It's that time again
Jul. 3rd, 2003 08:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleEight more and all of the season 5 titles will be done. Yes, I set myself odd goals.
Note that, as the name suggests, this is a sequel to Redux, which may be found here.
Redux 2
"There was another one," Spike remembered. "Youngish bloke. Saw him at the Bronze last night. Tried to dust him, but he scampered away."
Buffy nodded, making sure his arms were held fast to the chair. "Holden. We found him."
"You stake him?"
"He's the only other person who might be able to tell us what happened. Why you..."
"Why I killed him," he finished bitterly. "Where he is?"
"Xander's putting up manacles in the basement, but for now..." Despite the circumstances, there was a trace of amusement in her eyes as she said, "we chained him up in the bathtub."
Detour
Giles turned the map around, and told himself that if they were lost it was clearly the fault of the bloody Californian roads.
He glanced at his passenger. Buffy hadn't once made fun of his driving, or fiddled with the radio until he was ready to throw both it and her out of the car, or said more than five words together. She was quiet, apparently lost in her thoughts.
Months later he stood over her grave and hated himself; would it have killed him to tell her everything would be all right? To lie to her one more time?
Emily
Emily is six. Her father calls her Princess and brings back treats when he makes his trips to London; her mother braids ribbons through her hair and sings her to sleep. She has no brothers or sisters. The servants cosset her almost as much as her parents do.
In her short, spoiled life, Emily has known nothing of fear or pain; until now, her face and dress blackened with soot and her heart hammering so hard she sees stars.
When the monster who ripped her parents to shreds tears open the coal bin, she's too frightened to make a sound.
Note that, as the name suggests, this is a sequel to Redux, which may be found here.
Redux 2
"There was another one," Spike remembered. "Youngish bloke. Saw him at the Bronze last night. Tried to dust him, but he scampered away."
Buffy nodded, making sure his arms were held fast to the chair. "Holden. We found him."
"You stake him?"
"He's the only other person who might be able to tell us what happened. Why you..."
"Why I killed him," he finished bitterly. "Where he is?"
"Xander's putting up manacles in the basement, but for now..." Despite the circumstances, there was a trace of amusement in her eyes as she said, "we chained him up in the bathtub."
Detour
Giles turned the map around, and told himself that if they were lost it was clearly the fault of the bloody Californian roads.
He glanced at his passenger. Buffy hadn't once made fun of his driving, or fiddled with the radio until he was ready to throw both it and her out of the car, or said more than five words together. She was quiet, apparently lost in her thoughts.
Months later he stood over her grave and hated himself; would it have killed him to tell her everything would be all right? To lie to her one more time?
Emily
Emily is six. Her father calls her Princess and brings back treats when he makes his trips to London; her mother braids ribbons through her hair and sings her to sleep. She has no brothers or sisters. The servants cosset her almost as much as her parents do.
In her short, spoiled life, Emily has known nothing of fear or pain; until now, her face and dress blackened with soot and her heart hammering so hard she sees stars.
When the monster who ripped her parents to shreds tears open the coal bin, she's too frightened to make a sound.
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no subject
on 2003-07-03 01:06 pm (UTC)