Rating: NC-17 overall (some entries as mild as a G)
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original BtVS characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most who post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).
Summary: It's the year 2047 and Aishling Rosenberg has recently discovered that her grandmother left behind a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc.
Distribution: You want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living.
Feedback: Beggars can't be choosey, and I'm begging, so. . .
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Entry No. 7
18 January 2001
Darling Willow,
Here is my lame attempt at providing you with some of the information you are seeking. I hope you find it useful. With much love,
Aoífe
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I knew he had finally come. Every particle of my being was alive with a mixture of joyful anticipation and dreadful fear. I'd waited a long time for this - waited lifetimes. Now it would begin. Again.
<Woman, do you have any idea what the hell you're doing? Or more importantly, why you're doing it?>
I had one last errand to attend to before he reached his hotel.
I quickly put on a long black woolen cloak, leaving the hood down in back, at least for now. A quick glance in the foyer mirror for a make-up and hair check. <Ah, such vanity, even at my age.> A chuckle followed by a deep sigh. I still looked the same. As would he. Two and a half centuries had passed since we'd last looked upon each other.
I closed my eyes tightly and tried to find him...sometimes my searching would yield a glimpse of him, but more often than not, I got nothing. My visions of him came to me on their own terms, usually unbidden; at times they were completely unwanted!
But tonight I got lucky, perhaps because he was so close. Through my mind's eye, I could see him waiting impatiently in the dark comfort of his surroundings - waiting for night to fall - unable <unwilling?> to brave even the faintest light left by the setting sun.
I, on the other hand, simply put on a pair of darkly shaded glasses and headed out into the last of the afternoon sunlight. With my latest "special delivery" clutched tightly in my hand, I bound out the door and down the steps of the brownstone. My car stood waiting at the curb. As was my habit, when traveling alone, I let myself into the car, choosing to occupy the seat next to the driver.
"Where to, Madame?" my driver asked.
John, dear sweet old man. He'd been my driver and my friend for almost fifty years now. He and his wife, Margaret, were the only non-family members I'd ever allowed to get so close to me. It tore at my heart to watch them grow old, knowing that our time together was coming to an end. But, they'd have it no other way. So, I could only hope that their time with me had helped to make it a life worth living. We'd been many places together and seen many things.
John softly cleared his throat, effectively pulling me away from my melancholy thoughts.
"Aye, Johnny, 'tis off ta The Roosevelt that we be," I said with a soft Irish lilt on my tongue.
"Aye, Mum, we're off then, " John replied with a thick brogue. I could hear the smile in his voice. He so loved it when we spoke this way.
While Gaelic was the most modern version of my native tongue <how odd to think of a language that's so old as modern...I've been around too long> it is a language I hardly ever speak - except when among some of my family members who will speak nothing else. I'd not even kept an Irish accent in my voice for well over two centuries. When I left Ireland, I left my native language behind as well. Why was that?
I settled back in my seat and as we made our way across town to the hotel, I watched the late November sun set on the city. I couldn't help but wonder if his fear of daylight was justified or had it simply been instilled in him along with so many other misconceptions his ancestors chose to live with. His kind are so very different...
We arrived at the hotel just as the darkness finally settled over the city. As I exited the warm comfort of my car, I was suddenly aware of his exit from a plane. I could feel what he felt as he stepped out into the cold November night air. I quickly shook off the connection before I became too distracted. I had much I wanted to do tonight.
The Roosevelt's lobby was magnificent. A wonderful old establishment under everyday conditions, the lobby was now beautifully decked-out in it's Christmas finery. A huge tree was the centerpiece but there were wonderful touches everywhere. Especially the lights, hundreds and hundreds of brightly colored little lights everywhere!
God, suddenly I was aware of just how accurate my dreams were! I'd never really given it much thought before. I'd see him in a dream or sometimes in a waking vision - however he came to me - then I'd commit those images to paper, using whatever supplies were available to me. I'd draw what I saw with my mind's eye. But until now (with the exception of a few works I'd done from actual memories of events I'd participated in) I'd never visited one of the scenes I'd recreated. Everything was as I'd seen it in my dream - right down to the exact location of each ornament on the tree. Wow. Amazing...even to me.
<Ugh! I'm lost in my own thoughts. I've got to keep focused. Deliver this package and get the hell out of here!>
Crossing the brilliantly lit lobby, I remembered I still wore my dark glasses. I was reluctant to remove them now, not because I was uncomfortable with the bright lights but because I knew what havoc they would reek on my already preternatural colored eyes. I knew that the multicolored Christmas lights would be reflected by my eyes. My eyes would end up looking like miniature kaleidoscopes. It would be way too much for the humans to accept. So, looking down, I quickly replaced my dark glasses with a pair that had a somewhat lighter set of gray shaded lenses. I silently prayed they would do the trick.
As I continued on, making my way towards the reception desk, I suddenly noticed just how quiet the lobby was. Ah, but it was Thanksgiving Day here in the States. Most of the guests were probably sitting down to dinner, at someplace or another, right about now.
The city as a whole would be relatively quiet - the streets mine to wander in peace. What a nice surprise. I'd planned to walk the streets anyway; having the city blanketed in a holiday hush would make it extra enjoyable.
Much to his dismay, I'd already relieved John of any further duties as my driver for this evening. I told him I chose instead to walk back home. Poor old man still couldn't help worrying needlessly about my safety, even after all these years. If he'd known I wasn't going to head straight home, he'd never have left my side.
But, now, once my mission here at the hotel was completed, I would be free to roam the streets of New York. Oh and roam I would.
I'd have at least four hours to drift around, looking for the one I wanted tonight. If they <no - HE - definitely had to be a male tonight> couldn't be found by then, well after just a few minutes at St. Pat's, I'd have the rest of the night to traipse about searching for just the right morsel to satisfy my present sinful appetite.
If my family ever knew of the things I'd been up to as of late...oh, but that was the advantage to being one of the eldest. Most of them would never know anything more than what I chose to share with them. Only he would someday know my all and I do not fear his reactions to my minor transgressions. <Minor to whom? The things I'd done recently were unlike anything any of my kind had ever done before.> However, he has, by far, done much worse. I know in time he'll understand what desires drove me to act as I did.
Damn, but I was dawdling! If I didn't hurry, he'd catch me here trying to leave my latest offering. I looked down at the large manila envelope and grinned wickedly. I knew that the contents of these envelopes disturbed him. I enjoyed disrupting the seemingly imperturbable demeanor he affected.
My progress crossing the lobby had been slow but obviously silent because I startled the poor desk clerk when I finally reached the counter and spoke.
"I'd like to leave something for a guest who will be checking in later this evening."
The clerk gave a little jump of surprise and turned quickly toward the sound of my voice. He was a stately, middle-aged gentleman, with lovely silver hair and bright blue eyes. I really must have flustered him because he blushed as he stammered, "I...I'm so-sorry. How may I help y-you?"
I slid the envelope in my hand across the counter toward him.
"I'd like to leave this for a friend of mine who will be checking in shortly. His name is Angelu-" <Ooops>
I paused. <Not Angelus, that's wrong.>
"Angel," I began again. "His name is Angel and I believe he's reserved the penthouse."
"Oh yes, Mr. Marfóir. He should be arriving any time now. Would you care to wait?"
I practically choked on the laugh that wanted to escape me when I instantly realized the clerk had mispronounced the name. He'd said it with a French accent while I immediately recognized the word as being Gaelic.
<Marfóir - Killer>
I wondered whose sick sense of humor had chosen that gem - his or his friend, Whistler's.
Most likely Whistler, since I knew that the little demon took care of most of his travel arrangements and also took great pleasure in playing "Let's Shock the Vampire".
"That's pronounced 'mare-foe-r'. It's Irish, not French, " I gently corrected the clerk.
"I am sorry. I'll make a note of that and see to it that the rest of the staff does not make the same mistake." He was getting very flustered. I was suddenly unsure as to whether it was because I'd snuck-up on him, because I'd corrected him or simply because I was standing there before him. Just my presence seems to unsettle some people.
I've been told by some that it's my beauty. <Oh, please don't think me vain but I am quite a sight! I don't really remember what I looked like as a mortal, but my vampiric nature has certainly added a few 'interesting' features to my appearance, most of which I have to find ways to hide from the humans I encounter.> No, I think that some people are just more perceptive than others and they just know, on a subconscious level, that I'm not one of them.
"Oh, it's quite all right." I tried to calm the clerk. "I'm sure Angel would never make a fuss over so simple a misinterpretation. And, no, I don't care to wait for him. I'd simply like to leave this envelope for him."
"May I have your name so I can tell Mr. Marfóir who left the package?"
"That won't be necessary. He'll know once he's opened it."
I saw something close to fear cross the clerks features and watched him force himself to take only one step back away from the rather large envelope.
<He thinks it's a mail bomb or something equally as sinister!>
"Oh, *no*, " I blurted out - myself now the flustered one. "It's just a picture I drew for him."
I quickly pulled the envelope back toward me and opened it. I withdrew the thick padded leather folder from inside and, holding it close to myself so as not to frighten the clerk further, I separated the covers.
"Would you like to see it?" I offered, holding the open folder out toward him.
With a nervous laugh, meant to cover his fear's retreat, the clerk nodded. "Yes, please." His voice was a little shaky.
I laid the folder down on the counter. It contained a simple pen and ink drawing of him striding across this very lobby, fireplace and Christmas tree in the background, reception desk just barely depicted on the far right of the paper.
"Oh, it's very good," the clerk sighed with admiration. I was glad to note a calm tone had returned to his voice. "So, Mr. Marfóir has stayed with us before?"
"No, I don't believe so. But that picture's sure to be a permanent reminder of this visit."
Before the clerk had a chance to form another question, I laid the envelope on top of the picture and turned quickly away, attempting to exit the hotel in a hurry.
But, just as I reached the front door, his cab pulled-up to the curb. <Shit!>
As usual, I'd spent too much time lost in my own thoughts when I'd first arrived. I'd dallied too long and the clock had, of course, kept ticking.
<Stupid woman! Stupid, stupid, stupid!>
I was mentally kicking myself.
<Why did you come here? Not only are you about to be seen by him, but now the desk clerk can identify you as well. Or, maybe not...>
Moving faster than the human eye could see, I re-crossed the lobby and slipped behind the desk clerk. I whispered softly into his ear just one short sentence.
"I was never here."
Then, in a flash, I was back at the front door. He was just stepping out of the cab.
<Oh, you just couldn't sneak out the back way, could you? You stupid woman, you just had to tempt the fates again!>
No, actually, I just had to see him - in the flesh - to look once again upon his face - with my own eyes- for the first time in 247 years! I was stunned.
My memories had obviously faded and my visions must have been somewhat blurred because what I saw before me took my breath away!
To say that he's handsome is an injustice. While handsome is a word befitting such a masculine specimen, it doesn't really begin to describe him. That lustrous, sable colored hair, worn much shorter than the last time I'd seen it - cropped and spiky but very much in style today. It had seemes so severe when I'd first felt it, but looking upon it now, I saw that the style worked for him. It looked better, in fact, than his long locks of the past.
As he turned toward me, I saw his face. That finely chiseled jaw, still clean shaven. A very noble nose and soft sensuous lips that begged to be kissed, mauled, ravished, then kissed some more.
Oh, but it was his eyes that I remembered so well. The most soulful eyes I have ever seen. Set between a strong brow and sharp high cheekbones, they look like pools of melted dark chocolate. Their rich brown color never varies with his emotions (except of course when the change overtakes him - but then those are the eyes of the demon, not the eyes of the man). No, it's the way in which he can express himself through his eyes that is so very disarming. His words often say little - or more accurately, it is that he often says little with words - but he can speak volumes with those eyes! I could loose myself forever in those abysmal orbs.
I didn't even dare to let my gaze drift any lower than his strong, broad shoulders or I'd be caught for sure!
Beautiful. He was all male and simply beautiful. My hands wanted nothing more than to touch him.
Yes, I wanted to see him, touch him, smell him, oh and to taste him in every way possible.
<Oh, Angelus!>
As he continued to turn and look about slowly, I feared for a moment that he had somehow heard my heart cry out his name.
But, no, he was simply surveying his surroundings, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of New York.
<Run. Now. Before it's too late, stupid woman!>
I quickly pulled the hood of my cloak up over my head and down low on my brow. If I was lucky, he'd be so distracted by the long forgotten physical attributes of his surroundings reacquainting themselves with his vampiric senses that he'd not take notice of my passing.
Keeping that thought in mind, I plunged out the front door and beat a hasty - and ,thank God, unnoticed -retreat down the side walk.
End
Entry Seven