by ScySubject: [glass_onion] Fic: Bloodflowers 1/1 (Ats) Date: Wednesday, September 11, 2002 12:36 PM Title: Bloodflowers 1/1 Author: Scy Feedback: Scynneh@yahoo.com Disclaimer: I don't have a shelf to fit them all. Improv: fall, return, crisp, ending Rating: R Author's Notes: Benaresq and I were working on this a while ago, but I only just figured out how I wanted to handle certain parts. As always, she is a glorious muse. kisses. Title from Cure. scynneh: i have a plot bunny chewing at my brain. so, in an effort to not think about school- or unfinished stories, i am brainstorming. scynneh: for a moment i thought ethan/faith.. scynneh: but that will take a bit of work. scynneh: and heh. scynneh: the images made me giggle benaresq: Squeeeee! scynneh: enticing, aren't they? benaresq: I like that idea scynneh: she was easily led by thoughts of damage benaresq: what a lovely line
There was a layer of endings over the city of Angels. It was the energy of a struggle to come, and the way that the air crackled told him that there was only so much time before everything fell apart.
Out of the Initiative finally. Spit up in the wake of departmental collapse. Never take chaos into an environment that thrived on structural routine. As a favored disciple, he was tossed out; there was the forgone conclusion that he would stir things up again. Too much had been settled while he was incarcerated.
Then, to find something so potent just as he was relearning disruption had been very probably a boon from Janus.
As he walked through the metal detector, he blurred in the minds of the guards. No need to be harassed by the law before he got to his prize.
The girl, Faith, Slayer. Shockingly negligent on the part of the magical community. Such a wild presence, whirling around on the ethereal plane, her voice reverberating with each experience.
Ethan wasn't trustworthy, to those who were inherently good, or who had been disloyal to him. But, someone whose luck would not expire quickly was just the sort to suit him.
He didn't bother looking up her records, it was her aura, the presence that had tried to drop-kick him off the astral plane when he searched for her residence that was interesting to him. When he found the `other Slayer', the girl who had been Called when Sunshine girl died, he was surprised. Here was a young woman who had been pulled out of the bosom of a standard botched American upbringing, complete with her own load of teenage rage and unfulfilled wishes that colored her actions and mental state. That was another element that caught him off guard; first time he saw her, he'd had to pause. Because, if Rupert's Slayer was poured anticipation, this dark girl was the crisp, riotous present. She wanted desires fulfilled immediately, with loud noise and pleasure interwoven within it all.
No need or want to control this one, but he needed another person, one strong enough to walk close to him.
Didn't try to calm her; she wouldn't appreciate a man, one so clearly fascinated by her, to set up rules at once, he'd better not patronize her. There'd been an older man already in her life. Still flinching form that was revealing. Still, she'd grown around that pain and become more resilient.
He didn't bother with a lengthy introduction, simply moved down the corridor with the ease that came out of long acquaintance with such places. She waited, stance easy, but prepared, as her performed a simple 'unlocking' charm.
There was only so much accomplished coffee-making that one could take. And then, the barristas had best watch out. Faith'd had it with bad coffee, and the gruel that she was served day after day. It's supposed to be nutrition, but not even a cockroach would deign to eat what she choked down. Doing it all so that she could find that patch of green grass, have a picnic with the heroes, and not feel as though they were hiding the chains and syringe under a checkered blanket. They asked her 'can you believe that?' She never answered, but it's always, 'yes, I can. I fucking well can because I've been there sweetheart.' In the grit of the prison yard, dust in her shoes every day, and not enough to take the rasp off her need.
After all, it's not as though she couldn't just walk out if she wanted. but, the thought of letting them have a bit of 'things are in order' isn't so bad. So she hadn't been desperate to be released. Opportunity came knocking like an old whore, sure of its welcome, and smiling to welcome her out.
The man stood there; thin face, old, seamed gently together, flesh and time made him still attractive. This was one that had seen less trying days, passed them by and gone for broke on exhausting amusements. He wasn't much taller than her, having several inches, but had a well tended leanness to his frame. A bit pale, as though he'd been ill for a time, but the underlying color of his skin was healthy. His voice was light and rich, not feminine, but more like he was continuously laughing at the world. From his accent, she'd expected more reserve; Giles and Wes had been collected, with regard to starch. Not him, it was all too hilarious not to enjoy it.
A mocking accusation in the way he stared at her hands, then the door of her cell. There didn't have to be any additional tools, she had her own, right where they were most useful.
It stopped being difficult; the flow hadn't been interrupted by anyone claiming to know a way to save her, and it wouldn't be. Angel wasn't one to rat her out. The guy liked her, maybe wanted another kidlet, or just that idea of a fight, but she'd know how he felt. B wasn't around in a confining way, and since she had no problem with him taking control of his city, things were good.
There was a comfort between individuals who not on the right side of the moral highway. They both knew that no one was going to give them a lecture, so there existed certain zone of relaxation, not to mention the fact that if all rivalries were overcome, a partnership mighgt result. That had been some of Ethan's motivation for seeking out the Slayer who'd been imprisoned during a moment of weakness.
The years of habit, Have To and Should were sloughing off. Standing there, for the first time since her escape, she felt good. Sure of her body and what she could do with it. He could hear it, knowing itself better with years, and sanded down to chaos and readiness this one.
Ethan liked to take her arm whenever appearances were too rigid not to displace. She had no beef with his habit; there had been plenty of moments to share contact and returned liberty had to be spread out.
There were too many triangles, and she has been caught in some of the most destructive of those.
And all of those silly humans, the ones who were ignorant, assumed that it would be fun to be stuck between several lovers, when it was the most evil and painful thing to be in or even watch. Film always made tragedy romantic and even tasty.
//B, heroine always because you're you, so pretty and unreachable, and we're supposed to know what you want, lust and need, and admire, but never, ever actually touch you. Angel did, and look what happened to him. He got over you. loved and lost and moved on. Bet that wasn't the worst part of seeing him, knowing that he would always care, but not in the same blind, follower way he had. No, it was realizing that he'd found others to make him think. Another woman who might not hurt him for love. Yeah, and that bothers you, that another could love him, care and not make him feel as though he had to crawl for her. Could comfort without guilt. god, that must make you just burn. Did you want to kill her?//
Being a better person didn't heal wounds.
So she is looking at their foundations, and it's funny that just when they think that they're binding her to responsible actions, she has found a sledgehammer. Bit of laughter as she hefts the power in her mind, angel taught her a lot about mind games, and she think that she is a decent pupil.
The Scoobies, like to call themselves 'good,' but for only them can it mean forays and occasional over-nighters in 'evil.' Good is very much defined by 'is a Scooby.'
Sunnydale dried all of them out; the longer B dwelt there, the darker her skin and lighter her hair. And she lost weight, all of those losses took more out of her, bones stood out now, called to the dead in ways that all could smell. But, there were diets of friendship and belonging that were sure to fill her right out again, and from what Faith had heard, the other Slayer would be putting on weight soon enough.
With all of her friends reattaching themselves like the tiny barnacles they are, there is little doubt in Faith's mind that in a very short time, cloying affection will once again pulse from the Hellmouth. though she has never shared this theory, it's her belief that all of that sweet emotion can serve as a lure for the baddies. but once they get into that area, there is no hope for their escape. they will either be absorbed or destroyed.
Hard to survive there, even if a girl was like Buffy. Rather be anywhere cold than in a climate where a Slayer, a woman, companion in pain, stares at her and denies that there is anything but hatred between them. Yet, she is not longing for that any longer, not what should have been. Someone other than family, with whom she could kill things.
Faith was harsher because she knew what reality was and that there was little to be done other than find an acceptable way to twist it into a personal shape. She smelled better more hunter and death, and not servant of the 'blinded by the light brigade,' and she knew that he can tell the difference, because their lessons have changed.
After all, Ethan wasn't asking that she be anything but released from restrictions, such a freedom was what he loved.
Their being together was enough for strange looks, and any hand-grasping brings fights that were a nice break. The two of them, walking in some of the conservative establishments, a man like that, obviously shiny garments, and her. Leather and whatever moved slickly over her skin at midnight
Let her hair grow; never looked soft, her clothes and manner were enough to tempt, but her hands, with their squared off nails and aggressive paints always attested to a pragmatism that should have driven people off. Still, there were enough fools to keep the magic fed.
The boys liked to play at being the stuff that statues were carved out of, faces of mountain breeding, but they all melted for her fingers and blade.
Her smile was sweet as the rot under the grass in a cemetery. That widening of space as things separated. Something that repelled, yet still was fascinating. Those who recognized that, lived.
Ethan offered a route that she knew, this time with a companion. Not without damage, but that too was a way of being that didn't shock.
Authority in general had to be defined vaguely, that way everyone that wasn't interested in structure could have a bit of disorder included.
A piece of her should have died when she killed her first vampire, thing that had a human face, and not, but she was killing for the good of the world, and the Watchers must have seen the potential for criminal behavior with the Slayers, their morals were already different from those of the rest of the world. They must have assumed that years of training would be passed on from rigid teachers to students who knew what the future held, and it was their happy, cheerful death. Little wonder that she'd tried to have fun along the way.
Chaos looked good on her, and etched on his skin it's almost neon, though classy. The neon was visible, like Faith in one of Ethan's shirts, her own pants, and no bra, of course. He understood why she wasn't thrilled about floral patterns, and the number of times he suggested a new color of leather pants was an odd comfort.
She sensed all sorts of things, so an older man with skin that shone stood out not just to her eyes, but her nose. He wafted knives of turmoil at her, if such a thing were to taste of a fruit that wouldn't exist until it'd been tasted. And they both lounged, though she tended to be more alert while he watched her hunt on the dance floor.
Of course, there had to be the introduction of props. She brought boys home for him. and they shared the toys. she holding them down with hands, or he showing off chains that weren't steel, but lightening-bright bands that he made with his tongue and sweat.
Ethan was be only too happy to let her top, though if she wanted, they would make a game out of it. Slayer looking for her prey, and he had so many ways of hiding and still wanting to be found. Funny that there can be shapes more dizzying than envy, but obsession and lust are beginning to spiral her around in ways that bolster places held only shakily in place.
Her power was suddenly focused on being herself. And she saw how much she could do, and it's like so many things are open after hours. Maybe, she'd break the windows without sound, or crashing and shards of joy that didn't cut badly, but only as she wanted.
The two of them doing anything and being so outrageous that they found an audience, until someone realized just how odd these people are. Like shirts that were sparkly and too bright, but they still looked good on Ethan because they complimented his aura, power, or whatever it was that lit him up with that ferocious glow. They never had to work hard to frighten anyone. She only glanced at a matronly storeowner, who was plainly thinking about applicable laws, and a push of hair back as Faith smiled led to fast feet taking the lady away and behind the counter.
The sensitive, almost-psychics noticed them leave the shops, but anyone who could feel the two of them for what they were wasn't about to do anything. All of them so frightened of the storm clouds gathering around what Faith and Ethan were to a sensitive. All the darkness gathering, swirling, falling round them, that's why those who opened eyes around them and knew, cowered behind anything nearby. Things lurked at the edges of their paths. Waiting some of them, those beings were bold or subservient, pausing, and then having a nip of their leftovers. Others just glad for the ride through the world on the edges of chaos.
Curled up next to him just to get that smell in her mouth, softness, with steel blended. Working at the skin under her lips, and if she sometimes bit down for a sample, it was to see if she could carry that scent away with her.
He walked just so because he knew that everyone with any survival instinct was going to get out of his way, and those too stupid to get what message he sent were probably better off in pieces.
Back of his hand sliding down her cheek in comfort that she'd become accustomed to, and in public it never appeared decent. Young, fresh girl, right out of some decent school, and this older man that very clearly had no familial ties to her, and most likely was forging a more financial bond with her.
Obvious that he was training her for survival. Maybe he was lonely, wanted a protg, or thought that her absence would incense the others to some kind of constructive action. Whatever his motives, she is enjoying her education. Funny thing is, he'd a peculiar preference for language use. She could swear without getting any sort of rebuke, but when her grammar was incorrect, he gave her the same lecture that she might expect out of a teacher in a more normal classroom.
The lectures inspired her to nod, but understanding arrived as time passed. Slowly, with her reflection altering in mirrors cracked and concave as they moved across the continent.
The way he teased her was like floating, and all she had to do to levitate was accept the invitation.
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