at either side of their path. They stopped a few miles from a large two-story house, “that’s it right there,” the boy pointed, “that’s where our witch lives.”

Willow smiled impishly as she surveyed the farm-house, her immortal eyes gleaming keenly as she spotted the silhouette of a young girl in the second story’s window. She pulled her hands up on either side of the faint shadow, forming a circle “look, Xander, I’ve got her,” she whispered excitedly.

“I wonder if that’s her,” Xander spoke thoughtfully, before searching the sky, “daylight’s approaching, we should head into town. They’re waiting for us there.”

The redhead closed her freckled hands gently, sealing the shadowy visage of the young farm girl within her hands, “I’ve got her,” she whispered again, her impish smile never faltering, “I’ve got her.”


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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Fri Nov 21, 2008 2:40 pm 
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9. Gay Now

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Got my attention; great start.

I'm looking forward to seeing how Willow and Tara 'get along'; gonna be a bumpy road, I'm sure.

Looking forward to more.


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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Sat Nov 22, 2008 3:39 am 
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Interesting beginning... update-y goodness soon?

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Sat Nov 22, 2008 4:33 pm 
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The silhouette of Tara in her bedroom window and Willow laying in wait perving on her from the shadows is a hint of yumminess to come, I hope?
"I've got you" says Willow.
Tara replies "You've got me. Who's got you?"
No wait, sorry. That's "Superman:The Movie" but still...
Vamp Willow and Witchy Tara all :wtkiss is worth waiting for.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 6:46 am 
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1. Blessed Wannabe

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Vamp Willow... I can't wait to see what happens.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 8:31 pm 
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2. Floating Rose
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onyxsundrops: I hope I keep your attention, thanks for replying! As for a bumpy road? You have no clue…

Zampsa1975: Update-y goodness just under this! Thanks!

taralicious: There is much yummyness to come, yes.

Red Sparrow: I know, right!? Who doesn’t love Vamp Will?



Chapter 2 "I'll Just Kill Him"

~~~

A young girl sat huddled in on herself in a dark corner of a small, mostly bare room. The wall she braced herself against was the barrier between her and her dying mother. Insomnia is the tell-tale heart of the restless soul, and the girl’s nights were now spent listening to her mother suffer alone in the upstairs bathroom.

The night it had all began she had rushed to the older woman’s side and brushed her soft, blonde curls away from her face. She had rubbed her back reverently. She had brushed the tears from her cold, clammy cheek. She had taken the thin, shaking body of her mother into her arms and held her close; swallowing her own tears which threatened to drown them both with their volume.

“No,” her mother had whispered resolutely, “I’m fine baby, go, go back to bed. Momma’s just a little sick is all. Don’t you go worrying, baby.”

Tara Maclay’s deep, cerulean eyes darkened as they witnessed her mother’s soft strength. Her beautiful features contorted with the pain she felt and the tears she now let fall freely down her cheeks. She fell into her mother’s warm embrace; let the soft arms cradle her back and forth. The older woman hummed a soft tune in her ear until her daughter’s shaking had stilled and her breathing had evened, but she could not make the silent tears that fell from her incandescent blue eyes stop.

The next morning, Tara’s mother, Deirdre Maclay, turned to her daughter with a smile that seemed to serve more purposes than to merely convey her happiness at the sight of her precious little girl. It was meant to brush aside the events of the previous night; to move far away from that scenario and all of its haunting implications, “funny shapes or rounds, baby?” She asked over a stove.

Tara’s intuitiveness prickled in understanding—her mother did not want to be seen that way. She did not want to watch her daughter watch her die, “f-funny shapes.”

And so, Tara would sit and listen unseen by her mother. She would cry her silent tears in isolation. She sat and felt as if she were dying along with her mother.

The hiss of the faucet in the adjoining room announced to the young girl that this night was close to over. She would then hear the one sob her mother let escape as water splashed about her face, the whine of the bathroom door, and the creak of a mattress as her mother settled in next to a man who had slept through the whole thing.

Tara’s shaky legs propelled her upwards and, almost by some imperceptible force; an invisible and persistent tug at her arm, she came to stand in front of the window.

She could feel the cold coming in from the outside, cutting into her warm skin harshly and making her wrap her arms around herself. Inexplicably, however, she felt attracted to the only real escape from her world of dying mothers and overbearing fathers (her bedroom door only leading to more of the same).

She pressed her hands against the cool glass delicately as she peered closely into the dark. On the horizon, she could barely make out a flash of pale skin and crimson, before the image was swiftly taken away.

Imagination or some form of absurd reality, it didn’t much matter. The image had burned itself into her mind and she had dreamed of that blur of a creature for what was left of the night.

The sun extended its arms towards her still tired body and she rose, as always, to go about dressing for the day. Still the image of skin, like marble, gliding across the night air ran through her mind—as she put on her plaid blue uniform skirt, which reached just above her knees and the white button up she had to wear over it—the school’s crest at its pocket—and finally the Navy blazer she was required to wear over her shirt, as she ate breakfast, as she rode her bike to Holy Oak Catholic High School, as she sat and took notes; always it was on her mind.

School for the young girl was an almost torturous affair. She went about it mechanically, with hunched shoulders and eyes that were nearly always fixed on the ground. She could never find a place to fit, and was therefore never a cog in the high school machine. Rather than feeling like an individual, she felt superfluous, irrelevant. Unimportant.

She paid close attention to her teachers, while nearly always disagreeing with them. They didn’t teach evolution, sexual reproduction, modern art, feminism, or anything that strayed from the ideal of their small Catholic town. They didn’t teach more than what they actually taught.

The only saving grace the grey cliché of a school had was Emma and Tommy. They were like her—artistic, offbeat, kind-hearted, and gay. They were her friends, and shared her dream of straying away from the small town that their spirits felt too big for.

The day went on much in the way that it usually did; class after class, snicker after snicker, and stare after stare. As the bell rang, she gathered her books into her arms and let her hair fall to curtain her soft face as she walked out of the small classroom.

“Hey, Tare,” the image of short blue hair and an impish face awaited her. The young girl leaned casually against Tara’s locker as she smirked down at the shorter girl, “library?”

Tara played with the hem of her shirt as she cradled her books in her other arm and smiled lopsidedly up at Emma Taylor, “it’s cute how you still have to ask.”

The three friends had met their freshman year in the small, secluded library. It was open until 5:30 PM, and the three were the only students not eager to go home—the prospect being even worse than that of the oppressive school they attended. They quickly became friends, shedding their shy shells in front of each other.

The girls walked through the oak double-doors of the library, spotting Tommy Pages seated at their usual table, to the far left of the room. The young boy sat hunched over a bible which was really just covering a copy of Two Teenagers in Twenty that he had sneaked into the school. His soft blonde hair fell into his kind eyes as he focused on his book.

“Heya Tommy,” they greeted the boy as they took their seats in front of him.

“Guess who was just in here, right before you girls walked in. You’ll never guess,” Tommy spoke by way of greeting, his eyes not leaving his book until he finished one last sentence.

“T-then, really, what’s the point of trying?” Tara’s brow quirked teasingly as she smiled at the boy.

“Braxton Hill!” He said, excitedly.

“Ooooh, Braxton Hill…how dreamy,” Emma clutched both hands to her chest and rolled her green eyes in a slow, sardonic circle.

Tommy’s chest rose in a deep sigh, “sometimes it sucks being best friends with two of the cutest baby-dykes this side of Cali-for-nee.”

“Well he is a very pretty guy,” Tara spoke up, “but, um, he’s sort of a huge assh-hole.”

The friends shared a laugh as Emma rubbed Tara’s shoulder, “Tare, you have no clue how cute you are, y’know that?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time he made me give him head in the boys’ bathroom?” Tommy’s eyes gleamed distractedly, and he wore the pinnacle of the shit-eating grin on his boyish face.

“Did I ever tell you about the time you told me that story and I threw up a little in my mouth?” Emma shot back, smiling cutely as she heard Tara’s attempts at not laughing loudly.

Maybe for the millionth time in the 2 years they’d been attending Holy Oak High School the three friends received a sharp ‘shhh’ and a glare from the old librarian sat a few feet away in front of a computer.

Time slid by smoothly and joyously for those two-and-a-half hours that Tara got to spend with her friends. Emma walked her to her bike as usual, and, as usual asked Tara if she’d like a ride home in her truck.

“It’s getting late, and I can just put your bike in the back of the truck. C’mon, Tare.”

But Tara always declined, shaking her head prettily, “I like riding at night. The air feels nice.”

“Okay,” Emma did her best at not sounding disappointed, but her best wasn’t very good, “be careful then. My Pop heard from the Hick’s place that two cows showed up dead with no coyote tracks. Looks like the Chupacabra might be back,” she spoke seriously.

Tara covered her giggling mouth with one hand but her glittering, giddy eyes gave her away, “I’ll be very careful.”

She put her books in her bike’s white basket and rode leisurely into the fateful night.

Tara loved the way the wind would pet her hair as she rode through the mostly empty town. She liked the sense of danger she got from being alone and vulnerable at night; aspects of her life were either miserable or mundane and this happy danger was neither.

Her musings halted abruptly as her bike popped and hissed before sliding across the gravel of Holy Oak Park. “Oh, darn it!” Tara mumbled to herself as she got off the bike, “you unreliable thing!” she kicked at the tire.

“Wasn’t the tire’s fault,” a voice, almost undetectable, flittered through the air.

Tara looked around before spotting the dark, pale thing strewn about the Park’s Merry-Go-Round which swayed slightly back and forth with her movements.

“W-what?” The blonde asked, unaccustomed to any sort of acknowledgement. Especially not from beautiful strangers.

“That’s your culprit there,” the girl whispered, staring pointedly at a small rock.

“Oh,” Tara played with her hands, “w-well it’s not the rock’s fault it was there. T-tires are supposed to go through ‘em.”

The girl shrugged noncommittally, but did not take her glowing green orbs away from Tara.

Tara stared back, hypnotized by the devilish glint in the stranger’s eyes, the lithe, narrow form revealed by the tight leather that it was enveloped in, the fiery red hair and how it contrasted with the pearly white of her skin.

She shifted her gaze embarrassedly, clearing her throat nervously.

“H-hey, um, where was the first ever writing discovered?” She asked.

“Where?”

“A rock!” Tara’s smile lit up her eyes in the ethereal country night.

Her companion laughed joyously; her leather-covered chest rising up and down. She rested her head in her left hand and peered obliquely at the young girl, “that’s pretty funny.”

Tara’s blush was visible even in the dark, “Th-thank you. Are you, um, new around here? I’ve never s-seen you. Or anyone like you.”

“I’m Willow. I just got here, and I hate it.” The vampire pouted and pet a spot next to her in the old rusted Merry-Go-Round.

Tara walked towards the red-haired girl as if in thrall, “I-I’m Tara, Tara Maclay,” she spoke as she sat.

The vampire’s eyes darkened in recognition before a dangerous smirk turned the pretty corners of her lips.

“Are you staying here with f-family?” Tara asked her, after a small pause in their conversation.

“Yes. Lucien Tilly’s my uncle,” she told the girl.

Father Lucien?”

“He can’t be your father. He’s a priest,” Willow whispered wryly, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction at the melodious sound of Tara’s laughter.

“S-so, you’re on vacation from school?” Tara inquired of the quirky girl that lay on the metal apparatus.

“I don’t go to school,” Willow spoke factually.

“Oh?” One fair, blonde eyebrow rose in question, “you seem very young.”

Willow leaned in conspiratorially, “I’m only one year old, that’s why,” she whispered near the blonde’s warm ear.

Tara shuddered at the feeling of the girl’s cool breath; somehow it warmed a place deep inside of her. It was both pleasant and unnerving.

“Um, I-I should go. I have to be home by dinner,” the blonde stood slowly, turning to the pale girl with her trademark asymmetrical smirk, “m-my father gets angry if I’m late.”

“I’ll just kill him,” the redhead whispered with a smile.

Tara shook her blonde head down at the small girl now sat across her, as if to ask herself what kind of person it was that she had just met. After a moment's thought, she decided to laugh at the seemingly offhand comment, “It was nice m-meeting you, Willow.”

“We have to meet again,” the vampire demanded, “Soon.”

~~~

A/N Important: The way the story is being written, we're switching from Willow's perspective in one chapter, to Tara's in the next. So the timeline in the next chapter will pick up right after Chapter 1, in Willow's perspective. Therefore explaining some of Willow's behavior upon meeting Tara. Confused? Let me know.[/b]

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Last edited by madwriter on Wed Dec 10, 2008 11:19 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 11:59 pm 
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Yay for good update-y goodness... I hope Willow soon takes care of Tara's ass hole father...

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 2:35 pm 
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Great update. I hope Willow eats Tara's dad.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 3:15 pm 
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Well. I like the start. It's creepy but Willow is strangely comforting. I like that Tara has friends although she seems even younger than I think she is. I can't wait for their next encounter.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 6:22 pm 
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Vamp Willow is strangely comforting, I think, because being a blood-sucking fiend, she has the mesmeric power to put her prey at ease before she takes a bite out of crime.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 7:43 pm 
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Wow, I don't what to say. It's really good ;-) so I hope there's more soon enough? :pray I will love to read more of Tara and Vampire Willow interactions.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Tue Dec 09, 2008 3:32 am 
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hey I like your start ... please keep the updates coming (and it would be interesting to see that initial meeting from Vamp Willow's perspective! :D

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Tue Dec 09, 2008 8:29 am 
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Nice take on the Vamp-Willow/Tara theme... Very intruiging! Looking forward to reading VWs POV!

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 12:03 am 
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Zampsa1975: I'm sure Willow would be very happy to "take care of him" actually.

Red Sparrow: Thanks! You guys should start a "eat Tara's dad" club. There are a lot of supporters.

JustSkipIt: Thank you! I used the model of S4 Tara for my portrayal of high school Tara but I may have overdone it. Stay tuned though!

taralicious: Wow, I really liked the way you put that. It's exactly what I was trying to portray.

Raineh: Thanks! There's a lot of stuff going on in the story but it's all about Willow and Tara, so plenty of interaction.

Little Bit: Thanks! Willow's perspective is coming right up.

sadie: Thanks a lot, it's a tough theme to portray--vampires (even in love) don't tend to be very nice. But I'm giving it my best.


~~~

Chapter 3 "The Birth of Venus"

More of Xander’s bad driving had led the two vampires into town. The dark-haired boy stopped the car just short of hitting a church of all places.

For a time they stared blankly at the modest, though large edifice, until the moment that Willow’s head tilted curiously and she stepped out of the car. Xander followed not albeit dumbly.

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked him.

The boy could only shake his head, “this is supposed to be the place, this is where the Master said to go.”

“Can we even,” she placed her booted foot so it hovered playfully above the church steps, “can we even step on it?”

Xander looked away sheepishly, “No clue.”

“Well, no hypothesis should go untested,” and with that Willow the Wicked shoved her partner directly onto the porch steps, “subject appears to have suffered mild trauma during the course of experimentation but…he’ll live to kill another day,” and she smiled at his wide-eyed expression as if she hadn’t just treated his existence with all the care and respect afforded to lab rats.

Not funny,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes fondly at him, “Drusilla and Angelus once met in a church, in a confessional booth,” she said simply, and it was clear that the statement was both the end of the explanation and the conversation.

Willow’s Sire, Drusilla, was far more involved in her Childe’s unlife than Xander’s was to his, and the boy flinched almost undetectably at the reminder.

Silently, he reached to knock on the looming double-doors but was stopped short by a large gust that smelled of dust and old age.

The door had been opened abruptly by a rather annoyed looking man in a long black robe. It was a priest’s robe. “Come in, come in,” he said, “it’s almost daylight for Christ’s sake, Jesus, what an hour to be arriving.”

Lucien Tilly was once an old man, as it stands now he’s an old vampire. He was sired on a Sunday; 1697 had been the year, and he had been a 57-year-old priest strongly revered for his kindness. As a vampire he had been revered for his cruelty.

In 1852, the day he celebrated 155 years of unlife a feeling took over him to settle. Weeks before this feeling overtook him his Sire—a beautiful young nun with eyes like a river who, as a human, had fallen in love with Lucien—had been dusted by a young, quixotic Slayer whom Lucien later seduced and killed.

For months he had roamed, lost and purposeless. He had lost his zeal for mayhem, lost his taste for blood, lost his will to deal out truculent destruction—his vampire followers quickly noticed and left him abandoned on a desert road. He arrived in California just as the state was beginning to bloom and, on a whim, founded Holy Oak.

This would be the place in which he would convalesce, he decided. For 155 years he had subsisted on discord, he had lived an aberration for a century and a half with years to spare! No more, he decided, and declared the land sacred. The first thing built in the newly consecrated town had been the church.

The old priest sired three men to help him, David who had come looking for gold, Adam who had come looking for adventure and Paul who had come looking for love. Together they built the town, together they watched it prosper, though its destiny rested always in the hands of its owner, Lucien. Lucien would always have control over Holy Oak.

Every aspect of the town was one that he controlled—the mayor, the police, all school officials, all officials period. Questions were not forbidden, but it was common knowledge what your fate would be should you ask too many of them.

So no one blinked an eye when they only held Mass at night, no one blinked when the odd death would go uninvestigated, no one cared to note that their town was run as a theocracy—Holy Oak was a still picture in a sepia tone, with some irksome quality that could not be pinpointed.

The citizens were kept silent and oblivious through a mixture of spells and Lucien’s own mesmeric harangue—for 147 years that had been enough.

Such had been the priest’s diatribe to Willow and Xander as the three sat around a private and elegant room away from the pews.

Willow studied the man before her whose eyes peered past her into a time in which she did not exist, he looked, she thought, like some magnificent flamingo.

He had long, lanky limbs and a big nose that protruded toward the sky, then dipped lower, towards the ground at the very tip. His hairline receded back towards his ears, but still he kept his grey hair long and tied into a pony tail. Beneath his bushy brows lie his only beautiful feature—his eyes which were a grey so light they bordered on silver. But grey, they were.

Finally the clouds within his eyes cleared and he again focused his attention on his guests, “but what terrible manners! You must be famished after such a long drive. Adam! Paul! Three drinks please!” He called out into the air and from the silent church two figures emerged behind whom three nuns marched silently, heads bowed.

Lucien stood and made his way to one of the nuns. The girl was unnaturally skinny, a fact which made her look very ugly, except for her eyes which moved like a river. He held her chin with the tips of his thumb and index finger and gently pulled to bare her neck, sinking his teeth into the already badly scarred skin.

Xander looked to Willow whose blank face mirrored his, the boy shrugged and stood, callously grabbing at one of the sisters.

Willow stared deeply into the eyes of the remaining girl; they were brown and sunk into the sallow skin of her face so that they looked like two pools of mud. They were wide but still and unafraid. She stood slowly and gently placed her hands at the girl’s waist; the only response was a baring of her neck.

Willow had always prided herself on the size of her fangs. They were longer than Xander’s, longer than Spike’s, almost as long as the Master’s. And she knew that when they punctured human skin it was very painful and always accompanied by a shrill, cacophonous plea into the night air where no one was listening but her. How she looked forward to and savored that dizzying moment!

This girl, however, made no move to scream or get away. She stood there lifelessly, and Willow felt like she was sucking at cadaver. She lost all appetite and pulled away, leaving the wound still dripping the spicy scarlet all along the girl’s black robe.

“Don’t kill them,” Lucien spoke, in a voice meant for afterthoughts.

“I think someone already has,” Willow spoke up, but so softly that the sounds of feeding easily stifled the words.

The girls left immediately after the vampires’ feeding, again following Adam and Paul, none bothered to wipe at their necks.

“Now,” Lucien spoke, “let us return to the urgent matter at hand. I’ve been prepared for this for a while. I lost all ties to the Master shortly after leaving England for America, but I knew of this prophecy, and I was aware of its protagonist residing in my own small corner of the universe. I was unaware he knew I lived in California, I was unaware he knew I lived at all—but he has kept a close eye on me, it seems,” here the man walked towards an expansive bookshelf and ran his index finger along the spines until it rested on a large brown text, seemingly no different than the others, “the prophecy is found only in Sabina Smith’s Book of Shadows. Sabina Smith was a decent witch, and an exceptional prophet. She was a part of the coven of which the original witch from whence the six generations spawned belonged, they met and the vision came upon her suddenly. Now six generations later, we shall see whether or not it shall come to pass.”

“It won’t,” Xander spoke suddenly, his face still ridged and beastly.

“Not in your capable hands, I’m sure,” Lucien spoke dryly, though he had a sneaking suspicion that only the diminutive redhead had understood the sarcastic reply, and he smirked at the girl’s small snort, “the young witch lives on a farm not far from here—“

“We’ve visited her,” Willow interjected softly and at Lucien’s startled look she continued languidly, “The Watcher knew the witch’s mother—or grandmother—we found out the name, the address. So we surveyed the area, did a little recon. We’re pretty crafty.”

“No contact?”

“Not yet,” Willow smiled at him.

“They’re the Maclay’s, that’s the family name. As witches they’re known as the Orwell’s. The line began with Nina Orwell in 1499 and is currently upheld by the two remaining Orwell witches: Deirdre Maclay and her daughter Tara Maclay--the sixth generation of the Orwell witches. And our prophesized witch.”

“Tara Maclay,” Willow rolled the name over and around her tongue, memorizing it.

“I’ve already formulated a plan—it’s already in effect, I had the foresight to start planting all the seeds early. I won’t let you in on the specifics just yet, but leave it up to me to get the witch. You need only be transporters.”

Xander’s arms glided leisurely to the back of his gelled up hair, “sounds good to me, just be speedy about it, will ya?”

“Anything for you, Darling,” Lucien’s cheeks broke into sardonic wrinkles. They were like a curtain pulled back to reveal his smile, Willow mused tiredly.

“This is boring,” Willow slumped low into her chair and let her body go limp like a rag doll’s, “I want to kill something.”

“None of that here, I’m afraid,” Lucien told her pointedly, “that actually brings me to my next topic. There are a few precepts you’re going to have to adhere to while you’re here, in my town, in my home. You don’t kill my citizens, understand? There’s enough right here so you’ll never be hungry. Don’t go around leering, or causing mischief, I’ve owned this place for 147 years without incident, and I won’t have two reckless fledglings ruining it for me. Understand?” One bushy brow flew up into his receding hairline.

“Yeah, yeah,” Xander spoke for them. For her part Willow pouted her lips at the steeped ceiling.

That morning Willow had dreamt she was chasing a shadow, a pretty silhouette, all across a sunny glade. The sun shone brightly and they laughed, she was not chasing for the kill of it, she simply wanted to catch the alluring figure and hold it in her arms, inspect it curiously. That was the first time since becoming a vampire that Willow’s dream was set in daylight, though the vampire failed to note this right away.

When night came Willow watched Xander chase nuns for an hour before growing bored. Paul, David and Adam said they sometimes killed cows for the fun of it but Willow grew bored after the first kill. She didn’t find it funny when they tipped over like the other three did. But she figured over a hundred years living in this town and anyone would go goofy.

She left them there to kill all the cows; she hoped they killed every cow in the world and that their stupid laughter would ring in the night air eternally. She decided to take a lackadaisical walk through the town. It appeared endlessly lonely, people just seemed sparse. They would walk in little groups and stare oddly as she passed. She missed throngs of people.

Feeling suddenly despondent she entered the little park where there was not one child swinging or running about, or shrieking. The swings stirred in the wind and Willow decided it was some ghost keeping her company; she sat across the ghost, on the Merry-Go-Round, and watched it swing rhythmically backwards and forwards.

~~~

Willow sensed the girl precisely two blocks before she apparently decided to turn away from the path and into the more scenic route through the park. Temptress. And here she was a neutered kitten, Willow pouted into the dark.

The girl was a pretty yellow blur, and then with a pop and a hiss she became a solid object.

“Oh, darn it! You unreliable thing!” She kicked tires.

“Wasn’t the tire’s fault,” Willow whispered, ginning amusedly.

The girl turned her head left and right before her eyes finally fell on Willow’s in the dark. Willow had never seen eyes glow like that at night before; they radiated their own light like stars do.

“W-what?” The little blonde thing stuttered at her.

“That’s your culprit there,” Willow glared at the small rock which had left a long white scar across the black cement in the accident.

“Oh,” The girl’s hands started to wind themselves around, “w-well it’s not the rock’s fault it was there. T-tires are supposed to go through ‘em.”

Willow shrugged because she no longer cared about the rock or tire. Oh what providence this was, a gorgeous young girl in a school girl’s outfit, and with a broken bike to boot. No other means of escape, no houses for at least a mile, no one to hear her scream. Except Willow. The diminutive vamp was playing with the idea that perhaps this girl was fate’s way of telling her this ‘no killing’ thing just wasn’t for her. If Lucien had a problem she’d kill him too, she could turn the girl, the girl would help her…she would have to because Xander would probably just stand there like an id—

She almost didn’t hear the girl through her mental circumlocution.

“H-hey, um, where was the first ever writing discovered?” She asked her.

“Where?”

“A rock!” The girl’s smile reminded Willow of the moon the night Drusilla had turned her—an innocent curve in the darkness.

She understood the joke right away, she’d never miss an academic reference “that’s pretty funny.”

The girl blushed and Willow quietly longed after the blood beneath those pale cheeks, “Th-thank you. Are you, um, new around here? I’ve never s-seen you. Or anyone like you.”

“I’m Willow. I just got here, and I hate it.” Willow patted the space next to her, she wanted the girl close in case she decided to give in and take a bite. Each second it started to feel more and more worth the trouble it would cost her.

The girl abandoned the old powder blue bicycle and Willow felt as if she were reeling in a pretty salmon with her eyes, “I-I’m Tara, Tara Maclay,” she spoke as she sat.

The witch!

“Are you staying here with f-family?” Tara finally spoke up.

After a very brief bout of speechlessness Willow responded with the lie Lucien had settled on for her and Xander’s presence in the church and town “Yes. Lucien Tilly’s my uncle.”

Father Lucien?”

“He can’t be your father. He’s a priest,” Willow whispered wryly, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction at the melodious sound of Tara’s laughter.

“S-so, you’re on vacation from school?” Tara asked her, smiling widely so that a small dimple graced her left cheek.

“I don’t go to school.”

“Oh?” One fair, blonde eyebrow rose in question, “you seem very young.”

Willow leaned in conspiratorially, breathing in the girl’s ambrosial
scent “I’m only one year old, that’s why,” she whispered near the blonde’s warm ear.

She could feel Tara tremble at her closeness.

“Um, I-I should go. I have to be home by dinner,” the blonde stood slowly, turning to the pale girl with her trademark asymmetrical smirk, “m-my father gets angry if I’m late.”

“I’ll just kill him,” Willow vowed sweetly.

Tara was obviously startled at the seriousness with which Willow had said the words, but soon her gaping mouth closed with a barely audible pop and she laughed albeit nervously “It was nice m-meeting you, Willow.”

“We have to meet again,” the vampire demanded, “Soon.”

The blonde bit her lip before nodding, “I live a mile that way,” she pointed toward the moon, “you can come over any time, my dad and your uncle are good friends.”

The girl started to walk away, dragging her bike along, and Willow followed her until the very edge of the park. She stood and watched as the girl looked back at her twice, the second time waving awkwardly and calling out a “goodbye, Willow.”

She stood until she could no longer smell the girl’s scent, or feel the faint echo of her pulse.

~~~

It had been a long night—something which never happened in the city. She spent the whole of it by a tall window on the side of Lucien’s church, musing. She thought about the witch. Something in the girl’s eyes begged Willow to think of her. Something in the girl’s eyes left her spellbound; there was a depth there, dark and inviting like the ocean at night. There was an inherent womanliness in that gaze that belied the girl’s outer meekness.

A thick velvet curtain was unfurled in front of the window, Willow turned to Adam or Paul or whichever one of them it was and the vampire shrugged by way of explanation, “daylight,” he said simply.

Willow stretched her limbs which had grown stiff in the hours she’d spent sitting and thinking and walked to her room to sleep. She dreamt she drowned in the deep blue sea.

~~~

Xander’s big booted feet clunking on the small room’s floor woke her. They were sharing the small simple room which consisted of two small simple beds and nothing else. She kept her eyes closed and wished him away.

“Where were you last night?”

Shit.

“Here mostly, I went to the park for a little,” she turned to him, her pale naked body entangled in plain white sheets, “Where were you?”

“With Kay,” he smiled widely.

Kay had been one of the three lifeless nuns; the one Xander had fed from.

“I’m sure that was a real barrel of laughs,” Willow spoke, one eyebrow rising to mock him.

There was a long moment’s silence where Willow simply looked at him as the boy ran gel across his hair. Sometimes she thought he was trying to imitate James Dean, sometimes she thought he was trying to imitate Spike…most times she thought they were both trying to imitate James Dean. She stared for another moment before deciding, “I met the witch.”

“What?” He turned around abruptly mid-hair stroke.

“In the park,” Willow continued past his impassioned glare, “she’s delightful.”

The boy-vampire threw his head back in exasperation. The things that caught Willow’s interest were an infinite mystery to him. It all seemed so random, the things that caught her eye, her attention. Some small idiosyncrasy or flaw, some small thing they did or didn’t say. It figures she’d get all hot and bothered over the enemy.

“Willow stop, all right? Let Lucien handle it like he said he would.”

“Why?” She challenged him, “wouldn’t it be better to at least establish trust with the girl? It’ll make it easier.”

“This was supposed to be easy already,” Xander practically whined at her, “you don’t want to end up dusted for making a mistake. And I don’t want to end up dusted for you making a mistake.”

“Our lives aren’t the ones at stake here—the Master’s is.”

“Even more reason to be wary,” he hissed.

Willow stood up in a huff, reaching for her suitcase which was slumped next to Xander’s in the right corner of the square little room, “you really need to grow a pair of fangs, sissy boy.”

“Don’t call me that!” His face changed with his rage, unbeknownst to him.

Willow smirked calmly as she dressed “Why? Is it some beautiful secret between Spike and you? Daddy’s little pet name for his sissy boy?”

Xander seethed silently and, unable to formulate a witty enough comeback, merely called out a “just don’t do anything stupid!” to Willow’s retreating back.

~~~

Plick. Plick. Plick. One by one she threw them at her window. She threw small, jagged rocks at Tara’s window for heavy seconds, until the image of light blonde hair and an open face graced the glass, like a painting, like the Birth of Venus.

Willow?” The vampire saw her mouth the words, eyes wide with surprise and not just a bit of excitement-- she slid the window open, “Willow, w-what are you doing here?”

“You are the sun.”

Tara watched her with an expression caught between amazement and fondness; she didn’t know passion could sound listless.

“Come out tonight,” the vampire said, admiring the girl’s white skin which her nightgown did not hide.

Tara bit her lip, vacillating.

“Are you scared?” Willow teased breathily, “I can make it fun.”

The blonde pulled at her bottom lip irresolutely, turning back to look inside the house.

Willow didn’t have to strain to hear the arguing voices, the girl’s mother and father probably. She smiled, knowing that eventually the girl would nod, or breath a soft ‘yes’ and then come down to her.

“Yes.”

_________________
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
--Allen Ginsberg


Last edited by madwriter on Thu Dec 11, 2008 12:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 12:49 am 
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19. Yummy Face
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Yay for good update-y goodness... I hope Willow doesn't freak Tara too much...

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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 7:11 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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I like Willow's perspective, however I noticed that you've made Vamp Willow a little nicer than her character as it was portrayed in cannon .. was that deliberate?

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-- me


I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs


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-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances


Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
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 Post subject: Re: Unbreakable Ties
PostPosted: Thu Dec 11, 2008 7:58 am 
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madwriter wrote:

sadie: Thanks a lot, it's a tough theme to portray--vampires (even in love) don't tend to be very nice. But I'm giving it my best.



I can imagine! They are supposed to be evil... they had some trouble with Spike on the show, I am sure. And well we know how that went ;P

It's good to read from the vamps' perspective, they seem to have more depth here which makes it interesting... though Vamp Willow as I picture her here isn't any less scary than Vamp Willow on the show! She better develop a soft spot for Tara, soon!

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