Re: FF: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (4/?)

[Kaz <kardeb97@xxxxxxxxx>]

Zephyr,

Wow! This part was absolutely wonderful! I hope you
don't take this the wrong way ('cause it's meant as a
compliment) but it totally reminded me of a book I
read when I was in 6th grade-- Phantom Tollbooth. Or
at least Mr. Scone did! He would fit right in that
book! So excellent characterization on him and
especially on Willow. I love how you write her
internal dialogue!

Can't wait for the next part!

~Kaz




--- Jason Rune <winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
> Well, I finally got back to this old thing, as you
> can see. I have a 
> second part to Two Steps Back in the works, but it's
> starting to depress 
> even me, and I'm usually in a pretty good mood even
> while writing tales of 
> death and sorrow. I think some fluff is in order,
> and soon.
> 
> Title: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (4/?)
> Author: Jason Rune (winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx)
> Summary: Buffy and Willow go on a road trip through
> the desert. AU after
> season 4.
> Rating: R
> Feedback: Love it.
> Archiving: If you want it. Just let me know so I
> can go see.
> Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy, the show and its
> characters. But M.
> Scone is mine.
> 
> The Tumbleweed Chronicles - Chapter 4
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is too cool. I'm driving a Jeep with a
> magically animated spirit. I 
> animated the car! We're heading out over the
> desert, brushing aside the 
> scrub and bushes like they're nothing. I try to
> head us in the direction 
> Buffy left. I think she was following the band of
> the Milky Way -- more 
> like the Bloody Way now. What is that... north? 
> East? I can hack into 
> government security organizations and can rattle off
> the ingredients for a 
> Akuroth demon banishing spell, easy, but sometimes
> the little things slip 
> my mind.
> 
> Oh well. It's not like I have a compass anyway. 
> Somehow I didn't think 
> I'd be needing one in Vegas. They have signs.
> 
> As I get further from the road, the ground gets
> hillier. We seem to be 
> handling the bumps pretty well, for now. But I hope
> Buffy hasn't gotten 
> too far. Why did she have to run away? We could
> have fixed it. We always 
> do. Just a little change in eye color doesn't mean
> she's turning into some 
> horrible demon. It could be perfectly harmless. 
> Some mischievous little 
> imp could have snuck in at night and put yellow
> contact lenses on her.
> 
> Bad thoughts. Bad Willow.
> 
> And that's what it's really about, isn't it? Bad
> thoughts. I've 
> practically been wanting to jump her since we woke
> up. Run my fingers up 
> her spine, taste her neck... again, I say, bad
> Willow. But what if she's 
> having bad thoughts too? She might be thinking
> about killing demons and 
> enjoying it, or making out with Riley in graveyards,
> or Faith coming 
> back... all sorts of things. And now she doesn't
> have anyone to talk to 
> about it.
> 
> And that thing that passed through us was just plain
> wrong. There's no 
> other way to describe it, unless you count unclean,
> dirty, filthy, and the 
> negation of anything good. And it really wasn't
> very nice. And the way it 
> spread its arms to us before we drove through it...
> it was like it reached 
> out to take our hearts in its fists. I don't even
> know if it had hands, 
> really, but for all intents and purposes, it was
> very claw-y.
> 
> I wonder, though, about Buffy's last words. I mean,
> the last thing she 
> said before she ran off. It's real, she said, it's
> really 
> there. What? That... shadow? Is that what she's
> been seeing on the back 
> of her eyelids this whole time? If that's what she
> was upset about... I 
> mean, my problems so far have been limited to
> occasional dizziness, a 
> constriction of my magical senses, and thoughts of
> making wild, passionate 
> love to my best friend. I could very well have
> gotten the easy stuff.
> 
> I snap myself out of my thoughts and focus on the
> desert ahead of us. The 
> headlights cut through the darkness. I have the
> brights on. Every so 
> often I think I see something dart furtively away
> from us but, hey, they're 
> probably just shadows, right?
> 
> I can see something out to my left, and it's not
> going away. It's a dark 
> band across the ground, maybe a few feet wide, and
> stretching off as far as 
> I can see. The headlights aren't on it, and I don't
> know if I want to try 
> turning to face it. I tell the Jeep to stop, and we
> pull up alongside 
> it. After fondly patting the dashboard, I grab the
> flashlight Buffy's mom 
> always keeps under the seat and hop out.
> 
> I brush aside the scrub as I walk towards the band. 
> I realize now that 
> it's mostly tumbleweed. When I was running earlier
> I didn't pay much 
> attention, and it seemed to cling and scratch. But
> now it falls easily away.
> 
> As I approach, I can see that the dark band is
> rippling slightly. It's 
> like a river of some kind. Maybe the dark powers
> are trying to irrigate 
> the desert so they can grow their evil crops? The
> glow from the sky, as 
> usual, is giving everything a reddish tint. I
> realize that the river is 
> actually running right under the Milky Way. 
> Coincidence? I shine my 
> flashlight at it. It's red. No, really red. In
> the beam of light I can 
> see it pooling and running slowly back the way I
> came. I don't need to 
> touch it to know that it's blood. I don't need to
> touch it, period.
> 
> I have an audience. I can feel them over my left
> shoulder; I can sense 
> them. They're like flickers on the edge of my
> peripheral vision, except I 
> know that if I look over at them, they'll still be
> there. I back away from 
> the river of blood and get back in the Jeep. It
> purrs comfortingly, and I 
> smile.
> 
> "You wouldn't let anything bad happen, would you?" I
> ask. "Just like 
> Buffy. She's always looking out for me, you know. 
> Except for these few 
> times now and again when something really evil
> happens and she gets all 
> possessed and weird and stuff and runs away. But
> that doesn't happen too 
> often." The engine revs, probably in response to my
> unconscious desire to 
> get out of here.
> 
> "Yeah," I say. "Let's go. With any luck, Buffy
> will be following this too."
> 
> Luck. There's an odd word for all of this. It
> can't be much in the way of 
> good luck, not for us to be here. And not all of us
> are even here, in the 
> sense that my best friend is running off into the
> middle of the desert.
> 
> I take a moment to think about that. I know, I
> know, I've been thinking 
> about it a lot lately, but I take another moment. 
> This isn't Sunnydale, 
> where the graveyards are plentiful but the
> population is still small. Back 
> when Buffy got turned into a rat, even, Oz tracked
> her down and found 
> her. Without clothes of any kind. But out here,
> she could go anywhere, 
> any direction. I can only hope that this is all
> leading somewhere.
> 
> And for the first time in quite a while, I find
> myself hoping against hope 
> that whatever evil thing is doing all of this has a
> really good plan to 
> draw all of us into its clutches.
> 
> We start to follow the river, the Jeep and I. It
> winds a little, but stays 
> mostly straight. I think it's getting wider. What
> kind of creature could 
> possibly release this much blood across the desert? 
> And are there 
> more? Briefly, a picture flits through my mind of a
> wellspring, bubbling 
> red rivers that flow in all directions, like a
> bloody flower. I wonder 
> what could be its seed.
> 
> I watch out the window as the Jeep drives itself,
> following the river 
> upstream. That's what you're supposed to do when
> you're lost in the 
> wilderness, right? Follow the river and eventually,
> as long as you're not 
> too far out in the mountains or something, you'll
> come to one of those 
> towns and cities that inevitably spring up around
> rivers. Unless it 
> happens to be a river of blood, in which case you
> come across something 
> presumably quite icky.
> 
> The Jeep jerks to a halt. All told, it's still a
> smoother stop than 
> Buffy's; I guess magical animation trumps a barely
> passed driving 
> test. Score one for the supernatural. Aww, Buffy,
> don't pout. I love you 
> anyway... and there's nothing to be gained by
> talking to you now, is there?
> 
> Just a few feet in front of us is a man, who looks
> solid enough. He has 
> frazzled white hair that sticks out all over the
> place and sweeps down to 
> form a shockingly untamed beard and moustache. His
> eyes are shining in the 
> headlights. And he's wearing a black bathrobe. He
> looks surprised.
> 
> After a few moments, I decide to get out and talk to
> him. I did almost run 
> him over, after all, and, well, he looks harmless
> enough. Of course, he 
> could be a murderous fiend waiting to ensnare and
> devour me, but it's only 
> common courtesy to say something. I hop out of the
> door, holding on to it 
> so I can get back in quickly. He snaps out of his
> trance.
> 
> "I say!" he starts, sounding for all the world like
> I just tried to steal 
> his cucumber sandwich. "Watch where you're going,
> young miss."
> 
> I stare, and the thought crosses my mind that this
> strange creature might 
> somehow find my staring offensive. But I dismiss
> it.
> 
> "Who," I say, "are you?"
> 
> "Oh, I live around here," he responds, not really
> answering my 
> question. "I have for a long while, and I will for
> quite a while more, as 
> long as I don't go and get run over by some girl in
> a truck."
> 
> "You... you don't look like a creature of the
> night," I say. He scoffs.
> 
> "Not all creatures of the night are creatures of
> fear," he informs 
> me. "There exist... other things. But we are all
> made of darkness, and 
> while night remains, so will we."
> 
> "And then, in the morning, you'll all go back under
> the bed?" I say hopefully.
> 
> "No, child. For there will be no morning. Not
> here. Not in this 
> place. We have claimed it now." Finished with his
> lecture, he makes to 
> depart.
> 
> "Wait," I say, and he turns to me curiously. "I'm
> looking for 
> someone. Maybe you'd know where she is?"
> 
> "Oh, I doubt it," he says, shaking his head. "My
> specialty is losing 
> things, not finding them. I wouldn't know where to
> start."
> 
> "Well, maybe you could just walk backwards?" I
> suggest. I don't know why, 
> really, but given the circumstances it seems
> strangely appropriate.
> 
> "Oh, I do believe she fancies herself with a sense
> of humor," he mutters, 
> not at all unkindly. "But no. I would, as it
> happens, be required not 
> just to walk but to think backwards, and that's
> simply too 
> much. Especially before a proper breakfast."
> 
> "And if you had something to eat?" I say.
> 
> "Oh, I'm afraid I have no such thing on or around
> me. That's why I'm out 
> here, in fact."
> 
> "You think there's food out here?"
> 
> "Dear me, no. It's just that I had my breakfast
> with me, you see, but I 
> lost it. Lost it very well."
> 
> "But," I say, "didn't you just tell me you couldn't
> find anything? Why are 
> you out here looking?"
> 
> "Well, what else should I be doing?" he asks, and I
> have to admit I'm 
> stumped. "Besides, there's always the chance that,
> while I'm out here 
> meandering about, I'll lose my appetite."
> 
> This has all been a very entertaining tangent, but
> nonetheless, I don't 
> think I'll find any help here. And Buffy's still
> out there, somewhere. I 
> decide to try one more time.
> 
> "Is there anyone else around here who could help
> me?" I ask, trying to keep 
> the frustration out of my voice. "Perhaps someone
> you haven't lost 
> yet?" He considers for a moment.
> 
> "Well, there's the Camp," he says, and I can just
> hear the capital 
> letter. "I don't imagine I could lose that if I
> tried."
> 
> "Camp? There's a camp? What camp? And do they
> have marshmallows?" I ask, 
> a bit too excited. Do they have Buffy is what I
> wanted to ask.
> 
> "Right, yes, the only Camp in this place, and I
> don't think so," he 
> says. I take a moment to remember my own questions
> and get them 
> straight. There's so much more I want to ask him,
> but I have a feeling it 
> would take more time than I want to spend.
> 
> "All right then," I say. "Where is this camp?"
> 
> "The camp is where it is," he says. "It is...
> central. Just as sure as my 
> specialty is losing things, it's is being found. 
> Just keep on going the 
> way you're going."
> 
> "Oh. Right. And, uh... thanks, Mister..." I trail
> off as I realize I 
> never got his name.
> 
> "You're quite welcome, young miss. And if you're
> wanting my name, I'm 
> afraid I don't keep a hold of them for too long. 
> You may call me Mister 
> Scone."
> 
> "Mister Scone?" I ask, and he nods. "Okay then, I
> will. Unless you lose 
> it, too."
> 
> "Oh, I probably will, and soon. But as long as you
> keep a hold of it, 
> it'll never really be lost, eh?" He clucks his
> tongue and, shaking his 
> head, walks off into the darkness without so much as
> a goodbye.
> 
> That was bizarre, I think, as I get back into the
> driver's seat. I start 
> thinking back to what Buffy said before about the
> night advancing. First 
> there was darkness, then bloody stars, then a bloody
> river, and now, odd 
> British guys in bathrobes. Bloody British guys. I
> wonder if he was a demon.
> 
> It's strange. If I were anything resembling a
> normal girl wandering about 
> alone at night, I'd be more worried about muggers
> and guys looking for 
> cheap, read free, sex than about whether odd British
> guys in bathrobes were 
> demons. Though as it is he could very well have
> lost his knickers at some 
> point. I hope Buffy hasn't acquired any new talents
> along the lines of 
> losing things all the time. It'd be a shame if she
> lost her 
> knickers. Especially if I wasn't there to...
> 
> Stop, Willow. Just stop.
> 
> Strangely, my chance meeting with Scone has improved
> my mood. He seemed so 
> cheerful for someone wandering about in the middle
> of a cloud of unnatural 
> blackness. I, on the other hand, am looking at the
> possibility of 
> permanent emotional scarring, in no small part due
> to a large number and 
> startling variety of naughty thoughts about my
> involved, female, best friend.
> 
> Somewhere amidst all the commotion in my head, I get
> the Jeep started 
> again. We follow the river for what the trip meter
> says is another five 
> miles, and I start to get a little worried. Just
> how long can this thing 
> be? There's only... well, okay, there's hundreds of
> miles of desert out 
> here, but whatever's bleeding all over the place
> can't expect me to drive 
> that far.
> 
> I think I see light up ahead. It's just a faint
> glow, but it's there. I 
> switch off the headlights for a moment, and as my
> eyes adjust I can see 
> what looks like a campfire. But I can't make out
> anything else, not at 
> this distance. There's only one thing to do, now. 
> I start driving again, 
> following the light up ahead and being careful not
> to drive into the river 
> of blood. Yuck.
> 
> I wonder what kinds of people hang out in this
> camp... are they even 
> people? Or am I driving into the middle of a
> demonic tour group? Mister 
> Scone seemed nice enough, though I suppose he might
> have just lost his 
> evilness at some point. The rest? Who knows?
> 
> I hope this isn't all a terrible mistake.
> 
> Then again, what else am I going to do?
> 
> I pull up to the camp slowly, keeping the headlights
> off but ready to turn 
> them back on at any time. Nobody seems to notice,
> at least not in a 
> rush-out-and-attack kind of way. There's a fire,
> all right, a big cone of 
> red flames in some kind of pit. Around it are tents
> arranged in a 
> circle. Somewhere in between the red flickering
> light and the darkness, I 
> can see shapes moving.
> 
> "See?" a voice says to my left. "It's pretty hard
> to miss." Mister Scone 
> is there, standing by my car window in his bathrobe
> and looking at the camp 
> with a quizzical expression.
> 
> "And you didn't even have to walk backwards," I say,
> getting a small smirk 
> in response. "Are there others here... like you?" I
> venture.
> 
> "You never can tell quite what you'll find here," he
> says, his voice 
> lowering. "Or what you'll lose..."
> 
> "Sounds vaguely unsettling," I say. "High marks for
> presentation. But 
> I've heard it before. Who are those... people, or
> whatever they are?"
> 
> "You've got some kick, girl," he says, raising one
> bushy eyebrow.
> 
> "Yeah, living where I live will do that to you. 
> That or kill you." Man, 
> I'm starting to sound like a bad movie tough-guy. 
> Girl. It's not all bad, 
> 'cause Mister Scone seems to be suitably impressed. 
> But I think I'm 
> beginning channeling vamp-me, and that worries me. 
> At least I'm not 
> getting bored yet.
> 
> "Those things," he nods at the shadows, "are people
> like you and me. A lot 
> more like me than you, though. They eat, they
> sleep, they wake up. By 
> day, they go out into the world and act like normal
> people should. They 
> work. They get paid. They shop. But by night,
> they start letting things 
> out that they would never expose to sunlight."
> 
> "So, what, the sun goes down and they have an
> id-party?" I say. Hey, I 
> took psychology last semester, even if the professor
> did turn out to be an 
> evil bitch trying to kill us all and ending up on
> the skewer of her own 
> roboto-demon creation.
> 
> "You could put it that way," Mister Scone says,
> huffing as if to let me 
> know that his way is much more sophisticated. 
> "Their hidden desires come 
> to the forefront as the sun sinks behind the world."
> 
> "Right. Id-party," I say, and he huffs again. "But
> if they're people, why 
> do they look all non-corporeal?"
> 
> "Oh, most of them are solid enough," he explains. 
> "What you're seeing 
> isn't the people, it's the spirits of their little
> nighttime obsessions, 
> let loose by the promise of eternal night."
> 
> "You mean, that shadow thing that attacked us
> earlier was really just some 
> delinquent's subconscious?"
> 
> "Something like that, one would assume, not having
> been there to see it."
> 
> "Well then, what about you?" I ask, peering at him
> more closely. "Do you 
> have one of those things floating around somewhere?"
> 
> "Of course I do. Everyone does, at least once
> they've been here a 
> while. It's just that, ah, I, uh, lost mine a while
> ago," he says, having 
> the grace to at least look a little embarrassed. 
> "Haven't seen it again 
> since," he says a bit more softly.
> 
> "So if all those things are spirits, where are the
> bodies?" I wonder out 
> loud. "In the tents?"
> 
> "Oh, most of them, heh. Some of them keep walking
> around for quite a 
> while, but eventually they go to sleep, you see," he
> says, looking sadly 
> over at the collection of pitched tents. "Me, I
> never could seem to find 
> any sleep."
> 
> "And the river? You know, the blood one? What
> about that?" I ask.
> 
> "Oh, that's a good one. Actually, I have an
> excellent book on the subject, 
> written by one of the premiere... where did I put
> it... I must have left it 
> in my other jacket, heh, actually, eh, my only
> jacket. Now, where would 
> that be..." he trails off, turning away from me and
> stumbling off into the 
> darkness. I consider calling after him, but what
> would be the use?
> 
> These latest developments have been disturbing, to
> say the least. Not only 
> am I stuck out here in a big patch of mystical
> darkness, oh no, I have to 
> be stuck here with a bunch of people so repressed
> and bored with their 
> lives that their secret obsessions have all escaped
> and started doing 
> secret obsessive things. And worse yet, my own
> little demons seem to be 
> trying to break out.
> 
> Is that what I've been feeling this whole time? 
> That little voice telling 
> me to do unspeakable things to Buffy--well,
> obviously not unspeakable, or 
> it wouldn't be telling me to do them, but
> unspeakable out loud by me? And 
> is it going to start walking around on it's own and
> try to lick my neck?
> 
> I need to get out of here.
> 
> But first I need to find Buffy.
> 
> I hop out of the Jeep, landing with a thump on the
> sand. I close the door 
> behind me, and pat the hood lightly. My
> vehicle-cum-guardian spirit will 
> wait here until I return.
> 
> Clasping my hands before me, I say a quick spell for
> protection from 
> darkness within darkness. It's not much, but it
> will have to do... and 
> it's doing more than I expected. Looking at my
> hand, I can see that 
> there's a slight something there, an aura I can't
> quite make out. If I 
> look at it the right way, it could seem to be made
> of either light or 
> darkness. It tingles.
> 
> I just knew magic would be weird in this place.
> 
> As I walk towards the camp, slowly, trying to keep
> my breathing calm, 
> someone approaches. He appears solid as well, and
> much younger than Mister 
> Scone. He's wearing a tattered brown robe. His
> hair is black and looks 
> like something tried to nest in it--an owl, perhaps?
> They're nocturnal birds.
> 
> "Dark one?" he says, almost breathless, looking at
> me like I'm some sort of 
> celebrity. He's obviously expecting me to give some
> sort of assurance.
> 
> "Um, dark one?" I parrot. That wasn't assuring.
> 
> "You are what the waking ones call a witch, are you
> not?" he asks.
> 
> "Ah, yes," I say, gaining only slightly in
> confidence as he looks at me in 
> wonder. "That would be me." He falls to his knees
> in the sand, his robes 
> pooling around him, and clasps his hands before him.
> 
> "Mighty dark one," he says. "Please, give me your
> command!"
> 
> Hmm. Interesting.
> 
> * * *
> 
> 
> Jason Rune (Zephyr)
> 
> "No one's going to go see the story of Othello going
> to get a peaceful 
> divorce."
> -Joss Whedon
> 
> 
>
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=====
Don't knock on Death's door. Ring the bell and run away- he hates that.

~ Anonymous

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