FIC: Divided. Buffy, Warren, Wishverse
Oct. 28th, 2004 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
emonyOkay, so, this is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
niannah's fault, as most things are. She wanted Buffy/Warren set in the Wishverse. I'm not sure quite what this is, but it's definitely set in the Wishverse. That much I can say with certainty. I don't know if it's any good, or even if it makes sense, as it was mostly just an exercise in 'conscious stream of thought' writing. But anyway, here it is. Feel free to point out inaccuracies or errors or typos, etc. But be nice ;)
Oh, and it's Wishverse, so it's not all fluffy puppies and kittens and singing Kumbayah around the campfire.
"I don't play well with others."
She glances around the room, only half-listening as the man, the Watcher, haltingly explains where the Master's lair is. It's fuzzy and has lots of furniture, the way she imagines a family home might look once the kids had moved out and the folks had gotten old.
Buffy hasn't had a home for some time, not like that. She lives alone in a dirty little apartment in Cleveland. The manager is too scared to ask her for rent, but she thinks she'd die an early death from the roaches and the rats and the asbestos if she wasn't already slated for an early death from vamps, so she doesn't feel bad about stiffing the guy.
There was a home once, her own family's, before her father left and her mother was killed by vamps, but she doesn't remember it that well. A vague sense maybe – art work and throw cushions and lots of shouting and crying. It's not a good memory. She pushes it away.
The Watcher looks up at her. "Are, are you sure?" he says, and his stupid accent annoys her. It's all wrong here, in this horrible dark place. He's wrong, too clean, too hopeful, like the one place the darkness hasn't reached yet. But it will. Buffy knows, she's seen it before. The darkness gets everyone in the end. It rips and tears and bites at you until you can't take it anymore, and then it sends in one of its minions – usually a vamp, but she's fought so many demons she doesn't even think of herself as a ‘vampire' slayer anymore, just a Slayer. And then? Then you're dead.
She glares at the Watcher, daring him to continue his question. His hope feels dirty to her, corrupting, and she does what she can to crush him down, keep him away, protect herself. As she's always done.
"I mean, we aren't much, but we have a van, and supplies, weapons. You might need some backup, and .."
Buffy pushes up off the wall and the sudden movement shocks the man into silence. "I'm sure. I work alone."
She feels the bite of darkness in her chest and turns away, walking out of the Watcher's home and into the cold night.
‘If this is the one,' she thinks quietly, not to anyone in particular because she gave up believing in anything at all, never mind God, long ago. ‘If this is it, let the next girl be stronger.'
She lies to herself, and pretends she means physically.
*
In the seconds before her neck snaps, as the Master's hand rests around her throat and she knows there's no hope, in the few seconds before she gives up and lets it happen – and she does give up – Buffy thinks of another home she once knew.
It hadn't been much. Cheap curtains, chintz and lace and lots of floral patterns. Little china dogs sitting on every surface, and the smell of damp and dust and dying flowers. She remembers every scent, every sight, and every moment she ever spent there, few though they are, and for those few violent, painful seconds between imminence and death, she feels what she thinks peace might be like.
She wonders if this is what he felt when he died, a vampire's dirty fangs pressed deep into his neck as he fought to get to her, to help her, to save her. She didn't need help, she never had, but she felt something, something she could no longer name, when she thought about the way he'd tried to give it anyway.
It had been an accident really. He wasn't the kind of guy she'd usually hang around with, and not just because she didn't do the ‘friends' thing. She'd quit school at 15, not long after coming to Cleveland, and although she told him she'd seen him in class, she had been lying. She'd been faced, once again, with what was apparently her inescapable destiny. To fight and to die, and along with that to lose everyone she'd ever cared about.
Her father was first, still alive maybe, she isn't sure, but unable to cope with his daughter's seething fury at the stones fate had cast her. Her parents told her the divorce was because of them, but Buffy knew, she knew the truth. Of course it was her. A Slayer in the family, who could survive that kind of strain?
Not father, and not mother either. Joyce had tried, done her best, but her best wasn't good enough. She'd done everything the parenting books had told her to do to rein in an errant teen, but when Buffy had screamed, cried, thrown a lamp and told her mother the truth, Joyce couldn't take it. Buffy had left the next morning, the few personal items she couldn't bear to leave behind stuffed into a bag with her weapons and a few clothes, and a fury that reared its head every time she staked a vamp seething behind her eyes. Even after Joyce's death, at the hands of some low-level vampire, Buffy could never find a way to forgive her for not understanding.
And then there was Warren.
They had been at school together, of that she was sure, but she'd been at school so infrequently, she didn't recall seeing him there even once. Her useless Watcher had tried to encourage her to continue the charade of being a normal girl, but the strain had been too much for Buffy to cope with, and after her mother kicked her out, she'd given up even trying. She had a job to do, and no one else on earth could do it. And it wasn't like she was going to need school – early death, that was her destiny. In her darker moments, sitting alone in her apartment all day, polishing weapons and sharpening blades, she'd longed for it.
One night, no different from any other, she'd staked a vamp as he attacked a man in an alley just off the main street. She did it a lot, right in front of the victims. Her useless Watcher had been horrified at first, quoting at her about secrecy and the great tradition, but Buffy knew it didn't matter. None of it did. They were scared and grateful and they ran off home to tell their friends and family that a girl from one of those gangs, you know, had saved them from a crazy mugger. Or whatever other stories they told themselves to help them sleep at night.
This one had been different. He'd stood, stared, watched as she staked the vamp, followed the dust with his eyes, and then just stared at her, open mouthed.
Buffy stared back, daring him to ask.
"That was so cool," he said eventually, pulling one arm up across his chest to run it up and down the other. "I mean, woah, so cool. Like .. wow."
Buffy stared back for another second, not quite sure how to respond to sure bare enthusiasm for something she'd done so many times now it was entirely commonplace. Then she shook her head, turned, and walked back out onto the main street.
She pushed it out of her mind and started scanning the streets again, straining to sense the vampires nearby. The footsteps behind her, running just enough to beat her steady stride, set her nerves on edge and she waited to see if the runner would go past her or if he was spoiling for a very public fight. Whatever. She was good for it.
They came to a sudden halt behind her, and as the runner caught his breathe she felt the puff of expelled air on the back of neck, making her shiver.
"So, uh, what was that thing? Was it a vampire? It so looked like a vampire. Not one of those lame-ass Anne Rice ones, I mean, like a proper one from .."
Buffy turned and glared up at the man she'd just saved. Less a man and more a boy, around her own age. Dark hair and oversized clothes, his hands twitched nervously as he ran through a list of vampires films Buffy had never heard of.
"..so the way I figure it, you must be some kind of superhero or something."
Buffy blinked. "Go away," she said, as bluntly as she could, before turning and walking away.
A few seconds of blissful silence followed before Buffy heard footsteps behind her again, catching up to her and hovering just over her right shoulder.
"You can't just, I mean, this is a big deal!" he said, confused and maybe slightly annoying. Buffy scowled. How dare he be annoyed with her. She was the one being followed.
She stopped dead and turned so fast he bumped into her, immediately catching himself, dropping his eyes to the sidewalk, and backing away.
"Maybe for you," she said, sharply. "I do this every day, and you know what? If I wanted a puppy to follow me around, I'd go lift a pet store, okay? Go home."
She turned and started off again, and she wished she could've been surprised by it, but she was not, when she heard him following her again.
This time she let him. She walked and walked all night long, and he followed, sometimes silent, sometimes talking, always just a step or two behind. Out of hitting range, Buffy thought, although she wasn't sure whether that was the way a normal person would think when judging their interactions with others.
As the sun began to rise, Buffy started to head home, crossing the park but stopping halfway to lean back against a bench and glare at the man who'd followed her all night.
He seemed surprised to see her face again, and if it had happened to her a few years earlier, she would have smiled. But she never smiled, not anymore.
"You know stalking's a felony," she said, although she couldn't find as much anger as she would have liked.
He nodded. "I'm Warren," he said, holding out a hand, then withdrawing it and wiping it on his pants before offering it again.
Buffy looked down at it as it were something distasteful and didn't shake. "Buffy."
Warren nodded. "Okay. So, now we're not strangers."
Buffy continued to watch him without emotion. "I never said we were strangers," she said, after a few seconds. "I said stalking was a felony."
Warren blinked slowly, as if he didn't quite get the difference between the two statements.
"Yeah, but," he started, looking around the park for inspiration. "I mean, that was so cool, you know? You totally killed that guy, vampire." He wiped his hand against his jeans again. "And you saved my life," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I owe you, or something."
"You owe me?" Buffy said, slightly incredulous. "Fine. Don't get killed, we'll call it even."
Warren grinned a little at that, and Buffy felt strange that this was probably the longest conversation she'd had in the six months she'd been living alone, maybe longer.
"Leave me alone," she said, turning away and heading back to her apartment. He followed her all the way, and after she'd gone inside, she'd sat on her bed, glaring at the door every few minutes, expecting to hear a knock.
It didn't come, but the next night she had opened the door and almost staked Warren before she realized it was him hovering outside.
By the end of the week, she'd come to the conclusion that if he was going to be stalking her on patrol on a regular basis, maybe she should try and get him some training. She'd gone to her useless Watcher first, who had talked on and on about procedure and secrecy and civilians, so she'd walked out on him and decided to do it herself. It'd be something to pass the time between game shows, if nothing else, and at least if he could look after himself a bit he wouldn't be such a liability when she was fighting. And maybe if he thought he'd be okay, he'd stop tailing her around town every night.
After a month or two, he'd taken her home one day after patrol. She was all out of ramen and he offered food and a few hours somewhere warm. She couldn't see the harm.
His mother had been vague, but nice enough, and Buffy hadn't really cared enough to notice the darkness under her eyes or the Prozac bottles on the kitchen counter.
She and Warren had sat on the couch, eating cereal and toast and cheese and jam, and she had told him about her family, about LA, about whatever came to mind.
She fell asleep on the couch and woke up in the late afternoon, cool Ohio sunlight filtering gently in through the soft curtains, with a blanket over her.
It's that day, that house that Buffy remembers as she feels the Master's grip tightening around her throat, crushing the life from her for what feels like forever.
She remembers the house, the warmth, the touch of Warren's hand as he brought her tea. She doesn't think about the darkness, the unbearable pain of watching him die, not even a full month later. Lying in a dirty warehouse, empty and cold, that's how he died. And now she will too.
Slayers aren't meant to have friends. But they aren't meant to be happy, and they aren't meant to love, and they aren't meant to live and breathe and have fat grandchildren either. At least Buffy got that part right.
As she feels her spine begin to crack under the pressure from the great hand that is all that's holding her upright now, she gives up, gives in, and lets the darkness win.
She hopes the next girl will be stronger.
end
niannah's fault, as most things are. She wanted Buffy/Warren set in the Wishverse. I'm not sure quite what this is, but it's definitely set in the Wishverse. That much I can say with certainty. I don't know if it's any good, or even if it makes sense, as it was mostly just an exercise in 'conscious stream of thought' writing. But anyway, here it is. Feel free to point out inaccuracies or errors or typos, etc. But be nice ;)Oh, and it's Wishverse, so it's not all fluffy puppies and kittens and singing Kumbayah around the campfire.
"I don't play well with others."
She glances around the room, only half-listening as the man, the Watcher, haltingly explains where the Master's lair is. It's fuzzy and has lots of furniture, the way she imagines a family home might look once the kids had moved out and the folks had gotten old.
Buffy hasn't had a home for some time, not like that. She lives alone in a dirty little apartment in Cleveland. The manager is too scared to ask her for rent, but she thinks she'd die an early death from the roaches and the rats and the asbestos if she wasn't already slated for an early death from vamps, so she doesn't feel bad about stiffing the guy.
There was a home once, her own family's, before her father left and her mother was killed by vamps, but she doesn't remember it that well. A vague sense maybe – art work and throw cushions and lots of shouting and crying. It's not a good memory. She pushes it away.
The Watcher looks up at her. "Are, are you sure?" he says, and his stupid accent annoys her. It's all wrong here, in this horrible dark place. He's wrong, too clean, too hopeful, like the one place the darkness hasn't reached yet. But it will. Buffy knows, she's seen it before. The darkness gets everyone in the end. It rips and tears and bites at you until you can't take it anymore, and then it sends in one of its minions – usually a vamp, but she's fought so many demons she doesn't even think of herself as a ‘vampire' slayer anymore, just a Slayer. And then? Then you're dead.
She glares at the Watcher, daring him to continue his question. His hope feels dirty to her, corrupting, and she does what she can to crush him down, keep him away, protect herself. As she's always done.
"I mean, we aren't much, but we have a van, and supplies, weapons. You might need some backup, and .."
Buffy pushes up off the wall and the sudden movement shocks the man into silence. "I'm sure. I work alone."
She feels the bite of darkness in her chest and turns away, walking out of the Watcher's home and into the cold night.
‘If this is the one,' she thinks quietly, not to anyone in particular because she gave up believing in anything at all, never mind God, long ago. ‘If this is it, let the next girl be stronger.'
She lies to herself, and pretends she means physically.
*
In the seconds before her neck snaps, as the Master's hand rests around her throat and she knows there's no hope, in the few seconds before she gives up and lets it happen – and she does give up – Buffy thinks of another home she once knew.
It hadn't been much. Cheap curtains, chintz and lace and lots of floral patterns. Little china dogs sitting on every surface, and the smell of damp and dust and dying flowers. She remembers every scent, every sight, and every moment she ever spent there, few though they are, and for those few violent, painful seconds between imminence and death, she feels what she thinks peace might be like.
She wonders if this is what he felt when he died, a vampire's dirty fangs pressed deep into his neck as he fought to get to her, to help her, to save her. She didn't need help, she never had, but she felt something, something she could no longer name, when she thought about the way he'd tried to give it anyway.
It had been an accident really. He wasn't the kind of guy she'd usually hang around with, and not just because she didn't do the ‘friends' thing. She'd quit school at 15, not long after coming to Cleveland, and although she told him she'd seen him in class, she had been lying. She'd been faced, once again, with what was apparently her inescapable destiny. To fight and to die, and along with that to lose everyone she'd ever cared about.
Her father was first, still alive maybe, she isn't sure, but unable to cope with his daughter's seething fury at the stones fate had cast her. Her parents told her the divorce was because of them, but Buffy knew, she knew the truth. Of course it was her. A Slayer in the family, who could survive that kind of strain?
Not father, and not mother either. Joyce had tried, done her best, but her best wasn't good enough. She'd done everything the parenting books had told her to do to rein in an errant teen, but when Buffy had screamed, cried, thrown a lamp and told her mother the truth, Joyce couldn't take it. Buffy had left the next morning, the few personal items she couldn't bear to leave behind stuffed into a bag with her weapons and a few clothes, and a fury that reared its head every time she staked a vamp seething behind her eyes. Even after Joyce's death, at the hands of some low-level vampire, Buffy could never find a way to forgive her for not understanding.
And then there was Warren.
They had been at school together, of that she was sure, but she'd been at school so infrequently, she didn't recall seeing him there even once. Her useless Watcher had tried to encourage her to continue the charade of being a normal girl, but the strain had been too much for Buffy to cope with, and after her mother kicked her out, she'd given up even trying. She had a job to do, and no one else on earth could do it. And it wasn't like she was going to need school – early death, that was her destiny. In her darker moments, sitting alone in her apartment all day, polishing weapons and sharpening blades, she'd longed for it.
One night, no different from any other, she'd staked a vamp as he attacked a man in an alley just off the main street. She did it a lot, right in front of the victims. Her useless Watcher had been horrified at first, quoting at her about secrecy and the great tradition, but Buffy knew it didn't matter. None of it did. They were scared and grateful and they ran off home to tell their friends and family that a girl from one of those gangs, you know, had saved them from a crazy mugger. Or whatever other stories they told themselves to help them sleep at night.
This one had been different. He'd stood, stared, watched as she staked the vamp, followed the dust with his eyes, and then just stared at her, open mouthed.
Buffy stared back, daring him to ask.
"That was so cool," he said eventually, pulling one arm up across his chest to run it up and down the other. "I mean, woah, so cool. Like .. wow."
Buffy stared back for another second, not quite sure how to respond to sure bare enthusiasm for something she'd done so many times now it was entirely commonplace. Then she shook her head, turned, and walked back out onto the main street.
She pushed it out of her mind and started scanning the streets again, straining to sense the vampires nearby. The footsteps behind her, running just enough to beat her steady stride, set her nerves on edge and she waited to see if the runner would go past her or if he was spoiling for a very public fight. Whatever. She was good for it.
They came to a sudden halt behind her, and as the runner caught his breathe she felt the puff of expelled air on the back of neck, making her shiver.
"So, uh, what was that thing? Was it a vampire? It so looked like a vampire. Not one of those lame-ass Anne Rice ones, I mean, like a proper one from .."
Buffy turned and glared up at the man she'd just saved. Less a man and more a boy, around her own age. Dark hair and oversized clothes, his hands twitched nervously as he ran through a list of vampires films Buffy had never heard of.
"..so the way I figure it, you must be some kind of superhero or something."
Buffy blinked. "Go away," she said, as bluntly as she could, before turning and walking away.
A few seconds of blissful silence followed before Buffy heard footsteps behind her again, catching up to her and hovering just over her right shoulder.
"You can't just, I mean, this is a big deal!" he said, confused and maybe slightly annoying. Buffy scowled. How dare he be annoyed with her. She was the one being followed.
She stopped dead and turned so fast he bumped into her, immediately catching himself, dropping his eyes to the sidewalk, and backing away.
"Maybe for you," she said, sharply. "I do this every day, and you know what? If I wanted a puppy to follow me around, I'd go lift a pet store, okay? Go home."
She turned and started off again, and she wished she could've been surprised by it, but she was not, when she heard him following her again.
This time she let him. She walked and walked all night long, and he followed, sometimes silent, sometimes talking, always just a step or two behind. Out of hitting range, Buffy thought, although she wasn't sure whether that was the way a normal person would think when judging their interactions with others.
As the sun began to rise, Buffy started to head home, crossing the park but stopping halfway to lean back against a bench and glare at the man who'd followed her all night.
He seemed surprised to see her face again, and if it had happened to her a few years earlier, she would have smiled. But she never smiled, not anymore.
"You know stalking's a felony," she said, although she couldn't find as much anger as she would have liked.
He nodded. "I'm Warren," he said, holding out a hand, then withdrawing it and wiping it on his pants before offering it again.
Buffy looked down at it as it were something distasteful and didn't shake. "Buffy."
Warren nodded. "Okay. So, now we're not strangers."
Buffy continued to watch him without emotion. "I never said we were strangers," she said, after a few seconds. "I said stalking was a felony."
Warren blinked slowly, as if he didn't quite get the difference between the two statements.
"Yeah, but," he started, looking around the park for inspiration. "I mean, that was so cool, you know? You totally killed that guy, vampire." He wiped his hand against his jeans again. "And you saved my life," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I owe you, or something."
"You owe me?" Buffy said, slightly incredulous. "Fine. Don't get killed, we'll call it even."
Warren grinned a little at that, and Buffy felt strange that this was probably the longest conversation she'd had in the six months she'd been living alone, maybe longer.
"Leave me alone," she said, turning away and heading back to her apartment. He followed her all the way, and after she'd gone inside, she'd sat on her bed, glaring at the door every few minutes, expecting to hear a knock.
It didn't come, but the next night she had opened the door and almost staked Warren before she realized it was him hovering outside.
By the end of the week, she'd come to the conclusion that if he was going to be stalking her on patrol on a regular basis, maybe she should try and get him some training. She'd gone to her useless Watcher first, who had talked on and on about procedure and secrecy and civilians, so she'd walked out on him and decided to do it herself. It'd be something to pass the time between game shows, if nothing else, and at least if he could look after himself a bit he wouldn't be such a liability when she was fighting. And maybe if he thought he'd be okay, he'd stop tailing her around town every night.
After a month or two, he'd taken her home one day after patrol. She was all out of ramen and he offered food and a few hours somewhere warm. She couldn't see the harm.
His mother had been vague, but nice enough, and Buffy hadn't really cared enough to notice the darkness under her eyes or the Prozac bottles on the kitchen counter.
She and Warren had sat on the couch, eating cereal and toast and cheese and jam, and she had told him about her family, about LA, about whatever came to mind.
She fell asleep on the couch and woke up in the late afternoon, cool Ohio sunlight filtering gently in through the soft curtains, with a blanket over her.
It's that day, that house that Buffy remembers as she feels the Master's grip tightening around her throat, crushing the life from her for what feels like forever.
She remembers the house, the warmth, the touch of Warren's hand as he brought her tea. She doesn't think about the darkness, the unbearable pain of watching him die, not even a full month later. Lying in a dirty warehouse, empty and cold, that's how he died. And now she will too.
Slayers aren't meant to have friends. But they aren't meant to be happy, and they aren't meant to love, and they aren't meant to live and breathe and have fat grandchildren either. At least Buffy got that part right.
As she feels her spine begin to crack under the pressure from the great hand that is all that's holding her upright now, she gives up, gives in, and lets the darkness win.
She hopes the next girl will be stronger.
end
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 12:46 pm (UTC)I love this. This line is one of my favourites: "That was so cool," he said eventually, pulling one arm up across his chest to run it up and down the other. Because I can see it so clearly and it's so him.
It's so sad and so right, and he died. And she cares. And she thinks about him.
Perfect fic. This is precisely what I wanted.
I was hoping you'd take it up, by the way, so I didn't say a word. *is sneaky* :)
PS
Date: 2004-10-28 01:24 pm (UTC)Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:10 pm (UTC)Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:19 pm (UTC)I know. *g* I mean, thank you! It had to be made. Don't they look lovely together? I want to make lots and lots of Warren/Buffy. I want a 'Divided' layout. I think I might make one at the weekend. :)
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:22 pm (UTC)Hehe. They do look good together. Far too good. I wish I hadn't killed them both off now, although technically Buffy wasn't mine, Joss killed her. The world needs more Warren/Buffy, and I think the Wishverse is a good place to start. Mmm layout <3 Sounds like a marvellous plan :)
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:25 pm (UTC)That *is* Warren, shh. It's not Willow.
And wallpaper. And everything.
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:28 pm (UTC)Heh, I hadn't actually noticed. It looks like Warren, therefore it is Warren, even if it's really Willow/The First/Jonathan in his Halloween costume/etc.
Mmm wallpaper. Ah, but I love my current wallpaper. I couldn't possibly choose between the two. That'd be cruel and unusual punishment or something.
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:33 pm (UTC)I don't have caps of The Ki
ssller In Me and I don't have anything to cap with, dammit. I need MSI DVD to work but it won't. *cries* I want Grey Sweater Warren. And you're right. It is Warren.Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:36 pm (UTC)Well, I have That Episode and I have a working DVD capping program, but I'm not sure I could stand to watch it again, even in the glorius pursuit of Grey Sweater Warren. Also I have no time. But if I get a chance, I'll do what I can.
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 02:41 pm (UTC)No, no, I know you detest that episode. Despite the grey sweater and anti-fit jeans. What capping software do you have? I have no idea why MSI won't work on this comp but I will try deinstalling and reinstalling again. I have to do that for a bunch of other software anyway, as this new computer is wack yo. (Scientific term.)
Spend your time with DM AU! And stop encouraging me to do things other than fic. ;)
Re: PS
Date: 2004-10-28 03:59 pm (UTC)I have, uhm, WinDVD and .. InterActual Player, which mostly sucks, and there's a media player thing with Nero, but I've never used that. I mostly stick with WinDVD. It's quite nifty. It has this little caps window where you can look at the caps after you've taken then and decide whether to save them or not. V useful.
I had to uninstall and reinstall the Sims 2 the other day, but it did not solve the problem. Computers, man, what can you do?
I will try *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:13 pm (UTC)I had a feeling your request was somewhat directed, but fortunately it sparked off this bunny (well, actually it was originally meant to be Warren's POV in the middle, but you know how these things change) and I've been wanting to write some Warren/Buffy for so long, I was really glad to finally have a good bunny for some :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:23 pm (UTC)Now I want to write Caleb. Must finish Warren/Andrew first. I refuse to let that turn into an Everlasting WIP. Not when I bloody know the ending and all.
*starts thinking about Caleb/First!Warren...*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:26 pm (UTC)Mmm Caleb. But no, no, there needs to be Warren/Andrew first. I will not let you let that turn into an Everlasting WIP. Everlasting WIPs are my thing, not yours ;P
*waves pictures of Warren/Andrew in front of you* Focus! Focus! No, not on Caleb!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:30 pm (UTC)No! We won't give in! And if I'm not allowed Eternal WIPs then you have to write more DM AU. That does make sense.
Focus. Right. Focus. See! Icon. Focus.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:35 pm (UTC)That .. makes little sense, but I will try to write more DM AU. I have to make cakes tomorrow, and now I am going to watch Six Feet Under, but I'm sure I can find some time for writing.
Yay icon *g* *pets the W/A*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:38 pm (UTC)It makes perfect sense. Crystalline. It makes Vulcan sense.
Indeed! W/A forever. *g* (Until Buffy, Tucker, Caleb and Katrina have their way. And whoever else is in line.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 03:56 pm (UTC)Is that TOS Vulcan sense, or Enterprise Vulcan sense? I suspect the latter ;P
Heheh, poor old W/A. So neglected these days.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 10:57 pm (UTC)Is that TOS Vulcan sense, or Enterprise Vulcan sense? I suspect the latter ;P
What does this mean? My image of Enterprise Vulcans is one of Jolene Blalock in a skintight outfit and a strangely deep voice. I suspect this is not what you are referring to.
You lost me in a Star Trek reference. It's very embarrassing.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-29 02:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-29 08:15 am (UTC)I have seen maybe 2 or 3 eps of Enterprise ever and don't count the other ones as missed. The aliens with the crackly yellow skin are so annoying. They look like they are going to flake away, and I often found myself wishing they would.
How are the cakes coming along?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-29 08:21 am (UTC)You're best off not watching it, ever. It gives a very bad overall impression of the franchise, and really, the others aren't that bad.
The cakes are done and iced. Some have chocolate icing, some have plain white icing, and the big one has .. uh .. hot pink icing. Which was accidental. But hopefully she won't mind. Oops.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 01:36 pm (UTC)Good jorb!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:24 pm (UTC)She hopes the next girl will be stronger.
Loved that last line.
Spotted one typo: She pushed it out of her mind and started scanning the streets again, straining the sense vampires nearby. Should it be a 'to'?
(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-28 02:33 pm (UTC)Thank you :)
Yes, fixed now, thanks!