FIC :: Filks & Fables (3/3)

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

TITLE: Filks & Fables (3/3) 
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: Characters in this part belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. 
SUMMARY: It's got Buffy and Willow in it; there is supposed to be smut in it (somewhere).
SPOILERS: None since it bears no resembance to aired
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome. Chocolate cookies also accepted.


 
Filks and Fables - - Part 3
 

"Oh, my lady - such a wondrous gown ! Who is your dresser ? Are these thelatest silks of Cathay ? Oh, but my dear . "

"Lucinda - Lucinda, who is this lady ? Have I been introduced to her ? When did you meet ? Do I know your father, mayhap, my dear ?"

"This is Lady Florentine, Mama, newly returned from the Colonies, where herfather was Lieutenant-Governor of the Frontier Province."

"My dear - enchanted."

"You do me honour," Willow replied. "It is indeed a wondrous house you have here."

"Oh, my dear: know you not - we are but guests here: guests of the Emissary."

"Well, certain it is that the Emissary of whom you speak must be a bounteous man, for his estates are vast and his furnishings of the finest."

"You are very discerning for one so young, my dear. Come, Lucinda - it is time for your pianoforte lesson."

 

The footsteps faded and Buffy risked a quick look out of the closet, where she had been hidden.

"Willow - Will, where are you ?"

For a moment panic blighted her - to lose Giles, her Watcher and mentor, would be a blow indeed, but she knew that to lose her beloved Willow would make life itself .

There was a giggle, and then "My goodness, young si . oh, my, such a daringcut of tunic. Is it not cold - ?"

Buffy turned, to see Willow at the window, with a bemused expression on herface.

"Willow - Willow, it's me, Buffy. Come on, remember !"

Then Willow's face cleared: "Oh, where . oh, yes: I was in a daydream and Ijust couldn't wake up properly. What's going on ?"

"The one in charge here is called the Emissary," Buffy said tersely. "Doesn't sound as if we've found the Secret Headquarters yet." She saw Willow'seyes start to fog again, and took her friend's hand: "Come on, Will - I need you to stay with the plot. Can you think of any magic that would help us ?"

But Willow seemed completely out of it, turning to look out of the window again.

Desperately Buffy pulled her back round, and kissed her long and hard. After a few seconds, Willow started to respond and then, after a few more she was giving as good as she was getting.

"Hey, Buffy, I really feel - woah, this place is really getting to - " Sheswayed, and Buffy needed Slayer-strength to keep her upright.

"Willow - love, you have to concentrate. I need your help - Giles needs your help. You keep drifting away and - and - and it's starting to frighten me."

"Drifting away," Willow said. Suddenly her eyes focussed on Buffy: "They aren't drifting away." She reached out for Buffy's nipples again and, not for the first time, Buffy Summers cursed whoever had dreamed up her outfit.

"Willow - get a gri- "No, Summers, that is not what to say. "Willow, you have to - "

She heard the voices again, coming closer. She glanced at the closet, and in that moment Willow wandered away a step or two, and Buffy lost her chance to grab her and hustle her out of sight.

Hastily, and determined to at least try to see what was going on as well ashear, Buffy hid herself inside the kneehole of a fretworked desk, tugging it around a little, so that the fretted front now faced the room rather than the wall. Just in time she tugged the seat into place behind it, as a woman and a girl entered the room, both dressed in outfits as complicated as Willow's own.

The girl was well-built: she filled out her bodice well and for a moment Buffy had to remember that this was not her world. Her mother was taller andthinner, with, Buffy now saw, a piercing eye.

"The Emissary wishes to meet you, Lady Florentine: he will be here shortly.He is receiving reports from certain artisans who have been working in the gardens."

Then she looked round and saw Willow's bag, lying beside the telescope.

 

Buffy was in several states of panic: they might be on the point of being discovered, and, so far as she could tell, Willow was not Willow but someoneelse. And her own state was perilous: she was crouched on her hands and knees, which meant that her bra-less breasts keep brushing against the half-open front of her blouse, and the effect on her already-sensitised nipples was much as if her Willow-love was toying with them. And if she tried to ease herself back and up slightly, the seam in her pants rammed straight onto her sensitive love-button, threatening her with other perilous (if, underother circumstances, quite delicious) consequences.

 

"What is this ?" Lucinda's mother asked, holding up Willow's utterly anachronistic bag of magickal equipment. "You have all sorts of . papers, and powders and . curious sharpened pieces of wood."

Willow looked at her with eyes radiant with innocence: "My Lady, when I wasin the Colonies I had a governess who had worked long with the natives: she taught me of their ways, and I gathered herbs and roots with which to practice their healing arts."

"And this ?" It was one of Buffy's stakes.

Again Willow approached the subject with apparent candour: "I had a whimsy to construct myself a toy farm - that was a model for a fence-post, for a carpenter to cope and to improve upon."

"So, you are acquainted with the finer arts ?"

 

Willow Rosenberg was lost. Ever since she had arrived in this version of reality she had been being overwhelmed by another personality. Again and again she had tried to break free, but little had come of it. Her Wiccan wisdom was still available to her: it was her body that was being stolen. Only when Buffy was close could she recover her control, and even that was becoming harder and harder. Meanwhile her other self was surrendering more andmore to a spasm of brainlessness and superficiality which had nothing to do with reason, and all to do with whimsy. All Willow could do was to try to drop in odd things that might break the spell, might disrupt the alien influence.

 

"Oh, yes, my lady. I play music, and know poetry, and from time to time I write."

"Poetry ?"

Willow turned, took a deep breath, and recited:

"There was a young man of our nation

"Who caused hue and great consternation

"When proposing that schools

"Teach a great deal less rules

"And a great more about for-

"Mama - "Lucinda said interrupting the poem, "the Emissary is coming."

"Oh, quickly - we should be demurely seated."

Lucinda and her mother took the room's couch, which left Willow with the seat behind the desk. It seemed a little constricted, but she twitched her skirt up slightly, and her legs seemed to fit all right.

 

The Emissary was a strange character, dressed in flowing silks, with a turban across his head, with a big blue jewel in it. 

He made brief and superficial conversation with Lucinda and her mother and then turned to Willow. But Willow was hardly in a state to pay him much attention. She had no idea of what was going on: first (without, so far as she remembered it, her doing anything) her skirt had twitched two or three times. Then she had felt a breeze round her ankles and calves and then, gently, her thighs had been impelled apart.

That the Emissary was asking her questions, and that the jewel in his turban was glowing with an unearthly light, catching her eyes and sapping her will, did not seem to matter, for below her waist Willow was bathing in a seaof sensual sensation that was far more effective at stripping her of all self-control.

The Willow that was trapped inside was paying no attention to the jewel or its hypnotic influence: that was Buffy's tongue (she would have known it anywhere), and the ecstasies it was engendering, while probably not pertinentto rescuing Rupert Giles, were of themselves extremely pleasurable.

Idly, in the midst of it all, she considered changing her mind about college in one particular: perhaps she ought to take that course in Linguistics.

Finally she screamed her release, drumming her feet against the floor, pushing her chair back to escape from that tongue, for just a moment.

 

Given a chance, Buffy popped out, but the instant the Emissary saw her, he ran for it. Buffy had had little chance, during her efforts, to pay attention to his voice, and now she missed seeing his face. Still, it was he, and he was the clue, and the clue was to do, what a Slayer had to do.

 

"Quickly !" Buffy grabbed Willow's wrist and, making sure that the magick bag was still in Willow's other hand, pulled her after the fleeing man. She was gratified when the pressure lessened, implying that Willow herself had also started running.

Willow, for her part, had recovered her senses at the sight of Buffy, swallowed a little of Urmelwen's restorative cordial, and was giving pursuit, both of the man and of her Slayer.  

The turbaned man went round a corner and through a door. Buffy's blood wasup, and the door exploded inwards under her kick.

The Emissary was standing before an ornate wrought-iron gate, incongruous among the other plush furnishings. As they barrelled into the room after him, he gave them one startled look. Buffy almost thought she recognised him,but there wasn't time to look more closely before, like a scared rabbit, he leapt through the gate and vanished.

 

"We've got him !" Buffy said: "Now we'll - "

"No, Buffy - we don't know - "

But Willow's despairing cry availed naught: Buffy was rushing the gate and,with her grip on Willow's wrist unabated, the Wiccan was following her, like it or not.

 

 

End of Bit 3; end of this episode