FIC: Fimbul (3/12) Revised & Reposted

["soren_nyrond" <soren_nyrond@xxxxxxxxx>]

TITLE: Fimbul (3/?)  Revised & Reposted
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: Several characters in this belong to Joss Whedon and 
Mutant Enemy. I'm poor, I'm harmless, I'm just borrowing.
SUMMARY: It's got Buffy and Willow; it does have more ice, but no 
alcohol. And no real violence
SPOILERS: None; some smut (even if it's getting colder)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome -- 
ARCHIVING: Want; take; have; tell me (or Google) where ...


FIMBUL 
By Soren Nyrond 
Part 3 :: Hot Love, Cold Fate 


Angela Morrice knew what people thought of her. She didn't 
particularly care  she had needs and she made sure that they were 
met. She also enjoyed teasing the men and boys she came across, as to 
exactly how far, at any given moment, she might be willing to go. 
Sometimes she did, as well  it depended on how she felt. 

Last night it had been Billy Turkel  he was one of the baseball 
team's best prospects (not that Sunnydale played much baseball)  and 
an evening in the shrubbery of the old Catholic school. Angela had 
come away with several love-bites and a forty-dollar sweater (not 
Billy's letter-sweater, but then achieving that was going to take a 
bit more than going to second base). And tonight it would be Ronnie 
Moffat  he said he had a key to the new High School building and 
that he'd built them a love-nest in the gymnasium out of mats. Angela 
had sort of promised him she'd demonstrate a new use for the vaulting 
horse and Ronnie was hot to rock. Angela wasn't quite so sure: Ronnie 
was good enough, for a quick petting session, but she knew that 
school would end eventually, and she wasn't going to get the grades 
for college, and she wanted something better than back-alleys and 
motels and some married guy as a sugar-daddy. She wanted some 
permanence, some sort of status. 


It was late when Buffy came back. Willow was half asleep on her bed, 
on the edge of sleep, a little chilly but determined to be there for 
Buffy when she came back, in case there were bruises to tend or 
anything like that. 
But, when the Slayer came back, there was nothing: it had apparently 
been a quiet night. 
"It's odd, though" Buffy said. 
"What is ?" Willow asked, watching Buffy undress, again. 
"Well, I swung by Willy's and it was nearly empty." 
"That is odd," Willow said, swinging her legs round from off the bed, 
and sitting up. 
Given that Sunnydale had precisely one bar where the local demonkind 
felt safe, and one bartender  Willy the Snitch  who tolerated their 
business (originally, chiefly because it offered him a degree of 
cover for some other, rather illegal, lines of business; more 
recently because they paid as well as any other customers), it was 
indeed unusual to find the bar poorly attended. 

"Any idea why ?" Willow asked. 
"Willy says they were okay till a couple of days ago, but then they 
all got spooked and made excuses  like they did when Angelus was 
back  and no, he isn't, because I called Cordelia and he's in L.A., 
doing whatever it is heartbeat-challenged persons do in L.A." 
"Relief is suddenly my current middle name," Willow said. She relaxed 
and curled up again, and Buffy smiled. Witch she might be, and her 
best friend, but Willow Rosenberg was also a sweet little person who 
had no idea of how arousing she could be when she looked all innocent 
and half-asleep. At times like that, you had the options of waking 
her up (in a variety of sensual ways) or of just cuddling down with 
her and falling asleep, in a warm, snuggly embrace. 
And right now either of the options were attractive enough, and 
perhaps both were called for. 


The first part of the evening Ronnie and Angela had spent at the 
Bronze, hanging out on the upper floor, while Ronnie worked out 
whether Angela was going to let him take her to the school and make 
out, and while Angela subtly tormented him, whilst hinting at her 
(future) availability to half a dozen of the other guys there. 
Then they went out to Ronnie's beat-up car and drove to Make-Out Lane 
for a little preliminary cuddling and light petting. Angela's sweater 
got set aside and Ronnie got to explore the possibilities of the tiny 
little cropped top that she was all she wore underneath and which 
barely, if at all, restrained her tits. After about half an hour of 
that, Angela suggested that they move on to the school. 
"If you really do have a key, that is." 
Ronnie did indeed have a key, but once they were inside they found 
that the school was as cold as ice. 
"Come on  we can cuddle up in the mats." Ronnie paused, then 
said "Maybe you'd better take those expensive slacks of yours off, 
though  we wouldn't want them to get damaged." 
"Why ?" Angela said, coquettishly, as she slipped the slacks off, 
exposing her long tanned legs: "What were you thinking of doing ?" 
Ronnie never got the chance to answer, nor to take advantage of the 
fact that all Angela wore under the slacks was a miniscule g-string  
a shuffling, scraping noise drew his attention. 
In the half-darkness Emil Haucott was almost within reach of Ronnie 
before the boy made out who it was. 
"Oh, it's you, Miste & " 

The cold smashed through Ronnie Moffat at Emil's lightest touch. One 
moment the boy was living and breathing and the next he was utterly 
dead, every therm of heat stolen from his body. 
What had been the caretaker turned toward Angela Morrice. Already 
half-naked, Angela was acutely aware of the sudden sub-zero chill. 
The sensible thing to do, she could tell, was to run  there was just 
a chance she could reach the door first, and then & 
But, deep within her, some hithertofore unrequired spark of e.s.p. 
manifested itself. 
Whatever this was, it told her, whatever had just happened to Ronnie, 
and had presumably happened some time before to Weird Emil, it 
represented power, even if not a power she had previously 
considered.  And power, to Angela, in turn meant status.  Was this, 
then, what she had been, vaguely, uncertainly, looking for ?
She stayed her impulse of flight and waited, watching Weird Emil very 
carefully. When nothing bad happened at once, she carefully pulled 
her clothes back on, and waited some more. 

Then she heard something. 
"Follow." 
Whether it was a voice, a whisper on the frigid air, her imagination, 
telepathy  Angela did as she was told, and was led through the (in 
other circumstances, fairy-tale) vistas of the ice-entombed school. 
The floors were slick with ice, although the (eventually fruitless) 
practice Angela had put in trying-out for the cheerleaders' squad 
paid off in helping her keep her balance.  The ice had gathered 
across walls and ceilings, leaving the whole place a series of 
tunnels and ice-caves. 
Angela was careful not to look at Emil Haucott  she hadn't liked 
Weird Emil anyway, and she didn't want to see too clearly what he had 
now become. She was far more interested in whatever it was that could 
do that to a man and him still walk & 

The cold increased as Angela approached one classroom. 
The ice was thicker here, too, but in the middle of the floor was 
something that looked like a tree, made of ice. And on the end of one 
branch was something that looked like a pearl. 
The instructions were as clear this time, even if actual words 
weren't involved. 
Shivering slightly, Angela picked the ice-pearl off, as she might 
have a berry, and, after one moment's hesitation, broken by the 
certainty that she would Never Be The Same Again, she swallowed it. 
And the cold went away. 


Over Sunnydale the clouds gathered  when the sun had fallen there 
had been high haze, a little unusual, but perhaps presaging a light 
nocturnal shower. Then that haze had cleared, and the temperature had 
plummetted, and finally, as the night had gone on, clouds had 
gathered, and towards dawn the snow began to fall. 


Buffy woke, and snuggled closer to Willow  there wasn't much room in 
the single bed, but some instinct told her that shared body heat was 
a good idea. Vaguely another part of her mind contemplated waking her 
love with some careful and loving caresses but then rationality 
intruded, to report that, while it was warm in bed, the room, outside 
the bed, was icy cold. 
"Will," Buffy said softly. 
Willow responded with a low sensual purring sound. In other 
circumstances Buffy would definitely have gone further  for now she 
simply kissed her witch's lips and said "I think you'd better wake 
up  something's happened." 

Waking to snowfall was a novelty to both Buffy and Willow  to find 
that the temperatures outdoors were sub-zero seemed distinctly 
significant to both of them. 
"And with those heavy clouds, I can see some vamps heading for the 
surface in daylight," Buffy said: "That is, if there are any vamps 
left." 
Willow threw on extra layers of clothing and reminded Buffy to wear 
thicker socks: "If you don't then I'm going to refuse to let you warm 
them on me when we get back to bed." 
"Oh  and whose idea & ?" Buffy left off the teasing: her Slayer-
senses were tingling even more strongly than usual.
"We could go to the computer lab, "Willow suggested. "I've still got 
that disaster prediction program running  perhaps it could tell us 
& " 
"Good idea," Buffy said. She found a couple of stakes and a cross, 
just in case, and they set out. 

The rest of the students seemed stunned by the weather, and there was 
frenzied discussion about whether or not classes would be cancelled. 
Buffy and Willow grabbed a snack breakfast from the cafeteria and 
headed for the computer building. 
When they got there, it was to find the campus fire brigade present 
as well. 
"Pipe's burst  in the basement, thank goodness. Ice, we think, 
though we don't know how come. We're pumping, should be done in about 
an hour." 
Willow nodded, knowledgeably, and led Buffy round to a side entrance. 
"How did you do that ?" Buffy queried. 
"Mmmn & they think I work for the campus newspaper," Willow 
said: "Just a hiccup in their briefing material a month or so ago, 
when you had to set fire to those three Venrep demons." 
But, when they got to the lab and looked at the print-out, there was 
another surprise for them. 
Instead of the usual flow of possibilities, the print-out simply 
consisted of one word, repeated over and over: 
"FIMBULWINTER" 

End of Part Three




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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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