FIC: Fimbul (8/11)

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

TITLE: Fimbul (8/11?)
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: Several characters in this belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I'm still poor, I'm still harmless (but i think I've got the measure ofthis load of dingo's kidneys now).  
SUMMARY: Another part, contains implied smut, and an example of Xander's Luck
SPOILERS: None -- except for anyone's peace of mind
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome
ARCHIVING: If I ever finish the thing, whoever wants it can probably have it (if there's anybody left reading this).

  
 
FIMBUL  
By Soren Nyrond
Part 8: Slayage and Slayjudice
 
  
"Fall back," the radio crackled: "There have been three more incidents overnight - it's no longer possible to patrol the western zone with any degreeof safety, and the road north of Mills Crossing is now impassable - the power company lain junction there is under about eighteen feet of ice and - for some reason - drawing four times the usual load."
"Acknowledged," Forrest said: "We will move to Option Gamma positions." Hejotted notes on a one-time pad and passed it to a runner: "Take that to Agent Finn, and start packing all the equipment - new centre of operations isthe Coffee Pump."
The other young man grinned at the thought, as he ran off, before remembering to resume a less personal expression as he approached when Agent Finn was dug in, in the advance spotter station.
 
 
"So, Giles, are you saying these things can't be beaten ?"
"Because, if so, I don't want to hear it."
Giles ignored Xander's comment. He had to be careful what he said. Xanderwould "go" for any scheme that offered itself so long as it didn't mean immediate death: he loved both Buffy and Willow, and he had developed into someone who would, without thought, sacrifice himself for either of them. The Slayer, he knew, like many of her Calling, ran on equal parts of berserk desperation and bloody-minded impulse. She, too, would sacrifice herself: unlike Faith, she would not brook sacrificing innocents along the way. Shewould "neutralise" Willow, Xander, even (he had to admit) himself, rather than put them to the final test. And Willow, while more level-headed, was so intelligent she could see behind any semantic equivocation he might use,and was (now, at least) self-confident enough to call him out on it, rather than muse over it herself.
"No," he replied: "I'm saying that, as yet, I haven't found the method."
Inside his head a memory quirked: an English televison comedy, the actor's name John Laurie, his character a middle-aged butcher, saying, with Caledonian and Calvinist simplicity: "We're doomed. We'rrre aall dooomedd."
Thank goodness these children weren't acquainted with the pleasantry.
 
"So what do we do ?"
"The snow's better than a foot thick," Xander said; "We could go and make Snow Angels."
"We know fire doesn't," Buffy said. "And I'd guess that would go for flamethrowers and the sort."
"Yes," Giles replied; "Anything of that sort would just tend to feed the Jotun. And I'm not sure if anything short of slaying the Jotun itself would suffice - from what I've read, it seems capable of . well, hibernating .. for periods if it's servants are destroyed."
"What did that ?" Buffy asked.
"Salt," Willow replied. "Made them melt quicker."
"But in these temperatures," Giles added, "I don't think anything will melt."
 
Xander had been looking, on and off, out of the window. Now he suddenly took two steps back.
"Wolves," he said, softly.
All of them, unsure of the exact strategic etiquette, held their breaths. A hoarse snuffling sound came on the air and then receded.
Xander glanced back at the window, and approached it cautiously.
"They've gone," he said; "At least, I hope so."
Buffy went over to the sideboard and removed from the lower drawer, where Giles kept a small personal arsenal, three long-bladed slashing knives - half knife, half hedging bill, all razor sharp.
"Just in case," she said, giving one to Willow and one to Xander.
 
 
The Jotun brooded. It had been obliged, in the interests of husbanding itspower, to let the clouds recede again, to regain water from the ocean. These humans were less obliging than it had expected: they avoided conflict. Whereas by now the Jotun had expected to have an army of ice-warrior Spawn, as well as several Children, it was left with the ragtag menie which Fatehad provided. And, from the dregs of the memory left to them, after becoming its kith, the Jotun gathered that there was - or had been - a Slayer inthe area. The Hellmouth was looking a less propitious place to launch Fimbulwinter.
But the Jotun cared not for propition: it had its purpose, lain down aeons before by the will of the frost giants. It was to triumph over Midgard, and render it frozen; it was to gather power, and eventually it was to summonits dread masters - they would rule over the frozen waste, and the Jotun would sacrifice itself in order to perfect, once more, their power.
 
The Jotun reached out with what mind its makers had given it, seeking out its Spawn. Suddenly it came into contact with its one Child, and from the contact a vague idea began to form.
 
 
 
Xander struggled through the knee-deep snow - already turning, irritatingly, to slush in the sudden burst of Sunnydale sunshine - and fought his way, listening every foot of it for wolves or worse, to his parents' house.
Buffy only had her mother to worry about - and she was out of town. And Willow's parents were away on yet another of their extended tours. But the senior Harrises .
Had gone to Vegas, it seemed. Xander had no idea how, given that the town was supposed to be cut off, but that was what the note said and, from what the others had said about these Spawn of Jotun, it seemed unlikely that they were good at forging little familial notes.
The basement was still there, though, and Xander quickly sorted through hisdrawers, finding fresh (or fresh-er) clothing to switch with what he'd been wearing. With the ice he didn't dare try the washing machine in case thepipes were frozen and he burst something. He would just have to hope Buffy could melt the perma-freeze before too much longer.
 
He was on his way back, through the melting slush, when movement caught hiseye.  
At first he was fearful it was one of the wolves, but a few seconds later he was satisfied it wasn't. Wolves, in his experience (all right, his experience of watching the Nature Channel - even after he'd found out that Jessehad fibbed when he'd said Nature really meant Naturist), didn't usually goround in micro-skirts and almost skin-tight cropped blouses.
"Hi, Xander," she called. "You probably don't remember me - I'm still a senior - at the High School - the year after yours."
Xander babbled something, half-hypnotised by the way her unfettered bra-less breasts bobbed and danced under her blouse, their nipples drawing patterns on the inside of the fabric to which his eyeballs, outside, seemed nailed.
"I'm Angela Morrice."
"Wha . what can I do for you, Angela ?" Xander was desperately trying to keep his brain from turning to jello (passion-fruit flavour).
"Well, I remember some of the others saying you were chummy with Buffy Summers, and that she was the person to go to if you had . unusual . problems."She paused.
"Do you work out, only those muscles . "
Xander's brain was not receiving the input of "How in the Hellmouth can shecomment about muscles which are under four layers of clothing, let alone walk round in next to nothing, in an abrupt, if intermittent, frost-wave ?"
 
 
"Oh, my Goddess ?"
"What is it, Willow ?"
Will was working her way through another of Giles' texts (Buffy should havebeen, but she'd been watching Willow's thighs, peeking out from her sweater, trying to remember exactly where she needed to kiss to get the effect she had on Sunday night . ) but now she was looking extremely panicked.
Giles was already moving to see what Willow had found, and Buffy followed suit.
"According to this, the Children of Jotun look just like ordinary people," Willow said.
"But," Giles added, reading on swiftly, "they have access to all of the powers of the Jotun: that would mean they can freeze earth, air and water instantly, and draw power from any source of heat."
"So how do I spot one ?" Buffy asked.
"They're resistant to cold - even the extreme cold the Jotun can induce."
 
The door opened and Xander came in, followed by a young woman in little more than undergarments.
"Buff ! This is Angela - she needs our help !" Willow and Buffy (and, to a lesser extent (because of other pressing matters for his attention) Giles) were noticing the girl's pale pearl-ice coloured skin, and her black eyes, and the way the warm damp air in the room was already starting to condense mist-wise round her shoulders, even as she spoke.
"Thank you, Xander - you've brought me exactly right." And Angela Morrice lifted her hand to push Xander away - and, incidentally, to harvest his body heat as extra energy.
 
 
End of Part 8