Bad Trip, Chapter 9
Apr. 8th, 2004 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookAnd now, for our next trick....
Previous parts here.
ACT NINE: COME OUT TO PLAY
Xander flung open the shower cabinet door. Neena had been the one tapping on the glass. She stood there, face drawn tight with tension, hand raised in a little half-wave.
"What's wrong?" he panted, heart leaping in his chest from sudden panic. Ohgod something went wrong. Graciela freaked out, leaped out the window, one of the girls is possessed, something ohgod ohgod He fumbled blindly for the faucet, turned it off. "Did something happen?" he demanded, as Neena remained silent. "Neena! Tell me what's wrong!"
Neena bit her lip, shook her head. The pause as he tried to interpret this gesture was just long enough for Xander to remember that he was standing there dripping and naked.
"Uh, could you hand me a towel?" he said hoarsely, hurriedly turning away to rearrange himself into a sideways pose that more or less covered his visible assets with one bent leg.
Neena nodded, turned mechanically and pulled a towel from the rack on the wall, handed it to him in silence. He wrapped the cotton sheet around his hips gratefully.
"Okay," he began, feeling calmer, his heart rate slowing slightly. Alright, can't be an emergency. If it were an emergency, she wouldn't just be standing here not talking, right? "Let's just take it slow. Why don't you tell me--"
"I needed to talk to you," Neena mumbled, head down. He had to strain to hear her.
"What about?" Xander finally asked, after waiting a couple of beats for her to go on. Beads of water dripping from the faucet were the only sound.
She lifted her head. "About you," she breathed.
"About--" He stopped. She was looking up at him with her big, dark eyes and as he stared back he noticed two things simultaneously--that Neena was wearing her hair down, arrayed in a luxurious fall around her shoulders instead of pulled back into the neat single braid she'd adopted recently... and she was wearing one of his button-down shirts. Pink cotton. The color made her golden-brown skin seem to glow.
His mind wrestled with this for a moment. The girls were always borrowing his clothes. His wardrobe had been their default pajama gear since Sunnydale--Lo had practically lived in one of his oversized T-shirts until they'd filled a shopping bag with teen-friendly tops from a mall outlet in the post-Hellmouth-collapse fashion spree.
But not Neena. She had her own pajama outfit, a red tank top and plaid flannel bottoms. It was what she'd been wearing just before he'd gone into the bathroom, and...
Ohmigod what happened to the bottoms?
Her legs were bare, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, which for all its too-large size, barely covered more than the tops of her thighs. He could see her nearly all of her slim bare legs, the braided gold chain she wore as an anklet, her neatly painted toenails.
"I'm... afraid," she said quietly. "What's happening to us... I'm--" She took a deep breath, fixed him with a look that went straight through him.
He could see down her shirt.
"I want you," she breathed.
Xander felt as if all the air had gone out of the room. Neena stared up at him, all wide dark eyes and flowing hair and too much butterscotch-colored skin showing below the gaping collar of his barely buttoned shirt; her lips were parted slightly and she was breathing in little pants.
He opened his mouth to say something, failed. His vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to inarticulate noise.
"Guh--"
"Please help me," she whispered urgently.
He took a step back, his feet sliding on the slick shower-stall floor. He grabbed at the walls of the cabinet to steady himself.
"I've been... tried to be strong for the others," she continued pleading, her voice low and intense. "Just like you. But I can't go on anymore. Not alone. I--I need your strength, I need--"
She'd moved as she spoke, almost into the shower with him by now. He pressed his back against the wall, mesmerized by the tiny red dot in the middle of her forehead. He couldn't move. Her smoothly beautiful face filled his vision, as if he'd fallen backwards into some Bollywood musical. Any moment now she would open her mouth and begin to sing--
Oh no not that again
"Neena. Listen," he choked. she wants me god she wants me oh god "Neena, this is--we can't--"
"I have to have you," Neena said calmly. She lifted one ring-bedecked hand and placed it upon his heart. He shivered as she traced light lines with her nails across his skin.
"You're absolutely perfect," she murmured.
It was then that he spotted the flash of movement, coming in from his blind side, and turned toward it just in time to see the curved knife that she held.
Slicing straight toward him.
..........
Kennedy wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there, silently watching the water cascading into the Maid of the Mist Pool. Several minutes, at least, since Willow had waved her hand and lowered them both onto the wooden observation deck at the bottom of the falls.
Kennedy looked up again at the curtain of rushing water, and at the smaller strand that spilled down between Luna Island and the larger mass of Goat Island to its right. Don't they call that the Bridal Veil Falls? Maybe I shoulda jumped over that one for extra irony points.
She shot another glance at Willow, who appeared lost in thought--now staring blankly away into space, now glancing down to regard her flexing hands, now closing her eyes in concentration as if trying to fight down a wave of nausea. Her hair had turned jet black, and her already pale skin seemed even more bleached of color. Juxtaposed with the bright red sweater and fuzzy wool jacket, Willow's face and hair seemed somehow out of place. As if someone had lopped off a goth chick's head and stapled it onto a cuddly body, Kennedy thought, and barely suppressed a snort of involuntary laughter. Willow's eyes slid open at the sound, and Kennedy could see that their pupils were still hugely dilated.
Okay, enough of the silent treatment. Kennedy turned, and fixed Willow with a serious look. "So. You feel like destroying the world, or what?"
Willow's head swiveled slowly, and the pitch-black eyes gave her a cold stare. "No. But I feel like destroying you for pulling a stupid stunt like that."
Kennedy struck a defiant pose, hands on hips. "Well, it worked, didn't it? Snapped you out of that magic funk."
Willow laughed bitterly, and advanced a couple of steps towards her. "Is that what you were trying to do? A little shock therapy?" She flung up her arms and tossed her head, black hair flapping in the wind. "So here we are. Here's the real me. Happy now? Like what you see?" She leaned forward, and Kennedy recoiled a little as the great dark eyes closed in on her. "Does this get you hot?"
Momentarily off-balance, Kennedy took a moment to study Willow's face. Up close, she could make out the hints of blue veins working their out from the hairline, and the slight crease of the brows that was the only obvious sign of emotion. The eyes were wide, staring, their black centers revealing nothing.
"Well," she ventured. "It's not exactly your best look. What's with the eyes?"
Willow's lips parted in a sardonic smirk. "You like 'em, huh? That's the power, baby. The magical energy. The juice. It fills you up, makes you feel strong, like you could do anything."
Kennedy considered a moment. "So, uh, it's like some kind of a rush? Like, I dunno... a drug or something?"
"Uh-huh! High as a kite, boys and girls!" Willow cackled. She spread her fingers, and purplish sparks crackled between them like static electricity. "It feels so good. Makes you wanna do all kinds of stuff." She extended a hand. "Here, wanna try? First one's on the house."
"Um, no thanks." Kennedy skittered back, bumping into the wooden rails of the observation platform.
"So here's my superpower, kids." Willow turned slowly, as if showing off before an imaginary crowd of onlookers. "Willow the Wicca, does her tricks and gets her buzz. Killing monsters, raising the dead, skinning the living, murdering her friends--it's all good, long as she gets her fix." She completed her circle and met Kennedy's eyes again, grinning with malice. "'Cause once she gets started, look out! Feels so good, she doesn't wanna stop!"
"Bullshit," Kennedy replied, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. "Of course you can stop. You're in control of this thing, Red. And I'll be here to help you."
"Oh, so that's it!" Willow's form blurred and vanished, and Kennedy jumped as the voice came suddenly from behind her. "You're going to be my kite string, aren't you? You're going to make me your little project. Fix me up, see if I clean up good."
Kennedy turned, and saw Willow on the other side of the railing, hovering a few feet above the surface of the water. The witch's eyes were narrow with vicious mirth. "That's how you prove you're better, isn't it? Here comes plucky, confident Kennedy, stomping her way into Willow's life to solve all her problems. Break her out of her shell, give her a little talking-to about the magic monkey on her back. Kennedy's got all the answers."
Her lips curled in a sneer, and a glimmer of red light danced in the black eyes. "You think you can do what she never could, don't you? You think you're better than her. Better than Tara. You bitch."
And Kennedy jumped for her life as the lightning came at her.
...........
In a moment he both barely registered and that seemed clearer and sharper than any other in his life, Xander stumbled backward, dodged away as Neena swung the knife toward him in a gleaming arc. She barely missed him; the blade tip struck the wall instead and skidded along the tiles momentarily in a shriek of metal on ceramic. Water droplets flew, his feet skidded on the wet floor, and he could hear his own heartbeat hammering like a snare drum.
Panting, he stared at the girl in front of him and for a brief second they formed a frozen tableau. Xander was trapped in the shower cabinet, backed into a corner; his hands were splayed out in a defensive gesture. Neena was crouched low; she held the blade behind her, out of his line of sight. Tendons stood out in her arms and legs; her every fiber seemed coiled and tensed for attack.
For one feverish moment, Xander flashed on the idea of just trying to shove past her, knock her over. It was a pointless thought and he knew it, even as he watched her change her grip on the blade and spin around toward him whip-quick. He feinted away, but it felt like slo-mo, his muscles just weren't cooperating--and he stepped right into the path of Neena's slash. The blade sunk deeply into the meat of his left shoulder.
He shouted, both in pain and sheer surprise.
Then he did move, shoving forward as if in a convulsion, his body shuddering with shock. Neena was bowled over--his heavier weight toppled her like a ninepin, and they both went down in a heap on the crumpled terrycloth bathmat. His elbow smacked the floor hard at exactly the wrong angle, and he shrieked in pain, blinding shockwaves of it traveling up his stricken arm, the knife still embedded in the muscle there.
Panting, Xander stared down at Neena pinned beneath him. Wild-eyed, she grunted and thrashed, clung to the knife stuck in his shoulder like the lever on a slot machine. Before he could even think or react, she'd heaved at it, pulled it out. The sensation of metal sliding through gristle was so overwhelming that he actually grayed out for a second, only to be shocked back into hot-sharp awareness by a hollow popping sound as the blade emerged from his flesh, blood-streaked and wet. The freed knife promptly disappeared out of his line of sight, into his blind spot--damn missing eye!--and his every sense screamed at him in warning to get an arm up, protect himself. His injured arm moved sluggishly at his command, numb and cold and hot all at once, as he tried to throw it up in defense.
And sure enough, just as he'd expected, the knife shivered into focus all at once from his blind side objects may be closer than they appear right into the path of his warding forearm. The blade chunked into his arm like a cleaver into a thick cut of steak.
The sight and sound of this was far more horrible than the feel.
Howling, he shoved at Neena mindlessly, wriggled away from her, kicked out with his legs--anything to get away. She snarled at him, snagged at his towel--it came away in her hands, who cared, and he kicked out hard, a lucky hit sending her tumbling. She rolled backward, flailing, like a pink-clad bowling ball. Then her head hit the toilet with a sickening crack, and she stilled.
Xander didn't pause to check on her. His mind was blank, yet racing, revving on instinct. His mind took a snapshot of Neena, lying upside down near the far wall, a dim part of his mind registering blankly that at least she was wearing panties, thank god. It didn't even occur to him to think about his own nudity. He clambered to his feet, clawed at the bathroom door, opened it--
--and saw the girls, all three of them, standing in a semi-circle in front of him. All holding knives.
They smiled brightly, expectantly.
As Xander paused for a moment, stunned, Graciela stepped up to the threshold and drew a quick red line across his belly. "I," she recited, "am the eye that watches."
Xander stumbled backwards, a vague notion of barricading himself in the bathroom starting to form in his head. But Bet was already slipping in behind him; she slashed at the back of his right knee, and he crumpled to the floor like a discarded marionette. "I am the tongue that tells."
Lo bent down, seized his hair, and yanked him upright with one hand. The tearing sensation in Xander's scalp momentarily drowned out the burning ache of his shoulder, the sickly agony of his torn knee. Lo looked hungrily into his eyes, and he saw her pupils expanding, dilating into pools of black. "I am the ear that listens," she hissed, sliding the blade of her curved knife down the side of his face, parting the flesh of his cheek.
Xander cried out, and Lo gave his hair a mighty yank, tossing him belly-down onto the floor of the hotel room. He struggled to focus, to draw up his good leg and raise himself to his feet, lurch towards the door. From behind him came the almost imperceptible pad of bare feet on carpet, and as he raised his head, he saw a pair of slim brown legs moving into view before him.
Neena circled round in front of Xander, blocking the door. Her eyes were dark pits, and behind her long loose hair, a ribbon of blood was winding its way down her face from the cut in her scalp. Her lips parted in an ecstatic grin, and she knelt down before him, taking his chin tenderly in the palm of her free hand. "And I am the hand," she purred. "The hand that kills."
She drove the blade home, and everything went dark.
..........
"Come out, little mouse! It's no fun unless we're both playing!"
Kennedy shivered, huddled behind the outcropping of rock where she'd taken shelter from Willow's barrage of magical energy. Judging from the sound of her voice, Willow was still floating over the water next to the observation deck, maybe twenty feet away. "Uh, no thanks," Kennedy called. "I think I'd better give you some space for a minute." She idly wondered whether Willow's blasts could go around corners.
"Aww, I wasn't gonna kill you, baby," Willow assured her. "I was just gonna hurt you a bit." There was a blur of motion, and suddenly Willow was standing atop the rock, looking down at her with sadistic amusement. "It's all part of the package. Thought you wanted to go on all the rides." She raised a clenched hand, and a purple glow began to form in the cup of her palm.
For a long moment, Kennedy stared up at her. Then she snorted--a suppressed laugh, followed seconds later by the real thing. As Willow glared at her, frowning with confusion, Kennedy doubled up in convulsions of helpless laughter.
Willow blurred again, appeared next to Kennedy's quaking body. "Okay, now what?" she demanded. "This is no good if you're not gonna stay in character."
Regaining temporary control, Kennedy looked up at her, eyes wet with tears of mirth. "Oh, you're good," she giggled. "You really had me going there, girl."
"WHAT?" Willow shrieked. Electricity flared about her hands, and her hair flapped in a sudden rush of wind. "You think this is some kind of a game? You think I won't fucking kill you?"
Kennedy sighed, slumping against the rock. "Maybe you will, Red, maybe you will. But I gotta tell you, the supervillain thing is cracking me up." She gestured up at Willow, her hand taking in the black hair, the pale face, the furious red eyes, the crackle of energy at her fingertips. "I mean, it's so perfect! All you need is, I dunno, a Darth Vader helmet or something."
Now Willow was genuinely lost. "You think I'm not serious?"
"Deadly serious," Kennedy assured her. "And, like, the hotness? Undeniable. But I think you're playing a part. Putting on the Big Bad." Gripping the rock for support, she began inching her way up into a standing position, while Willow sullenly glared at her. "You think you're so terrible and evil, so you put on this whole Marilyn Manson trip. Then you get your hands on the magic axe of mystic light and milk of human goddam kindness, and all of a sudden you're Glinda the Good Witch, all with the white hair and the goddess power."
"Your point?" Willow asked, hands clenching. "And make it snappy, 'cause you're about three seconds away from becoming an anatomy textbook."
"Bad equals black. Good equals white. It's like some kind of a gag, Willow." Kennedy was on her feet now, and breathing more easily. "And mousy librarian Willow, with the shy looks and the 'Oh no, please don't touch me there'? Also hot. Also not the real you."
Willow smirked, folding her arms. "So who's the real me, Kennedy? Please, enlighten me with your superior life experience."
Kennedy shrugged, resigned. "I don't know, Willow. But I'd like to tag along with you until you find out." She turned, and began clambering up the gravelly slope to the wooden deck. "So zap me if you want," she called back over her shoulder, "or skin me, or whatever you think you need to do. But I'm not playing any more."
Behind her, she heard Willow sigh, and there was a small thud that sounded suspiciously like a butt settling onto the ground. Kennedy clambered over the wooden railing, then looked back down to where she'd taken shelter a minute before. Willow was sitting there, staring out over the river. A boat tooted in the distance.
A minute passed.
"You think I'm silly." This time, there was no trace of playful cruelty in Willow's voice, only embarrassed disappointment.
Kennedy drew in a deep breath. "I think you're gorgeous. And sweet. And brilliant. And funny. And yeah, maybe a little silly." She beamed with relief. "And I want to be with you. Is that okay?"
Willow stood, brushing dust from her pants, and started making her way back up the viewing platform. "You're crazy, you know that."
"It's a crazy world, babe." Kennedy extended a hand to help her over the railings. "We're just living in it."
Willow laddered her way up to the top rail, straddled it, and then paused for a moment, one sneakered foot dangling over the platform side. She squinted in concentration, peering off into the distance, and Kennedy was relieved to note that, while her hair was still black, Willow's eyes were back to normal.
"It's Xander," Willow pronounced, still focusing intently on something unseen. Then her eyes widened in alarm. "It's Xander! He's in trouble!"
Willow teetered atop the railing, and Kennedy quickly plucked her off it and deposited her onto the wooden boards. "Willow, that flying thing you did... Can you Superman us over there, or something?"
Willow shook her head, jet-black hair lashing the air, and already she was raising her hands, luminous energy steaming from her fingertips. "Too slow. Gotta use something quicker." The scene around them began to turn, spinning faster and faster--the falls, the observation deck, the river, the blue sky, all whirling about them. Kennedy felt a rush of wind, silently wondered if this was what it felt like to be sucked up into a tornado, and Willow winked at her with one gloriously normal eye. "That's right, baby. Say goodbye to Kansas."
They whirled once more, and were gone.
...........
When Xander came to, it was to the sight of stuccoed white plaster dotted with sprinker heads and smoke alarms. The ceiling. The image swam, kept shifting, moving. He couldn't focus. His limbs felt numb and cottony, and something was pulling at his hair.
Oh. That would be the carpet.
Through his blurry vision, he could see Bet now, upside down. She had her hand clamped around his right wrist, and was dragging him as effortlessly as a little girl with a rag doll. Raggedy Xandy. His head lolled on his shoulders as she tugged him along, giving him the occasional flash view of the baseboard, the wall, the floor. They were outside their room, in the hotel hallway. Going somewhere.
He tried lifting his head to get a better look. Couldn't.
And he was really starting to feel the rug burn on his bare ass.
He heard a voice--Neena, he thought. "Be careful, Bet. You're going to pull his arm off."
"I thought we were in a hurry," Bet replied petulantly.
"Uh-huh," Graciela replied from somewhere behind them. "We've gotta get him outside before he bleeds out."
Oh, thank God, Xander thought. It's over. I'm gonna be okay. We're all gonna be okay. He called out weakly, his voice a feeble croak. "Hey... guys..."
Lo giggled. "That's right. We're s'posed to spill his blood on the ground, not on the carpet."
And Xander knew it wasn't over.
"Hey, you guys," Graciela called. She moved into Xander's field of view, looking down at him with concern. "He's waking up. Should we put him out again? Don't want him making too much noise."
"Nah, it's cool," Lo assured her. "This hotel's pretty much empty. And besides, so what if they hear? You think anyone's gonna come out and try anything?" Xander heard a series of thumps behind him, as if someone was pounding the walls and doors with a powerful fist. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Lo called.
Up ahead, he heard a high-pitched laugh. Was it Neena? Had he ever heard her laugh like that?
"Hello there," Neena purred. She rapped on a random door as they passed by, dragging Xander behind them. "Don't be afraid. We're just a few little girls."
"We're cold," Lo whined. "We're frightened and alone."
"Won't somebody please help us?" Graciela wailed. And they laughed again, loud and mocking, as they maneuvered Xander's limp and bleeding form into the elevator.
Previous parts here.
ACT NINE: COME OUT TO PLAY
Xander flung open the shower cabinet door. Neena had been the one tapping on the glass. She stood there, face drawn tight with tension, hand raised in a little half-wave.
"What's wrong?" he panted, heart leaping in his chest from sudden panic. Ohgod something went wrong. Graciela freaked out, leaped out the window, one of the girls is possessed, something ohgod ohgod He fumbled blindly for the faucet, turned it off. "Did something happen?" he demanded, as Neena remained silent. "Neena! Tell me what's wrong!"
Neena bit her lip, shook her head. The pause as he tried to interpret this gesture was just long enough for Xander to remember that he was standing there dripping and naked.
"Uh, could you hand me a towel?" he said hoarsely, hurriedly turning away to rearrange himself into a sideways pose that more or less covered his visible assets with one bent leg.
Neena nodded, turned mechanically and pulled a towel from the rack on the wall, handed it to him in silence. He wrapped the cotton sheet around his hips gratefully.
"Okay," he began, feeling calmer, his heart rate slowing slightly. Alright, can't be an emergency. If it were an emergency, she wouldn't just be standing here not talking, right? "Let's just take it slow. Why don't you tell me--"
"I needed to talk to you," Neena mumbled, head down. He had to strain to hear her.
"What about?" Xander finally asked, after waiting a couple of beats for her to go on. Beads of water dripping from the faucet were the only sound.
She lifted her head. "About you," she breathed.
"About--" He stopped. She was looking up at him with her big, dark eyes and as he stared back he noticed two things simultaneously--that Neena was wearing her hair down, arrayed in a luxurious fall around her shoulders instead of pulled back into the neat single braid she'd adopted recently... and she was wearing one of his button-down shirts. Pink cotton. The color made her golden-brown skin seem to glow.
His mind wrestled with this for a moment. The girls were always borrowing his clothes. His wardrobe had been their default pajama gear since Sunnydale--Lo had practically lived in one of his oversized T-shirts until they'd filled a shopping bag with teen-friendly tops from a mall outlet in the post-Hellmouth-collapse fashion spree.
But not Neena. She had her own pajama outfit, a red tank top and plaid flannel bottoms. It was what she'd been wearing just before he'd gone into the bathroom, and...
Ohmigod what happened to the bottoms?
Her legs were bare, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt, which for all its too-large size, barely covered more than the tops of her thighs. He could see her nearly all of her slim bare legs, the braided gold chain she wore as an anklet, her neatly painted toenails.
"I'm... afraid," she said quietly. "What's happening to us... I'm--" She took a deep breath, fixed him with a look that went straight through him.
He could see down her shirt.
"I want you," she breathed.
Xander felt as if all the air had gone out of the room. Neena stared up at him, all wide dark eyes and flowing hair and too much butterscotch-colored skin showing below the gaping collar of his barely buttoned shirt; her lips were parted slightly and she was breathing in little pants.
He opened his mouth to say something, failed. His vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to inarticulate noise.
"Guh--"
"Please help me," she whispered urgently.
He took a step back, his feet sliding on the slick shower-stall floor. He grabbed at the walls of the cabinet to steady himself.
"I've been... tried to be strong for the others," she continued pleading, her voice low and intense. "Just like you. But I can't go on anymore. Not alone. I--I need your strength, I need--"
She'd moved as she spoke, almost into the shower with him by now. He pressed his back against the wall, mesmerized by the tiny red dot in the middle of her forehead. He couldn't move. Her smoothly beautiful face filled his vision, as if he'd fallen backwards into some Bollywood musical. Any moment now she would open her mouth and begin to sing--
Oh no not that again
"Neena. Listen," he choked. she wants me god she wants me oh god "Neena, this is--we can't--"
"I have to have you," Neena said calmly. She lifted one ring-bedecked hand and placed it upon his heart. He shivered as she traced light lines with her nails across his skin.
"You're absolutely perfect," she murmured.
It was then that he spotted the flash of movement, coming in from his blind side, and turned toward it just in time to see the curved knife that she held.
Slicing straight toward him.
..........
Kennedy wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there, silently watching the water cascading into the Maid of the Mist Pool. Several minutes, at least, since Willow had waved her hand and lowered them both onto the wooden observation deck at the bottom of the falls.
Kennedy looked up again at the curtain of rushing water, and at the smaller strand that spilled down between Luna Island and the larger mass of Goat Island to its right. Don't they call that the Bridal Veil Falls? Maybe I shoulda jumped over that one for extra irony points.
She shot another glance at Willow, who appeared lost in thought--now staring blankly away into space, now glancing down to regard her flexing hands, now closing her eyes in concentration as if trying to fight down a wave of nausea. Her hair had turned jet black, and her already pale skin seemed even more bleached of color. Juxtaposed with the bright red sweater and fuzzy wool jacket, Willow's face and hair seemed somehow out of place. As if someone had lopped off a goth chick's head and stapled it onto a cuddly body, Kennedy thought, and barely suppressed a snort of involuntary laughter. Willow's eyes slid open at the sound, and Kennedy could see that their pupils were still hugely dilated.
Okay, enough of the silent treatment. Kennedy turned, and fixed Willow with a serious look. "So. You feel like destroying the world, or what?"
Willow's head swiveled slowly, and the pitch-black eyes gave her a cold stare. "No. But I feel like destroying you for pulling a stupid stunt like that."
Kennedy struck a defiant pose, hands on hips. "Well, it worked, didn't it? Snapped you out of that magic funk."
Willow laughed bitterly, and advanced a couple of steps towards her. "Is that what you were trying to do? A little shock therapy?" She flung up her arms and tossed her head, black hair flapping in the wind. "So here we are. Here's the real me. Happy now? Like what you see?" She leaned forward, and Kennedy recoiled a little as the great dark eyes closed in on her. "Does this get you hot?"
Momentarily off-balance, Kennedy took a moment to study Willow's face. Up close, she could make out the hints of blue veins working their out from the hairline, and the slight crease of the brows that was the only obvious sign of emotion. The eyes were wide, staring, their black centers revealing nothing.
"Well," she ventured. "It's not exactly your best look. What's with the eyes?"
Willow's lips parted in a sardonic smirk. "You like 'em, huh? That's the power, baby. The magical energy. The juice. It fills you up, makes you feel strong, like you could do anything."
Kennedy considered a moment. "So, uh, it's like some kind of a rush? Like, I dunno... a drug or something?"
"Uh-huh! High as a kite, boys and girls!" Willow cackled. She spread her fingers, and purplish sparks crackled between them like static electricity. "It feels so good. Makes you wanna do all kinds of stuff." She extended a hand. "Here, wanna try? First one's on the house."
"Um, no thanks." Kennedy skittered back, bumping into the wooden rails of the observation platform.
"So here's my superpower, kids." Willow turned slowly, as if showing off before an imaginary crowd of onlookers. "Willow the Wicca, does her tricks and gets her buzz. Killing monsters, raising the dead, skinning the living, murdering her friends--it's all good, long as she gets her fix." She completed her circle and met Kennedy's eyes again, grinning with malice. "'Cause once she gets started, look out! Feels so good, she doesn't wanna stop!"
"Bullshit," Kennedy replied, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. "Of course you can stop. You're in control of this thing, Red. And I'll be here to help you."
"Oh, so that's it!" Willow's form blurred and vanished, and Kennedy jumped as the voice came suddenly from behind her. "You're going to be my kite string, aren't you? You're going to make me your little project. Fix me up, see if I clean up good."
Kennedy turned, and saw Willow on the other side of the railing, hovering a few feet above the surface of the water. The witch's eyes were narrow with vicious mirth. "That's how you prove you're better, isn't it? Here comes plucky, confident Kennedy, stomping her way into Willow's life to solve all her problems. Break her out of her shell, give her a little talking-to about the magic monkey on her back. Kennedy's got all the answers."
Her lips curled in a sneer, and a glimmer of red light danced in the black eyes. "You think you can do what she never could, don't you? You think you're better than her. Better than Tara. You bitch."
And Kennedy jumped for her life as the lightning came at her.
...........
In a moment he both barely registered and that seemed clearer and sharper than any other in his life, Xander stumbled backward, dodged away as Neena swung the knife toward him in a gleaming arc. She barely missed him; the blade tip struck the wall instead and skidded along the tiles momentarily in a shriek of metal on ceramic. Water droplets flew, his feet skidded on the wet floor, and he could hear his own heartbeat hammering like a snare drum.
Panting, he stared at the girl in front of him and for a brief second they formed a frozen tableau. Xander was trapped in the shower cabinet, backed into a corner; his hands were splayed out in a defensive gesture. Neena was crouched low; she held the blade behind her, out of his line of sight. Tendons stood out in her arms and legs; her every fiber seemed coiled and tensed for attack.
For one feverish moment, Xander flashed on the idea of just trying to shove past her, knock her over. It was a pointless thought and he knew it, even as he watched her change her grip on the blade and spin around toward him whip-quick. He feinted away, but it felt like slo-mo, his muscles just weren't cooperating--and he stepped right into the path of Neena's slash. The blade sunk deeply into the meat of his left shoulder.
He shouted, both in pain and sheer surprise.
Then he did move, shoving forward as if in a convulsion, his body shuddering with shock. Neena was bowled over--his heavier weight toppled her like a ninepin, and they both went down in a heap on the crumpled terrycloth bathmat. His elbow smacked the floor hard at exactly the wrong angle, and he shrieked in pain, blinding shockwaves of it traveling up his stricken arm, the knife still embedded in the muscle there.
Panting, Xander stared down at Neena pinned beneath him. Wild-eyed, she grunted and thrashed, clung to the knife stuck in his shoulder like the lever on a slot machine. Before he could even think or react, she'd heaved at it, pulled it out. The sensation of metal sliding through gristle was so overwhelming that he actually grayed out for a second, only to be shocked back into hot-sharp awareness by a hollow popping sound as the blade emerged from his flesh, blood-streaked and wet. The freed knife promptly disappeared out of his line of sight, into his blind spot--damn missing eye!--and his every sense screamed at him in warning to get an arm up, protect himself. His injured arm moved sluggishly at his command, numb and cold and hot all at once, as he tried to throw it up in defense.
And sure enough, just as he'd expected, the knife shivered into focus all at once from his blind side objects may be closer than they appear right into the path of his warding forearm. The blade chunked into his arm like a cleaver into a thick cut of steak.
The sight and sound of this was far more horrible than the feel.
Howling, he shoved at Neena mindlessly, wriggled away from her, kicked out with his legs--anything to get away. She snarled at him, snagged at his towel--it came away in her hands, who cared, and he kicked out hard, a lucky hit sending her tumbling. She rolled backward, flailing, like a pink-clad bowling ball. Then her head hit the toilet with a sickening crack, and she stilled.
Xander didn't pause to check on her. His mind was blank, yet racing, revving on instinct. His mind took a snapshot of Neena, lying upside down near the far wall, a dim part of his mind registering blankly that at least she was wearing panties, thank god. It didn't even occur to him to think about his own nudity. He clambered to his feet, clawed at the bathroom door, opened it--
--and saw the girls, all three of them, standing in a semi-circle in front of him. All holding knives.
They smiled brightly, expectantly.
As Xander paused for a moment, stunned, Graciela stepped up to the threshold and drew a quick red line across his belly. "I," she recited, "am the eye that watches."
Xander stumbled backwards, a vague notion of barricading himself in the bathroom starting to form in his head. But Bet was already slipping in behind him; she slashed at the back of his right knee, and he crumpled to the floor like a discarded marionette. "I am the tongue that tells."
Lo bent down, seized his hair, and yanked him upright with one hand. The tearing sensation in Xander's scalp momentarily drowned out the burning ache of his shoulder, the sickly agony of his torn knee. Lo looked hungrily into his eyes, and he saw her pupils expanding, dilating into pools of black. "I am the ear that listens," she hissed, sliding the blade of her curved knife down the side of his face, parting the flesh of his cheek.
Xander cried out, and Lo gave his hair a mighty yank, tossing him belly-down onto the floor of the hotel room. He struggled to focus, to draw up his good leg and raise himself to his feet, lurch towards the door. From behind him came the almost imperceptible pad of bare feet on carpet, and as he raised his head, he saw a pair of slim brown legs moving into view before him.
Neena circled round in front of Xander, blocking the door. Her eyes were dark pits, and behind her long loose hair, a ribbon of blood was winding its way down her face from the cut in her scalp. Her lips parted in an ecstatic grin, and she knelt down before him, taking his chin tenderly in the palm of her free hand. "And I am the hand," she purred. "The hand that kills."
She drove the blade home, and everything went dark.
..........
"Come out, little mouse! It's no fun unless we're both playing!"
Kennedy shivered, huddled behind the outcropping of rock where she'd taken shelter from Willow's barrage of magical energy. Judging from the sound of her voice, Willow was still floating over the water next to the observation deck, maybe twenty feet away. "Uh, no thanks," Kennedy called. "I think I'd better give you some space for a minute." She idly wondered whether Willow's blasts could go around corners.
"Aww, I wasn't gonna kill you, baby," Willow assured her. "I was just gonna hurt you a bit." There was a blur of motion, and suddenly Willow was standing atop the rock, looking down at her with sadistic amusement. "It's all part of the package. Thought you wanted to go on all the rides." She raised a clenched hand, and a purple glow began to form in the cup of her palm.
For a long moment, Kennedy stared up at her. Then she snorted--a suppressed laugh, followed seconds later by the real thing. As Willow glared at her, frowning with confusion, Kennedy doubled up in convulsions of helpless laughter.
Willow blurred again, appeared next to Kennedy's quaking body. "Okay, now what?" she demanded. "This is no good if you're not gonna stay in character."
Regaining temporary control, Kennedy looked up at her, eyes wet with tears of mirth. "Oh, you're good," she giggled. "You really had me going there, girl."
"WHAT?" Willow shrieked. Electricity flared about her hands, and her hair flapped in a sudden rush of wind. "You think this is some kind of a game? You think I won't fucking kill you?"
Kennedy sighed, slumping against the rock. "Maybe you will, Red, maybe you will. But I gotta tell you, the supervillain thing is cracking me up." She gestured up at Willow, her hand taking in the black hair, the pale face, the furious red eyes, the crackle of energy at her fingertips. "I mean, it's so perfect! All you need is, I dunno, a Darth Vader helmet or something."
Now Willow was genuinely lost. "You think I'm not serious?"
"Deadly serious," Kennedy assured her. "And, like, the hotness? Undeniable. But I think you're playing a part. Putting on the Big Bad." Gripping the rock for support, she began inching her way up into a standing position, while Willow sullenly glared at her. "You think you're so terrible and evil, so you put on this whole Marilyn Manson trip. Then you get your hands on the magic axe of mystic light and milk of human goddam kindness, and all of a sudden you're Glinda the Good Witch, all with the white hair and the goddess power."
"Your point?" Willow asked, hands clenching. "And make it snappy, 'cause you're about three seconds away from becoming an anatomy textbook."
"Bad equals black. Good equals white. It's like some kind of a gag, Willow." Kennedy was on her feet now, and breathing more easily. "And mousy librarian Willow, with the shy looks and the 'Oh no, please don't touch me there'? Also hot. Also not the real you."
Willow smirked, folding her arms. "So who's the real me, Kennedy? Please, enlighten me with your superior life experience."
Kennedy shrugged, resigned. "I don't know, Willow. But I'd like to tag along with you until you find out." She turned, and began clambering up the gravelly slope to the wooden deck. "So zap me if you want," she called back over her shoulder, "or skin me, or whatever you think you need to do. But I'm not playing any more."
Behind her, she heard Willow sigh, and there was a small thud that sounded suspiciously like a butt settling onto the ground. Kennedy clambered over the wooden railing, then looked back down to where she'd taken shelter a minute before. Willow was sitting there, staring out over the river. A boat tooted in the distance.
A minute passed.
"You think I'm silly." This time, there was no trace of playful cruelty in Willow's voice, only embarrassed disappointment.
Kennedy drew in a deep breath. "I think you're gorgeous. And sweet. And brilliant. And funny. And yeah, maybe a little silly." She beamed with relief. "And I want to be with you. Is that okay?"
Willow stood, brushing dust from her pants, and started making her way back up the viewing platform. "You're crazy, you know that."
"It's a crazy world, babe." Kennedy extended a hand to help her over the railings. "We're just living in it."
Willow laddered her way up to the top rail, straddled it, and then paused for a moment, one sneakered foot dangling over the platform side. She squinted in concentration, peering off into the distance, and Kennedy was relieved to note that, while her hair was still black, Willow's eyes were back to normal.
"It's Xander," Willow pronounced, still focusing intently on something unseen. Then her eyes widened in alarm. "It's Xander! He's in trouble!"
Willow teetered atop the railing, and Kennedy quickly plucked her off it and deposited her onto the wooden boards. "Willow, that flying thing you did... Can you Superman us over there, or something?"
Willow shook her head, jet-black hair lashing the air, and already she was raising her hands, luminous energy steaming from her fingertips. "Too slow. Gotta use something quicker." The scene around them began to turn, spinning faster and faster--the falls, the observation deck, the river, the blue sky, all whirling about them. Kennedy felt a rush of wind, silently wondered if this was what it felt like to be sucked up into a tornado, and Willow winked at her with one gloriously normal eye. "That's right, baby. Say goodbye to Kansas."
They whirled once more, and were gone.
...........
When Xander came to, it was to the sight of stuccoed white plaster dotted with sprinker heads and smoke alarms. The ceiling. The image swam, kept shifting, moving. He couldn't focus. His limbs felt numb and cottony, and something was pulling at his hair.
Oh. That would be the carpet.
Through his blurry vision, he could see Bet now, upside down. She had her hand clamped around his right wrist, and was dragging him as effortlessly as a little girl with a rag doll. Raggedy Xandy. His head lolled on his shoulders as she tugged him along, giving him the occasional flash view of the baseboard, the wall, the floor. They were outside their room, in the hotel hallway. Going somewhere.
He tried lifting his head to get a better look. Couldn't.
And he was really starting to feel the rug burn on his bare ass.
He heard a voice--Neena, he thought. "Be careful, Bet. You're going to pull his arm off."
"I thought we were in a hurry," Bet replied petulantly.
"Uh-huh," Graciela replied from somewhere behind them. "We've gotta get him outside before he bleeds out."
Oh, thank God, Xander thought. It's over. I'm gonna be okay. We're all gonna be okay. He called out weakly, his voice a feeble croak. "Hey... guys..."
Lo giggled. "That's right. We're s'posed to spill his blood on the ground, not on the carpet."
And Xander knew it wasn't over.
"Hey, you guys," Graciela called. She moved into Xander's field of view, looking down at him with concern. "He's waking up. Should we put him out again? Don't want him making too much noise."
"Nah, it's cool," Lo assured her. "This hotel's pretty much empty. And besides, so what if they hear? You think anyone's gonna come out and try anything?" Xander heard a series of thumps behind him, as if someone was pounding the walls and doors with a powerful fist. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Lo called.
Up ahead, he heard a high-pitched laugh. Was it Neena? Had he ever heard her laugh like that?
"Hello there," Neena purred. She rapped on a random door as they passed by, dragging Xander behind them. "Don't be afraid. We're just a few little girls."
"We're cold," Lo whined. "We're frightened and alone."
"Won't somebody please help us?" Graciela wailed. And they laughed again, loud and mocking, as they maneuvered Xander's limp and bleeding form into the elevator.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 08:53 pm (UTC)(screams like little girl)
Man....I'm going to have to read that again...the attack on Xander
was the scariest thing I've read!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 09:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 09:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 10:02 pm (UTC)But I asked Toys, "too gory?" and he said, "Nah."
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 10:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-09 04:52 am (UTC)Hey, The Hook wrote that part. I just did the belly-slicing and the cheek-slitting and, uh... never mind.
::claps::
Date: 2004-04-08 09:12 pm (UTC)WOW
This story just went from creepy to outright scary! Bravo!
Your description of the knife cutting Xander had me wincing in pain and I couldn't even read the part where the all attacked him the first time around, I had to go back and read it.
And I liked that it first came off that she wanted him, but then Ah! The knife!
"I," she recited, "am the eye that watches."
"I am the tongue that tells."
"I am the ear that listens,"
"And I am the hand," she purred. "The hand that kills."
That is so undeniably creeeeepy and frightening!
And them pounding on the doors and stuff at the end? SO scary, they're crazy! Ah! Runaway!
Hurry Willow! Save Xander!!
Re: ::claps::
Date: 2004-04-08 09:50 pm (UTC)Hee hee hee.
Re: Talk about amping it up!
Date: 2004-04-08 09:56 pm (UTC)HAH HAH! My misdirection worked! (dances) And, ahem, yes, I was specifically trying to evoke the pillow-fight thing with the seduction.
HEH! I hear a little S6 criticism in there....oh yes I do.
Aw, you think so? Hey, we're not the ones who had Willow change into an all-black outfit before going to rescue Buffy at the hospital.
OK, I like Kennedy. A little bit. Dammit.... Heh. OK, she's cool.
Hell has frozen over, we have accomplished the impossible.
Enjoyed the cross-cutting much more this time. And Jesus, don't kill Xander! And when's the next installment?
Yeah, we were pretty, uh, happy with how this one turned out. Next chappy, coming soon. Toys is writing like he's on fire right now.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 09:45 pm (UTC)*shudder*
*shudder*
*shudder*
That is all. Stay tuned for further announcements.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 09:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-08 10:37 pm (UTC)Poor, poor Xander. Can I write myself into your story so I can cuddle him and make all better? *tongue firmly in cheek*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-09 01:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-05-30 02:35 pm (UTC)And you know what? Kennedy's not so bad, after all.