From: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com (Buffyfic-digest) To: buffyfic-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: Buffyfic-digest V1 #83 Reply-To: buffyfic@xmission.com Sender: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk Buffyfic-digest Saturday, January 17 1998 Volume 01 : Number 083 In this issue: BUFFYFIC: Ill Met By Moonlight, Part 2 of 19 BUFFYFIC: Truth (1/1) BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 0/12 BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 1/12 BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 2/12 BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 3/12 See the end of the digest for information on subscribing to the buffyfic or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 00:47:56 -0600 (CST) From: perridox@enteract.com (Perri Smith) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Ill Met By Moonlight, Part 2 of 19 See disclaimers in part 1. Comments/compliments/flames accepted/enjoyed/ignored at perridox@enteract.com Ill Met By Moonlight (2/19) By Perri Smith Copyright 1998 Chapter 1 Angel was restless tonight. It might have been the full moon, calling to his blood. It might have been the influence of the Hellmouth, stirring the demon that hovered beneath his soul. Or it might have just been plain old cabin fever. Whatever it was, it drove Angel out of his room to roam the streets of Sunnydale when the sun had barely sunk below the horizon. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he rambled with no particular purpose in mind, not looking for trouble, but not particularly avoiding it. He wouldn't mind a good fight at the moment -- anything to shake this damn restlessness. He wasn't particularly surprised to look up and find himself at The Bronze, the warehouse-turned-club that catered to the teenage population of Sunnydale. He wound up here a lot, for reasons he didn't like to examine too closely, or too often. Most of them revolved around a young, blonde Slayer.... He could go inside; Buffy might be there with her friends. She'd look up at him and her face would light up, and he'd let her talk him into a dance. Maybe it would be one of the good nights, the nights they could convince themselves there was a future for them. The nights they could forget that he was a vampire, and she was the Slayer, and some things were never meant to be. No, he wouldn't go in tonight, not in this mood. Angel walked determinedly past the club, shoving his hands a little deeper into his jacket. He wanted darkness tonight, not lights and music. He wanted to be alone. The sound of shuffling, running footsteps on the sidewalk behind him brought him swinging around, ready for a fight. "Who's there?" he demanded harshly. There was no answer for a long moment. Then the staggering form of a woman emerged from the shadows of the club. She paused for a moment as she saw Angel, then arrowed towards him with single-minded determination. She was limping heavily, her left leg almost useless beneath her. Angel braced himself automatically, unsure what to expect. The woman wasn't much of a threat, not injured as she was, but there was something about her that set his teeth on edge, fangs and all. Something familiar about her movements, about the heavy tangle of hair that hid her face.... "Who are you?" he demanded roughly. She finally looked at him, giving him his first glimpse of her face. Round, with strong cheekbones and huge dark eyes that widened abruptly as she seemed to focus on him. "My God," she breathed with blank shock. "You *are* real." Her balance faltered again; Angel caught the sharp, sweet scent of the blood that soaked her jeans and coat, and felt the demon stir. "Tell me who you are," he demanded again, as the demon rose. She took another step towards him, her eyes locked on his, filled with pain, and hatred, and stubborn defiance. "You should know," she forced out on short, painful breaths, "Angelus." Dark eyes... Restlessness abruptly crystallized, memories nearly a century old slamming into him. A dark night, a fire, a dark-haired girl with eyes very like this one. The pleasure of feeding.... And the agony. "Damn you!" The demon howled and awoke, and his face shifted to reflect it, a snarl rising from his throat. "Get away from me!" She didn't even flinch. "Angelus," she repeated, swaying in place before him. And as her balance failed completely, she forced two more words past her lips. "Help me." Her body crumpled towards the pavement, and Angel damn near let her fall. But at the last second, something forced him into motion, made him catch her at shoulders and knees. She was heavy and limp in his arms, and he went to one knee to keep from dropping her, her head rolling back against him. He fought the compulsion, fought to release her and leave her in the streets to fend for herself, dredging up strength of will and hatred he'd forgotten he possessed. But his actions were bound by what she was, and he had no choice. With a low, vicious curse, he hefted the woman into his arms and stood back up, heading instinctively towards the one place he knew would be safe. ***** "Ideally, as the Slayer, you should be able to sense the forces of darkness as they approach you, not with your eyes or your ears, but with your very being, with the part of your soul that makes you the Slayer.... Are you listening to me?" Buffy examined her fingernails more closely, making sure the dark polish hadn't chipped. She had sooo many better things to do than hang out at the library for a late-night training session. But Principle Snyder was making it harder and harder to work during the day, and Giles was getting antsy about practice time. So here it was, 9pm on a school night, and she was sitting in the school library, listening to Giles lecture. "Yes, Giles," she sighed heavily. "'With my very being, with the part of my soul, yada, yada, yada.' Why don't I just pick up a crystal ball and try to find Elvis's ghost? Come *on*, Giles, it's bad enough I have to hunt monsters, I don't want them moshing in my head 24-7. We've had this discussion before." "Apparently you weren't *listening* before. As usual." Giles adjusted his glasses and stared down at her. "Believe it or not, this is actually more important than the state of your manicure, Buffy. You were given certain powers as the Slayer and you must learn to use them. If you'd bother to do so, we could possibly even put an end to the traps you seem so fond of walking into." Buffy looked up at him, outraged and hurt at the low blow. "That goes just way past harsh, Giles! It's not like any of those were actually my fault! Well, not *completely* my fault," she admitted, slightly less stridently. "That is not the point," Giles informed her sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. "When you became the Chosen One, you were given gifts to help you Slay and to help you survive. By refusing to develop and use those gifts -- outside of the more martial arts, to which you have taken with frightening ease -- you are crippling both your abilities as a Slayer and your life expectancy. Can I make myself any more clear than that?" Buffy slouched down in her hard-backed library chair and pouted for a moment, then admitted, "No, I think that pretty much spells it out in flaming neon." She sighed heavily and rolled her head back against the chair, then confessed the real problem. "I just really don't like the idea of all this mental stuff. I mean, I like my brain just the way it is -- although I might kind of like a little more in the way of study-type retention. I don't want to go messing around with it." Giles looked sympathetic, which didn't stop him from saying, "Your mind was 'messed with', as you put it, when you were Chosen, when you were born." "All right, all right!" Buffy surrendered with upraised hands, although she didn't budge from her slouch. "I give up! Victory is yours, Oh Great and Mighty Watcher. What do I have to do?" Buffy had to give him some credit; Giles rarely gloated. Instead, he nodded firmly and readjusted his jacket. "Right, then. Sit up straight, shoulders back and make yourself comfortable." "Contradiction," Buffy informed him, although she did improve her posture. "It is impossible to be comfortable in one of these chairs; this is a school library." Giles was not deterred. "Do the best you can. Now, close your eyes and relax. Then, begin letting your mind wander -- that shouldn't be too hard for you." Buffy opened one eye to glare at him, and he looked vaguely apologetic. "Sorry." She made a face at him and closed the eye again, making a mental note to keep him away from Xander for a while. They were bad influences on each other. "Okay, what now?" "Allow your mind to drift, as if you were daydreaming. Let your thoughts flow naturally, freely." Giles's voice was taking on a hypnotic rhythm; Buffy found herself obediently relaxing beneath it. Images flickered through her mind, at first quickly, then gradually slowing. Worries about her history homework, unique ideas for taking Cordelia down after their latest go-round, plans for the weekend with Willow and Xander. Wondering where the heck Angel had gotten to lately. Rehearsing her excuse for tonight's late-night training session. Thinking of her dad. Giles. Mom's late nights at the gallery. Angel. "Now," she dimly heard Giles say, "begin to turn your thoughts outward rather than inward. Let them flow around you, touching everything." Buffy frowned slightly, but tried to obey. Nothing. She concentrated harder, remembering how it had felt when she'd tracked the Master that night. The knowledge had been effortless and certain, showing her the way with an invisible hand. She felt the breath go in and out of her lungs, felt Giles hovering across the table, felt the hand brush against her mind.... And her eyes snapped open, her feet slamming to the floor and her gasp of surprise echoing off the walls. Giles was in front of her in a moment, his hands clasping her shoulders to steady her. "What is it?" he demanded anxiously. "What did you sense?" Buffy just couldn't help it; she grinned cheekily and informed him, "A disturbance in the Force, Obi Wan. Someone's coming." Giles's eyes went wide and he jumped back to his feet, automatically making a beeline for the weapons cabinet. "Where? When? A vampire? How far away is it?" Buffy watched her Watcher with a kind of half-weary, half-resigned amusement as he fumbled through his keys for the proper set, the key ring clattering in synch with his unsteady hands. "You can pass on the weapons thing, Giles." He turned back to her, clutching a stake in either hand. "Oh, really?" he asked with a sharp edge. "You can sense their intentions so clearly?" Buffy shrugged with one shoulder. "No, but I can make a *really* good guess." Weirdly enough, she could, but decided not to think too hard about it. Giles just looked confused. Then the door to the library banged open, and Angel stood there, carrying something limp and heavy. A body. A body that was bleeding all over the library floor, which meant trouble. Big shock there. Angel looked at Buffy, his face tense and unreadable. "I need your help." - --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Perri I *am* the Buffy Evangalist! NatPacker-*-Horsechick-*-Pezhead-*-Cohenhead-*-DDEB2-*-AGA-*-SunS-*-CoJ "You borrow my neurons WITHOUT asking, mind you, and then you get them all gooky with Dru-stuff. See if I let you borrow anything of mine again." - -- Lizbet - - ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 11:36:03 EST From: Isis212 Subject: BUFFYFIC: Truth (1/1) TITLE: Truth AUTHOR: Aramat RATING: PG SUMMARY: Buffy and Angel converse. DIST.: Just tell me where first FEEDBACK: Please do. It will make me happy. I need to be happy. DISC.: I don't own BtVS. Joss Whedon and the WB do. Truth "Can we talk?" Angel looked up from the book he was reading and turned to Buffy. She was sitting on the other end of the bed watching him intently. The way she'd been watching him ever since she let herself into his apartment an hour ago. "It took you long enough," he said to her putting the book aside. "I've been waiting for the last hour for you to speak up." Buffy smiled faintly. "I had to work up the courage to bring it up," she said sheepishly. "I'm still not sure I wanna talk about it, but watching you read is driving me insane. You're reminding me of Giles." Angel smiled at the comment and watched Buffy for a moment. It was obvious she was uncomfortable about something, he'd sensed it the minute she'd walked in the door. But he hadn't pushed her into talking about it. He'd learned that Buffy would say whatever was on her mind eventually, if you knew the right way to wait her out. It didn't hurt that he had plenty of time for that. "Are we talking deep heart-to-heart?" he asked his eyes serious despite the joking question. Buffy shrugged. "I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "I have a few question that need to be answered." Angel caught the demand in her request. Buffy may have said she needed to know but Angel knew she meant "tell me or die." For a moment he wasn't prepared for her questions, he wasn't sure if he could answer them. But when he noticed the pleading look in her eyes, he figured his best bet was to provide answers. Angel stretched out in bed and regarded Buffy warily. "Go ahead," he prompted as casually as he could. "Ask away." Buffy smiled and laid down beside him, looking up at the ceiling. "How close are we?" Angel was confused by the question. He hadn't expected it. "What do you mean?" "How close do you think we are?" Buffy asked once again. When she noticed Angel still wasn't comprehending she sighed. "When we're sitting here, in your place, passing time to keep from pouncing on each other do you think we have a pretty open relationship? Do we tell each other everything? Do we keep secrets? You know, are we close?" Angel turned to look at her. "Do we tell each other everything?" he asked, mainly to himself. "Do you tell me everything?" Buffy nodded. "I tell you everything," she replied. "But I know you don't tell me everything." There was something sad about that, Buffy realized, for not the first time. Angel nodded, knowing it was true. "Do you think we're close?" Buffy sighed, slightly amused at how he'd, once again, avoided answering her questions by asking her for answers. "Angel, I wanted to know what you thought," she chided him slightly. "But, to answer, even though you keep alot of things from me, mostly things about your past, I think we're close, not as close as we could be, but close enough. You're about as forthcoming as I am about day to day things. There are even some things I didn't want to know that you've told me anyway." She turned to him and smiled finished, for now, answering his questions. It was his turn. "Now, tell me what you think." Angel was quiet for a moment as he thought about her question. It was true that he kept a lot from Buffy. She'd been good about it but there were times when he knew she wanted him to tell her the truth. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. He trusted her more than he trusted anybody, including himself. And that was why he couldn't tell her everything. It was pretty foolish, he thought, to keep trying to keep a little piece of himself seperate from Buffy. He'd tried for so long to stay to himself, keep himself away from any emotional attachment. And then he'd met Buffy and all his years of seclusion disappeared. And now he was involved with, hell, in love with, Buffy despite everything he'd done to stop it. Whenever they were together he wondered why she stayed with him. He got a lot more out of their relationship than she did. Any other woman would have given up on him long ago. But not Buffy. She came back, day after day, bringing sunshine into his life and all she got in return was him and all his many problems. And now she wanted to know his take on their relationship. He wondered if she wanted the truth. "You want to know my honest opinion about our relationship?" he asked her, once again wary. Buffy nodded. "That's the point of all this," she told him. "I want, for once, to know what you're thinking. Even if I don't like what you have to say." Angel sighed. As reluctant as he was to talk he knew Buffy couldn't take much more. As much as she'd given him she had a right to know how he felt. She had a right to know what he felt. So gathering every ounce of courage he had he decided now was the time to let Buffy know how he felt. "I don't think we're as close as we could be," he told her comepletely honest with her for the first time. "And the majority of that problem is my fault. The other part is who we are. I don't think it's wise for us to get that close. It's really not wise for you to get that close. "I care about you, more than I wanted to, more than I should, but there's nothing I can do about that. The only thing I can do is keep you as safe as possible. And if that means holding back and in the process sabotaging our relationship, then that's what I have to do. As much as it hurts you, as much I hate doing it." Angel finished his speech and turned to Buffy, trying to gauge her reaction. She was staring at the ceiling thinking about what he'd said. As he watched her he wondered how much this was affecting her. For the first time, he'd been completely honest with her, told her that their relationship was doomed from the beginning. His words had hindered their chances of being more than what they were. As he thought about it he felt a little sad. Even though he'd known from the start their relationship would never go anywhere, he'd always allowed himself to hope that, maybe, they'd work things out. There was a possibilty they could. But he couldn't see it. Buffy noticed Angel's thoughtful silence. She turned to find him watching her. Pleased at his concern for her, she smiled. "Stop frowning," she ordered softly. "I wanted you to be honest and you were." "But how do you feel abouut what I had to say?" Buffy's lips curved sadly at that. "Angel, I may be young but I'm not naive. I know we're doomed to failure. That's life on the Hellmouth," she said only half joking. "It just hurts to hear it. And, just once, I wish life would be nice to me." Angel heard the sadness in Buffy's voice, faint though it was, and wished he could have made her happy. It was just another in a long list of things he couldn't do. "How many times have you asked yourself why you couldn't find some nice normal guy to fall in love with?" Angel asked her after a moment. Buffy laughed. "I don't know, but if I did, I'd probably freak out. Nothing is normal where I'm concerned. It'd be weird if it was." She smiled up at him. "How many times have you asked yourself what you were thinking falling madly in love with me?" She narrowed her eyes. "You are madly in love with me, right?" Angel nodded smiling in amusement. "Madly in love," he agreed happily. "Totally, completely, insanely in love with you. And I ask myself that at least ten times a day. Only answer I can come up with is that I really am insane." Buffy smiled. "You do it well," she said, laughing when he hit her with a pillow. Buffy quickly grabbed another pillow and retaliated. Twenty minutes and four torn pillows later Angel and Buffy sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by white feathers. Buffy moved to sit in Angel's lap, tickling his face with a feather. "You know, I don't think I can just be your friend," Angel said, upset that it was true. "And I know I can't stay away. I've tried." Buffy looked up into his eyes and smiled, somewhat sadly, at what she saw there. "I can't just be your friend either. And I won't let you stay away." "So what are we going to do?" Buffy leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I guess we just take what we can get." The End - - ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:19:04 -5000 From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 0/12 - --------------------------------------------------------------------- *BuffyFic Rating/Warning: R for quite a bit of violence throughout* - --------------------------------------------------------------------- "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 0/12 by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Part The Ought: In Which the Gentle Reader is Acquainted with a wide Variety of Disclaimers, a Dedication, many Thanks, Warnings, et cetera. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ From almost the minute she first appeared, Dru's been trying to get me to tell her (back)story-- how she (how _anyone_!) could have ended up a "disassociative psychotic demon of the night who pouts at dead birds." So here, finally, after making up (and watching!) an "All- Dru Channel" and following many suggestions dropped in the general SunS list discussion of Our Favorite Undead Psychotic, is my attempt at an answer. This little piece is completely historical, so, although it features a Slayer (two, actually), it's not OFSlayer, nor any of the current mortal types. Be warned: I wouldn't even know where to begin to get the vocabulary or usage right for these time periods, so I didn't try. Consider them 'translated' from the original, if you like. This was written after "What's My Line?" aired, and before whatever Joss's Evil Brain may have come up with since-- I wouldn't even blaspheme by attempting to predict it.... (Well, not _here_... ) Many thanks for historical research bits from Betsy, and deep gratitude for beta-reading from Celli, Abby, Dawn, Maureen (who raised very good questions and insisted upon _more_ Dru-torture... which not only began to wig even _me_, but caused a major revision that nearly _doubled_ the length of the thing :-ppp), and Boo (who made me laugh myself sick as she ranted, raged, and ripped Angel a new one ;). The award for "But I don't _want_ to look it up! Don't you *know*???" Patience, Above And Beyond The Call, goes to ListMummy Lizbet, who kindly refrained from killing me as I pestered her for help with geography, language, history, customs, and everything else I could think of but didn't want to look up myself. (Sample email: "Me again! O.k., I've got Dru, et al., running about in Camden Town in 1795 and I need to lose a child overnight. Is there forest nearby?" :) This one is dedicated to all my fellow maniacs on the SunS list who help greatly in keeping me, if not precisely "sane," then something of a cooler shade of mad. :-) WARNING: I've been told this story has a high wig factor and is not for the faint of heart. It's not a happy story (although there is some comic relief in part 10), and we all know pretty much how it ends. Also Angel-droolers in particular should probably have a piece of nice, sweet, Angel-as-a-modern,-re-souled,-nice-guy restorative fic on-hand for reading afterwards, because, let's face it-- he wasn't exaggerating to Buffy in "Lie To Me": at this point in his un-life, he was a real bastard. :( These are not my characters, they belong to TPTB, and I make no claim on them. Most of the ideas are Joss's anyway, I just went and tweaked them around into a story. I intend no infringement and you're wasting your time and money to try to sue me, guys... believe it! With muttered curses and profane reverence to Joss, Whose Sandbox This Is, who-- after I had my plot established and my story nearly finished-- decided to make Dru chatty in WML2... resulting in the need to suddenly go back and add "some kid named Anne and an uncle". Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- "Angel, you scum-sucking rat-bastard, if you're the one behind all this, I swear I'll come through the TV to rip your evil demon bastard heart out." --Boo, as she beta-read the first version - - ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:21:14 -5000 From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 1/12 "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 1/12 by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire) "For a hundred years I offered ugly death to everyone I met, and I did it with a song in my heart." -- Angel, "Angel" Prologue... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Late April 1795, A small, deserted fishing village just outside Marseilles ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Marie-Jeanette de Shayes angrily brushed at her dirt-dulled, raven- black hair with one hand, trying to free it from where the sweat of battle had plastered it to her face. She saw the blood as her hand pulled away. A split lip, nothing more, but the last thing she wanted to be wearing while attempting to destroy an unexpected gathering of _les vampires_ was the reek of blood. Kicking absently at the pile of ash that had seconds before been her foe, Marie-Jeanette tucked her peasant skirts up higher, reached for the worn leather bag in which she kept her stakes, and moved quietly towards the next fisherman's hut. She was _l'Assassin_, the one girl in all the world chosen to fight the evil creatures that walked at night. It was a duty she had made her life-- avoiding suitors, and making only a token effort at her nominal trade as a weaver's assistant. Keeping to the shadows, every sense primed, she moved to the edge of the low, crumbling wall. Luckily for her, she was much better at this endless hunt, her true vocation, than at the weaving. Louisa had come to utterly despair of her success as a proper young woman in the daylight world, but for nearly five years Marie-Jeanette had walked the night successfully, beating back the seemingly endless tide of _les demons_, Louisa at her side. Marie-Jeanette knew that old Louisa had been _la Veilleuse_, mentor and friend, to two _Assassins_ before her. After all, one mistake was all it took; no one can fight endless death forever and win. The life of _l'Assassin_ was hard and short, but without their efforts, evil would overcome the entire world. And so she fought on, as they all had, generation after generation. Louisa never spoke of them-- the other two-- save in the course of her lessons. The pain of their loss was still too great for her. But now it was Louisa herself that Marie-Jeanette most worried for as she crossed a small hen yard, feeling terribly exposed in the moonlight. One of the fiends had taken _la Veilleuse_ to hold as bait for her, and the only thing calming the pounding of her heart was the knowledge that they would have to keep Louisa safe if they planned to offer any sort of a bargain. Coming around the side of a large weather-worn chicken coop she spotted yet another victim, tossed bonelessly against a rubbish heap. Muttering curses under her breath and keeping a careful watch in all directions, Marie-Jeanette knelt down to feel the young man's neck. It was already ice-cold, and the two puncture wounds at his throat told the story she knew too well. With a sigh for one more loss, she turned away.... She never had time to see his face as he came at her. Never had time to react as a preternaturally strong hand grasped her arm and pulled her off balance. Never had time to scream as the corpse beneath her reared up, sank its fangs in her neck, and drained her life away. ~~~~~~~~~ The vampire who had killed her-- tall, dark, and handsome, despite his pale skin and contorted features-- threw his head back and howled his triumph at the waning moon. A simple trick, to play upon her preconceptions and her sympathies, he gloated as he felt her blood thrilling through him like a liquid fire. It hadn't been so hard at all, no matter that Darla had called him a fool for going after such a prize while still so young.... Tossing the lifeless body of the Slayer towards the far side of the rubbish heap, where it landed against the long-cold corpse of her Watcher, Angelus headed off to track down his maker. After all, he had some serious bragging rights to exercise now. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated! Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- }:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- "I have mental health?" --Lizbet "I'm being brutalized by fictional characters. This sucks." --Perri "...pretty much sucked large dead bunnies through a twisty straw..." --Mo "I refuse to comment on the grounds that my Evil Twin will incriminate me." --Lynn "My hat does *not* have horns on it! Valkyrie butterflies do *not* have horns!" --Kiki - - ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:21:44 -5000 From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 2/12 "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 2/12 by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire) "Some lies are necessary.... Sometimes the truth is worse. You live long enough, you find that out." -- Angel, "Lie To Me" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A few weeks later, Camden Town, North London ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Dru! Dru!" The young woman's voice echoed between the bricks of the close-set houses. "Drusilla, you little demon, come back! It's much too dark...." Edith Shepherd held the hem of her second-best dress out of the mud and tried not to completely ruin her shoes. Ducking her way between the lines of clothing still hanging from the day's wash, then dodging sideways behind an apple crate, she neatly seized her wayward niece by the collar of her little frock. "*There* you are!" She crouched down so that she could be nearly eye-level with her reluctant charge. "What has gotten into you? Your mother would have my hide if I let you get lost in the streets. Now run inside and have your supper!" With a smart push she propelled the child back towards the warm, safe light of home. Edith, however, remained outside as the last wisps of blood-red sunset faded from the sky above-- the odd restlessness of the past few weeks straying even more now from uneasy dreams into waking thought. She walked aimlessly through the little plot of garden she had claimed as her own, here behind the row of houses, not needing even to see the plants to know how they fared. People who lived in the neighborhood were always amazed by the flowers Edith grew with seemingly no effort. She seemed to do nothing more than walk amongst them daily and they grew as if for a magical princess out of hearthside legend. Many of the other flower sellers on the streets asked for her secrets, but she could never say. They brought her a peace-- a means to soothe her spirit when the world threatened to overwhelm her-- but she had no words to explain the way in which she could _feel_ her garden, as though it were a part of her very soul. Walking like this through it every day she could almost experience the growth herself, the very life of it beneath her skin.... "Edith!" She came out of her reverie, a blinding smile brightening the slight flush on her face. "Billy!" He met her at the gate in the little garden wall she'd erected to keep out the local strays. Edith flung herself into his arms and he spun around, holding her tight and laughing loudly. "What a welcome!" "I haven't seen you for days," she said sliding down until her feet once again reached the ground. There was the slightest edge of hurt in her voice. Billy smiled, arms still around her. "I was here only yesterday morning, love!" "But I missed you!" Nevertheless she let him steal a quick kiss, his fingers tangled in the midnight-black sweep of her hair-- such a contrast to his own pale curls. "I missed you too, sweetheart. But look, I brought over a friend of mine." He gestured towards a another young man standing silently to one side just as Edith felt a shiver rush up her spine. She shook herself slightly-- a goose walking over her grave, that's all. Such a silly thing. The man was handsome, pale and dark, with such an intense look in those eyes.... "Angelus, I'd like you to meet Edith, my Princess," he turned back to steal another kiss as she blushed and tried to protest. "Princess, this is Angelus." She finally turned to meet that gaze. Angelus smiled, and she felt her hesitation melt away. Billy continued, "He grew up in a monastery over in Ireland. Clever with books, and all. Works as a merchant's clerk now. Busy all day scribbling away in the dark, yes?" He finished with a friendly clap to the shoulder. "Angelus," she smiled. "That's a pretty name." "It's Latin," he returned the smile. The brogue was surprisingly faint, but it was there. "It means 'Angel'." "That's what you get for growing up with the monks, my boy," Billy offered by way of condolence. "But he's a regular chap now, love. We met up at the Old Black Bird a while back and I thought it was time he got to meet my Princess." He kept one arm protectively about her shoulders. She ducked her head again shyly. "Billy, I'm not...." But he stopped her with one finger to her lips. "You are to me, love." For a moment their eyes locked and the rest of the world ceased to matter. A minute later Angelus' eye caught Edith's and she pulled away, embarrassed. Billy just laughed. "You're to be married?" Angelus asked. "At the end of the month. Congratulate me, old chap!" He took one of Edith's hands in each of his and swung them out at the sides. "I'll work at the livery stable, Edith will sell her flowers...." He dropped her hands and turned to Angelus with genuine pride in his eyes. "Aren't they beautiful?" Angelus made some murmur of agreement as Billy continued, wrapping his arms around Edith from behind. "We'll live here in the house, away from my worthless brothers, raise a mess of little ones with big blue eyes like my Princess'," by now he was almost whispering in her ear, "And grow old and respectable-- arm-in-arm until the very day they come to take us to the old churchyard." Edith's eyes had closed and she had a dreamy, wistful look on her face. "Together, Billy?" "Forever, my sweet," he promised, dropping a kiss on her cheek before pulling away. As if on cue, a woman's voice came loudly from the house, "Edith! Supper!" "...But not now!" Billy turned to Angelus with a laugh. "Come on, Angelus, if I appear for one more meal this week her mother will think I've moved in already!" "But Billy...!" "No, love. I'll be back tomorrow. Promise! And I'll have a present." A smile lit her face as she batted her eyes in an overt display of coyness. "A present? What?" Billy laughed again. "A surprise, my sweet! Tomorrow!" He moved away, holding her fingers with just the tips of his. "Now say goodnight to Angelus." She looked at the handsome, quiet young man and offered another shy smile. "Goodnight, Angelus." "Goodnight, Edith." "Edith! _Supper!_" The voice was closer, louder, and more impatient this time. "Go, Edith," Billy repeated, giving her the same encouraging push to the shoulders she had given her niece. When she turned back for a last look from the doorway, Billy was only a pale, retreating shadow in the night, and Angelus was already gone. ~~~~~~~~~ The scratching noise at her second-story shutters woke her shortly after she'd fallen asleep. Confused and still bleary, she crawled out of bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders against the night chill. It wasn't so much the cold air hitting her face as she opened the shutters that brought her fully awake as the sight of Angelus' face not three feet from her own. She fell back a step as a small, choked cry escaped her. He was standing on a protruding joint where the roof of the first story met the wall of the second, fingertips dug tightly into the roughness of the old brickwork. That realization allowed Edith to breathe again-- for a moment he had given the eerie impression of floating upon the air itself. "Shhhh!" he warned, speaking quickly. "Don't worry, it's nothing improper. I just need to speak to you alone. Let me explain, _please_?" The pleading in those deep brown eyes killed the scream before it reached her throat. She studied him for another moment, then swallowed and nodded slightly. Angelus wasted no time. "I'm here about the dreams-- the nightmares." As her eyes went wide he continued, "You've been having them, haven't you? Dreams of blood and death and monsters who stalk the night?" She hadn't told anyone, not even Billy.... Edith finally managed to find her voice. "How could you know that?" "Because I know what they mean." The shock on her face turned almost to horror. "Who are you?" Angelus smiled reassuringly. "No, this is about who _you_ are. You are the Slayer. "And I am your Watcher." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated! Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- }:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- "I have mental health?" --Lizbet "I'm being brutalized by fictional characters. This sucks." --Perri "...pretty much sucked large dead bunnies through a twisty straw..." --Mo "I refuse to comment on the grounds that my Evil Twin will incriminate me." --Lynn "My hat does *not* have horns on it! Valkyrie butterflies do *not* have horns!" --Kiki - - ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:22:33 -5000 From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 3/12 "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 3/12 by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The tale he'd told her, while perched decorously-- if bizarrely-- on her second-story windowsill, echoed in her ears like the rantings of a madman. One girl, chosen from all the world to single-handedly battle with vicious fiends from Hell? The man belonged in Bedlam! But he knew about the dreams. And he spoke calmly and determinedly, with no light of madness in those penetrating eyes. He never even tried to enter her room, and left after speaking his piece, after warning her about the dangers to come-- and the destruction and death only she could prevent. By the time she remembered to turn back and ask him how he'd managed the ascent to the roof, he was already gone. She sat at the window, wrapped in her blanket, until the first sunlight burned away the terrors that appeared every time she closed her eyes. For the first time in weeks Edith passed the entire night without visitation by the demons who haunted her dreams. Now they haunted the waking world as well. ~~~~~~~~~ By the time the sun was again high in the brilliant blue sky, Angelus' entire visit-- his wild, ridiculous story-- all seemed like a dream itself. Hellish demons might well stalk the countryside lanes in the dead of night for all she knew, but the thought that she could stop them was nonsense. Angelus had been drunk. Or desperately confused. Edith put thoughts of Angelus resolutely out of her head and spent the day working in her garden and minding Dru as she played with her friends. Little Paul was the neighbors' child. Too young to be tolerated by the other boys on the street, he was always to be found with Anne and Dru-- who, truth be told, were usually to be found with each other. He regularly attempted to play the protective older brother to the two girls, even though they were all of an age. For their part Anne and Dru generally allowed little Paul his charade, within limits, with a knowing and amused tolerance that seemed almost too old for them. Edith had to admit, though, it was almost impossible not to find the boy's puppy-like loyalty endearing. Anne, on the other hand... Anne was something of a trial for Edith. As the daughter of her late father's brother, the child should by rights be dearer to her than little Dru, who was not even blood.... But no sense she told herself could make things so for Edith. The child was a nuisance, spoiled rotten, to put it plainly, and many of the adults in the neighborhood were quite plain in their opinions. It wasn't really the girl's fault-- her father had married late in life to a woman much younger, who had never quite recovered from Anne's birth. She died of a lingering fever before the child's second year, leaving her with a father who was attentive in mind, but absent in body. Edith's uncle-- for he was, though she rarely thought of him so-- was senior groom at the Wynn family mansion on Queen's Coach Road. He was very proud of his position there and had always spent most of his time at the house-- even after he had brought home the new lady's maid one day to marry and set him up with a home of his own. She could still remember how lonely and out-of-place Anne's mother had always seemed, alone in the tiny house only a few streets away. And, after Anne was born she was so sick... and then she was gone. For a while Uncle Edward had taken a serious interest in his daughter, but his attention had eventually waned and he once again spent more and more time at the great house. Word was that he was now courting the cook there, a rumor that seemed borne out by the child's current recitation.... "...And the ladies there, they eat custard every day, and they dine on honeyed cakes every single night." Dru and little Paul were as attentive an audience as any storyteller could want, eyes open wide as Anne described the wonders of the Wynn larder. "And next week, after Lady Wynn's birthday party," Anne paused with a childishly effective attempt at dramatic suspense, "Daddy's promised to bring me a brandied pear of my very own to eat!" The other children gasped in innocent awe, to them the rubies and gold of the fabled Indies could not have been more impressive. Edith quietly sighed and pulled a stubborn weed with more force. The man might just spend a little time with the poor child! It would mean far more to her then the presents he brought home whenever he thought to visit. For all he paid a neighbor woman to come in and clean and cook for Anne, the child spent more time at her friends' tables than at her own. The other children adored her stories and never seemed to mind her habitual thoughtlessness. And for all her spoiled and pouting ways, the mothers generally felt too sorry for her to turn her away. Edith was startled from her thoughts by the cold, wet nose of another of Uncle Edward's guilty presents. "Anne!" she called out in annoyance. "Come and get the puppy out of the garden!" Sure enough, Anne dined with little Paul and his family that night, from the garden Edith could hear the child's continuing chatter and marveled at the patience of little Paul's mother, who managed a restrained politeness as the girl loudly compared every morsel on her plate against her father's tales of feasts at the great house. The child would never learn the value of silence, Edith thought. Yet once the meal had begun in earnest and even Anne had quieted, Edith suddenly realized the value of noise. In the silence of the darkening garden, Angelus' madness of the night before began to creep once more into her thoughts. She found herself perversely welcoming the distraction of her mother's loud, irate call, "Edith! Where's my big black mixing bowl?" "You let me loan it to Catherine, mother," she called back just as loudly, refusing to be embarrassed into running inside over something so stupid and not caring who heard. "That was yesterday!" "I'll go fetch it in the morning, mother!" Mutters from the direction of the kitchen and a cessation of the shouting volley let Edith know she'd won. She allowed herself a smug smile and hummed a little tune under her breath as she watched the last rays of sunlight quit the sky. When Billy arrived Edith was more relieved than she expected to see he was alone. She wrapped her arms around him tight-- as much for that as for the present he brought-- a blackbird in a little wicker cage. "Something to sing for you in your garden all day, love. To remind you of me. Every time you hear his little song you'll remember just how much I love you, my sweet." It was perfect-- Billy knew her so well. If she couldn't have these warm, strong arms wrapped around her every minute, at least she had a token to remind her of their safe haven. And no madness offered to her as some bizarre destiny by his mad monkish friend could ever change that. ~~~~~~~~~ The next morning they found Catherine. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated! Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- }:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom - - ------------------------------ End of Buffyfic-digest V1 #83 ***************************** To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command subscribe buffyfic-digest or subscribe buffyfic to majordomo@xmission.com. You will need to go through a confirmation process, and the listowners have to manually approve your subscription request, so it may take some time. 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