scio me nihil scire
Feb. 17th, 2025 01:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreameryou do realize avon this would also be going faster if you didn't feel the need to pull blake's pigtails like the tsundere you are
Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Avon and Blake snipe even as they gather more information about their current situation from Willow.
Word Count: 1487
Rating: Teen
“Fascinating as this all is, we shouldn’t be wasting time with your persecution complex,” Avon sneers. Despite the tone, it might not even be meant as mocking. It might be Avon’s idea of reassurance. Blake swallows.
He might have an overdeveloped sense of guilt—or revenge—but he can’t just easily let things like this go, either, particularly when they might hold some sort of key to undo this. “I can’t. If it was done deliberately, if there were any similarities between myself and this ‘Xander’...then it could easily be done as a statement. A declaration that she’s as done with my moralizing as you are, at times.”
Avon’s expression is entirely unreadable. “That shows a surprising amount of self-awareness. For once.”
Despite how serious the situation, Blake can’t help but laugh a little. “I hear it often enough from you.”
The expression doesn’t change. “I’m positively shocked you listen to a word others say.”
Avon, Blake reflects, is not handling this well at all, despite how he’d treated Willow. He’s seeking an argument to relieve tension, but Blake isn’t inclined to give him that. Fortunately, Willow interrupts and gives him an out.
“Actually, I’m guessing Buffy’s feeling left out. She moved here last year from L.A. and we’ve been welcoming but it’s pretty clear she gets upset every time we make a joke she doesn’t get or referencing something she wasn’t here for.” She can’t meet Blake’s eyes, at the moment. “We’ve been all been friends from childhood, so...”
He ignores Avon’s scandalized downturn of the mouth at the very idea. Was it any wonder she’d felt more at ease with another outsider, the vampire (although that’s a question in of itself) in love with her?
Eventually she can’t take Avon’s stare anymore and adds, shifting, refusing to look in his direction, “Although you’ve got a point, Blake. I’m not sure she would’ve chosen Servalan unless she did want to deliberately set herself up as, well. The opposition. But not necessarily just toward you, since she’s technically out to get all of us, which by she I mean Servalan and us the Liberator outlaws, even though I’m kind of not actually one at the moment, and I did get a feeling she’d been mad, but I tried to ignore it because I wasn’t sure what to say or do and I figured she’d get over it.” More like hoped, but he can’t blame her. It’s hard enough dealing with awkward situations, he expects, when you have all your memories.
“Avon’s right too, Willow. Does any of this help us, with motive or cause or things like that?” He ignores Avon suddenly stilling within his line of sight. Surely that isn’t so surprising?
“I’m not sure. We deal with this all the time. I mean…” she pauses and then smiles, waving a hand toward the door. “...Buffy’s the Slayer, the one chosen to stand against the forces of darkness, as Giles puts it, so if she was here, it’d be easy, but without her I’m not...”
She’d apparently missed him staring in horror, but doesn’t miss how upset he is when he can’t help but interrupt. “Only one girl, in all the world? That’s barbaric. Can’t something be done?”
She blinks. Behind her, Avon rolls his eyes theatrically. It takes her a moment to respond, pointing a finger in his direction. “You better not be questioning girl power, mister.”
He doesn’t even bother verbally answering that one, just arching an eyebrow, at which point she (probably) remembers that Cally’s still out there and she’s dressed as Jenna, sort of. “Oh. Right,” is all she says, looking very embarrassed about the whole thing.
“Don’t be a hypocrite more than you can help, Blake, or has it already slipped your mind that we, too, are teenagers at this moment in time?” Avon drawls cooly, and it’s Blake’s turn to smile, chagrined.
“Actually, it had—but it still feels wrong.” A thought occurs to him that cheers him considerably. “Though I suppose we don’t let her take on this fight alone? Support, backup, research, all that?”
Willow nods, and they take a moment to grin at each other. It’s quickly broken when Avon feels the need to rend it all asunder with his usual sarcastic wit.
“I can’t imagine, given her choice, that we were doing a very good job.”
And, sadly, he is once again entirely right, if unpleasantly so. “No, nor can I,” Blake concedes with a frown.
That doesn’t answer the question, but at least they’re back on the more practical. “Wait, my pager’s on me. My body, I mean. I left it back on the street. I don’t know if either of you took yours, Buffy’s mom almost definitely has hers and we can’t ask her for it, and we may or may not find Buffy’s. She probably has it, but…”
“But it’s Servalan,” Blake finishes. He puts a knuckle to his mouth and feels two sets of eyes drawn to the gesture, making him self conscious, before he claps, making up his mind. “Well, that’s enough to be getting on with for the moment, anyway. Let’s try to locate one of these pager devices and get in contact with Cally—we should make sure she’s safe before working out anything else.”
Avon’s glare says he’s not particularly impressed with the plan, deliberately taking a moment before obediently starting to look through his own pockets. “Wouldn’t undoing whatever this is guarantee her safety, and ours?”
Blake sighs. “I’d already thought of that, but we can’t be sure how long it will take. Anything other than a speedy resolution puts her at more risk than I’m comfortable with.” She’d already been kidnapped by Travis once, and did not enjoy the experience. No need to hazard her doing so again.
The man—teenager—shakes his head deliberately. Empty, it seems. “Cally would understand.”
Blake checks his own pockets again, hoping beyond hope, but that’s another disappointment. He waits until that point to glance back up at Avon. “I’m sure she would, but it’s not even her body. Letting harm come to her under these circumstances is something we should avoid if we can help it.”
Avon works his jaw but doesn’t voice any of the objections that have doubtless come to him. “I suppose we’ve taken more pointless detours before.”
“Giles!” Willow yells, and they both turn simultaneously to look at her. “Giles has his pager too—he’s her Watcher, so it’s his job to help Buffy and that’s the whole reason they got them at first, you know, so he could contact her in the field if he needed to. And he was planning on staying inside and he might not have gotten caught up in any of this—if he’s fine, he might be really helpful in figuring out what’s going on, too.”
Blake promptly discards a plan he’d started to form where Avon searches to make sure it wasn’t lost here, somewhere, and he goes to try to find Willow’s body while she uses her knowledge of the town and its worrying number of graveyards to try to find Cally. Though as soon as they find Giles, he might suggest the latter anyway. “Lead on,” he tells her, waving at the door.
Avon turns toward one of the children peeking around a wall, listening in on their conversation. “You, there. You’re in charge. Don’t open the door for anyone, and feel free to eat what you like.”
“This isn’t your house. You can’t just tell them that.” Willow’s glare doesn’t make a dent.
The teenager’s response is flat. “It’s not yours. If it keeps them safe, I hardly think the bleeding hearts among you should complain.”
“Thank you, Avon,” Blake mutters, sincere, though from Avon’s stare in response, he’s not very convincing, unfortunately, since it had been meant wholeheartedly.
Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Avon and Blake snipe even as they gather more information about their current situation from Willow.
Word Count: 1487
Rating: Teen
I once fancied myself a hero. Some sort of savior. Not that I was particularly special, but I was in the right place and I cared enough to try.
The whole sordid story comes out, if anything at an even faster pace than before. Blake can barely keep up, and even Avon is struggling. All of it sounds like the typical sort of drama one might have in youth. It’d be harmless enough aside from a few hurt feelings for weeks if it hadn’t summoned two of the most ruthless people in this galaxy or any other. “And I thought she’d just chosen the dress because you have to admit Servalan knows how to make a fashion statement and she was missing showing off her clothes, and it was an opportunity to get Angel in a different kind of leather than his normal, but now I’m not so sure…”
I’d say it’s quiet, but that would be a lie. At least Cally’s still out there, somewhere.
“Fascinating as this all is, we shouldn’t be wasting time with your persecution complex,” Avon sneers. Despite the tone, it might not even be meant as mocking. It might be Avon’s idea of reassurance. Blake swallows.
He might have an overdeveloped sense of guilt—or revenge—but he can’t just easily let things like this go, either, particularly when they might hold some sort of key to undo this. “I can’t. If it was done deliberately, if there were any similarities between myself and this ‘Xander’...then it could easily be done as a statement. A declaration that she’s as done with my moralizing as you are, at times.”
Avon’s expression is entirely unreadable. “That shows a surprising amount of self-awareness. For once.”
Despite how serious the situation, Blake can’t help but laugh a little. “I hear it often enough from you.”
The expression doesn’t change. “I’m positively shocked you listen to a word others say.”
Avon, Blake reflects, is not handling this well at all, despite how he’d treated Willow. He’s seeking an argument to relieve tension, but Blake isn’t inclined to give him that. Fortunately, Willow interrupts and gives him an out.
“Actually, I’m guessing Buffy’s feeling left out. She moved here last year from L.A. and we’ve been welcoming but it’s pretty clear she gets upset every time we make a joke she doesn’t get or referencing something she wasn’t here for.” She can’t meet Blake’s eyes, at the moment. “We’ve been all been friends from childhood, so...”
He ignores Avon’s scandalized downturn of the mouth at the very idea. Was it any wonder she’d felt more at ease with another outsider, the vampire (although that’s a question in of itself) in love with her?
Eventually she can’t take Avon’s stare anymore and adds, shifting, refusing to look in his direction, “Although you’ve got a point, Blake. I’m not sure she would’ve chosen Servalan unless she did want to deliberately set herself up as, well. The opposition. But not necessarily just toward you, since she’s technically out to get all of us, which by she I mean Servalan and us the Liberator outlaws, even though I’m kind of not actually one at the moment, and I did get a feeling she’d been mad, but I tried to ignore it because I wasn’t sure what to say or do and I figured she’d get over it.” More like hoped, but he can’t blame her. It’s hard enough dealing with awkward situations, he expects, when you have all your memories.
“Avon’s right too, Willow. Does any of this help us, with motive or cause or things like that?” He ignores Avon suddenly stilling within his line of sight. Surely that isn’t so surprising?
“I’m not sure. We deal with this all the time. I mean…” she pauses and then smiles, waving a hand toward the door. “...Buffy’s the Slayer, the one chosen to stand against the forces of darkness, as Giles puts it, so if she was here, it’d be easy, but without her I’m not...”
She’d apparently missed him staring in horror, but doesn’t miss how upset he is when he can’t help but interrupt. “Only one girl, in all the world? That’s barbaric. Can’t something be done?”
She blinks. Behind her, Avon rolls his eyes theatrically. It takes her a moment to respond, pointing a finger in his direction. “You better not be questioning girl power, mister.”
He doesn’t even bother verbally answering that one, just arching an eyebrow, at which point she (probably) remembers that Cally’s still out there and she’s dressed as Jenna, sort of. “Oh. Right,” is all she says, looking very embarrassed about the whole thing.
“Don’t be a hypocrite more than you can help, Blake, or has it already slipped your mind that we, too, are teenagers at this moment in time?” Avon drawls cooly, and it’s Blake’s turn to smile, chagrined.
“Actually, it had—but it still feels wrong.” A thought occurs to him that cheers him considerably. “Though I suppose we don’t let her take on this fight alone? Support, backup, research, all that?”
Willow nods, and they take a moment to grin at each other. It’s quickly broken when Avon feels the need to rend it all asunder with his usual sarcastic wit.
“I can’t imagine, given her choice, that we were doing a very good job.”
And, sadly, he is once again entirely right, if unpleasantly so. “No, nor can I,” Blake concedes with a frown.
That doesn’t answer the question, but at least they’re back on the more practical. “Wait, my pager’s on me. My body, I mean. I left it back on the street. I don’t know if either of you took yours, Buffy’s mom almost definitely has hers and we can’t ask her for it, and we may or may not find Buffy’s. She probably has it, but…”
“But it’s Servalan,” Blake finishes. He puts a knuckle to his mouth and feels two sets of eyes drawn to the gesture, making him self conscious, before he claps, making up his mind. “Well, that’s enough to be getting on with for the moment, anyway. Let’s try to locate one of these pager devices and get in contact with Cally—we should make sure she’s safe before working out anything else.”
Avon’s glare says he’s not particularly impressed with the plan, deliberately taking a moment before obediently starting to look through his own pockets. “Wouldn’t undoing whatever this is guarantee her safety, and ours?”
Blake sighs. “I’d already thought of that, but we can’t be sure how long it will take. Anything other than a speedy resolution puts her at more risk than I’m comfortable with.” She’d already been kidnapped by Travis once, and did not enjoy the experience. No need to hazard her doing so again.
The man—teenager—shakes his head deliberately. Empty, it seems. “Cally would understand.”
Blake checks his own pockets again, hoping beyond hope, but that’s another disappointment. He waits until that point to glance back up at Avon. “I’m sure she would, but it’s not even her body. Letting harm come to her under these circumstances is something we should avoid if we can help it.”
Avon works his jaw but doesn’t voice any of the objections that have doubtless come to him. “I suppose we’ve taken more pointless detours before.”
“Giles!” Willow yells, and they both turn simultaneously to look at her. “Giles has his pager too—he’s her Watcher, so it’s his job to help Buffy and that’s the whole reason they got them at first, you know, so he could contact her in the field if he needed to. And he was planning on staying inside and he might not have gotten caught up in any of this—if he’s fine, he might be really helpful in figuring out what’s going on, too.”
Blake promptly discards a plan he’d started to form where Avon searches to make sure it wasn’t lost here, somewhere, and he goes to try to find Willow’s body while she uses her knowledge of the town and its worrying number of graveyards to try to find Cally. Though as soon as they find Giles, he might suggest the latter anyway. “Lead on,” he tells her, waving at the door.
Avon turns toward one of the children peeking around a wall, listening in on their conversation. “You, there. You’re in charge. Don’t open the door for anyone, and feel free to eat what you like.”
“This isn’t your house. You can’t just tell them that.” Willow’s glare doesn’t make a dent.
The teenager’s response is flat. “It’s not yours. If it keeps them safe, I hardly think the bleeding hearts among you should complain.”
“Thank you, Avon,” Blake mutters, sincere, though from Avon’s stare in response, he’s not very convincing, unfortunately, since it had been meant wholeheartedly.
