Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original "ANGEL" and "BtVS" characters and their worlds belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. The quoted dialogue at the start of this entry is from the teleplay of the ANGEL series premiere, "City of..." which was written by David Greenwalt and Joss Whedon. All are used without permission and no copyright infringement is intended. Like most that post, I'm broke, so please don't sue.
Spoilers: All seasons of ANGEL & BtVS.
Distribution: If you already have permission to archive my work, feel free to add this part as well. All others may share my work by forwarding it to other readers, but please ask before archiving it on a web site. Thanks.
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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Doyle: (Irish brogue, not too strong...) Well, I like the place. Not much with the view, but it's got a nice Batcave sort of an air to it.
(sound of playing cards being shuffled? Or nervously fiddled with?)
Angel: (calm but curious) Who are you?
Doyle: Doyle.
Angel: You don't smell human.
Doyle: (mildly affronted) Well that's a bit rude. As it happens I'm very much human. (sneezes) On my mother's side. Well, I come in uninvited, so you know I'm not a vampire like yourself.
Angel: (mildly annoyed) What do you want?
Doyle: I've been sent. By the Powers That Be.
Angel: The powers that be what?
Doyle: Let me tell you a little bedtime story.
Angel: But I'm not sleepy.
Doyle: Once upon a time there was a vampire. And he was the meanest vampire in all the land. I mean, the other vampires were afraid of him, he was such a (pause) bastard. Then one day he's cursed. By Gypsies. They restore his human soul. And all of a sudden he is mad with guilt. You know (higher pitched, whining, somewhat mocking) 'Unh, what have I done?' (Irish lilt returns) You know, he's freaked.
Angel: Okay. Now I'm sleepy.
(sound of someone flopping down into a chair)
Doyle: Yeah, well, it's a fairly dull tale. It needs a little sex, is my feeling. So sure enough: enter the girl. Pretty little blonde thing, (whistles) Vampire Slayer by trade. And our vampire falls madly in love with her. But, eventually the two of them, well, they get fleshy with one another, and the moment he - well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness. But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It's ugly. So when he gets his soul back for the second time, he figures hey, he can't be any where near young Miss Puppy Thighs without endangering them both. So what does he do? He takes off. Goes to LA. (brief pause, sound of metal objects sliding against one another, some of Angel's weapons perhaps?) To fight evil and atone for his crimes. He's a shadow, a faceless champion of the hapless human race. Say you wouldn't have a beer of any kind in here, would you?
Angel: (flatly) No.
Doyle: Come on, you must have something besides pig's blood!
(sound of both speakers moving about the apartment)
Angel: Okay. You've told me the story of my life which, since I was there, I already knew. So why aren't I kicking you out?
(sound of refrigerator door being opened...)
Doyle: Because now I'm going to tell you what happens next. (sound of same door being slammed shut...) You see this vampire, he thinks he's helpin'. Fighting the demons. Staying away from the humans so as not to be tempted. Doing penance in his little cell. But he's cut off. From every thing. From the people he's trying to help.
Angel: (voice harsh, defensive, and maybe a little bit.. unnerved?) I still save them. Who cares if I don't stop to chat?
Doyle: When was the last time you drank blood?
Angel: (barely audible whisper)
Buffy.Doyle: Left you with a bit of a craving, didn't it?
**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**
Aoífe opened her eyes and the voices in her head instantly faded away.
"Don't you want to know more?" asked the woman beside her.
"No," Aoífe replied. "It's obvious that the spell is working. He doesn't remember tasting Willow. I'm sure all of the memories that must remain buried have been suppressed as well."
"You doubted our magic?"
"Of course not!" Aoífe felt uncomfortably contrite. She hadn't meant to give voice to any of the trepidation she had felt just before casting the spell over Angel.
The spell had actually been relatively easy to cast, once she had obtained the proper incantation and had been given the small vile that contained the fluid which when consumed would carry the magic into Angel. It had been such a pretty little container, too, made of a deep ruby colored glass and... and Aoífe was avoiding the fact of the matter. She'd been a witch for over a thousand years. There was no way she could have screwed up so simple a spell, right? It's not like she had been distracted for all that long when she entered his apartment and found herself surrounded by his things. And the spell still had all her strength and power bound to it because she hadn't really lost her focus as she felt herself being swallowed alive by the lingering trace of his presence, right? Yeah, right.
"It
is herself she doubts," said the man standing on the other side of the
room.
Aoífe
turned to better see him.
They are both so very beautiful, she thought. In her eyes, their flesh appeared to be painted with a shiny, bright copper substance. All of their visible skin was adorned with large, emerald-colored tattoos. Even their faces bore green markings. The clothing they wore resembled Roman togas from days long past. The fabric looked like silk, cream and copper and gold colored threads all intricately woven together, but the cloth had a shimmering quality that Aoífe had never seen in the natural material. Actually there was nothing natural about this pair. Brother and sister were supernatural beings. They were The Oracles.
"It is so, brother."
Aoífe looked back to see that the woman had been studying her.
"Is that why you chose only to listen to him, when in fact we could have let you watch that scene unfold?" the female asked.
Aoífe did not respond.
"You see, Sister," the man said smugly. "Doubt."
"I also see love," the woman replied wistfully. "And longing, a great deal of longing."
"Enough," the brother snapped. "Nothing she feels is of any concern to us. What matters is that our magic has had the desired effect." He strode toward Aoífe. "So, have you brought the item we asked for in return for our assistance?"
Grateful for the change of subject, no matter how brusque it had been, Aoífe nodded enthusiastically.
"Yes, yes, I have it right here."
She carried a simple canvas bag over her shoulder and from it Aoífe withdrew an ornately decorated cylindrical container. Her hands where trembling slightly as she held it out to The Oracles.
"I hope it contains whatever information you seek."
The woman looked toward her brother and a silent communique took place. Her eyes held an unspoken question. He in turn shrugged his shoulders with a nonchalance that only an otherworldly creature can possess. Sister nodded, apparently acceding to her brother's wishes.
"Oh, we have no need for the relic," she said with a casual wave of her hand. "We already know each word that has written on the scroll."
"But then why--"
"Have you ever read the scroll?" the man demanded.
"No, I--"
"In all the time that you have guarded it, you never once looked upon it?"
"Of course not!" Aoífe insisted with a good deal of indignation. "The Prophesies of Aberjian do not pertain to me."
"That is true," the woman said softly, putting a comforting hand on Aoífe's shoulder.
The vampire was immediately placated by The Oracle's action. Very rarely did brother or sister touch a lesser being.
"You are not a lesser being," the woman argued, having read Aoífe's mind.
"Will you tell me then, why you have asked for the scroll?"
"Because it will soon be time for him to learn what the future might bring."
"You want me to give it to Angel?" Aoífe asked incredulously.
"No." It was the brother who replied. "He must come by it in his own way."
"Then how--"
"You are to deliver it, at once, to those for whom he will soon become a thorn in the side." Aoífe looked perplexed so the man attempted to clarify his remark. "You will give it to those who practice man's law, using it to protect the evil in your world."
"You can't mean Wolfram and Hart?!"
The two Oracles nodded in perfect unison.
"There must be another way," Aoífe pleaded. "Giving them the scroll means that they will also learn what it contains. Innocent people will be hurt, lives destroyed."
The male Oracle spoke softly to Aoífe for the first time since her arrival.
"That which you fear may very well come to pass, but even the wicked have their place in the grand scheme of things, roles which they are destine to play. Besides, no one in this war is truly innocent. Wouldn't you agree?"
Aoífe found that she could no longer look upon their beauty. Her heart was too full of sadness and confusion. She lowered her head and gazed at their feet. For a moment she wondered if Angel would see them in the same way that she did. What colors would his eyes see? The man cleared his throat, demanding her attention. Aoífe looked straight into his shocking green eyes as she spoke.
"Yes, I suppose that I must agree."
A curt nod indicated his acceptance of her response.
"Leave us now," he said. "Take the scroll and see that our instructions are carried out."
"Of
course."
The
female Oracle spoke up before Aoífe could turn away.
"I am curious. How did you get him to consume the human blood which had to be the medium for the elixir?"
"I tempted him, tormented him really, and left him with a hunger that only cum and human blood would sate."
"And how did you do that?" the male asked.
"With lavender and dreams."
As Aoífe made her way toward the portal that led back to her dimension, she remembered just how brassed-off Doyle had still been when she had found him for the second time in the same dive he seemed to frequent. That had been over a month ago.
Already he was suffering from visions that left him with "mind-splitting headaches."
"And what f'r?" he had asked her. None of the details in his earlier visions had been very clear.
"All in good time," she had assured him.
"And that's supposed to comfort me?" he replied wryly.
At first he had been reluctant to follow her anywhere, but after a few more shots of whiskey, Doyle let her lead the way. Over the course of the next few hours they had visited a magic shop and stopped by Angel's apartment, Aoífe having made sure that he wouldn't be at home. But their very first stop had been The Gateway for Lost Souls. The half-demon had found it quite amusing to learn that the portal was located under the city's main branch of the post office.
"That's fitting, don't you think?" he commented with a sardonic grin on his face.
Aoífe had patiently taught him the ritual required to seek access to The Knowing Ones. She had even written down the proper words for the invocation so that he would have them when he needed them. At the time she'd had the feeling the Irishman was a little too drunk to actually memorize them. Now she suddenly feared what would happen if Doyle really did need them, or more pricisely, if Angel needed them, for he was the one who would be granted access. Angel was the warrior Doyle was just the messenger.
Aoífe turned back to see The Oracles. They were standing side-by-side and staring at her patiently.
"Ask your question," the brother prodded when Aoífe didn't speak right up.
"If Angel comes to you for assistance, will he be granted an audience?"
"If he is found to be worthy," the man stated flatly.
"Oh! He has become a wondrous creature!" Aoífe told them, her voice full of admiration and love.
The female Oracle tilted her head to one side as if she were listening to a voice only she could hear. She nodded, then smiled at Aoífe.
"The auguries say it is so."
In a blinding flash of light, Aoífe disappeared from The Oracles' realm.
End
Entry 29-6
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