FIC: Fimbul (10/12)

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

TITLE: Fimbul (10/12)
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: Several characters in this belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I'm still poor, I'm still harmless  
SUMMARY: No real smut: Things do, however, get Substantially Worse for OurHeroes
SPOILERS: None -- except for anyone's peace of mind
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome -- thanks for what I've already had. Any comments, Lady Cilia ?
ARCHIVING: Once I've finished the thing, whoever wants it can probably haveit (if there's anybody left reading this).

 
 
FIMBUL  
By Soren Nyrond
Part 10: Probability Sub-Zero
 
 
Willow was watching at the window.
As Buffy and Xander arrived, with the box, she opened the door and let themin, even as the sunshine finally fell behind the charcoal grey cloud layer, and the icy Fimbul winds began to blow once more, peppered with ice and snow.
 
"What did your Mom buy ?"
"No idea, " Buffy replied. "Haven't looked yet. By the way, Xander provedthe salt theory."
"We would need several tons of the stuuf just to start making an impact," Giles said. "Willow did some calculations - "
"I used a scientific web-site," the hacker-girl put in.
" - And it looks as if a couple more days of this weather and the ice willbe so firm it would take a heat-wave to melt it. And with more snow coming every night - "
"And halfway through the afternoon, now," Buffy interjected.
" - We will be on the wrong side of a losing battle."
For a few seconds all of them stood (or, in Xander's case, slouched), considering the point.
 
For Rupert Giles, it was one more "end-of-the-world" scenario, of the sort the Watchers' Council frequently set as seminar studies for their students.It wasn't one he'd faced before, but he could imagine Quentin Travers systematically dissecting it, as a problem in hypotheticals. And now it stooda chance - a good chance - of becoming a reality. Unless, that was, his Slayer - his exceptional Slayer, he thought, with pride - could once more pull the imponderable answer to an impossible problem out of thin air, as shewas making a habit of doing.
For Buffy Summers, it was one more thing trying to interrupt her life. If it wasn't megalomaniac vampires, or demons with delusions of adequacy, it seemed to be Lost Gods, eager to retrieve their long-ago mistakes. And stopping her - Buffy Summers, the Chosen One, the Slayer, as Giles so often reminded her . less, though, these days, as though he accepted that she knew her role) . stopping her getting her sleep and her snugglies with HER ChosenOne.
Willow Rosenberg was torn between apprehension and slight satisfaction. Her program had worked -- it just needed a look-up table and a cross-reference to the Web, so that it could explain what it meant by its more cryptic predictions. On the other hand, if Buffy didn't stop the Jotun and the frost giants, her program would be another example of a piece of lost civilization, beneath a ceaseless sea of endless ice. On the other hand again (three hands - careful here, Rosenberg) Buffy had never failed to come through so far, even on things - like Malcolm/Moloch - which had had Willow herself completely bemused.
Xander Harris was wondering what it was like being frozen alive - especially if you were still alive and moving round afterwards. And just what wouldit have been like if he and Angela . He came back to his surroundings to realise that Giles was speaking.
 
"Whatever else, the Jotun - assuming that that is what we are facing - appears to be operating according to a pattern." He looked round.
"I'd say we're pretty satisfied that that's what's out there," Buffy said.
"Well, yes - I just wanted to emphasise all the options, Buffy." Giles drew breath. "A pattern, yes. It appears to summon snowstorms to try to buttress its icy grip, and then to send its Spawn out to attack."
"Which we have to find a way of stopping," Buffy said.
"I'm not sure if we can," the Watcher replied. "I rather fear that we haveto slay the Jotun, and then its works will . well, unravel."
"So we have to get past its defences, with it watching us, and get to it, before we can finish this, is that what you're saying ?"
"Well, in a manner of speaking . yes."
"And would you like cream on that ?" the Slayer asked theatrically, and rhetorically.
"Whoa - calm down," Xander said, and Willow hastened to join in.
"Fighting ourselves - not good tactic. Need to save strength."
"We need a weapon of some sort."
"Unfortunately, my books - "
"Newsflash, Giles : there are other things than Watcher journals and musty English reference tomes . they are tomes, aren't they, Will ?"
"Tomes is good - tomes is accurate, sort of. Maybe they're a little small,but it's a good word."
"What do you suyggest, Buffy ? Where do you suggest we look ?"
"Hey - I don't know: I Slay, you Watch. We need a Reader."
"I Need A Hero - " Xander let the song trail off.
 
"If this was witch-stuff," Willow said: "It would be easy: Ice is Air and Water, so we'd want Fire and Earth, the opposing Elements."
"You mean like a volcano," Xander said.
Eyes turned to him, but Willow chipped in: "Pretty much. Giles, do you haveanything in that line ?"
There was silence while Rupert Giles thought.
 
 
"Colonel - we have been forced to fall back to the campus."
"I read you, son - what are conditions like up there ?"
"Arctic Grade Two, Colonel. And there are clear indications that the hostiles are preparing another advance."
"What are you saying, Agent Finn ?"
"I earnestly recommend the Colonel consider evacuating the facility."
"That is not an option at the time, Agent."
"Colonel, we know they have access to the sewers. The incident at the Davison house indicates that they can, and will, move from the sewers into adjacent property. You know the extent to which our operation is subterranean- I can no longer advise that your perimeter is safe, and I cannot with certainty say that, in the event of a breach, I could get adequate forces diverted to you. Again, I recommend Evacuation Protocol Delta."
"I read you, son. My decision stands, but I will authorise Protocol Alpha - all non-essential personnel will be advised to vacate."
"Thank you, Colonel - transport will be at Egress Baker in ten minutes. I say again, Egress Baker, Colonel: Egress Alpha is not safe."
 
 
Jackson Fentleman was sweating profusely. In all his adolescent dreams, this was not a situation which he had foreseen. Certainly the football team wasn't going to be winning any bowls this year - even if he got out of thisalive, there was no Tri-County pennant till college.
Of his ten best buds, eight were there, five dead, and three transformed into undead popsicle monsters. And Angela "Bras are for Convent girls" Morrice. Her part in all this Jackson couldn't work out. She looked human enough - if you allowed for the fact that she was dressed for Horny CheerleaderNight at the Bronze - but the Things weren't paying her attention. Which implied she might be dead, too, and just not showing it (no matter what else she was showing).
 
He just hoped she didn't notice him. Even if she wasn't with Them, he didn't see her being able to hide the fact if she did see him, and that would inevitably draw attention to him. She had been one of his ambitions - hey, a bike's still a bike even if someone else has ridden it, and he'd have hadmore chance with Angela than with most of the other girls, with their "Wait Till After Graduation" line, watching to see whether or not your grades meant a good college and a chance of a paying career - but now he was thinking of saying goodbye to sex till . hell, till forever, it looked like.
 
Cramp stabbed at him, and he had to shift. And shifting made noise. And some Thing was looking at him, and he was gone, flat out, running.
And somewhere behind him, leaving the hulking Spawn, overgrown on ice and snow, behind, Angela Morrice was pursuing - blood cold with lust for Jackson's body.
And the only place Jackson could think of to head for was the school librarian's: everyone said he knew Class of '99's Protector, and he couldn't think of anyone else to fight walking ice statues: if he could ever convince her that they existed.
 
 
"Bored," Buffy said: "Xander, lend me a hand."
She had picked up one of the less-polished of the battleaxes Giles had, andstarted to pry at her Mom's crate.
"May as well see what's in here while Giles - Holy - "
Willow (who had also been bored, but hadn't dared try to plot a way to sneak Buffy upstairs for such Quality Time) bounced over the top of the sofa tosee what - "Oh My - "
At that, even Giles got up.
 
It was a crude, almost primitive, hammer-shaped thing. A roughly box-shaped stone head had been fitted to a wooden shaft, and secured by being bound round with leather thonging. Stood upright it would have reached to Willow's waist.
"It must weigh . "
"Just over one-hundred sixty-eight pounds," Buffy said, looking at the delivery slip.
"There can't be - " Xander started to say, even as Buffy reached out.
"Don't try, Buffy," Giles warned. "You could injure yourself - "
 
The hammering at the door sounded frenzied - Xander was closest.
He opened it and Jackson Fentleman fell in, covered in snow, wheezing and coughing. He tried to speak, but then Xander was trying to slam the door again, the door was being hurled back, and Angela Morrice stood on the threshold, unwinded, eyes cold fire, her body radiating the sort of chill that came, express delivery, from the bit of Alaska where the Sun Never Shone.
 
Buffy, halfway across the room, to get to Jackson, came to a sudden halt, at the implications.
Angela looked at them, smiled, and said "Look, everyone's together. Well, get praying."
There was a moment's silence, then she said, "Surely you've heard the saying: folks prayin' together, get slain together."
 
And, through her eyes, the Jotun watched, and waited for the carnage.