[HIATUS]

[windandwater]

This is it. I'm leaving the house in a little bit to go to the hotel, so I'm pretty much going to be absent from LJ and online for the rest of the week. Even if the hotel has free wireless, I think I'll be too stressed out to take advantage of it.

As I did last time, this is now A TOTAL SPAM POST.

Run wild, people. Link me to anything you want me to see or read, babble endlessly, RP in here, or -- and Mikke did this once and holds the spamming title in my LJ for it -- post all your fic here. XD! I approve of cat macros and pictures of cute animals. I also approve of smutty pr0n (fics and art yayz), and cuddly domesticity (fics and art yayz). Go ahead and try to break my e-mail, and give me much love.

♥ ♥ ♥


EDIT...

It's 2pm and I just wanted to tell everyone that I'm checked in and such. And the internets are not free. ;__; But I've got one day of it so I will see if Trickster works.

Oh, and...

ONLY 15 COMMENTS?! I SAID TO SPAM. SPAM LIKE YOU MEAN IT.

Comments

Re: Why change a winning formula?

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Wesley shook his head, and began rifling through the paper recycling, searching for an explanatory letter of some kind. “I don’t think so. It seems more likely that he was in such a hurry that he didn’t even stop by the office for the weapons there... or that the task was enough of a personal nature that he didn’t feel it necessary to involve us.” He dropped the wastebasket in disgust. “I just wish I knew what!”

“Does the message say?” Cordelia asked helpfully.

“What message?” Wesley said sharply.

“The one on his answering machine.” She pointed to the blinking red light next to the telephone.

Granting Cordelia an exasperated glare to cover his own embarrassment at not having thought of that, he examined the machine.

“You’d probably learn more by playing the message,” remarked Cordelia.

“I was about to,” Wesley said defensively. “It just took me a moment to find the play button... wait... here it is.” He stabbed the button and smiled at Cordelia in triumph, which was cut short a moment later by the ear-piercing squeal which emanated from the answering machine. Cordelia lunged over, slapped the ‘stop’ button, the electronic whine cut off.

“Ah... well.” Wesley cautiously shook his head to clear the sound out of it. “Which, apparently, that wasn’t.”

Cordelia was not listening, having accurately identified the machine’s workings, and a moment later a familiar voice filled the apartment.

Xander’s voice. Cordelia’s heart still melted a little to hear it, if only in joy at hearing the voice of an old friend, despite the tense worry that filled it. His message was short and to the point.

“Hey, Angel, it’s Xander. Listen, I’m not really supposed to be getting in touch with you... but something’s come up. If you get this message, get down to Sunnydale as soon as you can -- it’s Buffy. Somebody put a spell on her, and we can’t bring her out of it...”

Re: Why change a winning formula?

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He opened his eyes.

In an instant, he scrambled to his feet, expecting to be attacked from all directions. He scanned the sky, the ground, searching for any hint of movement...

Nothing. The ground was a flat plain, stretching in all directions unbroken; when he looked over at enough of it, he could discern a faint red tinge. Like rust -- or blood. The sky overhead was black, stretching endlessly overhead like the night sky, but without any moon or stars to sprinkle the void. The light was understandably dim, but Angel could make out, not far away, the silhouettes of two people.

Or maybe statues; they didn’t move at all, even when a faint breeze stirred the dust, ruffled against his coat. Cautiously, still expecting an attack at any moment, he stepped forward. Although there was no wall, no structure anywhere, Angel could tell without a doubt that the only way out was forward. No matter what was out there, there was no going back -- everything was ahead.

And Buffy. She was somewhere out there. He steeled his nerves and kept walking towards those shapes, slowly becoming more distinct as his eyes adjusted to the unnatural darkness. Uneasiness began to creep down his spine as the figures became more distinct; he picked up his pace.

All at once he was close enough to see, and if his heart had been beating, it would have stopped. There were two of them, standing locked together like a photograph, like mannequins made out in perfect detail. One was himself... the other was Jenny Calender...

Jenny Calender, as she’d been in the last second of her life. His own hands were wrapped around her neck, which was twisted far too far to be natural. Although not a movement was made, the brutal force that had been applied to kill her was patently obvious in every twisted line of the panorama.

Angel tore his eyes away from the horrible scene, only to see dozens of others like it littering the landscape. Maybe hundreds -- more than a hundred years’ worth. They were all the same; each one a snapshot from his memory -- but without the blessed numbing fog that time brings to all memories, event he most painful. These were crystalline clear, most especially the look of almost sexual ecstasy on his face in the moment of each kill.

Re: Why change a winning formula?

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

His hands began shaking, presaging the waves of crippling revulsion that threatened to drag him down into a vortex of black despair. He doubled over, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes, fighting the tide. I can do this, I can... I’ve done it every day for eighty years. Stand up, Angel, get a grip on yourself! They’re only memories, you can’t change them now. Buffy needs you, you can’t fail her...

The thought of the little blond Slayer out there somewhere, hurt and alone, gave him something to fixate on, something to pull him out of his self-loathing reverie. He forced himself upright and stumbled on, eyes fixed upon the distance, far away from the memories brought to death.

Re: Why change a winning formula?

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Willow and Xander kept watch over Buffy, having relieved Giles from his twenty-hour vigil to get some food and, possibly, sleep, although none of them were particularly enthusiastic on the concept of sleep at the moment.

“I just wish there was something we could do,” Willow said softly.

“We are doing something,” Xander reminded her. “We’re making sure she doesn’t dehydrate or bleed to death.”

Willow sighed. “Oh... you know what I mean, Xander! Giles even found a way to break the spell, involving another spell, but then...”

Xander’s expression hardened. “But then you decided that you couldn’t use it because it was too dangerous!”

She scowled, not wanting to get caught in this argument again. “Xander, maybe you couldn’t tell that it was killing you, but it was! You weren’t breathing, your heart had stopped, and you thought that it wasn’t too dangerous? What good would you be to Buffy dead?”

He slumped back into his seat, dejected. “I know,” he muttered. “But I still think we gave up on the spell too soon.”

Willow sighed. “It wasn’t just you, Xander. The spell induces complete paralysis. Nobody could survive it.”

Xander gave her an inscrutable look from underneath his bangs. “Lesyaareyed,” he muttered under his breath.

She gave him a sharp look. “What did you say, Xander?”

“I said, ‘Unless you’re already dead’,” he repeated loudly.

For a moment, she stared at him uncomprehendingly, but then her face lit up in comprehension. “Spike! Spike could do it!” she exclaimed. A plan of action decided, she scrambled to her feet, then paused, frowning. “Except for that thing...”

“Where he’s out of town for the month,” Xander finished for her, “even if we could convince him to take the risk.”