I Make Another Stab at Fanfic
Apr. 4th, 2007 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jmatonakI really wanted this to be a Buffy fic, but it's an Angel fic instead. With guest stars.
There are no special pairings here and so far it's R-rated at most, for gore and violence.
I perhaps should mention that this follows immediately from the end of Not Fade Away and has spoilers for all of both shows.
Prologue: Chula Vista
The red-haired man sang to himself as he rummaged through his office closet.
"Mary Anne and Wanda were the best of friends, all through their high school days..."
He found what he was looking for, a jagged piece of glass perhaps a foot across and two feet tall, and weighed it in his hand, considering. He continued to sing softly.
"Both members of the 4H Club, both active in the FFA..."
There was no frame, but it didn't weigh very much. The red-haired man decided the putty from the drugstore- supplemented with the proper charm- would likely serve. He put down the glass and took the ball of blue gunk in hand, working it to get it warm.
"After graduation Mary Anne went out, into the great big world..."
The red-haired man applied his gunk to one side of the glass and closed his closet door. He eyed the door critically for a moment, and placed his piece of glass, an improvised mirror, so that his natural eyeline, while standing, fell in the middle of it.
"And Wanda looked all around this town, and all she found was Earl."
He stopped singing, gathered his wits, and said a few words in a language that sounded like Latin but wasn't. His mirror clouded for a moment and then showed both his reflected face and, much more clearly, the face of a blonde woman with features narrower than some, who eyed him with the same wary contempt she used for shoplifters and rabbits.
"Hello, Anyanka", the red-haired man said.
"Hello, Ambrose," the woman in the glass said. Ambrose had never been sure if anyone else could hear her when she spoke." He was always careful to do this kind of thing out of sight of employees.
"Did you ever meet a woman named Winifred Burkle?" He wondered idly if she would be civil to him this time.
"Not in a social capacity. Possibly through my work." Ambrose relaxed a little. Chastising Anyanka was sometimes amusing, but always took time, and he was in a hurry.
"I believe she was a friend-of-a-friend of yours. I have some of her personal effects in the closet behind you. She's dead. Find her."
"That... will take time."
"Not as long as you think. I'll be back in an hour." He walked out of his office, closed and locked the door, and resumed singing softly to himself.
Chapter One: Just North of the Hyperion Hotel
Angel found it difficult to understand, but he was almost happy. He counted the demons again- still dozens, even without the corpses littering the alley. He pulled himself up on one of the wrought-iron balconies of the Hyperion and began jumping from floor to floor, aiming to get level with his quarry. He was going to die in the next few minutes, he was pretty sure, and in a much more permanent way than he ever had before. But, even bearing that in mind, Angel still thought the opportunity to slay a dragon was... cool. He couldn't think of a better word. On the Hyperion roof, Angel began to gauge distances for his next jump.
Down in the alley, Spike and Illyria were still trying to keep most of the demons off of Gunn. Angel was cheered by this, inasmuch as he didn't believe Illyria would bother to protect a corpse. Illyria, for her part, was busy tearing an arm off the largest demon. Her hands formed their own finger-holes in the flesh of its wrist, as she braced herself against its ankle.
Spike decapitated some demon he didn't recognize and looked around to see what was next. Something like a red-tinted Fyarl stepped into him and Spike dropped his sword and grabbed its horns.
The huge demon's arm came free. Illyria smiled a little smile of self-satisfaction and began to swing her new improvised club. The huge demon howled in pain and rage. Illyria was waiting for the howl of fear.
Angel threw himself off the roof and landed on the dragon's back. He raised his sword. As he did, it gave off a bright blue-white flash. Puzzled, but more or less in the middle of something here, Angel stuck the sword in the dragon's neck. It wouldn't go in very far, and Angel's heart sank a little as the dragon turned its prehensile neck to point its flamethrower mouth in his direction.
The dragon... sprang a leak. Blood, smelling even more putrid to Angel than reptile blood usually did, began to fountain from its open mouth. After a few seconds in the open air, the blood began to combust. Angel jumped back to the roof.
Spike, seeing the sky fill with what was essentially napalm, grabbed Gunn and got the hell out of the way.
Illyria was standing in the flames, grinning broadly now for perhaps the first time. As quickly as she could, she was moving among the enemy demons, striking not to kill, nor even to wound, but merely to make them stop. She observed with satisfaction that several of the enemy had been pinned under the fallen dragon's carcass. For them, and for the ones she herself managed to stop, the flame and magic of the dragon's blood made an end.
Gunn chuckled weakly. "Okay, that's different," he said.
Illyria looked at him, then strode purposefully toward the dragon. She worked her fingers under one of the creature's scales and ripped it free, then began tearing into the dragon's exposed flesh as quickly as she could. After a tense few seconds, she reached her goal and tore out a piece of the dragon's heart. She ran over to Gunn and almost crammed her gory handful down his throat.
"Eat. Quickly," she said.
Revolted more deeply than he could ever express, Gunn was forced to comply. He gagged. The wicked gash in his side stopped bleeding and began, with visible speed, to close. Feeling this, Gunn spent the next few minutes trying very, very hard not to vomit.
Spike surveyed the flaming alley and saw nary an enemy left. He looked up at Angel and called out, "Now what?"
"I don't know. I never got that far." And Angel began to laugh.
Chapter Two: Hyperion Hotel Reception Desk
Spike was trying to work out exactly what it said about Illyria that when everyone else cleaned themselves up, she hadn't bothered. When Angel piped up, Spike gave the matter a few more seconds' thought and decided he didn't care.
"Well, all the phones are dead," Angel said.
"Cell phones too, which I didn't expect," said Gunn.
"How do you feel?"
"I'll be great once I can wash this foul out of my mouth," Gunn said. Spike tossed him his flask. Gunn shrugged, unscrewed the cap, and took a healthy belt. He looked over at Illyria. "Thank you."
After a moment he heard, "You are welcome." Another pause. "I still feel grief. I am victorious, yet dissatisfied."
"Well, let's get you a taco," Gunn said.
"Will that help?"
"Will it hurt?"
Everyone headed for the door. It so happened that Spike reached it first. He was startled to find someone on the other side, and even more startled to recognize her. His mouth gaped open.
"Anya?"
to be continued
I'm desperate for feedback. Even more so than other fic authors, I mean.
There are no special pairings here and so far it's R-rated at most, for gore and violence.
I perhaps should mention that this follows immediately from the end of Not Fade Away and has spoilers for all of both shows.
Prologue: Chula Vista
The red-haired man sang to himself as he rummaged through his office closet.
"Mary Anne and Wanda were the best of friends, all through their high school days..."
He found what he was looking for, a jagged piece of glass perhaps a foot across and two feet tall, and weighed it in his hand, considering. He continued to sing softly.
"Both members of the 4H Club, both active in the FFA..."
There was no frame, but it didn't weigh very much. The red-haired man decided the putty from the drugstore- supplemented with the proper charm- would likely serve. He put down the glass and took the ball of blue gunk in hand, working it to get it warm.
"After graduation Mary Anne went out, into the great big world..."
The red-haired man applied his gunk to one side of the glass and closed his closet door. He eyed the door critically for a moment, and placed his piece of glass, an improvised mirror, so that his natural eyeline, while standing, fell in the middle of it.
"And Wanda looked all around this town, and all she found was Earl."
He stopped singing, gathered his wits, and said a few words in a language that sounded like Latin but wasn't. His mirror clouded for a moment and then showed both his reflected face and, much more clearly, the face of a blonde woman with features narrower than some, who eyed him with the same wary contempt she used for shoplifters and rabbits.
"Hello, Anyanka", the red-haired man said.
"Hello, Ambrose," the woman in the glass said. Ambrose had never been sure if anyone else could hear her when she spoke." He was always careful to do this kind of thing out of sight of employees.
"Did you ever meet a woman named Winifred Burkle?" He wondered idly if she would be civil to him this time.
"Not in a social capacity. Possibly through my work." Ambrose relaxed a little. Chastising Anyanka was sometimes amusing, but always took time, and he was in a hurry.
"I believe she was a friend-of-a-friend of yours. I have some of her personal effects in the closet behind you. She's dead. Find her."
"That... will take time."
"Not as long as you think. I'll be back in an hour." He walked out of his office, closed and locked the door, and resumed singing softly to himself.
Chapter One: Just North of the Hyperion Hotel
Angel found it difficult to understand, but he was almost happy. He counted the demons again- still dozens, even without the corpses littering the alley. He pulled himself up on one of the wrought-iron balconies of the Hyperion and began jumping from floor to floor, aiming to get level with his quarry. He was going to die in the next few minutes, he was pretty sure, and in a much more permanent way than he ever had before. But, even bearing that in mind, Angel still thought the opportunity to slay a dragon was... cool. He couldn't think of a better word. On the Hyperion roof, Angel began to gauge distances for his next jump.
Down in the alley, Spike and Illyria were still trying to keep most of the demons off of Gunn. Angel was cheered by this, inasmuch as he didn't believe Illyria would bother to protect a corpse. Illyria, for her part, was busy tearing an arm off the largest demon. Her hands formed their own finger-holes in the flesh of its wrist, as she braced herself against its ankle.
Spike decapitated some demon he didn't recognize and looked around to see what was next. Something like a red-tinted Fyarl stepped into him and Spike dropped his sword and grabbed its horns.
The huge demon's arm came free. Illyria smiled a little smile of self-satisfaction and began to swing her new improvised club. The huge demon howled in pain and rage. Illyria was waiting for the howl of fear.
Angel threw himself off the roof and landed on the dragon's back. He raised his sword. As he did, it gave off a bright blue-white flash. Puzzled, but more or less in the middle of something here, Angel stuck the sword in the dragon's neck. It wouldn't go in very far, and Angel's heart sank a little as the dragon turned its prehensile neck to point its flamethrower mouth in his direction.
The dragon... sprang a leak. Blood, smelling even more putrid to Angel than reptile blood usually did, began to fountain from its open mouth. After a few seconds in the open air, the blood began to combust. Angel jumped back to the roof.
Spike, seeing the sky fill with what was essentially napalm, grabbed Gunn and got the hell out of the way.
Illyria was standing in the flames, grinning broadly now for perhaps the first time. As quickly as she could, she was moving among the enemy demons, striking not to kill, nor even to wound, but merely to make them stop. She observed with satisfaction that several of the enemy had been pinned under the fallen dragon's carcass. For them, and for the ones she herself managed to stop, the flame and magic of the dragon's blood made an end.
Gunn chuckled weakly. "Okay, that's different," he said.
Illyria looked at him, then strode purposefully toward the dragon. She worked her fingers under one of the creature's scales and ripped it free, then began tearing into the dragon's exposed flesh as quickly as she could. After a tense few seconds, she reached her goal and tore out a piece of the dragon's heart. She ran over to Gunn and almost crammed her gory handful down his throat.
"Eat. Quickly," she said.
Revolted more deeply than he could ever express, Gunn was forced to comply. He gagged. The wicked gash in his side stopped bleeding and began, with visible speed, to close. Feeling this, Gunn spent the next few minutes trying very, very hard not to vomit.
Spike surveyed the flaming alley and saw nary an enemy left. He looked up at Angel and called out, "Now what?"
"I don't know. I never got that far." And Angel began to laugh.
Chapter Two: Hyperion Hotel Reception Desk
Spike was trying to work out exactly what it said about Illyria that when everyone else cleaned themselves up, she hadn't bothered. When Angel piped up, Spike gave the matter a few more seconds' thought and decided he didn't care.
"Well, all the phones are dead," Angel said.
"Cell phones too, which I didn't expect," said Gunn.
"How do you feel?"
"I'll be great once I can wash this foul out of my mouth," Gunn said. Spike tossed him his flask. Gunn shrugged, unscrewed the cap, and took a healthy belt. He looked over at Illyria. "Thank you."
After a moment he heard, "You are welcome." Another pause. "I still feel grief. I am victorious, yet dissatisfied."
"Well, let's get you a taco," Gunn said.
"Will that help?"
"Will it hurt?"
Everyone headed for the door. It so happened that Spike reached it first. He was startled to find someone on the other side, and even more startled to recognize her. His mouth gaped open.
"Anya?"
to be continued
I'm desperate for feedback. Even more so than other fic authors, I mean.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-04-04 04:43 pm (UTC)Puzzled, but more or less in the middle of something here, Angel stuck the sword in the dragon's neck.
heh.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-05 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-05 03:26 am (UTC)I like this.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-05 03:29 am (UTC)But, I have to warn you, there's almost certainly some romance coming up later.