FF: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (4/?)

[Jason Rune <winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx>]

Well, I finally got back to this old thing, as you can see. I have a 
second part to Two Steps Back in the works, but it's starting to depress 
even me, and I'm usually in a pretty good mood even while writing tales of 
death and sorrow. I think some fluff is in order, and soon.
Title: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (4/?)
Author: Jason Rune (winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx)
Summary: Buffy and Willow go on a road trip through the desert. AU after
season 4.
Rating: R
Feedback: Love it.
Archiving: If you want it. Just let me know so I can go see.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy, the show and its characters. But M.
Scone is mine.

The Tumbleweed Chronicles - Chapter 4

* * *

This is too cool. I'm driving a Jeep with a magically animated spirit. I 
animated the car! We're heading out over the desert, brushing aside the 
scrub and bushes like they're nothing. I try to head us in the direction 
Buffy left. I think she was following the band of the Milky Way -- more 
like the Bloody Way now. What is that... north? East? I can hack into 
government security organizations and can rattle off the ingredients for a 
Akuroth demon banishing spell, easy, but sometimes the little things slip 
my mind.
Oh well. It's not like I have a compass anyway. Somehow I didn't think 
I'd be needing one in Vegas. They have signs.
As I get further from the road, the ground gets hillier. We seem to be 
handling the bumps pretty well, for now. But I hope Buffy hasn't gotten 
too far. Why did she have to run away? We could have fixed it. We always 
do. Just a little change in eye color doesn't mean she's turning into some 
horrible demon. It could be perfectly harmless. Some mischievous little 
imp could have snuck in at night and put yellow contact lenses on her.
Bad thoughts. Bad Willow.

And that's what it's really about, isn't it? Bad thoughts. I've 
practically been wanting to jump her since we woke up. Run my fingers up 
her spine, taste her neck... again, I say, bad Willow. But what if she's 
having bad thoughts too? She might be thinking about killing demons and 
enjoying it, or making out with Riley in graveyards, or Faith coming 
back... all sorts of things. And now she doesn't have anyone to talk to 
about it.
And that thing that passed through us was just plain wrong. There's no 
other way to describe it, unless you count unclean, dirty, filthy, and the 
negation of anything good. And it really wasn't very nice. And the way it 
spread its arms to us before we drove through it... it was like it reached 
out to take our hearts in its fists. I don't even know if it had hands, 
really, but for all intents and purposes, it was very claw-y.
I wonder, though, about Buffy's last words. I mean, the last thing she 
said before she ran off. It's real, she said, it's really 
there. What? That... shadow? Is that what she's been seeing on the back 
of her eyelids this whole time? If that's what she was upset about... I 
mean, my problems so far have been limited to occasional dizziness, a 
constriction of my magical senses, and thoughts of making wild, passionate 
love to my best friend. I could very well have gotten the easy stuff.
I snap myself out of my thoughts and focus on the desert ahead of us. The 
headlights cut through the darkness. I have the brights on. Every so 
often I think I see something dart furtively away from us but, hey, they're 
probably just shadows, right?
I can see something out to my left, and it's not going away. It's a dark 
band across the ground, maybe a few feet wide, and stretching off as far as 
I can see. The headlights aren't on it, and I don't know if I want to try 
turning to face it. I tell the Jeep to stop, and we pull up alongside 
it. After fondly patting the dashboard, I grab the flashlight Buffy's mom 
always keeps under the seat and hop out.
I brush aside the scrub as I walk towards the band. I realize now that 
it's mostly tumbleweed. When I was running earlier I didn't pay much 
attention, and it seemed to cling and scratch. But now it falls easily away.
As I approach, I can see that the dark band is rippling slightly. It's 
like a river of some kind. Maybe the dark powers are trying to irrigate 
the desert so they can grow their evil crops? The glow from the sky, as 
usual, is giving everything a reddish tint. I realize that the river is 
actually running right under the Milky Way. Coincidence? I shine my 
flashlight at it. It's red. No, really red. In the beam of light I can 
see it pooling and running slowly back the way I came. I don't need to 
touch it to know that it's blood. I don't need to touch it, period.
I have an audience. I can feel them over my left shoulder; I can sense 
them. They're like flickers on the edge of my peripheral vision, except I 
know that if I look over at them, they'll still be there. I back away from 
the river of blood and get back in the Jeep. It purrs comfortingly, and I 
smile.
"You wouldn't let anything bad happen, would you?" I ask. "Just like 
Buffy. She's always looking out for me, you know. Except for these few 
times now and again when something really evil happens and she gets all 
possessed and weird and stuff and runs away. But that doesn't happen too 
often." The engine revs, probably in response to my unconscious desire to 
get out of here.
"Yeah," I say. "Let's go. With any luck, Buffy will be following this too."

Luck. There's an odd word for all of this. It can't be much in the way of 
good luck, not for us to be here. And not all of us are even here, in the 
sense that my best friend is running off into the middle of the desert.
I take a moment to think about that. I know, I know, I've been thinking 
about it a lot lately, but I take another moment. This isn't Sunnydale, 
where the graveyards are plentiful but the population is still small. Back 
when Buffy got turned into a rat, even, Oz tracked her down and found 
her. Without clothes of any kind. But out here, she could go anywhere, 
any direction. I can only hope that this is all leading somewhere.
And for the first time in quite a while, I find myself hoping against hope 
that whatever evil thing is doing all of this has a really good plan to 
draw all of us into its clutches.
We start to follow the river, the Jeep and I. It winds a little, but stays 
mostly straight. I think it's getting wider. What kind of creature could 
possibly release this much blood across the desert? And are there 
more? Briefly, a picture flits through my mind of a wellspring, bubbling 
red rivers that flow in all directions, like a bloody flower. I wonder 
what could be its seed.
I watch out the window as the Jeep drives itself, following the river 
upstream. That's what you're supposed to do when you're lost in the 
wilderness, right? Follow the river and eventually, as long as you're not 
too far out in the mountains or something, you'll come to one of those 
towns and cities that inevitably spring up around rivers. Unless it 
happens to be a river of blood, in which case you come across something 
presumably quite icky.
The Jeep jerks to a halt. All told, it's still a smoother stop than 
Buffy's; I guess magical animation trumps a barely passed driving 
test. Score one for the supernatural. Aww, Buffy, don't pout. I love you 
anyway... and there's nothing to be gained by talking to you now, is there?
Just a few feet in front of us is a man, who looks solid enough. He has 
frazzled white hair that sticks out all over the place and sweeps down to 
form a shockingly untamed beard and moustache. His eyes are shining in the 
headlights. And he's wearing a black bathrobe. He looks surprised.
After a few moments, I decide to get out and talk to him. I did almost run 
him over, after all, and, well, he looks harmless enough. Of course, he 
could be a murderous fiend waiting to ensnare and devour me, but it's only 
common courtesy to say something. I hop out of the door, holding on to it 
so I can get back in quickly. He snaps out of his trance.
"I say!" he starts, sounding for all the world like I just tried to steal 
his cucumber sandwich. "Watch where you're going, young miss."
I stare, and the thought crosses my mind that this strange creature might 
somehow find my staring offensive. But I dismiss it.
"Who," I say, "are you?"

"Oh, I live around here," he responds, not really answering my 
question. "I have for a long while, and I will for quite a while more, as 
long as I don't go and get run over by some girl in a truck."
"You... you don't look like a creature of the night," I say. He scoffs.

"Not all creatures of the night are creatures of fear," he informs 
me. "There exist... other things. But we are all made of darkness, and 
while night remains, so will we."
"And then, in the morning, you'll all go back under the bed?" I say hopefully.

"No, child. For there will be no morning. Not here. Not in this 
place. We have claimed it now." Finished with his lecture, he makes to 
depart.
"Wait," I say, and he turns to me curiously. "I'm looking for 
someone. Maybe you'd know where she is?"
"Oh, I doubt it," he says, shaking his head. "My specialty is losing 
things, not finding them. I wouldn't know where to start."
"Well, maybe you could just walk backwards?" I suggest. I don't know why, 
really, but given the circumstances it seems strangely appropriate.
"Oh, I do believe she fancies herself with a sense of humor," he mutters, 
not at all unkindly. "But no. I would, as it happens, be required not 
just to walk but to think backwards, and that's simply too 
much. Especially before a proper breakfast."
"And if you had something to eat?" I say.

"Oh, I'm afraid I have no such thing on or around me. That's why I'm out 
here, in fact."
"You think there's food out here?"

"Dear me, no. It's just that I had my breakfast with me, you see, but I 
lost it. Lost it very well."
"But," I say, "didn't you just tell me you couldn't find anything? Why are 
you out here looking?"
"Well, what else should I be doing?" he asks, and I have to admit I'm 
stumped. "Besides, there's always the chance that, while I'm out here 
meandering about, I'll lose my appetite."
This has all been a very entertaining tangent, but nonetheless, I don't 
think I'll find any help here. And Buffy's still out there, somewhere. I 
decide to try one more time.
"Is there anyone else around here who could help me?" I ask, trying to keep 
the frustration out of my voice. "Perhaps someone you haven't lost 
yet?" He considers for a moment.
"Well, there's the Camp," he says, and I can just hear the capital 
letter. "I don't imagine I could lose that if I tried."
"Camp? There's a camp? What camp? And do they have marshmallows?" I ask, 
a bit too excited. Do they have Buffy is what I wanted to ask.
"Right, yes, the only Camp in this place, and I don't think so," he 
says. I take a moment to remember my own questions and get them 
straight. There's so much more I want to ask him, but I have a feeling it 
would take more time than I want to spend.
"All right then," I say. "Where is this camp?"

"The camp is where it is," he says. "It is... central. Just as sure as my 
specialty is losing things, it's is being found. Just keep on going the 
way you're going."
"Oh. Right. And, uh... thanks, Mister..." I trail off as I realize I 
never got his name.
"You're quite welcome, young miss. And if you're wanting my name, I'm 
afraid I don't keep a hold of them for too long. You may call me Mister 
Scone."
"Mister Scone?" I ask, and he nods. "Okay then, I will. Unless you lose 
it, too."
"Oh, I probably will, and soon. But as long as you keep a hold of it, 
it'll never really be lost, eh?" He clucks his tongue and, shaking his 
head, walks off into the darkness without so much as a goodbye.
That was bizarre, I think, as I get back into the driver's seat. I start 
thinking back to what Buffy said before about the night advancing. First 
there was darkness, then bloody stars, then a bloody river, and now, odd 
British guys in bathrobes. Bloody British guys. I wonder if he was a demon.
It's strange. If I were anything resembling a normal girl wandering about 
alone at night, I'd be more worried about muggers and guys looking for 
cheap, read free, sex than about whether odd British guys in bathrobes were 
demons. Though as it is he could very well have lost his knickers at some 
point. I hope Buffy hasn't acquired any new talents along the lines of 
losing things all the time. It'd be a shame if she lost her 
knickers. Especially if I wasn't there to...
Stop, Willow. Just stop.

Strangely, my chance meeting with Scone has improved my mood. He seemed so 
cheerful for someone wandering about in the middle of a cloud of unnatural 
blackness. I, on the other hand, am looking at the possibility of 
permanent emotional scarring, in no small part due to a large number and 
startling variety of naughty thoughts about my involved, female, best friend.
Somewhere amidst all the commotion in my head, I get the Jeep started 
again. We follow the river for what the trip meter says is another five 
miles, and I start to get a little worried. Just how long can this thing 
be? There's only... well, okay, there's hundreds of miles of desert out 
here, but whatever's bleeding all over the place can't expect me to drive 
that far.
I think I see light up ahead. It's just a faint glow, but it's there. I 
switch off the headlights for a moment, and as my eyes adjust I can see 
what looks like a campfire. But I can't make out anything else, not at 
this distance. There's only one thing to do, now. I start driving again, 
following the light up ahead and being careful not to drive into the river 
of blood. Yuck.
I wonder what kinds of people hang out in this camp... are they even 
people? Or am I driving into the middle of a demonic tour group? Mister 
Scone seemed nice enough, though I suppose he might have just lost his 
evilness at some point. The rest? Who knows?
I hope this isn't all a terrible mistake.

Then again, what else am I going to do?

I pull up to the camp slowly, keeping the headlights off but ready to turn 
them back on at any time. Nobody seems to notice, at least not in a 
rush-out-and-attack kind of way. There's a fire, all right, a big cone of 
red flames in some kind of pit. Around it are tents arranged in a 
circle. Somewhere in between the red flickering light and the darkness, I 
can see shapes moving.
"See?" a voice says to my left. "It's pretty hard to miss." Mister Scone 
is there, standing by my car window in his bathrobe and looking at the camp 
with a quizzical expression.
"And you didn't even have to walk backwards," I say, getting a small smirk 
in response. "Are there others here... like you?" I venture.
"You never can tell quite what you'll find here," he says, his voice 
lowering. "Or what you'll lose..."
"Sounds vaguely unsettling," I say. "High marks for presentation. But 
I've heard it before. Who are those... people, or whatever they are?"
"You've got some kick, girl," he says, raising one bushy eyebrow.

"Yeah, living where I live will do that to you. That or kill you." Man, 
I'm starting to sound like a bad movie tough-guy. Girl. It's not all bad, 
'cause Mister Scone seems to be suitably impressed. But I think I'm 
beginning channeling vamp-me, and that worries me. At least I'm not 
getting bored yet.
"Those things," he nods at the shadows, "are people like you and me. A lot 
more like me than you, though. They eat, they sleep, they wake up. By 
day, they go out into the world and act like normal people should. They 
work. They get paid. They shop. But by night, they start letting things 
out that they would never expose to sunlight."
"So, what, the sun goes down and they have an id-party?" I say. Hey, I 
took psychology last semester, even if the professor did turn out to be an 
evil bitch trying to kill us all and ending up on the skewer of her own 
roboto-demon creation.
"You could put it that way," Mister Scone says, huffing as if to let me 
know that his way is much more sophisticated. "Their hidden desires come 
to the forefront as the sun sinks behind the world."
"Right. Id-party," I say, and he huffs again. "But if they're people, why 
do they look all non-corporeal?"
"Oh, most of them are solid enough," he explains. "What you're seeing 
isn't the people, it's the spirits of their little nighttime obsessions, 
let loose by the promise of eternal night."
"You mean, that shadow thing that attacked us earlier was really just some 
delinquent's subconscious?"
"Something like that, one would assume, not having been there to see it."

"Well then, what about you?" I ask, peering at him more closely. "Do you 
have one of those things floating around somewhere?"
"Of course I do. Everyone does, at least once they've been here a 
while. It's just that, ah, I, uh, lost mine a while ago," he says, having 
the grace to at least look a little embarrassed. "Haven't seen it again 
since," he says a bit more softly.
"So if all those things are spirits, where are the bodies?" I wonder out 
loud. "In the tents?"
"Oh, most of them, heh. Some of them keep walking around for quite a 
while, but eventually they go to sleep, you see," he says, looking sadly 
over at the collection of pitched tents. "Me, I never could seem to find 
any sleep."
"And the river? You know, the blood one? What about that?" I ask.

"Oh, that's a good one. Actually, I have an excellent book on the subject, 
written by one of the premiere... where did I put it... I must have left it 
in my other jacket, heh, actually, eh, my only jacket. Now, where would 
that be..." he trails off, turning away from me and stumbling off into the 
darkness. I consider calling after him, but what would be the use?
These latest developments have been disturbing, to say the least. Not only 
am I stuck out here in a big patch of mystical darkness, oh no, I have to 
be stuck here with a bunch of people so repressed and bored with their 
lives that their secret obsessions have all escaped and started doing 
secret obsessive things. And worse yet, my own little demons seem to be 
trying to break out.
Is that what I've been feeling this whole time? That little voice telling 
me to do unspeakable things to Buffy--well, obviously not unspeakable, or 
it wouldn't be telling me to do them, but unspeakable out loud by me? And 
is it going to start walking around on it's own and try to lick my neck?
I need to get out of here.

But first I need to find Buffy.

I hop out of the Jeep, landing with a thump on the sand. I close the door 
behind me, and pat the hood lightly. My vehicle-cum-guardian spirit will 
wait here until I return.
Clasping my hands before me, I say a quick spell for protection from 
darkness within darkness. It's not much, but it will have to do... and 
it's doing more than I expected. Looking at my hand, I can see that 
there's a slight something there, an aura I can't quite make out. If I 
look at it the right way, it could seem to be made of either light or 
darkness. It tingles.
I just knew magic would be weird in this place.

As I walk towards the camp, slowly, trying to keep my breathing calm, 
someone approaches. He appears solid as well, and much younger than Mister 
Scone. He's wearing a tattered brown robe. His hair is black and looks 
like something tried to nest in it--an owl, perhaps? They're nocturnal birds.
"Dark one?" he says, almost breathless, looking at me like I'm some sort of 
celebrity. He's obviously expecting me to give some sort of assurance.
"Um, dark one?" I parrot. That wasn't assuring.

"You are what the waking ones call a witch, are you not?" he asks.

"Ah, yes," I say, gaining only slightly in confidence as he looks at me in 
wonder. "That would be me." He falls to his knees in the sand, his robes 
pooling around him, and clasps his hands before him.
"Mighty dark one," he says. "Please, give me your command!"

Hmm. Interesting.

* * *


Jason Rune (Zephyr)

"No one's going to go see the story of Othello going to get a peaceful 
divorce."
-Joss Whedon


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