thedeadlyhook (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thedeadlyhook) wrote2004-04-27 06:01 pm
thedeadlyhook) wrote2004-04-27 06:01 pm
Bad Trip, Chapter 14
See, I promised the next chapter wouldn't be too long in coming. For those just running across this now, definitely read Chapter 13 first. That one and this together can be more properly considered one long piece.
There have been questions. Now there are answers.
Previous parts here.
ACT FOURTEEN: SNARED
In the courtyard of the hospital, the battle continued. Every now and then a shot rang out--the crack of a pistol, the boom of a shotgun--but their sounds were quickly drowned out by the cries and shrieks of Sanguine's followers. A vast melee was in progress in the middle of the main driveway, wave after wave of attackers crashing against the two young women who had become the hospital's main line of defense.
At the end of the courtyard, where the driveway veered away and a canvas awning sheltered the path that led into the hospital's lobby, the tall Slayer who called herself Sanguine studied her diminutive opponent. As she considered, she absentmindedly tapped at one of the canopy's pillars with her makeshift spear, and Bet heard the quiet chime of metal on metal each time the pipe made contact.
The tapping of the spear ceased, and Sanguine spoke. "I was warned about you. Five of my sisters, fighting to protect the arrogant fools who defy the will of the Great Mother." Her eyes moved across Bet's small body, searching, probing. "Each of you bound to the service of the Red Queen, carrying her marks upon your bodies..."
Bet shivered. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she could almost feel the cold on her skin, little bruises of frost crawling across her foot, her calf, her back, her shoulder--the places where Willow's marker had made its inscriptions. Keep it together, Bet. Don't be a baby.
"My friends can help you," Bet said with all the confidence she could muster. "They can cure you, break the spell..."
"Cure me?" Sanguine gave a bark of incredulous laughter. "Come on, blondie... you think I'm possessed or something?" She took a step forward, shifting her grip on the length of pipe in her right hand. "If you knew what I know, if you'd seen what I've seen... You'd serve the Great Mother as willingly as I do."
A knot of tension was building in Bet's stomach. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but she forced herself to stand her ground. The timing's gotta be perfect. Just a little longer, Bet. You can do it. She clenched her fists, feeling the solid mass in the palm of her hand.
"All that time wasted. Saving the whales, marching for the earth..." Sanguine snorted. "Writing my goddam congressman. But in the end it turned out to be so simple." She took another step, tapped her weapon against the next pillar. It chimed, metal on metal. "Don't you get it yet? The earth doesn't want hugs and candy and birthday cards, little girl. The only thing it wants from us is blood."
Just a little further. Bet bit her trembling lip, shook her head. "That's just messed up. That isn't what being a Slayer is about."
"A Slayer?" Sanguine grinned ferociously. "I'll show you what a Slayer is." She lunged, driving the length of pipe forward like a lance, its sharpened tip aimed squarely at Bet's belly.
Bet spun away just in time. She stumbled, righted herself, whirled around one of the canopy's support pillars. Sanguine's spear swung after her, clanged against the pillar. Metal on metal.
"You think we were given this power just to kill vampires, so all the nice people could sleep peacefully in bed at night?" Sanguine turned, jabbing her spear at Bet as the smaller girl dashed behind her. "Got news for you, princess. That's just the beginning."
Bet rolled behind another pillar, knees scraping across the abrasive concrete of the pavement. For the moment, irritation overrode the pain. "Don't call me princess!" She scrambled to her feet again, twisted away from the pipe's sharpened point, leapt toward the next pillar. Back and forth. Keep moving.
"The bloodsuckers are filth," Sanguine hissed. She swung wildly, and her spear rang like a bell as it ricocheted from one of the canopy's support posts. "Contamination. They don't belong here."
Bet feinted to her left, then lunged to her right, the maneuver slowing the enemy's attack just enough for her to make it past and round the next pillar. One, twice around. Now back again.
Sanguine pivoted on one heel, stabbing out with her spear as Bet circled around her. "But it won't be long now, little girl. Until all the vampires, the demons, the outside men... Until they've all returned to dust." The pipe's sharpened tip shot past Bet's shoulder, and the tall Slayer shifted her weight, turned the stab into a swat. The metal shaft sliced through the air, striking Bet across the back, and she cried out as she went sprawling forward.
Bet's ears were ringing, her head swimming. She looked up to see Sanguine striding towards her, coming out from under the overhanging canopy. "And after that," Sanguine smiled, "comes the fun part. The part where we purge everyone who's left." She raised her spear to deliver a finishing blow. "Like you and your little friends."
Not yet. Bet swung up her forearm to deflect Sanguine's descending spear, rolling to her feet as she did so. Instinctively, she pushed off the ground and drove her head into the tall woman's stomach.
Sanguine gave a grunt of surprise and staggered back under the canopy, dreadlocks flying as she bounced off one of the support posts. Bet dropped to her knees again, then took off running towards the final pillar. Once around. We're done. Bet glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Sanguine's spear blurring towards her, and it clipped her across the side of the head as she ducked. She tumbled to the ground, tasting something sour and metallic. Ouch. I bid my tongue.
"No more games, princess. We're gonna finish this the old-fashioned way." Sanguine let her pipe drop to the ground, and stood for a moment between the pillars, flexing her fingers. "The way where I get to tear you apart with my bare hands."
Bet reached out a fumbling hand, searching for the object she'd dropped when Sanguine's spear struck her. Her fingers found it, wrapped tightly around it. This is the part where you're supposed to say something cool, she thought. But all she could think to say was "Nuh-uh."
Sanguine stared at her incredulously. "Nuh-uh?! That's all you've got?"
Bet whipped her hand up, the spool clenched tightly inside her fist. She lunged to the side with all her strength, and the thread began pulling tight as she moved.
Sanguine watched, perplexed, as her tiny opponent sprinted around her, passing beneath the canopy a few pillars down. "What the fuck is this?" Her attention focused on Bet's motion, Sanguine didn't see the high-tensile-strength surgical thread pulling taut behind her, around her... tightening around the pillars where Bet had looped it.
And suddenly, Sanguine was trapped. Like a giant Cat's Cradle pattern, the loops snapped taut around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Bet stopped, panting, gave the spool a final yank. Sanguine felt the high-gauge surgical thread, as strong as fishing line, biting into her skin.
The tall Slayer grinned. "You don't think this is gonna hold me, do you?" She strained against the net, and there was a pinging sound like the snapping of guitar strings. "I told you we were done playing games."
A voice came from behind her. "You think so?"
Sanguine twisted around, craning her neck, and saw another girl--dressed in black, hair dyed purple, big clunky boots on her feet and a clutter of silver jewelry at her neck--limping across the pavement towards them. Slung across her shoulders was a blood-smeared baseball bat.
"Hey, princess," Lo said, raising her weapon. "Batter up!"
And for Sanguine the Vampire Slayer, Priestess of the Great Mother, everything suddenly went very, very dark.
...........
They'd stopped to have this talk. Because it was important, the whole soul question. At least that's what Xander told himself as he slid his ghostly body onto the hood of a phantom car in the underworld's parking garage. It wasn't just that he was stalling, not wanting to see what came next. That wasn't it at all.
A dim light flickered overhead. The wandering dead continued on their journey, soundless and seemingly distant. Spike sat across from him, cross-legged, on the hood of the car.
It was all scarily similiar to the spell he'd used to call up the spirit guide, the start of all of this in the first place.
"Gonna tell you this just once, so listen careful, alright?"
Xander nodded.
Spike lifted a hand, placed it on his breast.
"Soul isn't who you are," he began, speaking with careful, precise diction, a soft tone that Xander couldn't remember ever hearing from him before. "It's what you are. It's not a personality, or a conscience, although maybe there's a little of both to it, whatever it is that makes you you. But that's not the point of it."
"But vampires don't have a conscience."
"No, they don't. Conscience is in your brain, though, not your soul, just like your personality is. Don't you watch those bloody crime shows? That's just... biological. Chemistry. Plenty of killers out there with souls and no conscience. Vampires... maybe our brains don't work right anymore after we're turned, we are dead after all. Magic or whatever, don't know. But the thing about the soul is... you've got no reason to care anymore, once you're turned. You're not--" He paused, pressed his lips together. "Are you getting any of this?"
"Uh, best I can tell, you're saying vampires are like serial killers. Kinda already got that memo."
Spike hung his head as if pained, and held it there, thinking. "Those gypsies that did for Angel, they gave him his soul back as a curse," he finally offered. "You ever wonder why that is, why it would be a curse to him?"
"Uh, I think the answer would be who cares. Didn't change anything. Just made the guy all guilty and sulky and--" Xander stopped. He'd been about to say something like irresistibly attractive to girls who go for that sort of act but that was a little too close to another subject he really didn't want to open.
Spike didn't seem to have noticed his almost-slip. If anything, he looked amused. "Oh, he cares. You bet he does. It's why he mopes all the time, because he knows what it means. It's why that little glitch where it could get taken away stings so much, aside from making him even more miserable. They put that in so he'd never get comfortable with what he is. So his punishment would never end, don't you get that?"
"So he feels bad. So what." That what this is about? Xander wondered. You feeling bad, Spike? Good. You should.
"What do you think happens, when we're dusted, we vampires? Soul's already gone, you know--doesn't hang around. Shuffled off through here to whatever afterlife is waiting for it. Vampires--when we're gone, we're gone." His voice became very quiet. "Soul changes all that."
Xander waited, let the silence spin out until it was clear Spike obviously expected him to have gotten something out of this. He rolled his eyes. "Look--I get that this is a big deal, but can't you put it in a sentence of ten words or less?"
"God, Harris, you--" He cut off, looked upward as if for guidance, and gave Xander another hard stare. "Look," he rasped. "You're obviously thick, and never bothered with church, so I'm gonna make this as plain as I can. Pay attention." He paused again then, as if gathering his nerve. "Suppose you'd staked me, last year. Suppose Buffy'd come and staked me last year, after--" He stopped, lips trembling, as if unable to force the words, then started again, haltingly. "What do you think would have happened to me? Think I'd burn in some special vampire hell?"
A trickle of understanding was starting to form. He wasn't sure he wanted to follow it through to its logical conclusion. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he breathed, an uneasy knot forming in his stomach even as he said it. "I mean, after a century's worth of rape and murder, I kinda figured you--"
"Well, you'd have been wrong," Spike ground out. "Vampires are demons. Evil's exactly what we're supposed to be doing." He laughed then, mirthlessly. "No souls, no rules, Harris. Vampires are like looters in a blackout. We're invisible." He took a breath he didn't need, dropped his head again and made what seemed to be an intense study of his boots. There was another long silence.
"It wasn't about Buffy forgiving me. Getting the soul," Spike muttered quietly. "Well... not all of it. If she was gonna forgive me, she'd do it anyway. Soul was... so she'd know that I... that I understood. Man and monster. Couldn't be one without taking responsibility for the other."
Xander was starting to feel each word in his head like an echoing announcement in a ballpark, painful, like a headache. If she was gonna forgive me, she'd have done it anyway.
Buffy had taken Dawn to Spike's crypt, not a day after he'd bruised her and hurt her and scared her and made her cry. She'd taken her little sister to him for protection.
He remembered wondering even then if she'd already forgiven him. Remembered hating her a little for it, wanting desperately to find Spike and make him pay for doing that to his friend, for doing that to her and somehow fixing it so she'd still forgive him for it...
...and all that long before Spike ever showed up again with a soul.
"Your demon girl knew too, you know. When she turned human again," Spike muttered. "Not like the first time, when it wasn't her fault. She knew. What the price was."
"Knew?" Now he's bringing up Anya. I knew I didn't want to have this conversation. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut?
"Without a soul, nothing you do counts," Spike continued. "Think of it like... like a checkbook, yeah? You take good care of it, manage your money all neat and proper, pay your bills as they come due. Until one night you stagger blind drunk down a dark alley and some frightful fiend whacks you over the head, empties your pockets, and then he's off for a nice lost weekend on your dime. Or lost century, at it were. But you don't care, 'cause you're dead, see?"
The vampire's expression turned serious. "Only it turns out you're not. You wake up, lying in some piss-smelling gutter with a hell of a hangover, and there's the old checkbook sitting right next to you. With a little note on it, says 'Thank you very kindly for the use of your finances. You may expect a visit from the bill collector soonest. Yours sincerely, et bloody cetera.'"
Spike heaved a heavy sigh. "And the worst part of it is, you asked for it."
Understanding was dawning larger now. He wished it wasn't. Your demon girl knew. You may expect a visit from the bill collector. If he could breathe, he'd be having trouble right about now.
"Had to do something," Spike muttered. "Couldn't just... go on, after that. It was either kill her, kill myself, or show her that I could get it, you know? That I understood what she was always going on about, right and wrong. Show her." He sighed. "Big grand gesture. Can't say I really thought it through at the time. Could just as easily have woken up facedown in some seaport six bottles of JD later with "I Love Buffy" tattooed on one arm and "Suck It Bitch" on the other."
It was hitting him now, what Spike meant, hitting him hard, like a brick in the forehead. Your demon girl knew. When she turned human again. Closer than you know with your little joke. Soul like a checkbook. Anya's happy capitalist cash register dance. Visit from the bill collector. Oh. Oh, god. Oh god, oh no, Anya.
He felt like he was choking.
Spike inhaled, sat up a little straighter. His eyes were bleak, but there was pride there too. "But, as it happens, I got the soul. Fought to get it, even. So she'd know I was man enough to pay my debts." He smiled, faintly. "I was dim enough to think that might make me something of a good man, but that's neither here nor there now. Did what I could. Guess that's all any of us do."
Xander had tuned him out long ago. His thoughts were too full of Anya.
Did Anya still have a soul as a demon? Or did it come back, when she became human again? Or... oh god, how would that even matter? She was a human, a human with a soul, at the end. When she died... oh god, Anya. Oh, my girl. My poor girl.
Always doing the stupid thing.
...........
Buffy and Willow traveled down the winding staircase that spiraled down from the Seal of Danzalthar into the mouth of hell. Or a hell, anyway, Willow thought. Her nose crinkled in disgust as a foul wind wafted up from beneath them.
Suddenly, Willow could hear a rush of sound--the clash of weapons, the clamor of combat. The staircase opened up into a vast cavern, whose far reaches vanished into murky darkness. On the rocky ledge where its steps terminated, a pitched battle was raging; twenty or so young women armed with swords and stakes, axes and spears, somehow holding their own against the horde of bestial creatures that came streaming up over the edge of the cliff. Buffy--another Buffy, the one who belonged to this memory--was leading the charge, wielding her compound weapon to devastating effect.
Willow recoiled, shrinking back against the staircase, and the Buffy who had guided her into the pit gave a mocking laugh. "Come on, Will. They can't hurt us now." Buffy tugged at her sleeve, urging her down onto the ledge. "You really shouldn't miss this. The special effects are incredible."
They stood for a minute, silently observing the battle.
At last Willow turned to her guide with a look of puzzlement. "But... But this was the happy ending, wasn't it? An army of empowered Slayers, driving back the Big Bad..."
Buffy sighed. "Yeah, it seemed like a great plan at the time. 'Course, I can't really take all the credit." She frowned, recalling something. "After all, it was The First that planted the idea in my head to begin with."
Willow watched as a ponytailed Slayer sliced off a monster's head, then kicked its disintegrating carcass away. The body slammed into another of the creatures as it came over the ledge, sending it toppling over the edge and into the chasm below.
"Kind of a bad move, then," Willow frowned. "You guys are wiping out its entire army."
Buffy gravely shook her head. "It was never about the vampire army, Will. Or the preacher, or the Harbingers. It wanted me." She took in the battlefield, and for a moment tears glinted in her eyes. "And it ended up getting all of us."
Willow reached over, grabbed Buffy's shoulder, shook it to draw her attention. "But how? How did it happen?!"
Buffy looked back at her, eyes dry once more. "Here it comes. Pay attention now."
Returning her attention to the fray, Willow saw Buffy--the second Buffy, the one commanding this remembered battle--standing at the front of the ledge. "Keep the line together," cried the Buffy that was. "Drive them to the edge! We can't let them do--"
A beast stepped up behind Buffy, and drove a sword through her back. The remembered Buffy gasped, and her attacker drew the sword out again with one savage yank. Blood gouted from the wound, and Buffy tottered, fell forward.
Willow screamed in horror. She began running towards her fallen friend, but the first Buffy--her guide, her companion--stepped in front of her and shoved her roughly aside. "That's exactly how it happens, Will." She waggled a disapproving finger. "You let yourself care, let yourself believe you can win... And look what happens."
As she staggered to her feet, Willow saw the tide of battle turning. More and more of the creatures were streaming over the ledge, and one after another the Slayers fell. A Chinese girl, the one called Chao-ahn, died with a monster's fangs in her neck. Amanda, Dawn's friend, toppled in a bloody heap, her stake falling from her nerveless fingers. Not far away, a remembered Spike stood gesturing helplessly, his burning hands flailing at the gemstone that hung useless from his neck.
The first Buffy sauntered across the ledge, weaving her way between the other combatants, and came to a stop in front of her fallen twin. "Oh no... Ow!" She looked down at the Buffy that was, her face a mask of false concern, and gestured at the bright patch of red that now stained the white fabric of her own blouse. "Mommy, this mortal wound is all... itchy."
The first Buffy--or, Willow suddenly realized, maybe that should be The First Buffy--knelt down beside her dying double, who moaned and twitched in a spreading pool of blood. "You pulled a nice trick," the crouching Buffy smiled. "You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?"
Willow heard a voice, the same one that had whispered to them when Buffy drew her weapon from the stone. Do you wish to live? She saw a flash, an afterimage, of something coiled about the body of her fallen friend--something dark and shapeless, caressing the dying Slayer as her life ebbed away into the dirt. Do you wish to win? Do you accept what I offer?
Buffy, the Buffy that was, pressed her palms into the earth and slowly, painfully, pushed herself up. Dark liquid flowed from her belly as it came away from the ground.
Gathering the last of her strength, Buffy spoke. But as her lips moved, Willow heard something else--a single word, in her friend's voice, that rang in her head like a bell.
The word was Yes.
And then the two were one. A single Buffy sprang to her feet, her eyes shining with an inhuman strength. One of the newborn Slayers, Rona, turned and tossed Buffy's weapon back to her, and she plucked it out of the air with effortless ease. Already, the red stain on her belly was shrinking, evaporating.
Willow looked about her, and saw the other girls fighting with renewed energy. Their eyes were bright, and their lips curled back from their teeth with the exhilaration of bloodshed. The beasts they fought suddenly seemed confused, uncertain, their strength ebbing away as quickly as that of the Slayers grew.
At the back of the ledge, Spike recoiled, staggering back against the staircase. The jewel on his chest suddenly flared to life, a beam of brilliant blue light shooting up into the passage that led up through the seal into the surface world. Then another beam, the color of the sun, blasting down into the vampire's body and out into the vast cavern, turning the cowering creatures into ashes as it began sweeping the Hellmouth clean.
Buffy walked towards Willow, ignoring the battle that raged around her. "Do you understand now?" Her wide eyes drilled into Willow with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Have you said what you wished to say? Seen what you came to see? Heard what you wanted to hear?"
Willow nodded, mute with dismay, her stomach churning as she struggled to regain control of herself. Come on, Willow. Nothing can hurt you in this place. The sense of vertigo intensified. Not unless you believe it can.
Buffy came to a stop, extended her right hand. Its palm was red with blood. "Then take my hand, Willow. Take my hand and join with me."
Willow's hand began to rise, almost of its own accord, to grasp that of her friend. She felt an anticipatory tingle on the tip of her tongue, where she'd tasted Buffy's blood. In her eyes. In her ears.
Tongue. Eye. Ear.
Drink of me, and learn the language of the earth. Open your eyes, and see what is hidden in darkness. Listen, and hear the voice that speaks without tongues...
I am the eye that watches. I am the tongue that tells. I am the ear that listens...
Eye. Tongue. Ear. Hand.
"Oh Buffy. Oh no." It wasn't horror or fear that flooded through her, but grief. Tears ran from Willow's eyes as she backed away, shaking her head, hands clenched into helpless fists.
Buffy stood there, red hand still raised, mouth slowly widening into a gleeful grin. "Oh yes, Willow. Oh yes. I guess you aren't as stupid as you look."
"Buffy, I'm... Oh my God, I'm so sorry. So sorry I couldn't..."
"Don't be sorry." The thing that now wore Buffy's face advanced towards her, eyes shining with joy and triumph. "Stay with us, Will. We're all in here. Everyone you've lost. Even her." Again, it offered its bloody hand. "Just take my hand, and you can dream with us forever."
With a last dreadful effort, Willow closed her eyes and focused her concentration. She felt a rush of wind, then silence...
She heard a rhythmic grunting noise, slow and heavy.
Willow opened her eyes and found herself sitting crosslegged on the floor of her hospital room. Morning light streamed in through the curtained windows, illuminating the bed, the wall, the side table. And Kennedy, who sat slumped against the bed, head tipped back. A tiny stream of drool ran from the corner of her mouth as she snored.
Kennedy came awake slowly, her sleep gradually dissipating as Willow's sobs grew louder. Then she sprang to her feet, stumbled over to Willow's side, held her as tightly as she could. The tears flowed, and whether they were tears of grief, or relief, or both, neither woman could say for sure.
There have been questions. Now there are answers.
Previous parts here.
ACT FOURTEEN: SNARED
In the courtyard of the hospital, the battle continued. Every now and then a shot rang out--the crack of a pistol, the boom of a shotgun--but their sounds were quickly drowned out by the cries and shrieks of Sanguine's followers. A vast melee was in progress in the middle of the main driveway, wave after wave of attackers crashing against the two young women who had become the hospital's main line of defense.
At the end of the courtyard, where the driveway veered away and a canvas awning sheltered the path that led into the hospital's lobby, the tall Slayer who called herself Sanguine studied her diminutive opponent. As she considered, she absentmindedly tapped at one of the canopy's pillars with her makeshift spear, and Bet heard the quiet chime of metal on metal each time the pipe made contact.
The tapping of the spear ceased, and Sanguine spoke. "I was warned about you. Five of my sisters, fighting to protect the arrogant fools who defy the will of the Great Mother." Her eyes moved across Bet's small body, searching, probing. "Each of you bound to the service of the Red Queen, carrying her marks upon your bodies..."
Bet shivered. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she could almost feel the cold on her skin, little bruises of frost crawling across her foot, her calf, her back, her shoulder--the places where Willow's marker had made its inscriptions. Keep it together, Bet. Don't be a baby.
"My friends can help you," Bet said with all the confidence she could muster. "They can cure you, break the spell..."
"Cure me?" Sanguine gave a bark of incredulous laughter. "Come on, blondie... you think I'm possessed or something?" She took a step forward, shifting her grip on the length of pipe in her right hand. "If you knew what I know, if you'd seen what I've seen... You'd serve the Great Mother as willingly as I do."
A knot of tension was building in Bet's stomach. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but she forced herself to stand her ground. The timing's gotta be perfect. Just a little longer, Bet. You can do it. She clenched her fists, feeling the solid mass in the palm of her hand.
"All that time wasted. Saving the whales, marching for the earth..." Sanguine snorted. "Writing my goddam congressman. But in the end it turned out to be so simple." She took another step, tapped her weapon against the next pillar. It chimed, metal on metal. "Don't you get it yet? The earth doesn't want hugs and candy and birthday cards, little girl. The only thing it wants from us is blood."
Just a little further. Bet bit her trembling lip, shook her head. "That's just messed up. That isn't what being a Slayer is about."
"A Slayer?" Sanguine grinned ferociously. "I'll show you what a Slayer is." She lunged, driving the length of pipe forward like a lance, its sharpened tip aimed squarely at Bet's belly.
Bet spun away just in time. She stumbled, righted herself, whirled around one of the canopy's support pillars. Sanguine's spear swung after her, clanged against the pillar. Metal on metal.
"You think we were given this power just to kill vampires, so all the nice people could sleep peacefully in bed at night?" Sanguine turned, jabbing her spear at Bet as the smaller girl dashed behind her. "Got news for you, princess. That's just the beginning."
Bet rolled behind another pillar, knees scraping across the abrasive concrete of the pavement. For the moment, irritation overrode the pain. "Don't call me princess!" She scrambled to her feet again, twisted away from the pipe's sharpened point, leapt toward the next pillar. Back and forth. Keep moving.
"The bloodsuckers are filth," Sanguine hissed. She swung wildly, and her spear rang like a bell as it ricocheted from one of the canopy's support posts. "Contamination. They don't belong here."
Bet feinted to her left, then lunged to her right, the maneuver slowing the enemy's attack just enough for her to make it past and round the next pillar. One, twice around. Now back again.
Sanguine pivoted on one heel, stabbing out with her spear as Bet circled around her. "But it won't be long now, little girl. Until all the vampires, the demons, the outside men... Until they've all returned to dust." The pipe's sharpened tip shot past Bet's shoulder, and the tall Slayer shifted her weight, turned the stab into a swat. The metal shaft sliced through the air, striking Bet across the back, and she cried out as she went sprawling forward.
Bet's ears were ringing, her head swimming. She looked up to see Sanguine striding towards her, coming out from under the overhanging canopy. "And after that," Sanguine smiled, "comes the fun part. The part where we purge everyone who's left." She raised her spear to deliver a finishing blow. "Like you and your little friends."
Not yet. Bet swung up her forearm to deflect Sanguine's descending spear, rolling to her feet as she did so. Instinctively, she pushed off the ground and drove her head into the tall woman's stomach.
Sanguine gave a grunt of surprise and staggered back under the canopy, dreadlocks flying as she bounced off one of the support posts. Bet dropped to her knees again, then took off running towards the final pillar. Once around. We're done. Bet glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Sanguine's spear blurring towards her, and it clipped her across the side of the head as she ducked. She tumbled to the ground, tasting something sour and metallic. Ouch. I bid my tongue.
"No more games, princess. We're gonna finish this the old-fashioned way." Sanguine let her pipe drop to the ground, and stood for a moment between the pillars, flexing her fingers. "The way where I get to tear you apart with my bare hands."
Bet reached out a fumbling hand, searching for the object she'd dropped when Sanguine's spear struck her. Her fingers found it, wrapped tightly around it. This is the part where you're supposed to say something cool, she thought. But all she could think to say was "Nuh-uh."
Sanguine stared at her incredulously. "Nuh-uh?! That's all you've got?"
Bet whipped her hand up, the spool clenched tightly inside her fist. She lunged to the side with all her strength, and the thread began pulling tight as she moved.
Sanguine watched, perplexed, as her tiny opponent sprinted around her, passing beneath the canopy a few pillars down. "What the fuck is this?" Her attention focused on Bet's motion, Sanguine didn't see the high-tensile-strength surgical thread pulling taut behind her, around her... tightening around the pillars where Bet had looped it.
And suddenly, Sanguine was trapped. Like a giant Cat's Cradle pattern, the loops snapped taut around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Bet stopped, panting, gave the spool a final yank. Sanguine felt the high-gauge surgical thread, as strong as fishing line, biting into her skin.
The tall Slayer grinned. "You don't think this is gonna hold me, do you?" She strained against the net, and there was a pinging sound like the snapping of guitar strings. "I told you we were done playing games."
A voice came from behind her. "You think so?"
Sanguine twisted around, craning her neck, and saw another girl--dressed in black, hair dyed purple, big clunky boots on her feet and a clutter of silver jewelry at her neck--limping across the pavement towards them. Slung across her shoulders was a blood-smeared baseball bat.
"Hey, princess," Lo said, raising her weapon. "Batter up!"
And for Sanguine the Vampire Slayer, Priestess of the Great Mother, everything suddenly went very, very dark.
...........
They'd stopped to have this talk. Because it was important, the whole soul question. At least that's what Xander told himself as he slid his ghostly body onto the hood of a phantom car in the underworld's parking garage. It wasn't just that he was stalling, not wanting to see what came next. That wasn't it at all.
A dim light flickered overhead. The wandering dead continued on their journey, soundless and seemingly distant. Spike sat across from him, cross-legged, on the hood of the car.
It was all scarily similiar to the spell he'd used to call up the spirit guide, the start of all of this in the first place.
"Gonna tell you this just once, so listen careful, alright?"
Xander nodded.
Spike lifted a hand, placed it on his breast.
"Soul isn't who you are," he began, speaking with careful, precise diction, a soft tone that Xander couldn't remember ever hearing from him before. "It's what you are. It's not a personality, or a conscience, although maybe there's a little of both to it, whatever it is that makes you you. But that's not the point of it."
"But vampires don't have a conscience."
"No, they don't. Conscience is in your brain, though, not your soul, just like your personality is. Don't you watch those bloody crime shows? That's just... biological. Chemistry. Plenty of killers out there with souls and no conscience. Vampires... maybe our brains don't work right anymore after we're turned, we are dead after all. Magic or whatever, don't know. But the thing about the soul is... you've got no reason to care anymore, once you're turned. You're not--" He paused, pressed his lips together. "Are you getting any of this?"
"Uh, best I can tell, you're saying vampires are like serial killers. Kinda already got that memo."
Spike hung his head as if pained, and held it there, thinking. "Those gypsies that did for Angel, they gave him his soul back as a curse," he finally offered. "You ever wonder why that is, why it would be a curse to him?"
"Uh, I think the answer would be who cares. Didn't change anything. Just made the guy all guilty and sulky and--" Xander stopped. He'd been about to say something like irresistibly attractive to girls who go for that sort of act but that was a little too close to another subject he really didn't want to open.
Spike didn't seem to have noticed his almost-slip. If anything, he looked amused. "Oh, he cares. You bet he does. It's why he mopes all the time, because he knows what it means. It's why that little glitch where it could get taken away stings so much, aside from making him even more miserable. They put that in so he'd never get comfortable with what he is. So his punishment would never end, don't you get that?"
"So he feels bad. So what." That what this is about? Xander wondered. You feeling bad, Spike? Good. You should.
"What do you think happens, when we're dusted, we vampires? Soul's already gone, you know--doesn't hang around. Shuffled off through here to whatever afterlife is waiting for it. Vampires--when we're gone, we're gone." His voice became very quiet. "Soul changes all that."
Xander waited, let the silence spin out until it was clear Spike obviously expected him to have gotten something out of this. He rolled his eyes. "Look--I get that this is a big deal, but can't you put it in a sentence of ten words or less?"
"God, Harris, you--" He cut off, looked upward as if for guidance, and gave Xander another hard stare. "Look," he rasped. "You're obviously thick, and never bothered with church, so I'm gonna make this as plain as I can. Pay attention." He paused again then, as if gathering his nerve. "Suppose you'd staked me, last year. Suppose Buffy'd come and staked me last year, after--" He stopped, lips trembling, as if unable to force the words, then started again, haltingly. "What do you think would have happened to me? Think I'd burn in some special vampire hell?"
A trickle of understanding was starting to form. He wasn't sure he wanted to follow it through to its logical conclusion. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he breathed, an uneasy knot forming in his stomach even as he said it. "I mean, after a century's worth of rape and murder, I kinda figured you--"
"Well, you'd have been wrong," Spike ground out. "Vampires are demons. Evil's exactly what we're supposed to be doing." He laughed then, mirthlessly. "No souls, no rules, Harris. Vampires are like looters in a blackout. We're invisible." He took a breath he didn't need, dropped his head again and made what seemed to be an intense study of his boots. There was another long silence.
"It wasn't about Buffy forgiving me. Getting the soul," Spike muttered quietly. "Well... not all of it. If she was gonna forgive me, she'd do it anyway. Soul was... so she'd know that I... that I understood. Man and monster. Couldn't be one without taking responsibility for the other."
Xander was starting to feel each word in his head like an echoing announcement in a ballpark, painful, like a headache. If she was gonna forgive me, she'd have done it anyway.
Buffy had taken Dawn to Spike's crypt, not a day after he'd bruised her and hurt her and scared her and made her cry. She'd taken her little sister to him for protection.
He remembered wondering even then if she'd already forgiven him. Remembered hating her a little for it, wanting desperately to find Spike and make him pay for doing that to his friend, for doing that to her and somehow fixing it so she'd still forgive him for it...
...and all that long before Spike ever showed up again with a soul.
"Your demon girl knew too, you know. When she turned human again," Spike muttered. "Not like the first time, when it wasn't her fault. She knew. What the price was."
"Knew?" Now he's bringing up Anya. I knew I didn't want to have this conversation. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut?
"Without a soul, nothing you do counts," Spike continued. "Think of it like... like a checkbook, yeah? You take good care of it, manage your money all neat and proper, pay your bills as they come due. Until one night you stagger blind drunk down a dark alley and some frightful fiend whacks you over the head, empties your pockets, and then he's off for a nice lost weekend on your dime. Or lost century, at it were. But you don't care, 'cause you're dead, see?"
The vampire's expression turned serious. "Only it turns out you're not. You wake up, lying in some piss-smelling gutter with a hell of a hangover, and there's the old checkbook sitting right next to you. With a little note on it, says 'Thank you very kindly for the use of your finances. You may expect a visit from the bill collector soonest. Yours sincerely, et bloody cetera.'"
Spike heaved a heavy sigh. "And the worst part of it is, you asked for it."
Understanding was dawning larger now. He wished it wasn't. Your demon girl knew. You may expect a visit from the bill collector. If he could breathe, he'd be having trouble right about now.
"Had to do something," Spike muttered. "Couldn't just... go on, after that. It was either kill her, kill myself, or show her that I could get it, you know? That I understood what she was always going on about, right and wrong. Show her." He sighed. "Big grand gesture. Can't say I really thought it through at the time. Could just as easily have woken up facedown in some seaport six bottles of JD later with "I Love Buffy" tattooed on one arm and "Suck It Bitch" on the other."
It was hitting him now, what Spike meant, hitting him hard, like a brick in the forehead. Your demon girl knew. When she turned human again. Closer than you know with your little joke. Soul like a checkbook. Anya's happy capitalist cash register dance. Visit from the bill collector. Oh. Oh, god. Oh god, oh no, Anya.
He felt like he was choking.
Spike inhaled, sat up a little straighter. His eyes were bleak, but there was pride there too. "But, as it happens, I got the soul. Fought to get it, even. So she'd know I was man enough to pay my debts." He smiled, faintly. "I was dim enough to think that might make me something of a good man, but that's neither here nor there now. Did what I could. Guess that's all any of us do."
Xander had tuned him out long ago. His thoughts were too full of Anya.
Did Anya still have a soul as a demon? Or did it come back, when she became human again? Or... oh god, how would that even matter? She was a human, a human with a soul, at the end. When she died... oh god, Anya. Oh, my girl. My poor girl.
Always doing the stupid thing.
...........
Buffy and Willow traveled down the winding staircase that spiraled down from the Seal of Danzalthar into the mouth of hell. Or a hell, anyway, Willow thought. Her nose crinkled in disgust as a foul wind wafted up from beneath them.
Suddenly, Willow could hear a rush of sound--the clash of weapons, the clamor of combat. The staircase opened up into a vast cavern, whose far reaches vanished into murky darkness. On the rocky ledge where its steps terminated, a pitched battle was raging; twenty or so young women armed with swords and stakes, axes and spears, somehow holding their own against the horde of bestial creatures that came streaming up over the edge of the cliff. Buffy--another Buffy, the one who belonged to this memory--was leading the charge, wielding her compound weapon to devastating effect.
Willow recoiled, shrinking back against the staircase, and the Buffy who had guided her into the pit gave a mocking laugh. "Come on, Will. They can't hurt us now." Buffy tugged at her sleeve, urging her down onto the ledge. "You really shouldn't miss this. The special effects are incredible."
They stood for a minute, silently observing the battle.
At last Willow turned to her guide with a look of puzzlement. "But... But this was the happy ending, wasn't it? An army of empowered Slayers, driving back the Big Bad..."
Buffy sighed. "Yeah, it seemed like a great plan at the time. 'Course, I can't really take all the credit." She frowned, recalling something. "After all, it was The First that planted the idea in my head to begin with."
Willow watched as a ponytailed Slayer sliced off a monster's head, then kicked its disintegrating carcass away. The body slammed into another of the creatures as it came over the ledge, sending it toppling over the edge and into the chasm below.
"Kind of a bad move, then," Willow frowned. "You guys are wiping out its entire army."
Buffy gravely shook her head. "It was never about the vampire army, Will. Or the preacher, or the Harbingers. It wanted me." She took in the battlefield, and for a moment tears glinted in her eyes. "And it ended up getting all of us."
Willow reached over, grabbed Buffy's shoulder, shook it to draw her attention. "But how? How did it happen?!"
Buffy looked back at her, eyes dry once more. "Here it comes. Pay attention now."
Returning her attention to the fray, Willow saw Buffy--the second Buffy, the one commanding this remembered battle--standing at the front of the ledge. "Keep the line together," cried the Buffy that was. "Drive them to the edge! We can't let them do--"
A beast stepped up behind Buffy, and drove a sword through her back. The remembered Buffy gasped, and her attacker drew the sword out again with one savage yank. Blood gouted from the wound, and Buffy tottered, fell forward.
Willow screamed in horror. She began running towards her fallen friend, but the first Buffy--her guide, her companion--stepped in front of her and shoved her roughly aside. "That's exactly how it happens, Will." She waggled a disapproving finger. "You let yourself care, let yourself believe you can win... And look what happens."
As she staggered to her feet, Willow saw the tide of battle turning. More and more of the creatures were streaming over the ledge, and one after another the Slayers fell. A Chinese girl, the one called Chao-ahn, died with a monster's fangs in her neck. Amanda, Dawn's friend, toppled in a bloody heap, her stake falling from her nerveless fingers. Not far away, a remembered Spike stood gesturing helplessly, his burning hands flailing at the gemstone that hung useless from his neck.
The first Buffy sauntered across the ledge, weaving her way between the other combatants, and came to a stop in front of her fallen twin. "Oh no... Ow!" She looked down at the Buffy that was, her face a mask of false concern, and gestured at the bright patch of red that now stained the white fabric of her own blouse. "Mommy, this mortal wound is all... itchy."
The first Buffy--or, Willow suddenly realized, maybe that should be The First Buffy--knelt down beside her dying double, who moaned and twitched in a spreading pool of blood. "You pulled a nice trick," the crouching Buffy smiled. "You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?"
Willow heard a voice, the same one that had whispered to them when Buffy drew her weapon from the stone. Do you wish to live? She saw a flash, an afterimage, of something coiled about the body of her fallen friend--something dark and shapeless, caressing the dying Slayer as her life ebbed away into the dirt. Do you wish to win? Do you accept what I offer?
Buffy, the Buffy that was, pressed her palms into the earth and slowly, painfully, pushed herself up. Dark liquid flowed from her belly as it came away from the ground.
Gathering the last of her strength, Buffy spoke. But as her lips moved, Willow heard something else--a single word, in her friend's voice, that rang in her head like a bell.
The word was Yes.
And then the two were one. A single Buffy sprang to her feet, her eyes shining with an inhuman strength. One of the newborn Slayers, Rona, turned and tossed Buffy's weapon back to her, and she plucked it out of the air with effortless ease. Already, the red stain on her belly was shrinking, evaporating.
Willow looked about her, and saw the other girls fighting with renewed energy. Their eyes were bright, and their lips curled back from their teeth with the exhilaration of bloodshed. The beasts they fought suddenly seemed confused, uncertain, their strength ebbing away as quickly as that of the Slayers grew.
At the back of the ledge, Spike recoiled, staggering back against the staircase. The jewel on his chest suddenly flared to life, a beam of brilliant blue light shooting up into the passage that led up through the seal into the surface world. Then another beam, the color of the sun, blasting down into the vampire's body and out into the vast cavern, turning the cowering creatures into ashes as it began sweeping the Hellmouth clean.
Buffy walked towards Willow, ignoring the battle that raged around her. "Do you understand now?" Her wide eyes drilled into Willow with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Have you said what you wished to say? Seen what you came to see? Heard what you wanted to hear?"
Willow nodded, mute with dismay, her stomach churning as she struggled to regain control of herself. Come on, Willow. Nothing can hurt you in this place. The sense of vertigo intensified. Not unless you believe it can.
Buffy came to a stop, extended her right hand. Its palm was red with blood. "Then take my hand, Willow. Take my hand and join with me."
Willow's hand began to rise, almost of its own accord, to grasp that of her friend. She felt an anticipatory tingle on the tip of her tongue, where she'd tasted Buffy's blood. In her eyes. In her ears.
Tongue. Eye. Ear.
Drink of me, and learn the language of the earth. Open your eyes, and see what is hidden in darkness. Listen, and hear the voice that speaks without tongues...
I am the eye that watches. I am the tongue that tells. I am the ear that listens...
Eye. Tongue. Ear. Hand.
"Oh Buffy. Oh no." It wasn't horror or fear that flooded through her, but grief. Tears ran from Willow's eyes as she backed away, shaking her head, hands clenched into helpless fists.
Buffy stood there, red hand still raised, mouth slowly widening into a gleeful grin. "Oh yes, Willow. Oh yes. I guess you aren't as stupid as you look."
"Buffy, I'm... Oh my God, I'm so sorry. So sorry I couldn't..."
"Don't be sorry." The thing that now wore Buffy's face advanced towards her, eyes shining with joy and triumph. "Stay with us, Will. We're all in here. Everyone you've lost. Even her." Again, it offered its bloody hand. "Just take my hand, and you can dream with us forever."
With a last dreadful effort, Willow closed her eyes and focused her concentration. She felt a rush of wind, then silence...
She heard a rhythmic grunting noise, slow and heavy.
Willow opened her eyes and found herself sitting crosslegged on the floor of her hospital room. Morning light streamed in through the curtained windows, illuminating the bed, the wall, the side table. And Kennedy, who sat slumped against the bed, head tipped back. A tiny stream of drool ran from the corner of her mouth as she snored.
Kennedy came awake slowly, her sleep gradually dissipating as Willow's sobs grew louder. Then she sprang to her feet, stumbled over to Willow's side, held her as tightly as she could. The tears flowed, and whether they were tears of grief, or relief, or both, neither woman could say for sure.
no subject
From the conversation about souls, including the sting of Angel's,
to why Spike got his, to the recreation of the Final Battle for Willow, to brave little Bet and and fierce Lo, this is great. This,
and the previous chapter, read like an action movie.
I'm in total awe.
no subject
So glad hear it pulled together the way we were hoping! These two chapters are the big reveal we'd been building toward since the beginning - the theory that he formulated on, I swear, the same night "Chosen" aired. If you think of this story whenever you view that episode again, our work here is done.
Specific kudos on the action scenes all go to Toys - he pretty much wore himself out doing them - as are the Buffy/Willow dreamwalks. My contributuion was all the universal life, death, and soul stuff, but I can' take full credit for that... my better half's the only reason Spike's confession about why and how he got a soul comes off as even the slightest bit funny.
no subject
no subject
I don't even know when to start.
I hope you've seen "Wayne's World" cause otherwise I'll just look like a freak...
*bows down on ground at your guys' feet chanting "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!"
Just....wow. It's interesting because I'm currently reading Dante for my lit class (which I've probably said a bazillion times by now) and so now when I go to class tomorrow I'm going to be thinking about this and all the things that Spike said in his convo with Xander.
On the battle front, my favorite part was this "Each of you bound to the service of the Red Queen, carrying her marks upon your bodies..."
Wow, the Red Queen. Willow's a major player now. I feel that creepy feeling in the pit of my stomach like when Hamilton/thenewliason told Spike "Welcome to the team"
And the actions sequences were awesome. I could really picture them fighting this giganto mob and totally kicking ass.
Willow/Buffy storyline? I will never watch Chosen the same way again. I LOVE how you worked this all in there and I am completely amazed at it.
The tears flowed, and whether they were tears of grief, or relief, or both, neither woman could say for sure.
Was the perfect ending to this section, because thats how I felt. Like crying. In a good way of course. It was just so emotional, especially with the Xander/Anya questions about her soul.
But in the end, I was left with the overwhelming feeling of "YES. THIS is what our show is all about"
There is still more right?
no subject
Just....wow. It's interesting because I'm currently reading Dante for my lit class (which I've probably said a bazillion times by now) and so now when I go to class tomorrow I'm going to be thinking about this and all the things that Spike said in his convo with Xander.
Hee hee! Glad we could add some spice to your Dante.
Wow, the Red Queen. Willow's a major player now. I feel that creepy feeling in the pit of my stomach like when Hamilton/thenewliason told Spike "Welcome to the team"
The "Red Queen" moniker actually came up in Chapter One, as well. It's always fun paying off on these kinds of things thirteen chapters later...
And the actions sequences were awesome. I could really picture them fighting this giganto mob and totally kicking ass.
Glad you liked 'em! The humongous action setpiece seemed like it would be a healthy counterbalance to our two simultaneous dream sequences. (Originally this part was just going to be about Willow and Buffy, then we added the Spike/Xander stuff to give Xander something to do, and then we got to thinking "Well, what about the girls?" and it all just kinda wrote itself...)
Willow/Buffy storyline? I will never watch Chosen the same way again.
Ah, our insidious master plan succeeds! I swear, when we saw Buffy's ambiguous smile at the end of that episode, I was positive that she was about to blurt out "And now to destroy the world!" and we were gonna get this whole Twin Peaks ending...
There is still more right?
Yep. We can't just leave Xander down there, can we? And there are still a couple of big loose ends waiting to be tied up...
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
Naturally, we have a conspiracy theory about that too, but I decided to cut it from the Buffy/Willow mindwalk for pacing reasons - not to mention that it didn't directly relate to the issues Willow was concerned with, and that the jumbled way we ended up presenting Buffy's memories made her too unreliable a narrator for something that would hinge on minute inspection of key scenes. Listen in for a moment as we plot and scheme...
Toys: So what happens to the good witch's body after Caleb kills her? You don't see it lying on the floor or anything during all the following scenes. Maybe they just don't show you that angle again.
Hook: I'm pretty sure they show you the whole thing while Buffy and Angel are fighting Caleb and making out afterwards. I think the body's gone.
Toys: Or maybe... it was never there in the first place? (Makes mental note to scan through crypt sequence frame by frame at some point.) Hey, does the Guardian ever touch Buffy?
Hook: No, but she does hold the axe.
Toys: (rationaliizing) Which we're assuming was created by The First to begin with. Plus, there's that telekinetic terror bit in "Conversations with Dead People"...
Hook: So The First can move objects? I dunno, that's kind of a stretch. Plus, Caleb touches her when he breaks her neck.
Toys: Caleb? You mean the guy we just saw practising fake-killing The First over and over again? That Caleb?
Hook: Hm.
Mind you, since The First can only take the form of actual dead people, it doesn't actually matter whether the Guardian is live or only memorex - either way, she must have been a real person at some point, so asserting that she's actually The First in disguise wouldn't make any difference to the plot. (Which is another reason this ended up on the cutting-room floor.) Thus, we wrote in some stuff during the last round of vision quests and fairytales that ties into the notion of the Guardians... see the "sisters" and "wise ones" of Chapter Six.
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
When you get done you should make a commentary for the whole thing.
Cause it would be fun.
Well, to me at least
Cause...
I'm a big dork
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
Huh, maybe so. I figured they were just hologramming it, so Caleb could get his disgusting rocks off by pretend-murdering his old victims over and over again. I'd be inclined to rule out the possibility that The First can actually touch stuff, because I'd like to consider what we see on screen as canon, and we do get The First ranting about how much it wants to be able to touch people: "I want to feel. I want to wrap my hands around an innocent neck and feel it crack." Although in our interpretation, it intends to do this by taking control of Buffy and friends, not just becoming solid like Sahjahn or the guest demon from "After Life." Because that pretty much just invites the good guys to lop off your suddenly-tangible head...
Ah, that makes sense. Plus, the Guardian unfortunately blips in and out for so few seconds it's almost like she isn't really there -- "We hid, too. We had to until now. We’re the last surprise." That could have been SO COOL if somehow you were able to turn around and look at the whole series, or at least the last season, and realize hey yeah, this influence actually was there
Uh-huh. But since you can't, it just makes this Ancient Benevolent Order of Guardians look useless and ineffectual. Sigh.
Oh, and here's this totally non-phallic weapon!
You know, last year I was having this very entertaining e-mail exchange with The Hook about how the Slayer is such an intrinsically masculine, solar figure. I mean, here we have all these anarchic, chaotic, moon-worshipping vampires, and they're getting wiped out by the agent of a patriarchal secret society who pierces them with giant dildos and vaporizes them with the rays of the sun. Grrl power indeedy...!
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
You could add to this the observation that when Spike gets to put on the big solar lightshow that he's reclaiming his masculinity although it kills him in the process. I guess that's a fair reduction of Whedonverse feminism....
Belated followup...
In Season 6, I thought they were trying to make a deliberate point of the gender reversals - we have Willow playing a fairly male role in her relationship with Tara (and some obvious parallels between her use of magic to control Tara, and Warren's use of technology to control his ex-girlfriend), Buffy playing the stereotypical macho guy in her relationship with Spike (something which, as you note, began with Riley), and then in the finale the two of them stand there slugging it out like Captain America, boasting about how they're "getting wood" and calling each other bitches in standard misogynist fashion. Meet the new boss, indeed.
Which was all perverse and interesting, and it's a shame they didn't follow it up. Instead, from the very first episode of Season 7, we reverted to this image of women as victims, of girls being chased and butchered by knife-wielding men, and the gender roles abruptly switched back to their classic alignments. Some day I'll have to write up my theory about how this echoed the American national consciousness of that era - the post-September 11, pre-Iraq war sense of victimization, vulnerability, and vengeance... (wonks out)
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
Getting to Anya was the whole point of this scene, really - I mean, yeah, I wanted to have Spike explain what a soul is and digress into why he got his back, but the main driving reason for bringing the topic up was to make Xander think about stuff he typically doesn't like to think about. It always bothered me with both Anya and Spike that they were considered useful but ultimately disposable - there's no real thought given to what happens to them. And it struck me that if Spike, with his 19th century background, would unavoidably have a standard Christian take on what the soul is and what it means, Anya, being even older, might have a pretty good idea too... and I wanted to acknowledge her choice to live and die as a human the way it we never really got on the show. And to show the characters finally thinking about that.
Re: Even mpathetically long comments! only maybe this time I'll code them right!
Probably not the scales - that's part of the judgement process, which is beyond the scope of our theology for the moment - but the separation of the soul? You betcha.
Yeah. I really liked that. Not just 'cause it really redeemed Anya and gave her choice a special quality, but because it showed Xander really thinking about her and not just in a "She died I'm bummed let's go to the Gap" way. And it made his self-quotation all the more knowledgeable, and painful.
Yeah, I loved that final reprise of the "stupid thing" line (all credit for which goes to The Hook). This time, it almost plays as a self-accusation on Xander's part for having dismissed Anya's decision so lightly...
Of Anya
Redemption = Death
I dont' have words for how much that quote annoyed me. If that's what they were going for, why not kill Xander or Giles? Why pick the one person that also comes with Free Added Redemption Accessory to complicate the message? If what he wanted was a simple, sharp shock, he shouldn't have picked a character that makes it seem as if something specific was being said about redemption equalling death, since we already had one example going up in flames in the same ep to reinforce that idea. He may have thought he was presenting a picture of "ooh, it's tragic because you care," how it came off was "this isn't tragic because nobody cares," especially with all the grating joking as a followup. Bleah.
Re: More pathetically long comments!
Wow, Red Queen, that's cool. A little Alice-y even.
I'd also note that, back in Chapter Six, we had another reference to something identified with the color red. Something for the eventual liner notes, I guess...
HA! Nature is red in tooth and claw, indeedy. That's sort of v darkly amusing.
It seemed like a nice reversal to give The First an agent whose philosophy is pretty much the exact opposite of Caleb's. Not to mention that I always wanted to see them follow up that bit in "Lessons" where Willow, the tree-hugging Wicca, realizes that the earth has teeth.
HA! OK, 1st great shout-out to the cat's cradle earlier -- and great Gulliveresque image -- is surgical thread really that tough? I guess so....
I actually had the damndest time trying to research this, and I'm still dreading the moment when somebody pops up with a list of comparative tensile strengths or points out that suture thread actually comes in six-foot spools. But as best I can tell, this is indeed one of the most demanding applications for ultra-strong thread - along with mountaineering gear and fishing line, it's the one they always cite for artificial spider silk - and its strength increases as a function of its thickness. So, uh, maybe it could happen. If not, I guess I'll have to rewrite this part so Bet can defeat Sanguine by playing jump-rope or Tic-Tac-Toe. :-)
also, nice that she used her smarts, not just violence (like Buffy making that mad vamp drink holy water without his knowing it).
Yep. We figured Bet was due for a big character moment, something to show off her unique strengths. The string-tangling motif is also kind of a nod to "Showtime," where Buffy decapitates the Ubervamp with a length of wire - another case in which our erstwhile heroine provides inspiration to the next generation.
Heh. Riot grrl indeed....I'll PAY you if you mention they're DOC MARTENS.
You may yet get your wish. We have to reward our commentators somehow, don't we...?
OK, that's the comic relief bit where you laugh so hard cause you've been nearly tear-stricken right before. Nicely done.
This bit had its origins in a conversation earlier this week where we were trying to nail down Spike's post-"Seeing Red" mental state, and we eventually concluded that it wasn't far from the one where you go out and get "I hate Amy" tattooed on your butt. :-)
Oh man. This is when Willow realizes resurrecting Buffy is like the second worst thing she's ever done to her....
Not that she knew it at the time... but then, that's always kind of been the problem, hasn't it?
AAAGH! ((sourly)) Why do I get the feeling this bit is written by the Mouth of Madness aficionado....
If anything, this is probably an homage to Stephen King's "It" - "We all float down here, down with the deadlights..." But what can we say? We just love that horror stuff!
Hot fucking stuff. So where are Xander and Spike on their way too? How are they going to get the First out of Buffy? (You can get the First out of the girl, but you can't get the girl....) What's she going to do with Dawn? What's happening with the apocalypses outside?
Hm. I think all but one of these questions will be addressed in our next burst of activity (one chapter, two chapters - depends how long it runs when we sit down to write it). But first, enjoy the suspense, gwa ha ha!
Hunh, I just remembered -- what about those Guardians? Are you mainly ignoring them (wouldn't blame you, as they got what, less than five minutes of screen time) or are they going to show up?
Funny you should ask. Continued in separate message...
Don't you like how I keep interrupting? :)
Now that you say that, I'm immediately picturing Tolkiens Dead Marshes "All Dead. All Rotten. Elves and Men and Orcses." "Don't follow the lights or little hobbits go down to light little candles of their own." It must have been the "deadlights" that made me thought of it.
Welcome to my brain ;)
Re: Don't you like how I keep interrupting? :)
Re: Don't you like how I keep interrupting? :)
That Complicated Spike
Success! Yes, that was exactly the idea. The impression we were trying to impart was a sort of sheer pissed-offedness channeled through actual remorse, something like "I'll show her I can be as big as martyr as she can about this whole feeling-bad thing, that high-riding bitch." The regret was real, I believe, as was the sincere attempt at apology, but there was also an element of one-upmanship to the histronic Spike of "Lessons" and "Beneath You" - he really rubs her face in her treatment of him, a kind of "see what you made me do?" It's a lot to sum up, but we gave it a stab.
Not to say that I believe that it wasn't a fake-out as presented, but that's our after-the-fact fanwank.
Re: That Complicated Spike
The outline of the soul argument was me; the hubby helped me fine-tune some dialogue (which means, we went out for pizza and beer, laughed over the "I hate Amy" tattoo idea, and I came back and wrote the line).
And no, he doesn't have any tattoos, but a friend of mine actually has one that says "Suck It Bitch." For real. Girls usually laugh when they see it, or go out with him, or both. You'd have to meet him to know why.
Re: That Complicated Spike
That would be a big no. But he's bi, and this is San Francisco, so it's a pretty multilayered message. ; )
Re: More pathetically long comments!
Oh, you shoulda seen us last night, compulsively hitting the Reload button on our browsers. "Ooh ooh, comments! Look, there's another one!" (hides face in shame)
Ha, yes! Nature is a Bitch! (What is that Swimming to Cambodia quote...."If you play in her, the sea is a lovely lady....but you play with her, and she's a bitch.")
Aww, poor Spalding...
Ha, I so totally didn't even twig on that. Goes back to Ariadne and the labyrinth too.
Uh, yeah. I was, uh, going to mention that too. Gee, that would make Sanguine the minotaur, wouldn't it? Neat. Again with the bull/buffalo motif, too.
What I really liked was it did sort of finally fit in with that "Bitch is gonna see a change" moment
Exactly. We figured that, if we were going to try and reconstruct Spike's state of mind when he got his soul back, we had to start from that line.
The road to hell is paved with Willow's good intentions....at this point it's really hard to think of any spell she's done that hasn't had really adverse effects for somebody. She needs time with a coven.
I liked the earlier part where we had her 'fessing up that she doesn't know much about Egyptian mythology. I almost expected someone to object to that, but to me it seems in character that Willow would treat the invocation of Osiris as something like a recipe ingredient - a tool that you don't have to understand in order to use it. Like Buffy, I see her as having more power than wisdom, treating knowledge as a means rather than an end. In general, the Scoobies never seemed to have much interest in pure research; whenever they faced a threat, they'd pull up just as much information as they needed to deal with it, and then forget about it and move on...
Yes, I am sure those of you WHOSE BRAINS DO NOT DECIDE TO REPLAY HORROR MOVIES AS NIGHTMARES STARRING YOU AS THE PROTAGONIST do. Those of us whose brains are a little, er, fanciful try to stay away from the stuff.
Until it starts creeping into your fanfic consumption, gweh heh heh...
(And I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Clive Barker collaborated with Disney....although....hearing some of the things you do about Disney....)
Or maybe Barker's just going soft. Didn't he just do a couple of children's books?
Re: More pathetically long comments!
RE: the soul stuff. That's just... biological. Chemistry. Plenty of killers out there with souls and no conscience... Those gypsies that did for Angel, they gave him his soul back as a curse... Man and monster. Couldn't be one without taking responsibility for the other.
I'm hoping this is coming through the way I intended, as both addressing the thing that's always bugged me, about how the show never addressed the phenomenon of souled human killers (even though they'd set up a vehicle for it in Season 6, with the Trio, which they then chose to ignore, grumble, grouch), and the paradox of Angel's soul curse and the implications inherent in Spike willingly choosing to get one. Obviously Spike had something of a conscience before getting souled, so that explanation never worked for me... plus there was the thing with the gypsy loophole that needed covering... so our take on the soul is that it has another meaning outside personal conscience, a sort of universal accounts ledger. This fits in with most religions' view of what the soul is (that the show typically avoided), but to my mind adds whole other layers to the plight of all souled characters, including human ones like Willow or Giles who are carrying the guilt of murders. It makes the soul a much more potent quantity than just asserting that it's something like a conscience.
Weighty Soul Issues
That's exactly it - I wanted to set up Angel's curse as being a terrible thing whether he felt bad about it or not... this way the loophole makes sense, too. Should he become settled in, happy with himself, his soul gets whisked off to whatever hell is waiting for it - not like we've ever established where the souls go, so that was open to interpretation. If they'd killed him as a demon he would have gotten off scot-free.
And again, not to overemphasize this, but I really wanted to establish that Spike, in getting the soul, was aware that he was courting hell. I think given all the overtly Christian imagery in "Beneath You," we're safe in aserting this. As big grand gestures go, it's pretty big, and there's the additional element of self-flagellation there, so... anyway, made sense to me.
What with all the "Spike with a chip is just like putting a serial killer in jail" rhetoric that was flying around S4, I was a bit amused that no one ever put forward his story as a pretty good argument for rehabilitation through incarceration
I keep thinking the same thing about Harmony on this season's AtS.
Re: Weighty Soul Issues
Uhh... yeah. Universalism channeled through Star Trek. No thanks. Not when there's plenty of fully serviceable world mythology and religious theory on what a soul is and where it goes... and where's she getting this crap? Resouling for Dummies? Zen and the Art of Ethereal Spellcasting? Riiiight.
Aww, Mercedes McNabb just knocks me out
Me too. I caught a rerun the other day of that S5 ep where she kidnaps Dawn, and it's so funny! She has this terrific whine about running a gang and how the minions all expect her "to make the hard decisions. And it's hard!" Love Harmony. Sigh. BTW, for more good Mercedes, she also plays this bratty girl who's Wednesday's nemesis at the summer camp in Addams Family 2. It's a riot.
Re: More pathetically long comments!
The thing about that which never really made sense was the part where Angel's soul goes away again when he gets happy... how is that a punishment? But if his soul, having been restored, is now responsible for all the rotten stuff he did as Angelus, then the fact that it's yanked off to hell the moment he truly starts to think he can be forgiven (which seems as good a definition of "perfect happiness" as any) is just an extra twist of the screw.
But, say, a serial killer, who still has a soul, would be held responsible for what he did even though he might not have a conscience and not give a damn (no pun intended) about it.
Seems fair. A textbook sociopath, incapable of empathy and craving power over others, can still exert control over his impulses if he's worried about getting caught, whether by human or divine justice. The fact he doesn't actually care about other people just means he has to work a little harder, like Harmony. I guess the sociopath is kind of like a living, breathing caricature of an atheist - somebody without an inherent sense of right and wrong, who can only be kept in line by abject fear of damnation...
Re: More pathetically long comments!