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timepiececlockI started this fic a few months ago, right around the time Entropy was airing. Got through chapter one, then as I frequently do, I lost interest. Probably because it was all about Dawn, and not really about B/S.
But I want to put up a conversation up here, from what would be chapter 3 or so. Sometimes I do that thing where I'm imagining a conversation between characters, and I write out all the dialogue first, and figure I'll fill in the surrounding character actiosn later. Not the best way to write, I'm sure, but sometimes that's how it goes. Anyway, this is like that. All bare-boned dialogue (because it'd be a dialogue-heavy story anyway).
The idea behind the story this would be part of is exploring Dawn's existence as the Key, with the idea that she was created for more than jsut destroying the universe, and that her power didn't disappear on the tower. The fic was going to be a series of dreams; Whistler begins visiting Dawn in her dreams sometime in late season six, and training her. In some ways to be like him, but in some ways more. She doesn't know who he is at first, or that he knew her sister, but in the dreams she begins to learn about herself and her own identity and power. I think one of the reasons I stopped was because I wasn't sure how to write Whistler.
Anyway, here's a piece:
“Good? Bad? I told you: mortal concepts, purely subjective. Your have to open your mind, Kiddo; think beyond what others have always told you.”
“And just listen to way you’re telling me things are?”
“Cute. And annoying. You’ve certainly got the spunk required for this kind of work. But I’m not telling you to do anything against your nature, I’m trying to get you to open your damn mind.”
She ‘harrumphed’ him, sniffing contemptuously. Sometimes there was no helping teenagers. “Maybe I will if you tell me your name.”
“Kid, I can’t even say my own name with human vocal chords. When the time comes you’ll be able to know my name without my help.”
“And you don’t have a nickname? What do people call you?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, Dawnie but it’s not that easy. Yes, I have a human nickname, but telling it to you would stomp all over the whole purpose in you learning to figure it yourself.”
“Well I don’t see what’s so important about hiding it.”
“Sentient beings allow their names to define them, it’s something that can’t be helped. One of the few trappings of individualism. Thus, names are power.”
“You know my name.”
“Yes and no.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“When you’re ready, you’ll know.”
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you? Don’t think I can’t tell. I’ve been a Slayer’s sister long enough to know that.”
“Being vague is my job, remember? It’s what I’ve done for dozens of millennia, after all. Most of the time I do enjoy it.”
“Maybe I’ll just have Buffy come rip your throat out. Wouldn’t be so cool and serene then, would you?”
He barked a short, sharp laugh. It was almost bitter, “You’re not getting it Dawn. Your sister can’t touch me. Sure, she could tear this body into pieces. So what? It wouldn’t affect me or what I am. I’m beyond physical damage.”
“So you’re divine now? Invincible? I remember the mayor—he thought he was invincible too. The Slayer destroyed him like smashing eggs with a hammer.”
“Or dynamite.”
“What?”
“Oh please, grow up and wake up, Dawn. Wilkins, as you called him, was a once-human sorcerer trying to become a demigod. He was earth-bound, like humans, like vampires, like everything your little Sunnydale band has ever faced. Even Glorificus, trapped in that boy’s frail human body. I’m not divine. Divine doesn’t even factor into what I am. I am a servant of the Powers That Be. I am eyes, I am hands, I am voice. I’m not human, only because I choose not to be. I don’t come from heaven or hell, because heaven and hell are dimensions, constructs of terra-bound beings and any combination of power, magic, and coincidence. I’m not special or holy, or all-powerful. I simply am. All that you see, is what I choose to be. It is what humans perceive, and only that.”
“You’re really saying it then. You’re telling me…you’re trying to say I’m not human either. That I can serve them, be like you, because I am like you. Not human.”
“You are human. Now. And you will continue to be human until you realize a simple truth—You, Dawn, have no limits. The monks gave you a body, made you self-aware. But their spell doesn’t hold you together; it hasn’t held you together since that night on the tower.”
“You think... no. It’s not true.”
“It is. Say it; admit it to yourself.”
“No! I can’t!”
“Yes! You can! Dawn, you have to accept yourself; you have to stop lying to yourself now. You know the truth, just say it.”
“Oh God. It--- it is true then. I’m—I’m the one keeping me here. I’m the one doing the spell.”
“Yes. YES. See, Dawn. Open your mind and see what you are, what you could be. You are free, kiddo, freer than any other thing or any other one in existence. Know yourself.”
But I want to put up a conversation up here, from what would be chapter 3 or so. Sometimes I do that thing where I'm imagining a conversation between characters, and I write out all the dialogue first, and figure I'll fill in the surrounding character actiosn later. Not the best way to write, I'm sure, but sometimes that's how it goes. Anyway, this is like that. All bare-boned dialogue (because it'd be a dialogue-heavy story anyway).
The idea behind the story this would be part of is exploring Dawn's existence as the Key, with the idea that she was created for more than jsut destroying the universe, and that her power didn't disappear on the tower. The fic was going to be a series of dreams; Whistler begins visiting Dawn in her dreams sometime in late season six, and training her. In some ways to be like him, but in some ways more. She doesn't know who he is at first, or that he knew her sister, but in the dreams she begins to learn about herself and her own identity and power. I think one of the reasons I stopped was because I wasn't sure how to write Whistler.
Anyway, here's a piece:
“Good? Bad? I told you: mortal concepts, purely subjective. Your have to open your mind, Kiddo; think beyond what others have always told you.”
“And just listen to way you’re telling me things are?”
“Cute. And annoying. You’ve certainly got the spunk required for this kind of work. But I’m not telling you to do anything against your nature, I’m trying to get you to open your damn mind.”
She ‘harrumphed’ him, sniffing contemptuously. Sometimes there was no helping teenagers. “Maybe I will if you tell me your name.”
“Kid, I can’t even say my own name with human vocal chords. When the time comes you’ll be able to know my name without my help.”
“And you don’t have a nickname? What do people call you?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, Dawnie but it’s not that easy. Yes, I have a human nickname, but telling it to you would stomp all over the whole purpose in you learning to figure it yourself.”
“Well I don’t see what’s so important about hiding it.”
“Sentient beings allow their names to define them, it’s something that can’t be helped. One of the few trappings of individualism. Thus, names are power.”
“You know my name.”
“Yes and no.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“When you’re ready, you’ll know.”
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you? Don’t think I can’t tell. I’ve been a Slayer’s sister long enough to know that.”
“Being vague is my job, remember? It’s what I’ve done for dozens of millennia, after all. Most of the time I do enjoy it.”
“Maybe I’ll just have Buffy come rip your throat out. Wouldn’t be so cool and serene then, would you?”
He barked a short, sharp laugh. It was almost bitter, “You’re not getting it Dawn. Your sister can’t touch me. Sure, she could tear this body into pieces. So what? It wouldn’t affect me or what I am. I’m beyond physical damage.”
“So you’re divine now? Invincible? I remember the mayor—he thought he was invincible too. The Slayer destroyed him like smashing eggs with a hammer.”
“Or dynamite.”
“What?”
“Oh please, grow up and wake up, Dawn. Wilkins, as you called him, was a once-human sorcerer trying to become a demigod. He was earth-bound, like humans, like vampires, like everything your little Sunnydale band has ever faced. Even Glorificus, trapped in that boy’s frail human body. I’m not divine. Divine doesn’t even factor into what I am. I am a servant of the Powers That Be. I am eyes, I am hands, I am voice. I’m not human, only because I choose not to be. I don’t come from heaven or hell, because heaven and hell are dimensions, constructs of terra-bound beings and any combination of power, magic, and coincidence. I’m not special or holy, or all-powerful. I simply am. All that you see, is what I choose to be. It is what humans perceive, and only that.”
“You’re really saying it then. You’re telling me…you’re trying to say I’m not human either. That I can serve them, be like you, because I am like you. Not human.”
“You are human. Now. And you will continue to be human until you realize a simple truth—You, Dawn, have no limits. The monks gave you a body, made you self-aware. But their spell doesn’t hold you together; it hasn’t held you together since that night on the tower.”
“You think... no. It’s not true.”
“It is. Say it; admit it to yourself.”
“No! I can’t!”
“Yes! You can! Dawn, you have to accept yourself; you have to stop lying to yourself now. You know the truth, just say it.”
“Oh God. It--- it is true then. I’m—I’m the one keeping me here. I’m the one doing the spell.”
“Yes. YES. See, Dawn. Open your mind and see what you are, what you could be. You are free, kiddo, freer than any other thing or any other one in existence. Know yourself.”
