viva voce

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Willow hands them just enough for them to piece it together.
Word Count: 1407
Rating: Teen

 

The web of life is no mere metaphor or descriptor for an ecosystem. Everything is connected. The only question left for every individual is to determine how they want to relate to others.

 

        At least Willow puts in the effort to get the children situated. They calm easily enough on the promise of sweets for good behavior, a situation that makes Blake smile even as he keeps his distance. It’s not just the horror of his trial, he realizes. He finds he’s questioning memories of his childhood. Fortunately, he’s not left to it for long.
        “We can’t simply pull every person in danger out there off the street.” Avon tells him quietly, glance irritated. “Even you have to see the futility in such a gesture. We’d never manage it, and this location is not built to house so many. Nothing seems sturdy enough to keep them safe, let alone ourselves.”
        Blake sighs and is about to respond when Willow does instead, floating through the wall. “It is better, actually. Not that it protects against everything, but it helps. Um, speaking of which, don’t invite anyone in verbally.” Avon’s eyes narrow and he leans forward, just a little. That’s right, he hadn’t seen this trick of hers before, and the interest probably means he’s trying to determine how it works, which is a question Blake wouldn’t mind knowing himself. If it could be controlled, such technology would be invaluable in helping them all stay alive. He’s probably dismissed the rest as superstition, but they’ve seen odd things. They can adhere to local customs, if not depend on them for safety.
        Even so, Blake can’t help it. He actually laughs. “That sounds like vampire folklore.”
        “It is.” She’s serious. Is that an interpretation of mutoids? If so, it’s an incorrect one. She presses on before she can be interrupted with further questions, however. “This kind of thing,” she waves a hand vaguely at the outside, “...happens a lot, which is why the graveyards. Everyone’s turning into their costumes. It’s the only thing that makes sense, even though it doesn’t exactly make sense because, you know, it’s weird.” She takes another deep breath, meeting his and Avon’s eyes in turn. “It’s 1997.”
        That, Blake suspects, is a year, but one that doesn’t mean anything to him. It’s not Federation Standard. Somehow, Willow spots the problem at exactly the same moment and sighs heavily.
        “This is, at best, the past, if not a different dimension or timeline or…” She crosses her arms, looking frustrated. “This is Earth, but you’ll notice there’s an important lack of domes or Federation troops or flying ships or anything like that.”
        “She’s lying, Blake,” Avon hisses, and she looks hurt.
        It is, of course, the natural conclusion to come to, but Blake could tell her without even having to think about it that Avon doesn’t really believe that. He just prefers it, because it would be the easier solution. Blake puts a hand to his mouth and pauses. This, more than anything, convinces him. It doesn’t feel natural to gnaw on his fingers in thought or distress. He’d become keenly aware of habits after having his memories manipulated. The ease with which they, at least, came to him was soothing. The rest naturally follows, the way Willow had greeted them both with the wrong names to begin with, the strange familiarity she’d had when as far as he’d known they’d never met before (and the odd feeling that he should know her back, though that was far from novel), among other small inconsistencies that had him feeling surreal and unmoored. All his memories now have a kind of hazy, fake quality overlaid, with yet more inaccessible—a state of affairs that while familiar grows ever more wearisome by the day.
        “If that’s the case, perhaps you have a better explanation for our height differential.” Something had been trying to convince him nothing was different, but he should have been much taller than actual children, and as it stands at the moment Avon actually happens to be taller, no matter how his mind attempts to insist otherwise. It takes him a moment, but Avon is a smart man. With less experience with mind tampering, so he’s less adept at identifying it.
        “These aren’t our bodies. Is that what you’re getting at?” He’s examining his own hands, turning them over. Blake has to look away. He’s on the verge of breaking through and seeing them both as they truly are, at the moment, but at the present it simply happens to be giving him an enormous headache. That doesn’t answer the question of why. Presumably, this means that, if people had turned into their costumes, teenagers had to have decided to dress as himself and his crew...from the future, somehow.
        Willow glances between them, shocked. “You’re both really calm about this. I didn’t expect you to be, partly because, well, I’m freaking out, and you’re both in a lot more danger—okay, not really, but still, you’re both more paranoid than I am and maybe even Jesse and that’s saying something because he’s not dealing well about vampires being real and barely escaping at all. I thought there’d be a whole lot more questions and disbelief and maybe some attempts at interrogation and maybe even thinking I’m the enemy because the Federation is evil and they’ve tried all kinds of things…” She reigns herself in at Blake’s raised eyebrow, blushing.
        Avon’s stare is calculating. “We’ve seen things that defy the laws of science as we know them. After that, this doesn’t seem hardly as impossible.”
        Blake shrugs. It’s a good explanation. Besides, he’d had memories removed. It’s entirely possible that they’d gone to the trouble of preserving them, too, to have easier access to knowledge about the resistance. How they’d begin to get implanted in another, particularly in a probably-not-intentional way, is anyone’s guess, but it certainly could be done. Though that explains nothing about Avon, or, presumably, Cally. Given their presence, it’s likely to be something less mechanical than metaphysical. “I confess, I am curious as to how we—our bodies…” No way exists, he suspects, to put this in a less awkward way. “Why myself and my crew?”
        “You’re a story,” Willow explains shyly. “We still have non-propaganda stories. Videos. That sort of thing. I don’t know if this proves the whole ‘authors are just looking into other dimensions and writing down what they see’ theory or not. I’ve heard it before but, um. I’ve never talked to a supposedly fictional character before, so I guess this is maybe confirmation of that…”
        “You think we don’t exist.” Avon actually looks vaguely insulted at the thought.
        “We exist now,” Blake points out, drawing the glare to himself. At least Willow looks a little less intimidated, at the moment.
        “I was supposed to go as Jenna, but I chickened out.” Which explains the blonde hair. He had wondered about that, mostly because it didn’t feel right either. “I wore a ghost sheet on top.”
        “It’s a good job you did, or we’d have been left none the wiser,” Blake praises her. Somehow, this doesn’t cheer her up in the slightest.
        “And now you can phase through matter.” Avon definitely wants to study the phenomenon, but, sadly, they might not find the time.
        Willow doesn’t answer, doubtless irritating Avon further.  “Oh, but Dawn went as Cally, so while the teleport bracelets might not be able to talk to each other, I can just send a message to her pager. Mrs. Summers bought her one after she got kidnapped for the fifth time. Though, um, we haven’t told her about the kidnappings and if she shows up you probably shouldn’t either. That’s great because Cally isn’t a receiving telepath, so you can’t just tell her where to go. And I’m sure Buffy would be worried—” Willow pauses and goes white as a sheet. “We weren’t the only ones dressing up. Servalan and Travis are here.”
        That, Blake realizes, suddenly frozen in shock, is the absolute worst of news. Beside him Avon goes murderously still and starts checking his gun.
        “Another of your mistakes returned to haunt us,” he spits. If Blake was capable of saying anything at the moment, he’d point out that this isn’t even necessarily true, as it’s unclear if enemies could even return from the dead using whatever had brought them here.