sevendeadlyfun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2007-06-11 11:40 pm
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2007-06-11 11:40 pm
Entry tags:
Fic For Banner: Half The Battle
Character: Angel
Rating: Eh...R, maybe? A few naughty words, but mostly just adult themes.
A/N: Written forselene2 's Angel/Angelus Banner. Partially inspired by Taliesin's "The Battle of Goddeu", because if you're going to steal and then shamelessly pervert, always do it from the best. This takes place in between AtS S4/S5, after Angel takes command of Wolfram&Hart but before he goes to Sunnydale with the amulet.
Cross posted toindigo_crypt
Half The Battle
“Who are you?”
Angel whirled around, preternatural eyes searching the deep gloom of his new office. No matter where he looked, he saw nothing except empty lushness. Not that the lack of any visible intruder meant much. This wasn’t his first time on the “talking to dead people” merry-go-round.
“Of course,” he groused quietly. “Take over an evil law firm and you didn’t think there’d be voices? Jesus, I guess I should be grateful they aren’t trying to push me onto a stake.”
“Who are you?” The sibilant voice was louder now, more insistent.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the welcome,” Angel said to the voice. “But, seriously? I’m kinda busy right now. So, if you could get the hell out and never bother me again, that would be great.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t know? And here I thought I was famous,” Angel mocked.
“WHO are you,” the voice returned, commanding, familiar.
“Angel, former mass murder, current Champion for the Powers that Be, and possibly the greatest idiot of all time since I’m now the CEO of this hellhole,” Angel sighed. “And you are?”
“Who are YOU?”
“You are a broken record,” Angel mused. “I’ve heard about this. Echoes of spirits, performing the same action over and over mindlessly. I miss records, you know? Phonographs were much simpler than these new sound systems with all their buttons and wires. Granted the choice of music was limited but still…”
“WHO ARE YOU,” the voice cut in harshly.
Angel felt the air around him thicken, the weight of it a tangible thing that pressed down on him. He growled, his demon’s face pushing forward. After his experience with The First Evil, he had zero patience for possibly malign entities fucking with him.
“Who am I? I am the last vampire on the planet you want to piss off,” he snarled. “ I am Angelus, Childe of Darla, Grandchilde of Nast, Scourge of Europe and Master of the Order of Aurelius. That’s who I am.”
“Who are you?” The weight eased and became a faint caress, the voice now a forlorn whisper.
“Fuck if I know.” Angel threw up his hands in frustration. “The moron who’s having a conversation with an invisible possibly evil representative of my own delusions?”
“Who are you?” The voice was weak now, raspy and hoarse.
“I am a killer,” Angel began, haltingly. “I am a priest and a penitent, bastard son of a bastard father.”
“Who are you?”
“I am compassion, fear, sin and joy. Loved by a good woman, corrupter of a good man. I have drunk my fill of the blood of innocents, and shed my blood to save a single soul. I sat at the right hand of the Devil. I gave life to destruction, and stole to protect that destruction. I am a man and a monster in equal measure,” Angel whispered.
“Who are you?” The voice warmed now, urging him on.
“I am the boy who died in an alleyway, cocksure and headstrong. I am the beast who rampaged across continents, perverting everything in his path. My hands are strong enough to destroy a god, but too weak to hold onto what I love. I have known depravity and bliss in a single blinding moment. I am,” Angel paused, and it seemed that everything paused with him, waiting for his answer.
“I am a father to salvation and damnation, lover of a whore and a saint, leader of psychotics and heroes. My heart quickens in a dead body, a soul-fucked demon living inside the bowels of evil in order to destroy it. That’s who I am,” Angel concluded.
He turned back to the window, and smiled. He had no idea who or what the voice was, but it had done him a favor. His personal Socrates had given him himself and all the mysteries of the gods and of the universe. Probably he wouldn’t be able to hold on it, but that didn’t matter. Shining moments of clarity were like moments of perfect happiness, rare and dangerous. Angel luxuriated in having found them both at least once.
Rating: Eh...R, maybe? A few naughty words, but mostly just adult themes.
A/N: Written for
selene2 's Angel/Angelus Banner. Partially inspired by Taliesin's "The Battle of Goddeu", because if you're going to steal and then shamelessly pervert, always do it from the best. This takes place in between AtS S4/S5, after Angel takes command of Wolfram&Hart but before he goes to Sunnydale with the amulet.Cross posted to
indigo_crypt Half The Battle
“Who are you?”
Angel whirled around, preternatural eyes searching the deep gloom of his new office. No matter where he looked, he saw nothing except empty lushness. Not that the lack of any visible intruder meant much. This wasn’t his first time on the “talking to dead people” merry-go-round.
“Of course,” he groused quietly. “Take over an evil law firm and you didn’t think there’d be voices? Jesus, I guess I should be grateful they aren’t trying to push me onto a stake.”
“Who are you?” The sibilant voice was louder now, more insistent.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the welcome,” Angel said to the voice. “But, seriously? I’m kinda busy right now. So, if you could get the hell out and never bother me again, that would be great.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t know? And here I thought I was famous,” Angel mocked.
“WHO are you,” the voice returned, commanding, familiar.
“Angel, former mass murder, current Champion for the Powers that Be, and possibly the greatest idiot of all time since I’m now the CEO of this hellhole,” Angel sighed. “And you are?”
“Who are YOU?”
“You are a broken record,” Angel mused. “I’ve heard about this. Echoes of spirits, performing the same action over and over mindlessly. I miss records, you know? Phonographs were much simpler than these new sound systems with all their buttons and wires. Granted the choice of music was limited but still…”
“WHO ARE YOU,” the voice cut in harshly.
Angel felt the air around him thicken, the weight of it a tangible thing that pressed down on him. He growled, his demon’s face pushing forward. After his experience with The First Evil, he had zero patience for possibly malign entities fucking with him.
“Who am I? I am the last vampire on the planet you want to piss off,” he snarled. “ I am Angelus, Childe of Darla, Grandchilde of Nast, Scourge of Europe and Master of the Order of Aurelius. That’s who I am.”
“Who are you?” The weight eased and became a faint caress, the voice now a forlorn whisper.
“Fuck if I know.” Angel threw up his hands in frustration. “The moron who’s having a conversation with an invisible possibly evil representative of my own delusions?”
“Who are you?” The voice was weak now, raspy and hoarse.
“I am a killer,” Angel began, haltingly. “I am a priest and a penitent, bastard son of a bastard father.”
“Who are you?”
“I am compassion, fear, sin and joy. Loved by a good woman, corrupter of a good man. I have drunk my fill of the blood of innocents, and shed my blood to save a single soul. I sat at the right hand of the Devil. I gave life to destruction, and stole to protect that destruction. I am a man and a monster in equal measure,” Angel whispered.
“Who are you?” The voice warmed now, urging him on.
“I am the boy who died in an alleyway, cocksure and headstrong. I am the beast who rampaged across continents, perverting everything in his path. My hands are strong enough to destroy a god, but too weak to hold onto what I love. I have known depravity and bliss in a single blinding moment. I am,” Angel paused, and it seemed that everything paused with him, waiting for his answer.
“I am a father to salvation and damnation, lover of a whore and a saint, leader of psychotics and heroes. My heart quickens in a dead body, a soul-fucked demon living inside the bowels of evil in order to destroy it. That’s who I am,” Angel concluded.
He turned back to the window, and smiled. He had no idea who or what the voice was, but it had done him a favor. His personal Socrates had given him himself and all the mysteries of the gods and of the universe. Probably he wouldn’t be able to hold on it, but that didn’t matter. Shining moments of clarity were like moments of perfect happiness, rare and dangerous. Angel luxuriated in having found them both at least once.