FIC:: Fables of Tone (1/4)

["C S Armitage" <soren_nyrond@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Here starteth another fic. I even know this one comes in four installments(or will it only make three ?)

Thanks for the feedback so far. At least people are reading it and reacting.

And so to the formal bits, and then the STORY

TITLE: Fables of Tone (1/4) 
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this part belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Some Archetypes are used: they look like they belong to Other Comanies, but it's the Archetype I'm borrowing, and not their characters.  
SUMMARY: It's got Buffy and Willow in it, it's got a generic city-state andit's got violence
SPOILERS: None, except that nothing smut happens, so some people will want Part 2 posting soon, in case that has some.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome. Thanks to all those who've written so far. Please send flames to the Grumpy Troll three caves Along.
 
  
Fables of Tone - - Part 1

 

 

It was hot. That was the first thing that struck Buffy Summers, getting off Willow Rosenberg's enchanting body.

She was (unenthusiastically) disentangling herself from her love-buddy because she had also noticed that it had gone from being the late-evening dark,and getting chilly, of the pine forest and the stone henge circle, to being hot, blindingly bright, and dry as dust.

"What the - ?"  

"Ow ! And again, ow ! Also, who in - ?"

"My clothes !" Buffy was, perhaps understandably, momentarily distracted from her friend's comments by the discovery that she was no longer in her own clothes. Her TJ Bass designer shirt, with the sun and moon angels, her Barra Kay jogging pants, just nicely worn in so it looked like she went every day - they were gone. Her Samuelson slaying boots were still there, thank goodness, but now she had on a vile electric blue sport bra and a sort ofethnic skirtie thing. And, as she added it up, and her heart sank, she saw, lying on the ground a foot or two away, a long wooden pole with "interesting" decorations tied to one end.

"Buffy - " Willow said, from behind her: "I think we're in one of Xander's dreams." Buffy knew, before she turned, what she'd see. Willow, her delicious, delectable Willow, was encased in a horror-story leather-fetishist's suit of body armour - black, with "decorative tooling: only forty dinars", a little cheer-leader-type skirt, nasty-looking black boots, and a complicated scabbard strapped over her back for a massive hand-and a half sword (Giles had taught her the difference between types of sword during a long evening besieged in the library by four different sorts of gremlin, each less pleasant than the last).

 

"And we still have no clue where Giles is."

"True, Will. How's the rowan rod, Find Home spell, thingie ? Any clues inthat direction ? At least if we get back, you could use a crystal ball orsomething to see what you could find out."

Willow found her magick bag, and held the rod up. It did nothing.

"The spell may have run out. In fact, given we don't known where or when we are, anything could have happened." She put the rod away, hefted the bag, then said "Budd, d'you think you could carry this for a while ? It's notheavy, but I don't seem to have anywhere to put it right now."

"Sure, Will - no problem at all."

Buffy took the bag, gave Willow a hug, and then started to assess where they were.

They looked to be in a half-ruined building, on a small rise, in a semi-desert. On the floor was a large circular pattern, half-hidden by drifts of sand or dust or whatever.

Willow glanced at it, and then knelt down.

"I might be able to . "

She took her bag back from Buffy and started to brush away some dust, whilegetting out a note-book.

"I'll go look round outside," the Slayer said. She made a quick circuit ofthe little building, and went back inside.

Willow had already packed up and was nervously adjusting the fit of her armour. "What's the news, Buff ?"

"Zilch by way of immediate action," Buffy replied.

"Just as well - I have no idea what to do with this," Wilow said, absent-mindedly drawing the sword in one fluid motion, whirling it round in a complex defensive pattern, and resheathing it, apparently without any effort at all.

"Fine," Buffy said, trying to remain unfazed. She'd tried a couple of twiddles with the (presumed) quarterstaff, and had felt about as confident as if Principal Snyder was just round the corner, about to hold a spot maths test.

"Any luck here ?" she asked, indicating the floor.

"Not really," Willow said; "It's a portal, all right: a version of the De Kromis Ritual, but it's set to receive only. Where we go for the transmit end - - and we don't really want to, if we just get sent back here . "

"I get it," Buffy said. "We need to move out. We've no food, no water; I estimate it's about two hours after noon, and we'll need both before night."

"Where do we go ?" Willow asked.

"I think I saw a town or something on one horizon," Buffy replied. "That looks as good a target as any."

"Fine," Willow said. "Remind me, when we get back, to complain to the travel agent - the hotel service has been lousy, the tour guide's never here, and as for 'local colour' . "

"Come on, lover," Buffy said, and they shared a quick kiss - then half a dozen more - before striking out across the desolate wasteland.

 

It was three hours later - three long, hot, exhausting hours, in the sun, with little wind - but they were sure it was a city. Or a town, or a villagewith walls, or a big football stadium, or something.

"Hope they speak English," Willow gasped.

"Mmm," Buffy replied. She didn't want to worry Willow, so she hadn't said anything about how hard she had been finding the walking. She just didn't seem to have the energy she usually did - it was most worrying because if they hit trouble of some sort .

They were about ten minutes' walk from the walls - they definitely were walls, about twenty feet high, made of rough stone, with a wooden fence on top- when some instinct made her turn.

Out of a cloud of dust riders were coming, men crouching low across the withers of their steeds.

"Willow ! Look out !"

Then what had been a hot and boring afternoon, turned into a hot and confusing melee. The attackers were thin wiry men, dressed in swathes of fabric,with more fabric round their faces and heads, which (Buffy guessed) kept the dust out. They were shouting something Buffy couldn't make out, and, toher unease, she now saw that they carried wickedly curved swords, with edges that seemed to catch the light.

There was also the smell - their horses smelt, but the men seemed to, as well, and Buffy found herself coughing a lot as she tried to keep out of the way. That was another thing: she couldn't seem to convince her muscles to do anything apart from dodge. She could imagine how to pull men from saddles, or knock them with the end of her staff-thing, or vault up, Errol-Flynnstyle, and take over a horse for herself, but her body didn't seem to wantto know about any of it.

So she dodged, as being about the best idea, till a spine-chilling sound caught her ear.

It was Willow, and she was screaming.

 

 

Bit 2 to follow