Fic: Something In The Air (1/?)

["buffythebushkangaroo" <buffythebushkangaroo@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

A different style for me.

*hug*

Anne-Lise.

--

(Outside Buffy's house. BUFFY, and unseen, SPIKE.)

BUFFY: What light, what glorious light, which brings warmth unto this 
weary heart. Harken, is that not the sound of faerie folk, or bells 
that children playful bring? Nay, for passing by, this ethereal light 
I see 'tis no more than radiant day brought forth by morn, not 
spectral source nor youthful zestly wrought. O fool am I for thinking 
more, of mayhap beasts or demons calling at my troubled door. Cast no 
stones upon me, unknown fate, from misery comes my weary stock and 
destiny a heavy mantle worn. What challenges, what nightmares new, 
have laid their ponderous destination upon my unlucky gate?

(Intrum SPIKE.)

SPIKE: I know not of troubles brewing, fair Slayer, but here am I a 
nightmare yet, but no sorrier for the asking. I bring not news nor 
deeds of demons, but a question burns upon my silent heart. For what 
is life, if not fleeting moments imbibed from the very chalice of 
passing history? Hold not my coloured past against me, nor bestow 
upon me torturous memories hence. A base and simple creature am I, 
blessed not by conscience nor righteous pathways do I seek, only to 
bring favour from your tender fingertips. A sorry curse is mine, for 
cursed am I if no smile forms upon your rosebud lips. A humble 
servant now am I, and servant always shall I be! If this but be your 
resolution felt, described in words conveyed by heartfelt wish.

BUFFY: A curse? What curse exists that pardons hence the terrors of 
your chequered past? I know of your misdeeds, and mayhap a little of 
your demeanour too! Mistake me not for a simple waif, despite the 
claims my unlikely nomenclature preaches, but hold true these words 
for verity; call not upon my distant eves whilst daylight breaks 
above your pale head, for sanctuary could you indeed realise is a 
nebulous and untrustworthy mistress. Should I close this uninviting 
portal and watch as day brings penance to your unworthy soul? Nay, 
pleasure would I scant receive in grim exchange for information 
stolen. This burden shall it be to place upon my soul, for your 
continued existence lays unto my apologetic feet a spectre of 
responsibility.

(Exeunt SPIKE & BUFFY.)

*

(Buffy's bedroom. BUFFY and SPIKE. Intrum WILLOW.)

WILLOW: O Sad day! What perversity claims this hallowed hall? No 
summoned shade nor fell beast wrought from Hell itself compares to 
this unlikely vision. Sweet Slayer, make haste to dress before this 
unworthy cur holds to you unholy pleasures sought!

SPIKE: Calmness be upon your brow, delectable though I find your 
quick concern. Yet not to judgement leap, for your judgement lies 
upon the unlikely blade of power gained without the aid of wisdom 
reached. This blade, I fear, all to readily wielded in the grasping 
hands of outrighteous peril. See not the encroaching dangers your 
magics bring? This balance is not yours to sunder, nor rectify as you 
see fit! I care not for matters of the occult, or the terrors brought 
upon its hapless prey, but fear I have for your very soul if this 
grim pathway will you ignorantly tread.

WILLOW: No words, forsooth, can sway your foolish heart. The answer 
lies within Lethe's blessing. Yet your words bring ponderance unto 
this weary and world-beaten shell.

(Exeunt WILLOW.)

BUFFY: Stay, if you will, within this chamber of dreams denied, for 
sleep's sweet virtue I cannot claim whilst Willow's need pulls upon 
my fragile heart.

SPIKE: Do as you must, but remember thus; A heart forged in misery, 
tempered by grief, becomes as steel. Hope remains as long as hearts 
still beat.

(Exeunt BUFFY, troubled.)

*

(Xander's flat. XANDER and ANYA.)

XANDER: A strangeness lays its shroud around us, I feel its chill 
upon the air. Something stirs and walks abroad this day. O confounded 
premonition, why now disturb my lacklustre and unworried thoughts?

ANYA: Mendacious and untrustworthy man! To choose this day to linger, 
in hope of sweet delights and entry to my carnal nest. Forbidden are 
you until night brings forth contractual release, for should events 
unfold to ebullient hope, this night a celebration beckons. For soon 
a foreman's crest will glisten upon your handsome vacant crown, and 
should I rue some strange event, I know my heart would not hold guilt 
for choices I could never make. Go now, and delectable pancakes shall 
you serve, and orange juice place beside my silver plate.

XANDER: Aye, my queen. Though forlorn am I that plates of silver lie 
beyond my esteemed reach. But lo, though paper brings not contentment 
to she of avarice borne, I find enjoyment... For no need have we for 
manual cleaning labour chores! Fear not, for should opportunity arise 
this day, mayhap our futures may find china plates upon our table, 
and crystal goblets for wine decanted, and silver cutlery to dine 
within the drawers.

(Exeunt unhappy XANDER.)

*

(Willow's bedroom. BUFFY and WILLOW.)

BUFFY: Take this, my token, to draw away these saddened tears. My 
heart breaks but for the knowledge that brighter days will come our 
way, if we but hold true unto ourselves and let not these unworthy 
feelings sway us from our path. Please, take succor in my words and 
arms and find within my light embrace sustenance and much needed love.

WILLOW: Know not the impact your words impart? The longing held in 
check by failing barriers, the growing need, seeded so long upon our 
first chance encounter? No fairy tales come true for us, our remit is 
to fight the darkness; champions of goodness and light are we? Or 
sorry pawns within some greater game? Upon this butcher's block of 
life our hearts are weighed and found wanting, and here I lie replete 
in knowledge and debasement, how far can angels fall when wings are 
sheared upon the knives of fate? O sorry state, for love no more 
penetrates my frigid heart.

BUFFY: Hope remains as long as hearts still beat. Look to me, for 
though these words were founded by mysterious and dubious source, I 
now believe them to be true. Look to me, for in my hands your heart a 
trusted covenant becomes. Look to me, for in my words and deed, have 
I not given you cause for faith?

WILLOW: Hope remains, but dare I look upon the promises of days afar? 
If only my dreams were crafted by more than sleeping's callow hands. 
Yet my gratitude in abundance find, for words that gift upon me hope; 
this fragile yet hardy beast now flutters in my nervous breast.

BUFFY: Aspirations, hopes and dreams. Mayhap more than these be 
placed upon your rising breast. Take my hand, for in my hands more 
than your covenant can there be found. 

(Intrum SPIKE.)

SPIKE: Bloody hell!

(End Act I.)