Essence of the Melancholy Night
Jun. 10th, 2021 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerbonus points for recognizing noir-ish quote
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU, follow-up to The Bare Bones
Chapter Summary: Sometimes Xander forgets he isn't a noir protag.
Word Count: 965
Rating: Teen
Construction’s going well, he’s got big plans, and Otoh-san finally managed to check the pictures he’d texted and expressed approval. Sure, it had taken forever, since the man hated phones and yet insisted on typing everything out to be grammatically correct, but eh. It’s more effort than his biological family had…ever put in, really. Tryin’ somethin’ they hate just to make him happy? Like that was ever going to happen. If it did, he’d know instantly that it wasn’t really them.
And seriously, how messed up is that, that actual love would be an instant sign of possession or bodyswap or doppelganger or what have you? True, he’s outta there, safe, but sometimes, even after years, it’s easy to forget.
Recruitin’s even going well, though he’s nowhere near a full roster yet. He’d been restless, aching for something to do. Sure, he could recruit, but it’s not his project, and there had been expectations. Always a recipe for a bad time, on his part and theirs. He might be a whelp but he’s not into getting collared. Giles had agreed, maybe it’s good to let him run his own little side project, give him free reign, though he’d actually been a little nervous about what that entailed. Didn’t want to make him the black ops guy, and all right, that’s fair. It’s a lot. But Xander can handle it, with a good team at his back, and, well. He don’t want to, not really, but if he has to it ain’t like he can’t get his hands dirty. Buffy plain wouldn’t, and Willow—well, her hands have already been stained with blood. Better not to add any more to the count.
So, in general, things are going well. Better than ever, really, especially if the portals work as advertised and he gets to see his two favorite gals more often than ever. But it’s still—it’s hard. Seeing everybody at the party, all dolled up in the tux, talking to them, acting like everything’s just rainbows and fairy godmothers when he’s got capitalized Big Thoughts… Sometimes it’s just hard in general. He tries not to clam up, since they all take that as a Warning Sign (again capitalized), but on the other hand sometimes it’s better not to voice the ridiculous things that pop into his head. Sometimes, it’s too much, too overwhelming, and he has to escape before he stabs somebody or jumps through a window just to get out.
He hears the whispers. ‘Course he does, he’s missin’ an eye, not his ears. Most of the time, the talk about the Slayer’s Mad Whelp just makes him smile, but sometimes…sometimes it just makes him snarl. Like, what the hell do they know, right? If it’s an enemy, well, he can bare his fangs and show them just what kind of rabid dog they’d crossed, but the new Slayers do it, too. Willow will shush them, and Buffy will challenge them to a duel and really let loose, and Giles will insist they clean the bathrooms or whatever punishment he can think of until they agree to be civil, but they don’t always hear. They’re not always there, either. It’s fine if they’re talking about him like a weapon, an asset to be used, because he kind of is, but sometimes they talk about him like a liability, and that bothers him. Half of it’s just…what if they’re right? What if a punk like him’s nothing, in the scheme of things? What if he’s holding them back? And usually, he holds it as a scar of honor, but sometimes the missing eye bothers him.
When there’s too much, it’s easy enough to escape the voices—all but the innermost one. It’s not like he’s really lost it—not that there’s anything wrong with it, if he had, but—it’s important to clarify, if only to himself, that he’s not actually hearing voices. Though if he did, the first thought would be ghosts or possession or something, which definitely wouldn’t be seen as sane for most of the medical community, but anyway. His inner monologue just gets insistent, starts repeating the same shit that the new Slayers and whoever else say. At that point, it really needs a reset.
He half startles, turns his head to look as the door opens, and Willow smiles sheepishly.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she states, gentle, and he blinks.
Opens his mouth to bluff, say something along the lines of ‘Me? Scared?’ but instead what pops out is the fair more neutral, “Did you need me for something?”
“It’s just a nice night, and it was getting stuffy in there.” Uncharacteristically, she just…stops talking there. Doesn’t ask him questions, doesn’t talk about how the party’s going, just settles in quietly beside him, and it’s probably no exaggeration to say it’s a kindness he hadn’t expected. Not her reacting to how he used to be, how she expected him to be. Maybe the girl’s nights were doing some good after all. Like how she used to understand him, no words needed. Sure, it hadn’t started well, but at this point he’s pretty sure he can call this a good night.
Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU, follow-up to The Bare Bones
Chapter Summary: Sometimes Xander forgets he isn't a noir protag.
Word Count: 965
Rating: Teen
Xander dangles his arms over the railing listlessly. Times like this, he wishes he smoked. Mostly for something to do with his hands…maybe even his own body. A guy gets nervous and there’s only so much fidgeting he can do, especially when he’s trying to keep up an image. Not like there’s anyone but him he’s tryin’ to fool, but, eh. If ya can’t keep up the act for yourself, then what’s the point? A night like this is perfect for a melancholic smoke. He doesn’t actually want the nicotine or anything else, but the feel is there.
Construction’s going well, he’s got big plans, and Otoh-san finally managed to check the pictures he’d texted and expressed approval. Sure, it had taken forever, since the man hated phones and yet insisted on typing everything out to be grammatically correct, but eh. It’s more effort than his biological family had…ever put in, really. Tryin’ somethin’ they hate just to make him happy? Like that was ever going to happen. If it did, he’d know instantly that it wasn’t really them.
And seriously, how messed up is that, that actual love would be an instant sign of possession or bodyswap or doppelganger or what have you? True, he’s outta there, safe, but sometimes, even after years, it’s easy to forget.
Recruitin’s even going well, though he’s nowhere near a full roster yet. He’d been restless, aching for something to do. Sure, he could recruit, but it’s not his project, and there had been expectations. Always a recipe for a bad time, on his part and theirs. He might be a whelp but he’s not into getting collared. Giles had agreed, maybe it’s good to let him run his own little side project, give him free reign, though he’d actually been a little nervous about what that entailed. Didn’t want to make him the black ops guy, and all right, that’s fair. It’s a lot. But Xander can handle it, with a good team at his back, and, well. He don’t want to, not really, but if he has to it ain’t like he can’t get his hands dirty. Buffy plain wouldn’t, and Willow—well, her hands have already been stained with blood. Better not to add any more to the count.
So, in general, things are going well. Better than ever, really, especially if the portals work as advertised and he gets to see his two favorite gals more often than ever. But it’s still—it’s hard. Seeing everybody at the party, all dolled up in the tux, talking to them, acting like everything’s just rainbows and fairy godmothers when he’s got capitalized Big Thoughts… Sometimes it’s just hard in general. He tries not to clam up, since they all take that as a Warning Sign (again capitalized), but on the other hand sometimes it’s better not to voice the ridiculous things that pop into his head. Sometimes, it’s too much, too overwhelming, and he has to escape before he stabs somebody or jumps through a window just to get out.
He hears the whispers. ‘Course he does, he’s missin’ an eye, not his ears. Most of the time, the talk about the Slayer’s Mad Whelp just makes him smile, but sometimes…sometimes it just makes him snarl. Like, what the hell do they know, right? If it’s an enemy, well, he can bare his fangs and show them just what kind of rabid dog they’d crossed, but the new Slayers do it, too. Willow will shush them, and Buffy will challenge them to a duel and really let loose, and Giles will insist they clean the bathrooms or whatever punishment he can think of until they agree to be civil, but they don’t always hear. They’re not always there, either. It’s fine if they’re talking about him like a weapon, an asset to be used, because he kind of is, but sometimes they talk about him like a liability, and that bothers him. Half of it’s just…what if they’re right? What if a punk like him’s nothing, in the scheme of things? What if he’s holding them back? And usually, he holds it as a scar of honor, but sometimes the missing eye bothers him.
When there’s too much, it’s easy enough to escape the voices—all but the innermost one. It’s not like he’s really lost it—not that there’s anything wrong with it, if he had, but—it’s important to clarify, if only to himself, that he’s not actually hearing voices. Though if he did, the first thought would be ghosts or possession or something, which definitely wouldn’t be seen as sane for most of the medical community, but anyway. His inner monologue just gets insistent, starts repeating the same shit that the new Slayers and whoever else say. At that point, it really needs a reset.
He half startles, turns his head to look as the door opens, and Willow smiles sheepishly.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she states, gentle, and he blinks.
Opens his mouth to bluff, say something along the lines of ‘Me? Scared?’ but instead what pops out is the fair more neutral, “Did you need me for something?”
“It’s just a nice night, and it was getting stuffy in there.” Uncharacteristically, she just…stops talking there. Doesn’t ask him questions, doesn’t talk about how the party’s going, just settles in quietly beside him, and it’s probably no exaggeration to say it’s a kindness he hadn’t expected. Not her reacting to how he used to be, how she expected him to be. Maybe the girl’s nights were doing some good after all. Like how she used to understand him, no words needed. Sure, it hadn’t started well, but at this point he’s pretty sure he can call this a good night.
