Something In The Air
by Anne-Lise
[reviews]
(Outside Buffy's house. BUFFY, and unseen, SPIKE.)
BUFFY: What light, what glorious light, which brings warmth unto this weary heart. Harken, is that not the sound of faerie folk, or bells that children playful bring? Nay, for passing by, this ethereal light I see 'tis no more than radiant day brought forth by morn, not spectral source nor youthful zestly wrought. O fool am I for thinking more, of mayhap beasts or demons calling at my troubled door. Cast no stones upon me, unknown fate, from misery comes my weary stock and destiny a heavy mantle worn. What challenges, what nightmares new, have laid their ponderous destination upon my unlucky gate?
(Intrum SPIKE.)
SPIKE: I know not of troubles brewing, fair Slayer, but here am I a nightmare yet, but no sorrier for the asking. I bring not news nor deeds of demons, but a question burns upon my silent heart. For what is life, if not fleeting moments imbibed from the very chalice of passing history? Hold not my coloured past against me, nor bestow upon me torturous memories hence. A base and simple creature am I, blessed not by conscience nor righteous pathways do I seek, only to bring favour from your tender fingertips. A sorry curse is mine, for cursed am I if no smile forms upon your rosebud lips. A humble servant now am I, and servant always shall I be! If this but be your resolution felt, described in words conveyed by heartfelt wish.
BUFFY: A curse? What curse exists that pardons hence the terrors of your chequered past? I know of your misdeeds, and mayhap a little of your demeanour too! Mistake me not for a simple waif, despite the claims my unlikely nomenclature preaches, but hold true these words for verity; call not upon my distant eves whilst daylight breaks above your pale head, for sanctuary could you indeed realise is a nebulous and untrustworthy mistress. Should I close this uninviting portal and watch as day brings penance to your unworthy soul? Nay, pleasure would I scant receive in grim exchange for information stolen. This burden shall it be to place upon my soul, for your continued existence lays unto my apologetic feet a spectre of responsibility.
(Exeunt SPIKE & BUFFY.)
*
(Buffy's bedroom. BUFFY and SPIKE. Intrum WILLOW.)
WILLOW: O Sad day! What perversity claims this hallowed hall? No summoned shade nor fell beast wrought from Hell itself compares to this unlikely vision. Sweet Slayer, make haste to dress before this unworthy cur holds to you unholy pleasures sought!
SPIKE: Calmness be upon your brow, delectable though I find your quick concern. Yet not to judgement leap, for your judgement lies upon the unlikely blade of power gained without the aid of wisdom reached. This blade, I fear, all to readily wielded in the grasping hands of outrighteous peril. See not the encroaching dangers your magics bring? This balance is not yours to sunder, nor rectify as you see fit! I care not for matters of the occult, or the terrors brought upon its hapless prey, but fear I have for your very soul if this grim pathway will you ignorantly tread.
WILLOW: No words, forsooth, can sway your foolish heart. The answer lies within Lethe's blessing. Yet your words bring ponderance unto this weary and world-beaten shell.
(Exeunt WILLOW.)
BUFFY: Stay, if you will, within this chamber of dreams denied, for sleep's sweet virtue I cannot claim whilst Willow's need pulls upon my fragile heart.
SPIKE: Do as you must, but remember thus; A heart forged in misery, tempered by grief, becomes as steel. Hope remains as long as hearts still beat.
(Exeunt BUFFY, troubled.)
*
(Xander's flat. XANDER and ANYA.)
XANDER: A strangeness lays its shroud around us, I feel its chill upon the air. Something stirs and walks abroad this day. O confounded premonition, why now disturb my lacklustre and unworried thoughts?
ANYA: Mendacious and untrustworthy man! To choose this day to linger, in hope of sweet delights and entry to my carnal nest. Forbidden are you until night brings forth contractual release, for should events unfold to ebullient hope, this night a celebration beckons. For soon a foreman's crest will glisten upon your handsome vacant crown, and should I rue some strange event, I know my heart would not hold guilt for choices I could never make. Go now, and delectable pancakes shall you serve, and orange juice place beside my silver plate.
XANDER: Aye, my queen. Though forlorn am I that plates of silver lie beyond my esteemed reach. But lo, though paper brings not contentment to she of avarice borne, I find enjoyment... For no need have we for manual cleaning labour chores! Fear not, for should opportunity arise this day, mayhap our futures may find china plates upon our table, and crystal goblets for wine decanted, and silver cutlery to dine within the drawers.
(Exeunt unhappy XANDER.)
*
(Willow's bedroom. BUFFY and WILLOW.)
BUFFY: Take this, my token, to draw away these saddened tears. My heart breaks but for the knowledge that brighter days will come our way, if we but hold true unto ourselves and let not these unworthy feelings sway us from our path. Please, take succor in my words and arms and find within my light embrace sustenance and much needed love.
WILLOW: Know not the impact your words impart? The longing held in check by failing barriers, the growing need, seeded so long upon our first chance encounter? No fairy tales come true for us, our remit is to fight the darkness; champions of goodness and light are we? Or sorry pawns within some greater game? Upon this butcher's block of life our hearts are weighed and found wanting, and here I lie replete in knowledge and debasement, how far can angels fall when wings are sheared upon the knives of fate? O sorry state, for love no more penetrates my frigid heart.
BUFFY: Hope remains as long as hearts still beat. Look to me, for though these words were founded by mysterious and dubious source, I now believe them to be true. Look to me, for in my hands your heart a trusted covenant becomes. Look to me, for in my words and deed, have I not given you cause for faith?
WILLOW: Hope remains, but dare I look upon the promises of days afar? If only my dreams were crafted by more than sleeping's callow hands. Yet my gratitude in abundance find, for words that gift upon me hope; this fragile yet hardy beast now flutters in my nervous breast.
BUFFY: Aspirations, hopes and dreams. Mayhap more than these be placed upon your rising breast. Take my hand, for in my hands more than your covenant can there be found.
(Intrum SPIKE.)
SPIKE: Bloody hell!
(End Act I.)