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dragonyphoenixTitle: Conjuring Love From the Ashes of an Old Flame
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: It starts out as Spike/Dru and Buffy/Angel, but then there are a couple of love spells so we get Willow/Angelus, Willow/Angel, Willow/Yarn!Spike, Willow/Spike
Rating: Part 1 is G, but it will be R-rated (or possibly only NC-17 since I'm vague on the difference) overall
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: None in this section
Summary: Drusilla has a way to bring Angelus back. Unfortunately she needs Spike's ashes to do it.
Notes: Written for a bad_swa prompt – conjure
Notes: The Spike doll is based on two knitted Spikes by whichclothes
Notes: The awesome banner was created by Shaken Silence
Notes: Set after Bandy Candy but before Revelations
Notes: And I can't believe that, up till today, I forgot to credit diebirchen with the beta review. Fixes my grammar for me so this is readable for you. So, diebirchen, thank you very much!
Master Index for the story
Dru, her white dress glowing like the reflected light of the moon as the false dawn lit up the sky, stood at the edge of the terrace, leaning over the fence as far as she could, as if she could reach the sea by stretching her body out just a bit further.
Spike ground his boot over a cigarette and circled around the pool to come up behind Dru. Putting an arm around her waist, he said, “Come back in, luv.”
Stretching out on her tiptoes, she leaned just a tad closer towards the sea. “But she's telling me ever so many secrets.”
“Sun is about to rise,” he said patiently. “You remember how it burned you last time, right pet?”
In a flash of vamp speed, quicker than any human would have been able to follow, Dru leaned against Spike. Holding out an arm before her, she stared at it intently. “Sharp flames burning like knives.”
Taking her by the hand, Spike pulled her towards the house. “That's right luv. Come back in where it's safe.” He led her through the living room, past the white leather couches that looked more like a suburbanite's wet dream than any beach house in Rio had a right to, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. While the bed was a good size, it looked like something out of a hotel room, far too plain for Spike's princess although she hadn't complained, which had been a bit of a surprise given how particular she could get. Spike closed the shades, dark enough to keep the sunlight out, and drew blue gauze curtains over the shades, not that they made any difference in terms of light, but Dru liked the look of them. “And why is it we're staying on the bloody beach?”
“Because I need to commune with the sea, silly,” Dru said, tracing a finger across his cheekbone.
“Learn anything interesting?” he asked, leaning in with closed eyes, as he nuzzled her hair, losing himself in her scent.
“Oh yes,” Dru purred. “I don't think you'll like it much though.”
That brought him back. “But you're going to tell me, right? No secrets between us, luv.”
Stepping away, Dru tweaked a finger over his nose. “You'll find out soon enough.”
Spike should have known better than to be reassured by her words, but Dru had been gazing out at the sea for hours while he'd been getting hornier and hornier. Running a hand down her back, he said, “What do you say we get this...” He paused and looked confused, as if he hadn't noticed her dress. “Pet,” he said carefully. “What are you doing in such a pale, flowery getup? I mean, it's not pastels, quite, but it's not your usual vibrant colors either.”
She started swaying like a reed in a breeze. “Light and life balance against the darkness, like a seed buried in the earth; the light grows out of the dark, which itself grows out of the light.”
Spike shook his head. “Huh?”
“I can't bring the darkness back unless I myself am of the light.”
Cupping a hand over her ass, Spike said, “Well, if you want a bit of darkness, pet, all you had to do was ask.”
“Mummy's busy.” Slipping out of his grasp, Dru sat on the floor in a corner of the room.
“But,” Spike said.
Reaching into her leather bag, Dru pulled out black yarn, a set of knitting needles, as well as something roundish and pale that Spike couldn't immediately identify.
Spike, his curiosity getting the better of him, wandered over to take a look. “Didn't know you knitted.”
“Every girl could knit when I was growing up.” In a singsong voice she added, “I can knit, crochet, tat, and embroider the prettiest flowers you ever did see.”
Spike picked up the roundish bit. It was a knitted head with pale skin, yellow eyes, spikes of yellow hair, and bloody fangs sewn in with embroidery floss. “That supposed to be me?”
Nodding in agreement, Dru took the doll's head back from him and started knitting a black shirt below the neck. “So I can carry you everywhere I go, right here.” She put a hand to her bodice. “Next to my heart.”
“Don't need a doll to keep me in your heart,” Spike murmured as he leaned over to kiss her neck.
Dru smacked him away. “She told me I must get this done tonight.”
“Who told you?”
“The sea of course,” she said.
With a sigh, Spike sat on the bed and started pulling off his boots. “Don't suppose you'll be joining me anytime soon?” he called back. Dru kept knitting. He lay down on the bed with his hands across his torso and closed his eyes.
Spike had been asleep for hours by the time Dru tiptoed across the room, quietly so as not to awaken him. Brushing a hand across the doll, she traced down its black shirt and pants and then kissed Spike on the forehead, saying, “I know you don't wear white socks, but I wanted to make sure you could tell I'd put your boots on for you.” She set the scene very carefully, placing an Orb of Thesella, that had been hidden in her leather bag, at the bottom of the bed, just below where Spike's feet were hanging over, and then setting the doll on the floor a few feet away from the bed before positioning herself so that the three of them – the orb, the doll, and herself – formed a perfect equilateral triangle. After checking around the room with a quick glance, to make sure everything was perfect, Drusilla started chanting in a demonic tongue, not the spell to restore a soul, but a more ancient conjuring, her attention turning inwards as power took her over.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.” Spike's screams jolted Dru out of her trance.
She grabbed the doll and gave it a good shake. “Spike,” she said, “there was no need to frighten me so.”
He kept screaming, too terrified to form words.
Tossing the doll onto the bed, carefully so its landing didn't scatter the ashes, Dru picked up the orb. “We don't want this to get damaged, now do we? It'll be so very useful to us again.” She carefully wrapped the orb in a towel before placing it back in the bag.
A wooden box, its top painted in a black and white checkerboard pattern, sat on the dresser. Dru was carrying it to the bed, with both hands under the box as if it were a holy relic, when Spike finally found words. “What'd you do? What'd you do?”
Picking up his ashes with both hands, she let them drift into the box that she'd placed on the bed. “Now Spike, don't be cross with me,” she told the doll. “The sea told me I'll need the ashes to bring Daddy back.” Dru placed the lid on tightly and added the box to her bag.
Returning to the bed, she picked up the doll and gave Spike a kiss. “Give me my body back,” he shouted.
“Silly,” she said as she crammed Spike into her bodice. “There's no body to put you back into. Besides, I told you, I need the ashes.”
“Dru,” he warned. She pushed him in deeper. “Hey,” he yelled. “There's something in here. Get me out. Get me out.”
Reaching a hand into her bodice, Dru pulled the doll out. “What is wrong with you? Mummy's going to be very cross if you keep up this bad behavior.” Spike seemed to shiver even though he couldn't move. Wearing the look of a curious child, she put her other hand into the bodice and felt around. “Oh yeah,” she said, wriggling seductively as she pulled out a finger bone. “I'd forgotten about this.”
“That isn't that thing Angelus used to carry around, is it?”
“His father's finger,” Dru confirmed. “The only thing he ever cared about.”
“Except himself,” Spike muttered.
“Back in you both go.”
“No, don't put me back in with that thing. Look at it. Some of my yarn is caught on that abomination of Angelus'. You want me to be pulled away to nothing before you can get my body back?” As she shoved him back into her bodice, he added, “Dru, stop it!”
“Shhhh,” she said, placing a finger over her own lips. “Behave, or Mummy will be forced to gag you.”
* * *
The skeleton's hollow eyes were fixed on the table where Xander sat hunched over a textbook and skimming his finger over the jumble of words. “Capillaries? Oh God, what are those again? Veins? That has something to do with blood, right? Yeah, that's gotta be it; we must be studying blood because Mr. Davison has been doing that bad Dracula impersonation.” He slammed the book shut and said, “I'm never going to get this.” No one noticed. “I said I'm never going to get this,” he called out more loudly.
Cordy, sitting with Buffy one desk ahead of him, waved a hand without looking. “Hush, this is important.” Tapping Buffy's shoulder with the tip of one finger, immaculately manicured in the trendiest shade of peach, Cordy said, “I normally wouldn't ask you, given your lack of fashion sense, but I need to pick out the new cheerleader outfits by fourth period.”
“Gee, thanks,” Buffy replied.
“Don't worry, it's not like I expect you to suddenly have taste. Just tell me what you do and don't like; I'll probably go with the opposite of what you recommend. Now,” Cordy added, pointing to an outfit in the catalog. “I really love this short top, because it would show off my abs like nobody's business, but there's no way Harmony could pull it off.”
At the front of the room, Mr. Davison was glancing through a pile of unmarked tests. To his right, students were streaming in from the hallway. Willow, holding her textbooks precariously under one arm while sorting through her purse, crashed into a couple of jocks who'd parked themselves right inside the door. “Oops, sorry,” she said, squishing the books with her arm so they wouldn't fall. She kept ransacking through her purse as she walked to the far end of the room, along the windows towards the back table. Absentmindedly dropping her books, she sat next to Xander without really noticing him.
“Willow,” he exclaimed.
“Hey Xander,” she said, not looking up from her purse.
He leaned over and tickled his fingers up her spine. As Willow screamed, pencils and erasers flew everywhere. Xander, as he pulled his arm off of Willow, leaped up from his chair and stumbled backwards as it fell to the floor with a loud crash.
Buffy scanned the room looking for trouble, while Cordy turned and asked, “What is your trauma?”
Not seeing any immediate threats, Buffy asked Willow if she was OK.
“I can't find my pencil,” Willow exclaimed.
“Well, there are plenty rolling around on the floor,” Cordy said. “Does your dad own a pencil factory or something?”
“No, you don't get it. My lucky pencil – it's gone!”
“I'm sure it's down here somewhere,” Buffy said as she started chasing down pencils.
“That's just it. I've been looking and looking. It's not there. I'm doomed to academic failure,” Willow cried.
“Come on, Will,” Xander said. “Let's get this straight. I'd have flunked out years ago if you hadn't been here to help me. You study way too much to ever fail.” At Willow's glare he added, “And by that, I mean you study exactly enough. Right Buffy?”
“Huh?” Buffy asked, dumping pencils on the table. As they started rolling away, she slapped her hands down, trying to stop them before they fell off the table again.
“Help me out here,” Xander begged.
“Wait,” Cordy said. “I thought your lucky pencil was like your security blanket or something. How'd you manage to lose that?”
“I'm not sure, but maybe it fell when I was running away from Drusilla.”
“Drusilla?” Buffy shouted. A couple of heads turned their way. “Drusilla?” she repeated in a whisper. “I didn't hear about this, why?”
“Well, she let me go, and then Oz called, and after that it was late,” Willow replied.
“She let you go? Why didn't she just kill you?” Cordy asked. At Buffy and Xander's glares, she added, “What? I'm just wondering. Undead evil not killing Willow. Come on, you have to ask why.”
“As much as it pains me to agree, Cordy does have a point,” Buffy said.
“It was kinda weird, but I figured it was Drusilla so what would you expect.” Willow quickly looked over the pencils on the table and then threw her hands in the air. “No lucky pencil. I'm doomed to fail this test.”
Buffy, with a roll of her eyes, went to fetch the few stray pencils she'd missed.
“Will, I think you're losing the big picture here. Still alive,” Xander said.
“I get that,” Willow stated. Seeing three sets of blank stares, she added, “No, I really do, but that was last night. I've got a test today, and I'm going to fail.”
With a dismissive flick of her hair, Cordy turned back to her catalog, saying, “Maybe Drusilla needed the luck.”
“That's it,” Willow exclaimed.
“Drusilla needed your lucky pencil for a test?” Xander asked. “Wait, why would a demon be taking a test?”
“No, but she was twirling something pencil sized between her fingers.”
Buffy dropped more pencils on the table. “You stopped to look?”
“Well, before I ran.” Seeing that Buffy was about to start in on a big 'how to avoid getting eaten by demons' lecture, as if Willow hadn't grown up on the Hellmouth, she added, “I wanted to know where she was.”
“Why would she take your pencil?” Buffy asked.
“Maybe she wants me to fail school, drop out, and become one of those kids who hang out behind the bleachers, all vulnerable, what with the being out at night and on drugs and all.”
“Willow, it sounds like she had you last night,” Xander said.
“Well yeah,” Willow temporized, “but this is Drusilla we're talking about. Who knows what kind of illogical thoughts go into her evil schemes.”
“Please take your seats,” Mr. Davison called out from the front of the room.
“Oh no,” Willow moaned as Buffy sat down. “You can get my lucky pencil back, can't you Buffy?”
“I'll see what I can do.”
“Oh good, it's one of these yellow ones,” Willow said, holding up a pencil, “about this much shorter than this one, and it's got a little nick to one side, right around here, about a half-inch – no, about a third of an inch long.” The teacher told the class to quiet down as Willow paused to think of more details to help Buffy find the right pencil.
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: It starts out as Spike/Dru and Buffy/Angel, but then there are a couple of love spells so we get Willow/Angelus, Willow/Angel, Willow/Yarn!Spike, Willow/Spike
Rating: Part 1 is G, but it will be R-rated (or possibly only NC-17 since I'm vague on the difference) overall
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: None in this section
Summary: Drusilla has a way to bring Angelus back. Unfortunately she needs Spike's ashes to do it.
Notes: Written for a bad_swa prompt – conjure
Notes: The Spike doll is based on two knitted Spikes by whichclothes
Notes: The awesome banner was created by Shaken Silence
Notes: Set after Bandy Candy but before Revelations
Notes: And I can't believe that, up till today, I forgot to credit diebirchen with the beta review. Fixes my grammar for me so this is readable for you. So, diebirchen, thank you very much!
Master Index for the story
Dru, her white dress glowing like the reflected light of the moon as the false dawn lit up the sky, stood at the edge of the terrace, leaning over the fence as far as she could, as if she could reach the sea by stretching her body out just a bit further.
Spike ground his boot over a cigarette and circled around the pool to come up behind Dru. Putting an arm around her waist, he said, “Come back in, luv.”
Stretching out on her tiptoes, she leaned just a tad closer towards the sea. “But she's telling me ever so many secrets.”
“Sun is about to rise,” he said patiently. “You remember how it burned you last time, right pet?”
In a flash of vamp speed, quicker than any human would have been able to follow, Dru leaned against Spike. Holding out an arm before her, she stared at it intently. “Sharp flames burning like knives.”
Taking her by the hand, Spike pulled her towards the house. “That's right luv. Come back in where it's safe.” He led her through the living room, past the white leather couches that looked more like a suburbanite's wet dream than any beach house in Rio had a right to, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. While the bed was a good size, it looked like something out of a hotel room, far too plain for Spike's princess although she hadn't complained, which had been a bit of a surprise given how particular she could get. Spike closed the shades, dark enough to keep the sunlight out, and drew blue gauze curtains over the shades, not that they made any difference in terms of light, but Dru liked the look of them. “And why is it we're staying on the bloody beach?”
“Because I need to commune with the sea, silly,” Dru said, tracing a finger across his cheekbone.
“Learn anything interesting?” he asked, leaning in with closed eyes, as he nuzzled her hair, losing himself in her scent.
“Oh yes,” Dru purred. “I don't think you'll like it much though.”
That brought him back. “But you're going to tell me, right? No secrets between us, luv.”
Stepping away, Dru tweaked a finger over his nose. “You'll find out soon enough.”
Spike should have known better than to be reassured by her words, but Dru had been gazing out at the sea for hours while he'd been getting hornier and hornier. Running a hand down her back, he said, “What do you say we get this...” He paused and looked confused, as if he hadn't noticed her dress. “Pet,” he said carefully. “What are you doing in such a pale, flowery getup? I mean, it's not pastels, quite, but it's not your usual vibrant colors either.”
She started swaying like a reed in a breeze. “Light and life balance against the darkness, like a seed buried in the earth; the light grows out of the dark, which itself grows out of the light.”
Spike shook his head. “Huh?”
“I can't bring the darkness back unless I myself am of the light.”
Cupping a hand over her ass, Spike said, “Well, if you want a bit of darkness, pet, all you had to do was ask.”
“Mummy's busy.” Slipping out of his grasp, Dru sat on the floor in a corner of the room.
“But,” Spike said.
Reaching into her leather bag, Dru pulled out black yarn, a set of knitting needles, as well as something roundish and pale that Spike couldn't immediately identify.
Spike, his curiosity getting the better of him, wandered over to take a look. “Didn't know you knitted.”
“Every girl could knit when I was growing up.” In a singsong voice she added, “I can knit, crochet, tat, and embroider the prettiest flowers you ever did see.”
Spike picked up the roundish bit. It was a knitted head with pale skin, yellow eyes, spikes of yellow hair, and bloody fangs sewn in with embroidery floss. “That supposed to be me?”
Nodding in agreement, Dru took the doll's head back from him and started knitting a black shirt below the neck. “So I can carry you everywhere I go, right here.” She put a hand to her bodice. “Next to my heart.”
“Don't need a doll to keep me in your heart,” Spike murmured as he leaned over to kiss her neck.
Dru smacked him away. “She told me I must get this done tonight.”
“Who told you?”
“The sea of course,” she said.
With a sigh, Spike sat on the bed and started pulling off his boots. “Don't suppose you'll be joining me anytime soon?” he called back. Dru kept knitting. He lay down on the bed with his hands across his torso and closed his eyes.
Spike had been asleep for hours by the time Dru tiptoed across the room, quietly so as not to awaken him. Brushing a hand across the doll, she traced down its black shirt and pants and then kissed Spike on the forehead, saying, “I know you don't wear white socks, but I wanted to make sure you could tell I'd put your boots on for you.” She set the scene very carefully, placing an Orb of Thesella, that had been hidden in her leather bag, at the bottom of the bed, just below where Spike's feet were hanging over, and then setting the doll on the floor a few feet away from the bed before positioning herself so that the three of them – the orb, the doll, and herself – formed a perfect equilateral triangle. After checking around the room with a quick glance, to make sure everything was perfect, Drusilla started chanting in a demonic tongue, not the spell to restore a soul, but a more ancient conjuring, her attention turning inwards as power took her over.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.” Spike's screams jolted Dru out of her trance.
She grabbed the doll and gave it a good shake. “Spike,” she said, “there was no need to frighten me so.”
He kept screaming, too terrified to form words.
Tossing the doll onto the bed, carefully so its landing didn't scatter the ashes, Dru picked up the orb. “We don't want this to get damaged, now do we? It'll be so very useful to us again.” She carefully wrapped the orb in a towel before placing it back in the bag.
A wooden box, its top painted in a black and white checkerboard pattern, sat on the dresser. Dru was carrying it to the bed, with both hands under the box as if it were a holy relic, when Spike finally found words. “What'd you do? What'd you do?”
Picking up his ashes with both hands, she let them drift into the box that she'd placed on the bed. “Now Spike, don't be cross with me,” she told the doll. “The sea told me I'll need the ashes to bring Daddy back.” Dru placed the lid on tightly and added the box to her bag.
Returning to the bed, she picked up the doll and gave Spike a kiss. “Give me my body back,” he shouted.
“Silly,” she said as she crammed Spike into her bodice. “There's no body to put you back into. Besides, I told you, I need the ashes.”
“Dru,” he warned. She pushed him in deeper. “Hey,” he yelled. “There's something in here. Get me out. Get me out.”
Reaching a hand into her bodice, Dru pulled the doll out. “What is wrong with you? Mummy's going to be very cross if you keep up this bad behavior.” Spike seemed to shiver even though he couldn't move. Wearing the look of a curious child, she put her other hand into the bodice and felt around. “Oh yeah,” she said, wriggling seductively as she pulled out a finger bone. “I'd forgotten about this.”
“That isn't that thing Angelus used to carry around, is it?”
“His father's finger,” Dru confirmed. “The only thing he ever cared about.”
“Except himself,” Spike muttered.
“Back in you both go.”
“No, don't put me back in with that thing. Look at it. Some of my yarn is caught on that abomination of Angelus'. You want me to be pulled away to nothing before you can get my body back?” As she shoved him back into her bodice, he added, “Dru, stop it!”
“Shhhh,” she said, placing a finger over her own lips. “Behave, or Mummy will be forced to gag you.”
The skeleton's hollow eyes were fixed on the table where Xander sat hunched over a textbook and skimming his finger over the jumble of words. “Capillaries? Oh God, what are those again? Veins? That has something to do with blood, right? Yeah, that's gotta be it; we must be studying blood because Mr. Davison has been doing that bad Dracula impersonation.” He slammed the book shut and said, “I'm never going to get this.” No one noticed. “I said I'm never going to get this,” he called out more loudly.
Cordy, sitting with Buffy one desk ahead of him, waved a hand without looking. “Hush, this is important.” Tapping Buffy's shoulder with the tip of one finger, immaculately manicured in the trendiest shade of peach, Cordy said, “I normally wouldn't ask you, given your lack of fashion sense, but I need to pick out the new cheerleader outfits by fourth period.”
“Gee, thanks,” Buffy replied.
“Don't worry, it's not like I expect you to suddenly have taste. Just tell me what you do and don't like; I'll probably go with the opposite of what you recommend. Now,” Cordy added, pointing to an outfit in the catalog. “I really love this short top, because it would show off my abs like nobody's business, but there's no way Harmony could pull it off.”
At the front of the room, Mr. Davison was glancing through a pile of unmarked tests. To his right, students were streaming in from the hallway. Willow, holding her textbooks precariously under one arm while sorting through her purse, crashed into a couple of jocks who'd parked themselves right inside the door. “Oops, sorry,” she said, squishing the books with her arm so they wouldn't fall. She kept ransacking through her purse as she walked to the far end of the room, along the windows towards the back table. Absentmindedly dropping her books, she sat next to Xander without really noticing him.
“Willow,” he exclaimed.
“Hey Xander,” she said, not looking up from her purse.
He leaned over and tickled his fingers up her spine. As Willow screamed, pencils and erasers flew everywhere. Xander, as he pulled his arm off of Willow, leaped up from his chair and stumbled backwards as it fell to the floor with a loud crash.
Buffy scanned the room looking for trouble, while Cordy turned and asked, “What is your trauma?”
Not seeing any immediate threats, Buffy asked Willow if she was OK.
“I can't find my pencil,” Willow exclaimed.
“Well, there are plenty rolling around on the floor,” Cordy said. “Does your dad own a pencil factory or something?”
“No, you don't get it. My lucky pencil – it's gone!”
“I'm sure it's down here somewhere,” Buffy said as she started chasing down pencils.
“That's just it. I've been looking and looking. It's not there. I'm doomed to academic failure,” Willow cried.
“Come on, Will,” Xander said. “Let's get this straight. I'd have flunked out years ago if you hadn't been here to help me. You study way too much to ever fail.” At Willow's glare he added, “And by that, I mean you study exactly enough. Right Buffy?”
“Huh?” Buffy asked, dumping pencils on the table. As they started rolling away, she slapped her hands down, trying to stop them before they fell off the table again.
“Help me out here,” Xander begged.
“Wait,” Cordy said. “I thought your lucky pencil was like your security blanket or something. How'd you manage to lose that?”
“I'm not sure, but maybe it fell when I was running away from Drusilla.”
“Drusilla?” Buffy shouted. A couple of heads turned their way. “Drusilla?” she repeated in a whisper. “I didn't hear about this, why?”
“Well, she let me go, and then Oz called, and after that it was late,” Willow replied.
“She let you go? Why didn't she just kill you?” Cordy asked. At Buffy and Xander's glares, she added, “What? I'm just wondering. Undead evil not killing Willow. Come on, you have to ask why.”
“As much as it pains me to agree, Cordy does have a point,” Buffy said.
“It was kinda weird, but I figured it was Drusilla so what would you expect.” Willow quickly looked over the pencils on the table and then threw her hands in the air. “No lucky pencil. I'm doomed to fail this test.”
Buffy, with a roll of her eyes, went to fetch the few stray pencils she'd missed.
“Will, I think you're losing the big picture here. Still alive,” Xander said.
“I get that,” Willow stated. Seeing three sets of blank stares, she added, “No, I really do, but that was last night. I've got a test today, and I'm going to fail.”
With a dismissive flick of her hair, Cordy turned back to her catalog, saying, “Maybe Drusilla needed the luck.”
“That's it,” Willow exclaimed.
“Drusilla needed your lucky pencil for a test?” Xander asked. “Wait, why would a demon be taking a test?”
“No, but she was twirling something pencil sized between her fingers.”
Buffy dropped more pencils on the table. “You stopped to look?”
“Well, before I ran.” Seeing that Buffy was about to start in on a big 'how to avoid getting eaten by demons' lecture, as if Willow hadn't grown up on the Hellmouth, she added, “I wanted to know where she was.”
“Why would she take your pencil?” Buffy asked.
“Maybe she wants me to fail school, drop out, and become one of those kids who hang out behind the bleachers, all vulnerable, what with the being out at night and on drugs and all.”
“Willow, it sounds like she had you last night,” Xander said.
“Well yeah,” Willow temporized, “but this is Drusilla we're talking about. Who knows what kind of illogical thoughts go into her evil schemes.”
“Please take your seats,” Mr. Davison called out from the front of the room.
“Oh no,” Willow moaned as Buffy sat down. “You can get my lucky pencil back, can't you Buffy?”
“I'll see what I can do.”
“Oh good, it's one of these yellow ones,” Willow said, holding up a pencil, “about this much shorter than this one, and it's got a little nick to one side, right around here, about a half-inch – no, about a third of an inch long.” The teacher told the class to quiet down as Willow paused to think of more details to help Buffy find the right pencil.
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Date: 2010-11-28 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-28 03:33 pm (UTC)