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05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
12/23/16 01:12 pm
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10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
08/31/16 03:43 pm
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This is for the seven_seasons LJ comunity ficathon. Sotia helped with the test reading and the suport and Mari (dusty273) was nice enough to beta.

There had to be a mistake. There just had to. She couldn’t accept that everything which had transpired just a few short weeks before was possibly going to happen again.

“…to revive the vampire they need his bones…”

This can’t be happening! Everywhere she turned she could swear his eyes were watching her, plotting how to kill her again. Only this time there would be no one around to bring her back. Short lifespan, indeed.

And now this, the news she’d dreaded since the moment she killed him the first time. The Master’s coming back. Which one will stay dead this time? She could feel her skin break out in a cold sweat and a chill run down her spine. “All Slayers die young,” had been an ever present mantra playing in her head throughout summer. Now it became an unbearably loud clamor inside her head, one pushing away any rational thoughts and making her enter a fight-or-flight mode. She wanted to flight, but she knew, just knew that the inevitability of her death was written in stone.

Once more she put on a brave façade, drew in a deep breath and tried to convince everyone, most of all herself, that “I can handle this”. Despite the others’ protestations and disbelieving looks, she knew for a fact that, “This is my fight.”

And that was the gist of it, the thing that made everything better and worse at the same time: it was her fight… and ultimately it would be her death.

“I… I think I might know of a way to prevent this. The… ah… text is scratchy, at best, however I think-”

“She’s gone, G-man,” Xander interrupted, still upset over Buffy’s weird behavior.

“I know she’s gone, what do you take me for?” Giles snapped at the young man so hell-bent on mangling his name. “However, I believe that this information may be vital.”

“What is it, some way to get Buffy to be, well, herself again? Some magic enhanced staff to prevent the Master from awakening? What?” Willow’s innate need to find out more was bubbling inside her like a soda-pop after being shaken.

“No,” Giles spoke with reverence, “a spatula.”

Aghast, both Willow and Xander’s jaws nearly hit the ground.

Angel was relaxing in his home. A good book and some soothing music in the background, Tears for Fears of course, was just what the doctor ordered. Well, if any doctor would have taken a look at him. After all his crimes and attempts at repentance, not being able to get a physical seemed like such a small thing, but it represented a symptom of a greater problem.

And so his relaxing afternoon at home while waiting for Buffy’s school day to end was ruined. He started brooding again, the faces of his victims playing at the edge of his vision. He was a monster and would never get a shot at being anything but that. When he was human, so long ago, shots hadn’t even been invented yet. Now he would never need one. Surprising how such a thought could bring such sorrow.

He tried to shake himself out of his dark thoughts. Buffy would start patrolling soon. She had to, despite her nasty words for him. He knew she was just trying to resist his charms but eventually would be unable to do it. It was written, so it was meant to be. He would shadow her, put her on the right path a Chosen One should follow and mold her into the perfect companion for a Champion of the Powers. Whistler said that’s what he ought to do, didn’t he?

He raised his head up in alarm and rose off the recliner with such speed that he had to check if his hair was still in place. Thank God, the gel was still doing its job. He grabbed a leather coat off the rack and got ready to depart. The work of a Champion was never done. He’d learned something was going to go down soon, so he had to get to Buffy’s side and make sure she did her job. Ah, the sacrifices one makes for redemption, he thought to himself as he shrugged the jacket on.

On a lonely highway, a car was speeding north, always north in a frantic attempt to reach its destination. Inside its blackened interior fumes of gasoline, alcohol and cigarette smoke mixed to make the air unbreathable for any human, which didn’t bother its sole occupant at all. What bothered him was the way his beloved car seemed unable to make the trip across continents as fast as the BMW his consort had hitched a ride in.

Barmy bint... my ripe wicked plum is lucky I love her so much, or I’d be mighty pissed with her running off to Sunnyhell again. And for what? To make sure Ol’ Batface will cast his useless shadow on the ground once more?

She’d given him the slip, letting him go by himself to Prague only to skedaddle back to the States. He’d sworn to never go to the Hellmouth ever since he’d offed the New York Slayer only to find his Princess riding her great-grandsire into oblivion on the other side of the country. He just knew looking for the new Chosen bird in LA was going to get him into trouble.

That much trouble and not even a little bit of fun, because Lothos had already bollixed it all up when he got there. The bloody nancy boy and his poncey idea that a green Slayer is a good target… He snorted to himself taking another long drag of his cigarette. Git never knew how to have a fair fight if you hit him over the head with it. Gotta let a Slayer develop a bit, make it a challenge. And why am I thinking about the Slayer when Dru is off probably shagging the Master’s bones back to life?

With that thought he ground his teeth together and stepped on the gas pedal. The sign welcoming people to Sunnydale never knew what hit it.

Absalom was pouring over an obviously old text, Colin looking bored at his side and minions milling everywhere around them.

“We need them now, the troops are ready and the time of resurrection is at hand!” Absalom ranted seemingly to some invisible audience, as everyone already present had heard his words not ten minutes before, during his previous rant.

“The Master will be pleased,” Colin stated, implacable as ever.

Out of a dark corner a shadow began emerging, seemingly forming itself out of nowhere. “They told me, they did. The pixies never lie. Unless they’re bad, bad pixies that deserve no milk.” The form that had the odd accent and hypnotic voice began to sway slowly from side to side, to some tune only her still un-discernable ears alone could hear.

All the vampires inside the warehouse tensed up, getting ready for a fight with whoever this stranger was. Colin raised his eyebrows and inquired who was disturbing him, while Absalom raised the ceremonial blade in preparation for any possible attack.

“Hush now, your time is not yet. It will be, with candy and cake. Miss Edith does love her cake. You can have some, too, if you play like a good little boy. ” Everyone could clearly make out the figure of a strangely alluring woman now, a dark-haired beauty who looked almost ethereal and clearly deadly. Her eyes fell on the gathered bones of the Master and at once they turned amber, her brow ridging and claws extending. “The Sunshine did this, bad girl gets no tea. You must put Humpty Dumpty together again.” She started clapping her hands together, a sight that would have disturbed any human, given her demon form.

Absalom was unimpressed. “We are here to do the Master’s bidding from beyond the grave. You are trespassing and must either bow to us or go away.” He assumed a haughty position.

“I am the Anointed One, the rightful successor of the Master and ruler of Sunnydale. Who is it that dares disturb us?”

The madwoman stopped mid-clap and all playfulness bled out of her countenance. “I am a Princess, my Dark Knight always tells me so.” Seeming thoughtful, her eyes almost glazed over, she went on without paying any attention to those around her. “Daddy called me his special girl, worthy of the nicest pain in all the land.” Her eyes came back to the world, pinning Collin in his spot, her words sounding like nails on a blackboard. “And Great-Granddaddy was nice to me, unlike you. You have pixies all around, but are too blind to give them tea. They’re mighty cross with you, they are and you’ll find the Sunshine before the glittery stars.”

One of the minions, attempting to take the initiative, decided that the mention of the sun’s deadly rays was an attack, so he tried to subdue the woman that had penetrated their defenses. He suddenly found himself in a meadow, a stream trickling by and birds audible in the nearby trees. He had no idea how he’d gotten there, but his heart swelled with uncontained glee. So big did it get, in fact, that it encompassed his body, the clearing and even the surrounding trees.

The stake fell to the ground and rolled to a halt in the dead silence that had followed the surprising suicide of one of Absalom’s most trustworthy underlings. Shocked vamps barely held their ground, unwilling to risk what was apparently a very powerful foe.

“Rejoice, my pets, the time to sing is near,” with that said, she stepped next to the Master’s bones and stroked them like a lover, becoming lost in whatever world her mind drifted in.

With a shrug, the rest of the vampires got back to what they were previously doing, preparing to bring the Master back.

Cordelia Chase, queen of Sunnydale High, head cheerleader and overall goddess among men opened her eyes to see herself heaped at the bottom of a cage. She got up, dusted herself scrunching her nose in distaste and took in her surroundings.

This is not good. As far as she could see through the dimly lit building, there were huge rooms and almost everywhere there were vampires posing as guards or doing God knows what. The old construction – a warehouse, maybe – seemed to not have been used for decades, most of the walls sporting decaying paint and the floor littered with… Ok, not thinking what those are. Denial may be best here, people.

She didn’t know how come she was still alive, and she was alive, first thing she did being to check her own neck for a pulse or fang marks, finding one and, surprisingly, not the other. She didn’t dwell on why they wanted her unharmed, thinking of gift-horses and mouths. And I bet if one of them did bite me I’ll die from some sort of poisoning. I mean hygiene, people, look into it.

One thing was infuriating, though. The Neanderthal wannabes had ruined her shoes and her dress. A thread was loose and the slime would probably never come out, even at the most expensive cleaning service. She stomped her foot, but when one of her captors turned and changed to his vamp face, her complaints died in her throat.

Cordy huffed, got to the middle of the cage so as not to touch any of the slimy and rusty bars and started to list in her mind all the ways Buffy Summers was to blame for her current condition.

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