Not-So-Funhouse Mirror
Dec. 16th, 2024 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: Giles has a reunion after some years.
Word Count: 1162
Rating: Teen
“Fair enough.” There’s a time he would have argued, would have considered Xander’s life worth less than his own. At this point, this plan is his, but Eyghon was also his problem to deal with, and he’d failed to do so before. “At least I have faith we can do our part to distract. And that your part will only be helped in the fact that I was a complete and utter bastard to yourself and your master before.” He can’t quite bring himself to apologize just yet, but by the way the demon grins in return, his message still got through loud and clear.
“Suppose it might, at that,” Kryvirk Kala agrees and fades back into the sword. And now, they’ve reached the gates, which creak open with no sign of being opened by anyone.
“Ethan! I’m here!” He gets the feeling he doesn’t entirely have to announce his presence, but he puts in the effort to do so all the same.
And then the fog gathers, outlining the shape of a person—the exact same worker who had taken their tickets, earlier in the day. Of course. Perhaps these are the remnants of a slaughtered circus. Perhaps they’re merely stitched together soul remnants, the first victims of Ethan’s little scheme. The exact specifics matter little, particularly since he won’t be the one fighting them, and has no means of warning the others even should doing so not jeopardize his plans. “You have been expected, Master. Please, this way.”
And thus, he follows. The fog certainly seems clingy, now, but if he’s not imagining things, it’s the kind of clinginess that speaks, perhaps, of desperation. These souls may have power of their own, but they have no will to wield it. Which likely explains the source of the conflicted feeling they had, to differing degrees, sensed from the power here.
At the entrance to one of the tents, the man bows and fades back into the fog, and Giles swallows, but a voice calls out.
“Rupert. Do feel free to enter. I took the liberty of making some tea. I had considered something a little stronger, but, well—I wasn’t certain you’d accept.” And that hasn’t changed. His voice is exactly the same, as if he’s stepped through the fog back into the past like the day he’d left it.
He ducks under the tent flap, lifting it up a little with his free hand. He doesn’t quite lift it high enough, though, and he feels a touch down the back of his neck like a tease, most likely either his overactive imagination or an extension of Ethan’s will. Because he’s under no illusions that the theatrics today were largely for his own benefit. Perhaps it’s a good thing he hadn’t brought Freya, not with Ethan’s raging jealousy.
Giles’ heart warms despite himself—that is, indeed, the Ringmaster getup he’d been wearing earlier, but he’d put effort into freshening himself up, anticipating this meeting as eagerly as Giles’ treacherous heart. And, of course, he’s still as transparent as ever, given Ethan’s greeting. “Is that a sword at your side, or are you merely looking forward to this reunion as much as I am?”
Focus, Giles reminds himself. “Don’t mistake me. I felt the presence of Eyghon—your little plot to keep the devil at bay with soul pieces won’t work forever, you know. When you’ve served your usefulness, you’ll be devoured, too.”
Well, at least Ethan is displeased. If not impressed. He’s got to work on his intimidation skills once more. “Damn. The Council really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
Giles shivers. Because he can’t rule out that thought, but at the same time, he’s fairly certain he’s on the correct path, now. After so much trouble. “I remember Randall,” he corrects softly, and Ethan’s sneering judgment disappears in a heartbeat.
“Better soul fragments than sacrificing poor bastards to save my skin,” he counters, and no matter how carefully controlled his voice, Giles realizes with a shock that Ethan is actually scared. Petrified, even. He’d built up the warlock in his mind as some sort of godlike figure, but here and now he seems small, cowardly. Which, conversely, means that his plan is rather likely to succeed. “On that note...I’d like to address the vampiric weapon you brought with you. Do you truly believe that the others can defeat one of the Ancients, even at less than full strength? Eyghon’s retribution will be terrible and swift. On the other hand, should you join me, you will be rewarded.”
Kryvirk Kala actually appears out of the sword, taking ghostly form, sneering. “And what could a washed up old warlock offer me?”
Ethan chuckles, not insulted in any way. “I can undo your curse, vampire.”
That’s—not possible. At least, that’s what Giles wants to say. He hadn’t heard of a curse, nor seen a sign of it—but then he feels the ghost beside him solidify, the displacement of air as ghostly existence becomes flesh and blood, and his heart freezes in his chest. He’s examining his hands with delight, picking up booted feet as if physical sensation has been out of reach so long he’s forgotten what it’s like. “Well, now, things get a little more interesting.”
“Kryvirk Kala, don’t tell me you’re going to betray your master.” It’s a last-ditch effort and Giles knows it—after all, Ethan’s offering something out of reach of even Willow with all her power.
That’s not even worth a direct response, apparently. “Next few hours’d be a lot less painful if you played along,” the former ghost muses, and Ethan sighs and stands.
“He’s right, really. I had planned on returning the soul piece to you, but given your interference I suspect it’d be better if I processed today’s proceeds sooner rather than later. I do hope he won’t break you too badly, and I hate letting others play with you when I don’t get to watch, but needs must.”
This isn’t going quite as anticipated, but he hadn’t meant to show the panic any more than had Ethan, he suspects. “Are you certain you don’t want to play the voyeur?”
“Missing my touch? Maybe later, darling.” And then he leans in, and the kiss is every bit as Rupert’s memories conjure, refusing any hint of shame, and the grin when Rupert tries thoughtlessly to follow is likewise absolutely the same. The spell to render him immobile, as easily cast as it had been when they’d first discovered pleasure and reckless spell use, is probably not going to be used in so pleasant a manner, even if they had at times gotten a bit rough.
No, Giles reflects as Kryvirk Kala moves in, smile absolutely demonic. This is going to hurt, and he’s hardly going to enjoy it.
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: Giles has a reunion after some years.
Word Count: 1162
Rating: Teen
“If your plan gets Xander killed, I will kill you,” the demon—no, he should refer to him by his name, Kryvirk Kala—growls.
“Fair enough.” There’s a time he would have argued, would have considered Xander’s life worth less than his own. At this point, this plan is his, but Eyghon was also his problem to deal with, and he’d failed to do so before. “At least I have faith we can do our part to distract. And that your part will only be helped in the fact that I was a complete and utter bastard to yourself and your master before.” He can’t quite bring himself to apologize just yet, but by the way the demon grins in return, his message still got through loud and clear.
“Suppose it might, at that,” Kryvirk Kala agrees and fades back into the sword. And now, they’ve reached the gates, which creak open with no sign of being opened by anyone.
“Ethan! I’m here!” He gets the feeling he doesn’t entirely have to announce his presence, but he puts in the effort to do so all the same.
And then the fog gathers, outlining the shape of a person—the exact same worker who had taken their tickets, earlier in the day. Of course. Perhaps these are the remnants of a slaughtered circus. Perhaps they’re merely stitched together soul remnants, the first victims of Ethan’s little scheme. The exact specifics matter little, particularly since he won’t be the one fighting them, and has no means of warning the others even should doing so not jeopardize his plans. “You have been expected, Master. Please, this way.”
And thus, he follows. The fog certainly seems clingy, now, but if he’s not imagining things, it’s the kind of clinginess that speaks, perhaps, of desperation. These souls may have power of their own, but they have no will to wield it. Which likely explains the source of the conflicted feeling they had, to differing degrees, sensed from the power here.
At the entrance to one of the tents, the man bows and fades back into the fog, and Giles swallows, but a voice calls out.
“Rupert. Do feel free to enter. I took the liberty of making some tea. I had considered something a little stronger, but, well—I wasn’t certain you’d accept.” And that hasn’t changed. His voice is exactly the same, as if he’s stepped through the fog back into the past like the day he’d left it.
He ducks under the tent flap, lifting it up a little with his free hand. He doesn’t quite lift it high enough, though, and he feels a touch down the back of his neck like a tease, most likely either his overactive imagination or an extension of Ethan’s will. Because he’s under no illusions that the theatrics today were largely for his own benefit. Perhaps it’s a good thing he hadn’t brought Freya, not with Ethan’s raging jealousy.
Giles’ heart warms despite himself—that is, indeed, the Ringmaster getup he’d been wearing earlier, but he’d put effort into freshening himself up, anticipating this meeting as eagerly as Giles’ treacherous heart. And, of course, he’s still as transparent as ever, given Ethan’s greeting. “Is that a sword at your side, or are you merely looking forward to this reunion as much as I am?”
Focus, Giles reminds himself. “Don’t mistake me. I felt the presence of Eyghon—your little plot to keep the devil at bay with soul pieces won’t work forever, you know. When you’ve served your usefulness, you’ll be devoured, too.”
Well, at least Ethan is displeased. If not impressed. He’s got to work on his intimidation skills once more. “Damn. The Council really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
Giles shivers. Because he can’t rule out that thought, but at the same time, he’s fairly certain he’s on the correct path, now. After so much trouble. “I remember Randall,” he corrects softly, and Ethan’s sneering judgment disappears in a heartbeat.
“Better soul fragments than sacrificing poor bastards to save my skin,” he counters, and no matter how carefully controlled his voice, Giles realizes with a shock that Ethan is actually scared. Petrified, even. He’d built up the warlock in his mind as some sort of godlike figure, but here and now he seems small, cowardly. Which, conversely, means that his plan is rather likely to succeed. “On that note...I’d like to address the vampiric weapon you brought with you. Do you truly believe that the others can defeat one of the Ancients, even at less than full strength? Eyghon’s retribution will be terrible and swift. On the other hand, should you join me, you will be rewarded.”
Kryvirk Kala actually appears out of the sword, taking ghostly form, sneering. “And what could a washed up old warlock offer me?”
Ethan chuckles, not insulted in any way. “I can undo your curse, vampire.”
That’s—not possible. At least, that’s what Giles wants to say. He hadn’t heard of a curse, nor seen a sign of it—but then he feels the ghost beside him solidify, the displacement of air as ghostly existence becomes flesh and blood, and his heart freezes in his chest. He’s examining his hands with delight, picking up booted feet as if physical sensation has been out of reach so long he’s forgotten what it’s like. “Well, now, things get a little more interesting.”
“Kryvirk Kala, don’t tell me you’re going to betray your master.” It’s a last-ditch effort and Giles knows it—after all, Ethan’s offering something out of reach of even Willow with all her power.
That’s not even worth a direct response, apparently. “Next few hours’d be a lot less painful if you played along,” the former ghost muses, and Ethan sighs and stands.
“He’s right, really. I had planned on returning the soul piece to you, but given your interference I suspect it’d be better if I processed today’s proceeds sooner rather than later. I do hope he won’t break you too badly, and I hate letting others play with you when I don’t get to watch, but needs must.”
This isn’t going quite as anticipated, but he hadn’t meant to show the panic any more than had Ethan, he suspects. “Are you certain you don’t want to play the voyeur?”
“Missing my touch? Maybe later, darling.” And then he leans in, and the kiss is every bit as Rupert’s memories conjure, refusing any hint of shame, and the grin when Rupert tries thoughtlessly to follow is likewise absolutely the same. The spell to render him immobile, as easily cast as it had been when they’d first discovered pleasure and reckless spell use, is probably not going to be used in so pleasant a manner, even if they had at times gotten a bit rough.
No, Giles reflects as Kryvirk Kala moves in, smile absolutely demonic. This is going to hurt, and he’s hardly going to enjoy it.
