Live The Question
Feb. 17th, 2007 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairings: Various (None this chapter)
Rating: NC-17 overall (PG this chapter)
Warnings: None
A/N: This is Willow's scene. It should answer a few questions, maybe raise a few more. The quote in this scene is from "The Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll. As always, feedback is welcome! Heck, it's pleaded for :)
Willow stepped out into the courtyard, inhaling the fresh, green scents of rainwater and wet earth. She smiled slightly at the clean brightness of the world. Always seemed to rain after an apocalypse and deep in her bones, she understood this. When the gouges go that deep, a thorough wash and rinse was necessary. Mothers always know best, she thought happily.
She walked into the center of the courtyard, trailing her fingers around the stone fountain. The water rippled a bit, and her reflection quivered, gathering bits of green and blue, shifting and changing. Willow stared, transfixed by the cacophony of images dancing through the silvery liquid. Shaking her head, she moved on as only a Sunnydale native could when confronted with the impossible.
She removed several crystals from her pocket, placing them in circle around her. Amethyst to cleanse, amber for balance, malachite for calm, and lapis lazuli for clarity, four stones at the four corners. Willow sat down in the center and began to focus her mind. She sent a quick prayer of thanks to the deities who had offered her their help in the battle, as the coven had taught her. The aid of gods and goddesses was a gift to be cherished, and any perceived churlishness or ingratitude could have disastrous consequences. As her soft words of appreciation winged their way through the night, a rolling warmth settled around Willow, loosening the tension in her shoulders and slowing her breathing.
She swayed slightly, and sparks danced around her head. Fragments, spasms, blue eyes, brown eyes, words words words…strangers and friends speaking of things she couldn’t understand in voices she couldn’t hear. An arc of energy passed from crystal to crystal, forming a pyramid over Willow’s head. Her hair danced on a sudden breeze and her eyelids fluttered, opening suddenly. Unseeing, Willow raised a finger tentatively, allowing the energy to flow through her.
The images came faster now, sparking just behind her eyes. They spun her around, her motionless body whirling in the haze of her own mind. As she fell sideways, overcome by the force, the energy sputtered and died. A short stocky man, watching in the shadows, shook his head regretfully and wandered away. It was time, and he hoped that his newest project was prepared for a bit of chaos.
Willow fell and fell, giddy with the rush of speed. Like Alice, she giggled. Down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. ‘Twas brillig and the slithey toves…did gyle and gimble in the wabe. Jabberwock, jabber, blabber, babble, yep, still me. Have to check sometimes. When you’re down the rabbit hole.
She landed with a quiet whump onto a plump comfortable bed. The sun shone bright and warm, and the scents were familiar. A warm hand reached out, pushing the hair from her face. I know that hand, Willow thought dimly. My hand, a part of me…
“You’re early,” Tara whispered. “But, it’s okay. I missed you, my Willow tree.”
“Tara? Baby? Is that…is it really you?” Willow’s voice shook, and the words came out raspy and faint.
“Echoes, Willow,’ Tara answered, lips descending to cover her lover’s trembling mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Willow murmured against the very real, very firm, very welcome pressure.
“I know. Echoes, shadows, and they only last forever. Forever and never, you see? It’s as real as echoes and shadows,” Tara said.
“I missed you. So much, “ Willow confessed. “I’m not strong.”
“You will be, “ Tara reassured, tracing the curve of Willow’s chin. “You will be. You just have to have faith. Faith, Willow, will see you through the dark times. Remember that. Remember faith.”
“Faith, “ Willow repeated dumbly. “ I have to have faith.”
“The roots go deep, Willow. There’s a hole in the world and the roots go all the way down. I have to go soon,” Tara counseled, holding Willow in her arms and lavishing her with insubstantial kisses.
“Roots and faith,” Willow promised. “I’ll remember. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong.”
“I know. Ssh, Willow. Rest with me. You’ll find what you need. The tools and the strength will be there. Will you remember, “ Tara asked quietly.
“I’ll remember. I promise. Don’t leave,” Willow pleaded.
“Echoes,” Tara smiled sadly. “Echoes and shadows. Now, sleep.”
Willow slept, cushioned and cradled by the strength of love. The sun was warm, the bed was soft, and if she felt bereft of faith, she refused to notice. This was home, and even an echo of home was better than nothing.
That was the first thing he saw when he walked into the courtyard. Willow, lying still and silent in the middle of a circle. He sighed, and lifted the girl’s slight figure into his arms. Carrying her into the hotel, he saw Angel running pell-mell down the wide stairs. Stopping, he raised an eyebrow and stared at the half-dressed, clearly frightened vampire.
“Angel,” he called softly and almost laughed as the vampire froze, shock and surprise racing across his face.
“Oz, what…when…Willow,” Angel sputtered.
“Whistler. Just got in. Yes,” Oz answered the questions in order.
“Whistler,” Angel ground out, irritation replacing shock.
Oz just nodded, and looked down at Willow. Looking back at Angel, he shrugged and moved to lay her on one of the lobby couches. As soon as he had her settled, he sat next to her.
“So, when did Willow start streaking her hair,” he asked lazily.
“Streaking her hair? I don’t know. I don’t keep up, “ Angel answered, pacing.
“Ah. Never figured her for blue, “ Oz replied softly, stroking the blue patches that now interspersed the red.
“Me eith…blue? Did you say blue, “ Angel asked, coming to a standstill and taking a good look at Willow.
“It’s not a bad look. Just different.”
“SPIKE!” The shout reverberated through the hotel and the pounding of feet that followed gave Oz the impression that Angel had adopted a herd of elephants.
“Peaches, “ Spike skidded to a stop in the middle of the lobby. “This better be good. Was in the middle of…Oz?”
“Nope,” Oz answered. “I’d remember if you were in my middle. I keep a close eye on those sorts of things.”
“Spike, “ Angel whispered, creeping slowly towards the sleeping figure on Oz’s lap. “Look.”
Spike turned his head, and grinned. “Witch and Wolf-boy, together again? This is what you dragged me outta bed for? Gotta say, Angel, you need to get out more.”
“No, Spike. LOOK!” Angel lifted a strand of blue hair from Willow’s head.
“Bloody Hell! No, not again. Not gonna happen again, “ Spike swore.
“Wow. Hair color clearly a group issue, “ Oz stated. “Want to fill me in?”
The two vampires turned cold eyed gazes on Oz and replied in unison, “Illyria.”
Rating: NC-17 overall (PG this chapter)
Warnings: None
A/N: This is Willow's scene. It should answer a few questions, maybe raise a few more. The quote in this scene is from "The Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll. As always, feedback is welcome! Heck, it's pleaded for :)
Willow stepped out into the courtyard, inhaling the fresh, green scents of rainwater and wet earth. She smiled slightly at the clean brightness of the world. Always seemed to rain after an apocalypse and deep in her bones, she understood this. When the gouges go that deep, a thorough wash and rinse was necessary. Mothers always know best, she thought happily.
She walked into the center of the courtyard, trailing her fingers around the stone fountain. The water rippled a bit, and her reflection quivered, gathering bits of green and blue, shifting and changing. Willow stared, transfixed by the cacophony of images dancing through the silvery liquid. Shaking her head, she moved on as only a Sunnydale native could when confronted with the impossible.
She removed several crystals from her pocket, placing them in circle around her. Amethyst to cleanse, amber for balance, malachite for calm, and lapis lazuli for clarity, four stones at the four corners. Willow sat down in the center and began to focus her mind. She sent a quick prayer of thanks to the deities who had offered her their help in the battle, as the coven had taught her. The aid of gods and goddesses was a gift to be cherished, and any perceived churlishness or ingratitude could have disastrous consequences. As her soft words of appreciation winged their way through the night, a rolling warmth settled around Willow, loosening the tension in her shoulders and slowing her breathing.
She swayed slightly, and sparks danced around her head. Fragments, spasms, blue eyes, brown eyes, words words words…strangers and friends speaking of things she couldn’t understand in voices she couldn’t hear. An arc of energy passed from crystal to crystal, forming a pyramid over Willow’s head. Her hair danced on a sudden breeze and her eyelids fluttered, opening suddenly. Unseeing, Willow raised a finger tentatively, allowing the energy to flow through her.
The images came faster now, sparking just behind her eyes. They spun her around, her motionless body whirling in the haze of her own mind. As she fell sideways, overcome by the force, the energy sputtered and died. A short stocky man, watching in the shadows, shook his head regretfully and wandered away. It was time, and he hoped that his newest project was prepared for a bit of chaos.
Willow fell and fell, giddy with the rush of speed. Like Alice, she giggled. Down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. ‘Twas brillig and the slithey toves…did gyle and gimble in the wabe. Jabberwock, jabber, blabber, babble, yep, still me. Have to check sometimes. When you’re down the rabbit hole.
She landed with a quiet whump onto a plump comfortable bed. The sun shone bright and warm, and the scents were familiar. A warm hand reached out, pushing the hair from her face. I know that hand, Willow thought dimly. My hand, a part of me…
“You’re early,” Tara whispered. “But, it’s okay. I missed you, my Willow tree.”
“Tara? Baby? Is that…is it really you?” Willow’s voice shook, and the words came out raspy and faint.
“Echoes, Willow,’ Tara answered, lips descending to cover her lover’s trembling mouth.
“I don’t understand,” Willow murmured against the very real, very firm, very welcome pressure.
“I know. Echoes, shadows, and they only last forever. Forever and never, you see? It’s as real as echoes and shadows,” Tara said.
“I missed you. So much, “ Willow confessed. “I’m not strong.”
“You will be, “ Tara reassured, tracing the curve of Willow’s chin. “You will be. You just have to have faith. Faith, Willow, will see you through the dark times. Remember that. Remember faith.”
“Faith, “ Willow repeated dumbly. “ I have to have faith.”
“The roots go deep, Willow. There’s a hole in the world and the roots go all the way down. I have to go soon,” Tara counseled, holding Willow in her arms and lavishing her with insubstantial kisses.
“Roots and faith,” Willow promised. “I’ll remember. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong.”
“I know. Ssh, Willow. Rest with me. You’ll find what you need. The tools and the strength will be there. Will you remember, “ Tara asked quietly.
“I’ll remember. I promise. Don’t leave,” Willow pleaded.
“Echoes,” Tara smiled sadly. “Echoes and shadows. Now, sleep.”
Willow slept, cushioned and cradled by the strength of love. The sun was warm, the bed was soft, and if she felt bereft of faith, she refused to notice. This was home, and even an echo of home was better than nothing.
That was the first thing he saw when he walked into the courtyard. Willow, lying still and silent in the middle of a circle. He sighed, and lifted the girl’s slight figure into his arms. Carrying her into the hotel, he saw Angel running pell-mell down the wide stairs. Stopping, he raised an eyebrow and stared at the half-dressed, clearly frightened vampire.
“Angel,” he called softly and almost laughed as the vampire froze, shock and surprise racing across his face.
“Oz, what…when…Willow,” Angel sputtered.
“Whistler. Just got in. Yes,” Oz answered the questions in order.
“Whistler,” Angel ground out, irritation replacing shock.
Oz just nodded, and looked down at Willow. Looking back at Angel, he shrugged and moved to lay her on one of the lobby couches. As soon as he had her settled, he sat next to her.
“So, when did Willow start streaking her hair,” he asked lazily.
“Streaking her hair? I don’t know. I don’t keep up, “ Angel answered, pacing.
“Ah. Never figured her for blue, “ Oz replied softly, stroking the blue patches that now interspersed the red.
“Me eith…blue? Did you say blue, “ Angel asked, coming to a standstill and taking a good look at Willow.
“It’s not a bad look. Just different.”
“SPIKE!” The shout reverberated through the hotel and the pounding of feet that followed gave Oz the impression that Angel had adopted a herd of elephants.
“Peaches, “ Spike skidded to a stop in the middle of the lobby. “This better be good. Was in the middle of…Oz?”
“Nope,” Oz answered. “I’d remember if you were in my middle. I keep a close eye on those sorts of things.”
“Spike, “ Angel whispered, creeping slowly towards the sleeping figure on Oz’s lap. “Look.”
Spike turned his head, and grinned. “Witch and Wolf-boy, together again? This is what you dragged me outta bed for? Gotta say, Angel, you need to get out more.”
“No, Spike. LOOK!” Angel lifted a strand of blue hair from Willow’s head.
“Bloody Hell! No, not again. Not gonna happen again, “ Spike swore.
“Wow. Hair color clearly a group issue, “ Oz stated. “Want to fill me in?”
The two vampires turned cold eyed gazes on Oz and replied in unison, “Illyria.”
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no subject
on 2007-02-18 04:13 am (UTC)