actiones secundum fidei

[madimpossibledreamer]

Alternate Avon intro because I forgot I’d already written one:
“Blake. I see you’ve already started making friends with the locals.” Avon, as is his wont, manages to make that sound like an insult.
“Under the circumstances, I rather think we may need them,” he responds dryly, not rising to the bait. Avon wants a fight and they are at the least not doing so on the street when they might be jumped at any second.
And this, because I hadn’t originally planned on Avon or Jesse showing up:
There’s one thing he is entirely certain of, assuming he can get out of this mess. Assuming he’s not just memories in someone else’s head. “Avon is going to mock me for days.”

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Still, Blake can't shake off the idea that more than just that is wrong.
Word Count: 965
Rating: Teen

 

Do you displace others? Do you try to set yourself apart, and let others come to you? No paths guarantee a respite from loneliness. The only certainty is uncertainty.

         “Jumped at the chance to lead around kids, did you?” Avon’s voice calls out from a somewhat defended position on the steps of a house, and Blake reacts rather strongly, flinching away—but then, he thinks, humor bleak in the face of it, he has enough quirks and foibles already. What’s one more phobia? He’d been uncomfortable enough already.
         “Jesse,” Willow whispers, not meant to be heard, but she’s too close not to be. That, too, is discomforting, and he’d asked her to keep more of a distance, but it appears that after only a little while she’d forgotten, for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely. Still, that’s interesting, and Blake tucks it away. He’s not the last she’d call by the wrong name, then.
         Avon, for his part, actually looks...sorry. Not for the barb, that had been meant, and not for hurting Blake, since that had been the point of the entire venture, but he hadn’t realized how deeply it would hurt, a rather careless mistake on their usually so careful comp tech’s part. He’s the one always harping on about Blake’s morality. Mostly, he conveys the miscalculation by briefly looking away, as if keeping an eye out for trouble. It’d be plausible enough if Avon in the middle of the argument wasn’t loathe to relinquish eye contact.
         “It’s not particularly safe at the moment,” Blake responds shortly. It’s all well and good to realize the man has a conscience after all, but it doesn’t do much to smooth over an aching psyche.
         Avon smiles. An actual smile, not one of his well-coded facsimiles, even if it’s nothing like the kind of smile Blake would like to see. “You astound me,” he responds, sarcasm in every syllable.
         “You haven’t been able to contact the Liberator by chance?” he asks, and Avon’s smile turns into a snarl. No such luck, then.
         “Not for lack of trying, though I’m sure nothing could possibly be keeping them,” he responds nastily.
         Before he can get started on a truly epic rant, though, Willow interrupts hesitantly.
         “We should probably keep going. We’re nearly there.” Oh, yes. That’s certainly relevant.
         “Avon, this is Willow, a local. She was going to lead us to safety,” he explains.
         “Um...how do you do?” she asks. Definitely more rustic and unaccustomed to Alpha grade pleasantries—not, Blake reflects, that such happens to be a bad thing. What use were manners when unaccompanied by actual care for the welfare of others? In some ways he prefers what he sees from (possibly hallucinatory) glimpses of Avon, assuming he is not, again, seeing things that aren’t there. Certainly a sharp tongue combined with some level of care or, indeed, some level of even consideration for others, even if in the end such evaluation finds them wanting, is better than blissful ignorance to suffering.
         Avon gestures for her to lead again, falling in step without protest. “I’ve certainly had more pleasant evenings.” He’s actually bothering to try to curb his tongue—out of consideration for Blake, or for Willow? It’s unclear, but either way, it’s appreciated. “I don’t suppose you’ve already asked about the location of the graveyard?”
         ...Blake had not. It had, he realizes, slipped his mind. He’d been trying not to slip up, to go somewhere he wouldn’t be useful to any of them, but that is, of course, hardly an excuse. Before he can put the question to her, though, Willow responds in the form of a question.
         “Which one?”
         Blake blinks at her, pace slowing inadvertently.
         It’s Avon who manages to put his utter confusion in words, demanding question formulated as if seeking knowledge from Zen. “What is the population of this town?” Given the architecture, it can’t be that high, surely...
         But their attentions are all caught. At Willow’s urging, they duck out of the way of something getting closer, ground shaking, and wait, huddled, as it passes. He actually hears some of the children whimper and tries to shush them, patting a head or two he can reach with trembling hands, just in case whatever it is has very good hearing. Avon doesn’t stop aiming in its direction until the sound fades. Blake glances after it, and…
         If he’s not mistaken, that is very much a storybook picture of a dragon. Though it is, after all, only a distant glance. That knowledge is the only thing he has to reassure himself.
         “I think the last census put us at less than forty thousand?” Willow answers, shaking herself as she leads them out, stopping at a house that looks just like any other.
         “And how many cemeteries?” Something about the question actually gets her to look vaguely less confused. Which is odd, because given the circumstances, that’s a perfectly ordinary question, in that he wouldn’t think a population that low would need so many, unless this place has been settled for a very, very long time.
         “Twelve.” Avon’s eyes narrow, and Blake isn’t feeling too sanguine about the matter himself. Twelve? “We...didn’t realize it was weird, for a while.” Self-conscious, but not afraid. Not, Blake considers grimly, like she should be. And, unfortunately, that means that Cally’s communicated location means very little, even if they don’t have an entire planet to search.
         “I suppose you’ve found your latest charity project, Blake,” Avon mutters, acid, into Blake’s ear as he enters. The proximity makes him shiver. He doesn’t bother to try to argue the point. Even if Avon is inclined not to get involved, a great deal of the specifics depend on how they’d arrived in the first place. They’ll learn soon enough.