Fanfic Friday
"Buffy and the Minstrel"
(A more upbeat chapter from an edited version of a story originally written for another site. The story, of course, is set in an alternative universe and any resemblance to pop culture characters in our own universe should be fairly obvious.)
As Buffy, Laurel and Sir Roderick entered the inn known as the Violet Moon, they were greeted by an one-eyed proprietor named Alexis Harris as well as by his lovely blonde wife Anastasia.
However, they were also enticed by the sound of a lute playing in a nearby room.
"Oh, cool," said Laurel. "They have a minstrel."
"Not just a minstrel," said Anastasia. "We have the great Australis, Aus for short. He plays here all the time -- except for nights of the full moon. For some reason, we can never get him to work on those nights."
Buffy could not help drifting in the direction of the music. She did not hear such music too often in her line of work and given all her current worries, she welcomed the chance to drown herself in the work of a master minstrel.
At least she did until she realized what she was listening to.
"Eighty men died and eighty men fried!" sang the minstrel. "Now their ashes are buried on the countryside. Ten, twenty, fifty or more. The bloody red dragon kept rolling up the score. Eighty men died trying to kill that freak. The bloody red dragon of Coven -- "
"You're playing that song?!" exclaimed Buffy.
"Hey!" said the redheaded minstrel who called himself Australis. "What's wrong with that song? I get more requests for that tune than for any other song that I play."
"'Rover vs. the Red Dragon' is not the type of song I want to listen to tonight," said Buffy.
"Why not?" asked Australis. "Don't you like songs about dragon slayers?"
"Hello," said Buffy. "I am a dragon slayer. But that song about some dog fighting a dragon -- "
"Hey!" exclaimed Australis. "For all you know, it might have actually happened that way."
"But it didn't," said Buffy.
"Well, at least folks around here find it entertaining," said Australis.
"Folks around here aren't going to be fighting a dragon tomorrow," said Buffy. "Don't you have any tunes that aren't dragon-related?"
"I'm guessing 'Sympathy for the Dragon' and 'Pfft the Magic Dragon' are out of the question," said Australis.
"Yes, they are," said Buffy.
"In that case, let's see... 'Play with Fire', 'Light My Fire', 'Ring of Fire', 'I'm on Fire', 'We Didn't Start the Fir --'"
"Don't you have any songs that aren't fire-related?" asked Buffy.
"Sure," said Australis. "'Momma I Just Killed a Man'."
"No," said Buffy. "I mean something's that more upbeat."
"Well, there's always the classic tune 'Here We Are Now, Entertain Us'," said Australis.
"That sounds cheerful," said Buffy. "Play that one."
Friday, November 29, 2019
Monday, November 25, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Five
That night they were left alone in a large bedchamber. The carpet and the drapes were all in bright red; the ceiling was inscribed with angels. On the wall beside the bed was a tapestry depicting the Annunciation and the Wedding at Cana. He remembered learning about these events from the sexless ones when he was a child but he was not sure why they were deemed appropriate for a tapestry in this room. Behind the bed and above the headboard was a wooden cross upon which a hook-nosed figure clad in a loincloth was nailed. This figure, too, was familiar to him from his childhood teachings but it still made him uneasy to look at it -- perhaps because no such figure had ever been used to decorate his cell when he was growing up.
He and his bride were silent as they entered the room. The sexless one who had escorted them inside leered as it departed and made a gesture of farewell.
His bride was the first to sit upon the bed, her white dress clashing with the red blankets and bed curtains. She pulled aside the blankets; the sheets beneath were pure white. But of course, she thought. Then she gazed upward at the eyeless angels.
Behind her, she heard the sound of shuffling feet. Her groom cleared his throat. “I suppose it's time,” he said.
He started to undress.
“No, not here,” she said. “Turn your back first.”
“But we are man and wife,” he said.
“The angels are watching,” she said and then she pointed upward.
“But those are only painted figures.”
“But they have human eyes.”
She turned toward him. “You still don't understand, do you?”
He shook his head.
“The Church, your father -- they will have men and maids watching us. To see that we conform to the Holy Law.”
“Why is that a matter for them?” he said. “I was taught that it was a matter between us and God.”
She winced. “It is. But God does not always punish the ungodly; that is the Holy Church's role. And if the Holy Church did not do its part, we might soon fall into...” She paused. “...bestiality,” she weakly finished.
“I still don't understand.”
“The servants are watching us to see that we couple in the approved manner. For if we do not, we imperil our very souls and they will feel obliged to report us to men who will save us from ourselves -- at the cost of our very lives." She paused again. “Do you understand?”
He smiled. “No, I don't. What harm can the two of us do to the Mother Church in our marriage bed? Surely the ceremony has already proved us to be good Christians.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Many a nonbeliever has called himself a Christian after the Reconquest yet still eschewed ham and pork. Some such folk even retained a separate set of dishes for Sabbath days. No, a good Christian must be Christian in all parts of his life -- and not just in public.”
“And the servants are here to see to that?”
“Yes, of course.”
He walked over to the wall, bowed to the crucifix, gently removed it from the wall and kissed it. Then he drove it upward into one of the angel's eyes. He heard a shriek of pain for his trouble.
“Bless this room and all in it,” he said, repeating words he had heard in his childhood, “For who knows what evil things lurk without?”
His bride's face contorted in fury. “You fool. You risk not only your life but mine with such blasphemy.”
“On the contrary, I am the Heir. You said so yourself. The one who shall someday rule this great kingdom. For me, there is no such thing as blasphemy.”
“You fool. Even a Prince of the Blood is not exempt from the stake.”
He smiled. “Tell me this. Did these men who watch us so closely care so much for my immortal soul all those years I was imprisoned?”
“That was different. You were born quite ill, or so the old folks said. Your father was not sure that you would survive.”
“So he locked me away from all mortal men and treated me like an animal -- just in case.” He smiled again.
He dropped the crucifix and walked toward the bed.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“That which a man usually does to his lawfully wedded wife.”
“But the servants...”
“Should get their own women.”
He started to undress her.
“No. Wait. I can do it. Please. Stand back.”
“You seem most frightened, my dear.”
“The tales I have heard the servants telling about you. About the encounter you had with the village girl. She said you were a sodomite.”
He laughed. “I'm afraid I don't know that word.”
“That you were a boy-lover. An eunuch. One who is incapable of physically making love to a woman like me.”
He smiled. “I know not what those first two parts mean, but I assure you that the third part is not true. And you will soon find out just how untrue it is.”
“Will I?”
He stared at her, his shirt half-unbuttoned.
“Certainly.”
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Five
That night they were left alone in a large bedchamber. The carpet and the drapes were all in bright red; the ceiling was inscribed with angels. On the wall beside the bed was a tapestry depicting the Annunciation and the Wedding at Cana. He remembered learning about these events from the sexless ones when he was a child but he was not sure why they were deemed appropriate for a tapestry in this room. Behind the bed and above the headboard was a wooden cross upon which a hook-nosed figure clad in a loincloth was nailed. This figure, too, was familiar to him from his childhood teachings but it still made him uneasy to look at it -- perhaps because no such figure had ever been used to decorate his cell when he was growing up.
He and his bride were silent as they entered the room. The sexless one who had escorted them inside leered as it departed and made a gesture of farewell.
His bride was the first to sit upon the bed, her white dress clashing with the red blankets and bed curtains. She pulled aside the blankets; the sheets beneath were pure white. But of course, she thought. Then she gazed upward at the eyeless angels.
Behind her, she heard the sound of shuffling feet. Her groom cleared his throat. “I suppose it's time,” he said.
He started to undress.
“No, not here,” she said. “Turn your back first.”
“But we are man and wife,” he said.
“The angels are watching,” she said and then she pointed upward.
“But those are only painted figures.”
“But they have human eyes.”
She turned toward him. “You still don't understand, do you?”
He shook his head.
“The Church, your father -- they will have men and maids watching us. To see that we conform to the Holy Law.”
“Why is that a matter for them?” he said. “I was taught that it was a matter between us and God.”
She winced. “It is. But God does not always punish the ungodly; that is the Holy Church's role. And if the Holy Church did not do its part, we might soon fall into...” She paused. “...bestiality,” she weakly finished.
“I still don't understand.”
“The servants are watching us to see that we couple in the approved manner. For if we do not, we imperil our very souls and they will feel obliged to report us to men who will save us from ourselves -- at the cost of our very lives." She paused again. “Do you understand?”
He smiled. “No, I don't. What harm can the two of us do to the Mother Church in our marriage bed? Surely the ceremony has already proved us to be good Christians.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Many a nonbeliever has called himself a Christian after the Reconquest yet still eschewed ham and pork. Some such folk even retained a separate set of dishes for Sabbath days. No, a good Christian must be Christian in all parts of his life -- and not just in public.”
“And the servants are here to see to that?”
“Yes, of course.”
He walked over to the wall, bowed to the crucifix, gently removed it from the wall and kissed it. Then he drove it upward into one of the angel's eyes. He heard a shriek of pain for his trouble.
“Bless this room and all in it,” he said, repeating words he had heard in his childhood, “For who knows what evil things lurk without?”
His bride's face contorted in fury. “You fool. You risk not only your life but mine with such blasphemy.”
“On the contrary, I am the Heir. You said so yourself. The one who shall someday rule this great kingdom. For me, there is no such thing as blasphemy.”
“You fool. Even a Prince of the Blood is not exempt from the stake.”
He smiled. “Tell me this. Did these men who watch us so closely care so much for my immortal soul all those years I was imprisoned?”
“That was different. You were born quite ill, or so the old folks said. Your father was not sure that you would survive.”
“So he locked me away from all mortal men and treated me like an animal -- just in case.” He smiled again.
He dropped the crucifix and walked toward the bed.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“That which a man usually does to his lawfully wedded wife.”
“But the servants...”
“Should get their own women.”
He started to undress her.
“No. Wait. I can do it. Please. Stand back.”
“You seem most frightened, my dear.”
“The tales I have heard the servants telling about you. About the encounter you had with the village girl. She said you were a sodomite.”
He laughed. “I'm afraid I don't know that word.”
“That you were a boy-lover. An eunuch. One who is incapable of physically making love to a woman like me.”
He smiled. “I know not what those first two parts mean, but I assure you that the third part is not true. And you will soon find out just how untrue it is.”
“Will I?”
He stared at her, his shirt half-unbuttoned.
“Certainly.”
Friday, November 22, 2019
Fanfic Friday
"Jamie Has a Premonition"
(Another edited version of a fanfic chapter originally written for another site. This one is set in an alternative universe and was written during one of my recent periods of hospitalization. Any resemblance of the characters in this chapter to certain pop culture characters in this universe should be fairly obvious.)
Jamie Madigan had always lived in fear of dying by fire. It did not help that her own mother -- hardly the kindest woman who ever lived but still in her own way a loving parent -- had died by fire, executed by the Watchers Council for charges that were considered either legit, bogus or unbelievable, depending on whom you talked to.
Jamie still remembered standing in the crowd, silent with stark raving fear, as the flames had consumed her mother. She had kept expecting her mother to do something -- to call out a curse upon her executioners, to extinguish the flames with a sudden rain storm, to do anything apart from what she actually did -- which was to die screaming as a crowd composed of her former friends and clients silently stood by and watched her burn.
That was just two years ago but after all this time, her mother's screams still echoed within Jamie's head and though part of her told herself that her mother had deserved her fate -- that she had done great harm to a great many people -- another part of her told herself that no one -- no matter how bad -- should have to die the way that her mother did.
Perhaps that was why she chose to reach out to the dragon slayer. Up until this night, Jamie had believed that all dragon slayers were arrogant little women whose sense of entitlement made your average princess seem quite humble. Yet tonight she had not seen such a creature. She had seen a frightened little girl who was trying very hard not to sound like a frightened little girl. A girl who, like Jamie, feared death by fire -- and had no idea what to do about the imminent prospect of such a death.
Jamie liked to think that she had dealt with her fear by striving to prove herself the exact opposite of her mother. Instead of performing black magic, she performed white magic. Instead of using her powers to perform evil deeds, she used them to perform good deeds. And yet despite all that, she had always lived in fear that it would not be enough. That, in the end, the Watchers Council would consider her to be as guilty as her mother, no matter what she did, and send her to the stake to burn.
But by helping the Slayer, she was helping herself. At least, that's what Jamie told herself. After all, the Watchers Council might be a corrupt bunch of hypocritical old bullies but even they would not be foolish enough to execute someone who had actually proved to be of use to them. After all, they might need her help again in the future.
And yet despite all that, Jamie could not help thinking: what if the spell wasn't enough? What if Buffy wasn't able to defeat the dragon? Death by dragonfire did not seem like much improvement over death by Council fire.
So Jamie walked outside of the Violet Moon and watched Buffy fight the dragon, only to see poor Buffy flung off into the wilderness. Great Goddess, Jamie thought. Is Buffy dead? Did my spell just ensure that Buffy would die a different type of death by dragon than the one Buffy had originally feared?
No, wait, thought Jamie. Dragons are almost indestructible. More importantly, Buffy in her dragon form was almost indestructible. And even if she wasn't, there was no way a mere flick of the dragon's tail could have killed her.
Buffy was still alive, Jamie thought. She just knew that had to be true.
Indeed, she could see Buffy in the air right then. She was flying back to the village in the opposite direction from which she had been flung but she was returning.
But wait!
Why would Buffy be flying in from that direction? And why was she ignoring the big dragon that had just knocked the stuffing out of her. And more importantly, why did this Buffy look so different from the Buffy Jamie had seen much earlier?
A nasty thought crept into Jamie's head. And though she knew that she should be using her powers to defend herself, she could not help but just stand there as she watched the approaching dragon.
And as the dragon drew closer, Jamie found herself unable to move. In fact, she seemed unable to do anything save focus on just two thoughts:
1. The small dragon flying in her direction was not Buffy.
2. Jamie really was about to suffer the same death by fire that she had always feared.
"Jamie Has a Premonition"
(Another edited version of a fanfic chapter originally written for another site. This one is set in an alternative universe and was written during one of my recent periods of hospitalization. Any resemblance of the characters in this chapter to certain pop culture characters in this universe should be fairly obvious.)
Jamie Madigan had always lived in fear of dying by fire. It did not help that her own mother -- hardly the kindest woman who ever lived but still in her own way a loving parent -- had died by fire, executed by the Watchers Council for charges that were considered either legit, bogus or unbelievable, depending on whom you talked to.
Jamie still remembered standing in the crowd, silent with stark raving fear, as the flames had consumed her mother. She had kept expecting her mother to do something -- to call out a curse upon her executioners, to extinguish the flames with a sudden rain storm, to do anything apart from what she actually did -- which was to die screaming as a crowd composed of her former friends and clients silently stood by and watched her burn.
That was just two years ago but after all this time, her mother's screams still echoed within Jamie's head and though part of her told herself that her mother had deserved her fate -- that she had done great harm to a great many people -- another part of her told herself that no one -- no matter how bad -- should have to die the way that her mother did.
Perhaps that was why she chose to reach out to the dragon slayer. Up until this night, Jamie had believed that all dragon slayers were arrogant little women whose sense of entitlement made your average princess seem quite humble. Yet tonight she had not seen such a creature. She had seen a frightened little girl who was trying very hard not to sound like a frightened little girl. A girl who, like Jamie, feared death by fire -- and had no idea what to do about the imminent prospect of such a death.
Jamie liked to think that she had dealt with her fear by striving to prove herself the exact opposite of her mother. Instead of performing black magic, she performed white magic. Instead of using her powers to perform evil deeds, she used them to perform good deeds. And yet despite all that, she had always lived in fear that it would not be enough. That, in the end, the Watchers Council would consider her to be as guilty as her mother, no matter what she did, and send her to the stake to burn.
But by helping the Slayer, she was helping herself. At least, that's what Jamie told herself. After all, the Watchers Council might be a corrupt bunch of hypocritical old bullies but even they would not be foolish enough to execute someone who had actually proved to be of use to them. After all, they might need her help again in the future.
And yet despite all that, Jamie could not help thinking: what if the spell wasn't enough? What if Buffy wasn't able to defeat the dragon? Death by dragonfire did not seem like much improvement over death by Council fire.
So Jamie walked outside of the Violet Moon and watched Buffy fight the dragon, only to see poor Buffy flung off into the wilderness. Great Goddess, Jamie thought. Is Buffy dead? Did my spell just ensure that Buffy would die a different type of death by dragon than the one Buffy had originally feared?
No, wait, thought Jamie. Dragons are almost indestructible. More importantly, Buffy in her dragon form was almost indestructible. And even if she wasn't, there was no way a mere flick of the dragon's tail could have killed her.
Buffy was still alive, Jamie thought. She just knew that had to be true.
Indeed, she could see Buffy in the air right then. She was flying back to the village in the opposite direction from which she had been flung but she was returning.
But wait!
Why would Buffy be flying in from that direction? And why was she ignoring the big dragon that had just knocked the stuffing out of her. And more importantly, why did this Buffy look so different from the Buffy Jamie had seen much earlier?
A nasty thought crept into Jamie's head. And though she knew that she should be using her powers to defend herself, she could not help but just stand there as she watched the approaching dragon.
And as the dragon drew closer, Jamie found herself unable to move. In fact, she seemed unable to do anything save focus on just two thoughts:
1. The small dragon flying in her direction was not Buffy.
2. Jamie really was about to suffer the same death by fire that she had always feared.
Monday, November 18, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Four
At dawn, they awoke him for the ceremony. He was brought to the great stone baths where the sexless ones unceasingly scoured and scrubbed him until he was achingly clean. Then they dressed him in fine silken underdrawers and lavender trousers. A hairshirt -- so redundant in his case -- and a silken shirt of purest white were chosen to cover the bit above his waist. Around his waist they tied a black sash and upon his head they placed a gold crown. They also gave him a cape -- a simple one made of red silk.
Then they looked at him and they saw that it was good.
On the way to the chapel, he felt nervous. His head was pounding as if it resonated with the beat of a giant pendulum. His mouth felt dry and feverish and his palms sweated as if he was in the midst of a great desert.
When he reached the door of the chapel, he noticed his bride standing at the far end by the altar. She was clad in a white dress and a wreath of flowers was around her neck.
A sacrifice, he thought.
And he wondered what had made him think of that.
The sexless ones prodded him forward. Reluctantly, with the air of a vain yet cowardly actor, he walked forward, trying to keep his feet and face pointed straight forward. As he neared the altar, he looked away from the black-clad sexless one standing there and gazed more at his bride standing on the right.
He walked right up beside her and the sexless one gestured for him to stop. He did so.
A black-clad old man whom he had not seen before came forward out of the shadows and stood beside him. In his hand was a gold ring with a red stone embedded in it.
The old man gestured and from out of a darkened alcove, music played. An invisible choir sang words he could not recognize.
Then the old man gestured again.
And the sexless one spoke.
Once again he did not understand the words being spoken yet every so often, the old man prodded him and whispered in his ear the words he was to say.
Then at last, the sexless one asked him in normal language to join hands with his bride and he did so. Her hand felt hot and sweaty but she did not draw away. However, her eyes kept looking at the old man with an expression of fear.
He wanted to say something to reassure her but he knew not what to say.
Then the sexless one uttered some more incomprehensible words and gestured. The old man handed him the ring.
The sexless one said a few more words and then gestured for silence. No one spoke. Then it continued and at the end of its speech, it pantomimed placing a circle on its ring finger.
The old man prodded him again. He looked down at the ring and realized what the pantomime had meant. He placed it gently upon his bride's finger. He tried to reassure her with his eyes but she kept evading his gaze.
He thought he heard her whispering words to herself but the words she said made no sense. I am not here, she said. This is all unreal. I am far away, dreaming in my bed, and I am not here.
The sexless one spoke again and then stopped and clapped its hands. It smiled and pantomimed a kiss.
He bent forward to kiss his bride and felt only hot, sweaty skin.
It should have been better than this, he thought.
The sad look in his bride's eyes told him that she felt likewise.
Then the old man slapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my son,” he said.
The old man shook his hand and retired into the darkness. It was only the sight of the sexless ones bowing in the old man's direction that told him that the old man had been someone of importance. And it was only the sight of his bride that told him that he had not dreamed this.
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Four
At dawn, they awoke him for the ceremony. He was brought to the great stone baths where the sexless ones unceasingly scoured and scrubbed him until he was achingly clean. Then they dressed him in fine silken underdrawers and lavender trousers. A hairshirt -- so redundant in his case -- and a silken shirt of purest white were chosen to cover the bit above his waist. Around his waist they tied a black sash and upon his head they placed a gold crown. They also gave him a cape -- a simple one made of red silk.
Then they looked at him and they saw that it was good.
On the way to the chapel, he felt nervous. His head was pounding as if it resonated with the beat of a giant pendulum. His mouth felt dry and feverish and his palms sweated as if he was in the midst of a great desert.
When he reached the door of the chapel, he noticed his bride standing at the far end by the altar. She was clad in a white dress and a wreath of flowers was around her neck.
A sacrifice, he thought.
And he wondered what had made him think of that.
The sexless ones prodded him forward. Reluctantly, with the air of a vain yet cowardly actor, he walked forward, trying to keep his feet and face pointed straight forward. As he neared the altar, he looked away from the black-clad sexless one standing there and gazed more at his bride standing on the right.
He walked right up beside her and the sexless one gestured for him to stop. He did so.
A black-clad old man whom he had not seen before came forward out of the shadows and stood beside him. In his hand was a gold ring with a red stone embedded in it.
The old man gestured and from out of a darkened alcove, music played. An invisible choir sang words he could not recognize.
Then the old man gestured again.
And the sexless one spoke.
Once again he did not understand the words being spoken yet every so often, the old man prodded him and whispered in his ear the words he was to say.
Then at last, the sexless one asked him in normal language to join hands with his bride and he did so. Her hand felt hot and sweaty but she did not draw away. However, her eyes kept looking at the old man with an expression of fear.
He wanted to say something to reassure her but he knew not what to say.
Then the sexless one uttered some more incomprehensible words and gestured. The old man handed him the ring.
The sexless one said a few more words and then gestured for silence. No one spoke. Then it continued and at the end of its speech, it pantomimed placing a circle on its ring finger.
The old man prodded him again. He looked down at the ring and realized what the pantomime had meant. He placed it gently upon his bride's finger. He tried to reassure her with his eyes but she kept evading his gaze.
He thought he heard her whispering words to herself but the words she said made no sense. I am not here, she said. This is all unreal. I am far away, dreaming in my bed, and I am not here.
The sexless one spoke again and then stopped and clapped its hands. It smiled and pantomimed a kiss.
He bent forward to kiss his bride and felt only hot, sweaty skin.
It should have been better than this, he thought.
The sad look in his bride's eyes told him that she felt likewise.
Then the old man slapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my son,” he said.
The old man shook his hand and retired into the darkness. It was only the sight of the sexless ones bowing in the old man's direction that told him that the old man had been someone of importance. And it was only the sight of his bride that told him that he had not dreamed this.
Friday, November 15, 2019
Fanfic Friday
"Interlude with a Vampire"
(A brief and edited excerpt from a fanfic story involving a certain famous pop culture character. And of course, Buffy Summers.)
Buffy couldn't find Giles at any of the usual places and she had even more trouble trying to find Willow or Tara as well so instead she went to the Bronze to cool her heels while waiting for either Willow or Tara to show up.
As Buffy sat down at the bar, she ordered herself a Shirley Temple. After the day she had had, Buffy was tempted to order something stronger but years of training under Giles made certain habits almost automatic. Besides, every time she thought seriously about drinking large amounts of alcohol, she remembered her experience with Black Frost Beer, an experience that her friends still kid her about. Not to mention that weird dream where she drank a large number of wine coolers in her dorm room and then went out to -- No, she really did not want to think about that dream right now.
"Buy a girl a drink?" she heard a voice ask her.
Buffy turned and saw a young blonde girl who appeared to be around five years old sitting on the bar stool next to her. She looked familiar for some reason, but the only thing that came to Buffy's mind was the way the girl's face reminded her of a young Kirsten Dunst.
"Aren't you a little young to be in a bar?" asked Buffy.
"Aren't you a little young to be so judgmental?" replied the blonde. "Besides, I'm a lot older than I look."
"Sure you are," said Buffy. "Why don't I buy you a soda instead?"
"Make it a V-8," said the blonde. "For some reason, I prefer to drink tomato juice right now. It's not as delicious as my normal drink but then you're not likely to offer me that so I'll settle for the tomato juice."
"Okay," said Buffy.
After she placed her order, Buffy turned once more toward the blonde and said, "Hi, I'm Buffy Summers. And you are?"
"Claudia," said the young blonde. "No last name. Just Claudia."
"That name sounds familiar," said Buffy. "Have we met before?"
"No, I usually don't come here in the daytime," said Claudia. "The tunnels are a bitch to navigate and then I have to deal with all the Minas and so I usually --"
"Minas?" asked Buffy.
"Yes, Mina," said Claudia. "As in Mina Harker, founding member of the most famous group of vampire slayers ever."
"Well, I wouldn't say that was quite true," said Buffy. "So what do you have against vampire slayers?"
"Well, they're always harassing me and my friends," said Claudia. "Not that I hang out with Louis and Lestat as much as I used to -- especially since that whole near-death thing -- but still certain things get old and --"
"Get out of town!" cried Buffy. "Did you say Lestat? Does that mean you're that Claudia?"
"I don't mean I'm Claudia of Flatbush," said the young blonde. "Anyway, I sometimes think this visit to Sunnydale was a bad idea. For a vampire town, it is not at all what I expected. In fact, the longer I stay, the more I wish I had made a right turn at Albuquerque."
"Oookay," said Buffy. "But if you hate vampire slayers so much, why are you sitting next to me?"
"Why shouldn't I sit next to you?" asked Claudia. "After all, it's not like -- Son of a bitch! You are! My Minadar must be off today. I could have sworn that you Slayers were usually only called one at a time. At least that's the way I've seen it work since Mina Harker retired."
"Well, there used to be another Slayer apart from me but she's -- er -- away right now," said Buffy.
"Oh, really?" asked Claudia. "Is she a middle-aged dark blonde who looks a bit like that gym teacher in the original Carrie? Because I could have sworn that I saw a woman like that earlier in the day when I was peeking out of one of the tunnels."
"That sounds like you're describing my mom," said Buffy. "Which couldn't be right because she's as far from a vampire slayer as you can possibly get."
"That's what I thought when I first saw her as well," said Claudia. "But then I saw her walk and her body language seemed to have 'vampire slayer' written all over it."
"That couldn't be right," said Buffy. "To do that, she would have to --"
Just then, their drinks came. Buffy turned away to get them and when she turned back, she noticed that Claudia was no longer sitting right besides her. In fact, there was no sign of her whatsoever in the Bronze.
"Interlude with a Vampire"
(A brief and edited excerpt from a fanfic story involving a certain famous pop culture character. And of course, Buffy Summers.)
Buffy couldn't find Giles at any of the usual places and she had even more trouble trying to find Willow or Tara as well so instead she went to the Bronze to cool her heels while waiting for either Willow or Tara to show up.
As Buffy sat down at the bar, she ordered herself a Shirley Temple. After the day she had had, Buffy was tempted to order something stronger but years of training under Giles made certain habits almost automatic. Besides, every time she thought seriously about drinking large amounts of alcohol, she remembered her experience with Black Frost Beer, an experience that her friends still kid her about. Not to mention that weird dream where she drank a large number of wine coolers in her dorm room and then went out to -- No, she really did not want to think about that dream right now.
"Buy a girl a drink?" she heard a voice ask her.
Buffy turned and saw a young blonde girl who appeared to be around five years old sitting on the bar stool next to her. She looked familiar for some reason, but the only thing that came to Buffy's mind was the way the girl's face reminded her of a young Kirsten Dunst.
"Aren't you a little young to be in a bar?" asked Buffy.
"Aren't you a little young to be so judgmental?" replied the blonde. "Besides, I'm a lot older than I look."
"Sure you are," said Buffy. "Why don't I buy you a soda instead?"
"Make it a V-8," said the blonde. "For some reason, I prefer to drink tomato juice right now. It's not as delicious as my normal drink but then you're not likely to offer me that so I'll settle for the tomato juice."
"Okay," said Buffy.
After she placed her order, Buffy turned once more toward the blonde and said, "Hi, I'm Buffy Summers. And you are?"
"Claudia," said the young blonde. "No last name. Just Claudia."
"That name sounds familiar," said Buffy. "Have we met before?"
"No, I usually don't come here in the daytime," said Claudia. "The tunnels are a bitch to navigate and then I have to deal with all the Minas and so I usually --"
"Minas?" asked Buffy.
"Yes, Mina," said Claudia. "As in Mina Harker, founding member of the most famous group of vampire slayers ever."
"Well, I wouldn't say that was quite true," said Buffy. "So what do you have against vampire slayers?"
"Well, they're always harassing me and my friends," said Claudia. "Not that I hang out with Louis and Lestat as much as I used to -- especially since that whole near-death thing -- but still certain things get old and --"
"Get out of town!" cried Buffy. "Did you say Lestat? Does that mean you're that Claudia?"
"I don't mean I'm Claudia of Flatbush," said the young blonde. "Anyway, I sometimes think this visit to Sunnydale was a bad idea. For a vampire town, it is not at all what I expected. In fact, the longer I stay, the more I wish I had made a right turn at Albuquerque."
"Oookay," said Buffy. "But if you hate vampire slayers so much, why are you sitting next to me?"
"Why shouldn't I sit next to you?" asked Claudia. "After all, it's not like -- Son of a bitch! You are! My Minadar must be off today. I could have sworn that you Slayers were usually only called one at a time. At least that's the way I've seen it work since Mina Harker retired."
"Well, there used to be another Slayer apart from me but she's -- er -- away right now," said Buffy.
"Oh, really?" asked Claudia. "Is she a middle-aged dark blonde who looks a bit like that gym teacher in the original Carrie? Because I could have sworn that I saw a woman like that earlier in the day when I was peeking out of one of the tunnels."
"That sounds like you're describing my mom," said Buffy. "Which couldn't be right because she's as far from a vampire slayer as you can possibly get."
"That's what I thought when I first saw her as well," said Claudia. "But then I saw her walk and her body language seemed to have 'vampire slayer' written all over it."
"That couldn't be right," said Buffy. "To do that, she would have to --"
Just then, their drinks came. Buffy turned away to get them and when she turned back, she noticed that Claudia was no longer sitting right besides her. In fact, there was no sign of her whatsoever in the Bronze.
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Three
That night they sent a servant into his cell to anoint him for the ceremony. She was a dark-haired girl dressed in a long red skirt and a white blouse and her breath stank of garlic and fermented fruit. At the entrance to his cell, she hesitated, swaying as if caught by a sudden breeze. Then she took a swig from the small green bottle she carried and entered, making the same strange gesture with her hands that the sexless ones did.
She knelt before him and uncapped one of the small flasks she had tied to her waist. Pouring its contents into an open palm, she looked up at him.
“Kneel," she said, and beneath her words, he detected a bit of nervous laughter.
Nevertheless, he knelt and stared at the woman as she in turn stared at him.
“I bet you're a very big man,” she said.
He blinked.
“Please undress,” she said.
“But, señora, I --”
“Don't worry,” she said, averting her eyes. “I have seen men undressed before.”
Slowly and nervously, he divested himself of his clothing, keeping one eye on the woman all the while. Once he was fully naked, he knelt down once more and saw the woman turn to look at him.
“So big,” she said. “So very big.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. It matters not. Come closer. I must anoint you.”
“Very well.”
He moved forward. Now he was almost touching her. The woman reached out with the palmful of oil and began rubbing it upon his chest.
He flinched.
“Haven't you ever been touched by a woman before?” she asked.
“No. That is -- I don't think so.”
The woman smiled. “By tomorrow night, all that will be changed.”
She rubbed harder, rubbing the oil over his arms and shoulders and down toward his back and buttocks. "So very big, she kept saying. It was almost a chant.
When she touched his sex, she almost laughed.
Then she looked at him and smiled
“Quite the little innocent, aren't you?”
“I know not what you mean.”
She smiled. Then she bent down and kissed him upon a most private place.
“Señora!” he cried.
“Hush, my hairy one,” she said. “I am not a señora. I am a señorita.”
She kissed him again in the same location.
“But this -- this is wrong.”
“This is the way it has to be.”
She took another swig from the green bottle by her side.
“Come to me, my darling.”
“But --”
“Kiss me.”
“But I am to be married tomorrow.”
“I know. That's why they sent me. As a test.”
Her breasts were half out of her blouse, shimmering like great white moons. Her skirt had been detached and kicked away. Beneath it, she wore nothing save a patch of short black hair.
So that is what a woman looks like, he thought.
Then she kissed him and her tongue invaded his mouth and her hands grabbed hold of his sex and she engulfed him with her hairy legs until --
He pushed her away.
At first, she stared at him in disbelief.
Then she frowned. “So they left behind a few eunuchs, after all,” she murmured.
She crawled forward again.
“Don't touch me,” he said.
The woman smiled slyly at his warning gestures. “You needn't bother. This was all for your convenience, not mine. Tomorrow on your wedding night, you'll face a similar challenge. I could have helped you with that but ---”
She shrugged. Then she reached for her skirt. Her white buttocks, turned toward him, looked like two giant half-moons.
He reached for them. “So beautiful,” he said.
She looked behind her and smiled. “A boy-lover, huh?” she said.
She pulled away from him. “I thought as much.”
“I know not these words you keep using,” he said.
She smiled again. “You should. I get the feeling that you will be hearing them a lot.”
She stood up and refastened her skirt, leaving the empty green bottle behind on the floor of the cell.
As she readjusted her blouse, he crawled toward her. “Please, don't go,” he said.
He grasped her knees.
She looked down at him. “Let go.”
He did so. And watched silently as she left the cell.
An hour later, the sexless one grinned as it brought him his supper. “Pretty nice, huh?”
He only looked at the black-clad figure, not seeing it, not seeing the tray, not seeing the door or the walls or the bars or anything. Save darkness.
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Three
That night they sent a servant into his cell to anoint him for the ceremony. She was a dark-haired girl dressed in a long red skirt and a white blouse and her breath stank of garlic and fermented fruit. At the entrance to his cell, she hesitated, swaying as if caught by a sudden breeze. Then she took a swig from the small green bottle she carried and entered, making the same strange gesture with her hands that the sexless ones did.
She knelt before him and uncapped one of the small flasks she had tied to her waist. Pouring its contents into an open palm, she looked up at him.
“Kneel," she said, and beneath her words, he detected a bit of nervous laughter.
Nevertheless, he knelt and stared at the woman as she in turn stared at him.
“I bet you're a very big man,” she said.
He blinked.
“Please undress,” she said.
“But, señora, I --”
“Don't worry,” she said, averting her eyes. “I have seen men undressed before.”
Slowly and nervously, he divested himself of his clothing, keeping one eye on the woman all the while. Once he was fully naked, he knelt down once more and saw the woman turn to look at him.
“So big,” she said. “So very big.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. It matters not. Come closer. I must anoint you.”
“Very well.”
He moved forward. Now he was almost touching her. The woman reached out with the palmful of oil and began rubbing it upon his chest.
He flinched.
“Haven't you ever been touched by a woman before?” she asked.
“No. That is -- I don't think so.”
The woman smiled. “By tomorrow night, all that will be changed.”
She rubbed harder, rubbing the oil over his arms and shoulders and down toward his back and buttocks. "So very big, she kept saying. It was almost a chant.
When she touched his sex, she almost laughed.
Then she looked at him and smiled
“Quite the little innocent, aren't you?”
“I know not what you mean.”
She smiled. Then she bent down and kissed him upon a most private place.
“Señora!” he cried.
“Hush, my hairy one,” she said. “I am not a señora. I am a señorita.”
She kissed him again in the same location.
“But this -- this is wrong.”
“This is the way it has to be.”
She took another swig from the green bottle by her side.
“Come to me, my darling.”
“But --”
“Kiss me.”
“But I am to be married tomorrow.”
“I know. That's why they sent me. As a test.”
Her breasts were half out of her blouse, shimmering like great white moons. Her skirt had been detached and kicked away. Beneath it, she wore nothing save a patch of short black hair.
So that is what a woman looks like, he thought.
Then she kissed him and her tongue invaded his mouth and her hands grabbed hold of his sex and she engulfed him with her hairy legs until --
He pushed her away.
At first, she stared at him in disbelief.
Then she frowned. “So they left behind a few eunuchs, after all,” she murmured.
She crawled forward again.
“Don't touch me,” he said.
The woman smiled slyly at his warning gestures. “You needn't bother. This was all for your convenience, not mine. Tomorrow on your wedding night, you'll face a similar challenge. I could have helped you with that but ---”
She shrugged. Then she reached for her skirt. Her white buttocks, turned toward him, looked like two giant half-moons.
He reached for them. “So beautiful,” he said.
She looked behind her and smiled. “A boy-lover, huh?” she said.
She pulled away from him. “I thought as much.”
“I know not these words you keep using,” he said.
She smiled again. “You should. I get the feeling that you will be hearing them a lot.”
She stood up and refastened her skirt, leaving the empty green bottle behind on the floor of the cell.
As she readjusted her blouse, he crawled toward her. “Please, don't go,” he said.
He grasped her knees.
She looked down at him. “Let go.”
He did so. And watched silently as she left the cell.
An hour later, the sexless one grinned as it brought him his supper. “Pretty nice, huh?”
He only looked at the black-clad figure, not seeing it, not seeing the tray, not seeing the door or the walls or the bars or anything. Save darkness.
Friday, November 8, 2019
Monday, November 4, 2019
Novela de Mi Id
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Two
“My wife,” he stammered. “But I have no wife.”
“I am the one our elders have chosen for you. Not that you could not have chosen for yourself, but... Anyway, I'm the one who has been chosen for you.”
“I see.”
“No, you don't. You are the heir to a powerful empire. It is your duty to produce an heir as well so that there will be someone to carry on in your place after your death. I am to be the mother of that heir. Do you understand?”
There was something about her crisp, clear enunciation which disturbed him. He felt as if she was talking to a child.
“And you agreed to this?” he asked.
She lowered her gaze. “No, I did not. Not at first.”
She looked at him again.
“Not that you are not attractive in your own way but --”
She looked down again.
“I had always hoped to be able to choose my own lovers. But my father never gave me that privilege.”
She looked upwards again.
“Instead he gave me to you.”
“I see,” he said. “And who is your father?”
She looked downward again.
“You don't want to know.”
“In Fear and Trembling”
Chapter Two
“My wife,” he stammered. “But I have no wife.”
“I am the one our elders have chosen for you. Not that you could not have chosen for yourself, but... Anyway, I'm the one who has been chosen for you.”
“I see.”
“No, you don't. You are the heir to a powerful empire. It is your duty to produce an heir as well so that there will be someone to carry on in your place after your death. I am to be the mother of that heir. Do you understand?”
There was something about her crisp, clear enunciation which disturbed him. He felt as if she was talking to a child.
“And you agreed to this?” he asked.
She lowered her gaze. “No, I did not. Not at first.”
She looked at him again.
“Not that you are not attractive in your own way but --”
She looked down again.
“I had always hoped to be able to choose my own lovers. But my father never gave me that privilege.”
She looked upwards again.
“Instead he gave me to you.”
“I see,” he said. “And who is your father?”
She looked downward again.
“You don't want to know.”
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