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timepiececlockNot really, that's just me being pretentious.
I watched Dirty Girls, and at around 1:30 am this morning, I decided to write fanfic. This involved listening to 'This Woman’s Work' by Kate Bush on extreme repeat, thanks to whatever cool person made that Buffy/Giles vid, because otherwise I'd never had hear that song.
This is as rough as a rough draft can be, written sometime in the wee hours of morn, and as such the pacing, tone, and style are erratic, the characterizations keep changing, and that whole passive voice thing is looking pretty fucking stupid in the light of morning. But there's some bits and pieces I like, and want to build into something more substantial.
She was found crying, on a dark and stormy night. Except it wasn’t storming, because storms didn’t come to her part of the world. There was lightning in the desert, and it snowed once, she was sure. Sometimes it drizzled or rained, but Sunnydale was the dirty knee pit of California, trapped between the ocean and the desert, and even rain shunned them most days.
It was a dark night then, that she was found crying. Neither hot nor cold, she was found on the roof of the drug store six blocks from home, enveloped in the empty April climate, with a useless jacket for a weary body half-drench in wine. Hands clenching and unclenching, eyes alive and crying. The passing of others made her feel alive now, because she’d given up on death. She gave up, and it came knocking at her door in reminder.
It came for Chloe and Annabelle, for Jen and for Molly and Nao and Tess and Xander and Rona but she could only save a few, a precious few. Their memories found her on the roof, waiting for the storm that wouldn’t come and weeping because she wasn’t dead anymore. While she was stubbornly achingly beautifully alive, everything died it the shadow she cast.
She wouldn’t move when asked. Won’t stand won’t budge and a jump wouldn’t kill her, so why stay? Because, she said, I’m waiting for the rain. The world’s ending and I can’t die, so I’m waiting for the rain to come.
It’s Sunnydale, she heard, and it poured last week yeah, but it might not come again for eight months and we’ll be dead then. Some of us.
A shake of her head, a shiver of her shoulders, and she wasn’t alone anymore.
I’ll walk you home, she heard the other say, I can’t make it rain like the witch but let me walk you home.
Her eyes still watered and she tried to tell. It’s dead there, but I can’t die. And I’m selfish for it.
You’re human.
You’re half.
A shaky hand touching her shoulder, turning her chin. Is that what a soul is? I can’t tell, can’t feel where it ends and the rest of me begins. No borders, no lines. I don’t know what I am anymore. But I think I know you. I think I do.
I’m alive.
Yes.
I’m losing.
Yes.
You think I’m still going to win, in the end.
I can’t imagine anything else that you haven’t already done as well. Let me walk you home.
Boots hit pavement and she was seen walking then. A shadow at her side, smelling like berries and alcohol, reached out, and she was touched. Empty April climate under skin, but alive inside. She remembered the hours ago, being pulled toward the door, hearing the girls screaming and seeing the death that wouldn’t touch her explode before her, these same hands on her shoulders and the same voice whispering in her ear, like the night Katrina died, that they had to leave, but everything would be okay, everything would be okay.
Nothing was ok, because this time she was glad to be alive. She’d taken then to their deaths, walked right into the trap that everyone else could see, and still she was glad to be alive.
A war can’t be won this way, she knows, but she clutches the hand in hers, and walks back anyway. Because she was asked.
---
Icons
Sometime last night, in what's going to be a very rare occurence for a while, I managed to go online for a bit from home. I uploaded some stuff, namely the Buffy icons I've been making to fill the boredom of no internet.
Here's some XF icons for everyone:
1.
2.
3.
I watched Dirty Girls, and at around 1:30 am this morning, I decided to write fanfic. This involved listening to 'This Woman’s Work' by Kate Bush on extreme repeat, thanks to whatever cool person made that Buffy/Giles vid, because otherwise I'd never had hear that song.
This is as rough as a rough draft can be, written sometime in the wee hours of morn, and as such the pacing, tone, and style are erratic, the characterizations keep changing, and that whole passive voice thing is looking pretty fucking stupid in the light of morning. But there's some bits and pieces I like, and want to build into something more substantial.
She was found crying, on a dark and stormy night. Except it wasn’t storming, because storms didn’t come to her part of the world. There was lightning in the desert, and it snowed once, she was sure. Sometimes it drizzled or rained, but Sunnydale was the dirty knee pit of California, trapped between the ocean and the desert, and even rain shunned them most days.
It was a dark night then, that she was found crying. Neither hot nor cold, she was found on the roof of the drug store six blocks from home, enveloped in the empty April climate, with a useless jacket for a weary body half-drench in wine. Hands clenching and unclenching, eyes alive and crying. The passing of others made her feel alive now, because she’d given up on death. She gave up, and it came knocking at her door in reminder.
It came for Chloe and Annabelle, for Jen and for Molly and Nao and Tess and Xander and Rona but she could only save a few, a precious few. Their memories found her on the roof, waiting for the storm that wouldn’t come and weeping because she wasn’t dead anymore. While she was stubbornly achingly beautifully alive, everything died it the shadow she cast.
She wouldn’t move when asked. Won’t stand won’t budge and a jump wouldn’t kill her, so why stay? Because, she said, I’m waiting for the rain. The world’s ending and I can’t die, so I’m waiting for the rain to come.
It’s Sunnydale, she heard, and it poured last week yeah, but it might not come again for eight months and we’ll be dead then. Some of us.
A shake of her head, a shiver of her shoulders, and she wasn’t alone anymore.
I’ll walk you home, she heard the other say, I can’t make it rain like the witch but let me walk you home.
Her eyes still watered and she tried to tell. It’s dead there, but I can’t die. And I’m selfish for it.
You’re human.
You’re half.
A shaky hand touching her shoulder, turning her chin. Is that what a soul is? I can’t tell, can’t feel where it ends and the rest of me begins. No borders, no lines. I don’t know what I am anymore. But I think I know you. I think I do.
I’m alive.
Yes.
I’m losing.
Yes.
You think I’m still going to win, in the end.
I can’t imagine anything else that you haven’t already done as well. Let me walk you home.
Boots hit pavement and she was seen walking then. A shadow at her side, smelling like berries and alcohol, reached out, and she was touched. Empty April climate under skin, but alive inside. She remembered the hours ago, being pulled toward the door, hearing the girls screaming and seeing the death that wouldn’t touch her explode before her, these same hands on her shoulders and the same voice whispering in her ear, like the night Katrina died, that they had to leave, but everything would be okay, everything would be okay.
Nothing was ok, because this time she was glad to be alive. She’d taken then to their deaths, walked right into the trap that everyone else could see, and still she was glad to be alive.
A war can’t be won this way, she knows, but she clutches the hand in hers, and walks back anyway. Because she was asked.
---
Icons
Sometime last night, in what's going to be a very rare occurence for a while, I managed to go online for a bit from home. I uploaded some stuff, namely the Buffy icons I've been making to fill the boredom of no internet.
Here's some XF icons for everyone:
1.
2. 3.
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 02:44 pm (UTC)Basically, yes. You've got sentences in there that are fragment sentences and they work really well in creating an effect and emphasizing certain ideas. That's what I was talking about. Some people use fragment sentences too much or without realizing that they are using them and it loses any significance but I'm a firm believer of fragment sentences in narrative to emphasize emotional points or whatever. Does that make sense?
Well hell, I like it when you put it that way. ^-^ Hadn't even thought about it, I just thought the image, of him growling "We're leaving" and pulling shock!Buffy reminded me of the other time. Hadn't considered the thematic changes involved, really. That's something I'll keep in mind.
Oh good! ;) You could probably make that contrast even stronger by having him 'gently' pull her away. Or maybe not gently, but you know, discussing how he pulls her away and contrasting it to the growly pre-soul Spike who often just wasn't exactly certain how to reach Buffy.
Anyway, you really should do something with it, work it into something longer.