madimpossibledreamer: Jotaro pointing at the camera (kujo)
[personal profile] madimpossibledreamer

“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“If it worked anything like a genie, I’d have asked for wealth.”
blake is the type to make a bargain with janus (actually so is Avon and blake might get caught by servalan and travis alongside a very confused spike)
thank you and hi /waves to new subscriber
 

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Avon makes his move.
Word Count: 1309
Rating: Teen

 

You have to effect that with your own hands, I’m afraid. Change isn’t easy. Change doesn’t come without a fight. Change doesn’t come without sacrifice.

        Avon considers his approach carefully, glancing inside with a wary eye. From the sounds of it, there are only two inside, Giles and someone he’s evidently familiar with. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem as if he’s selling them out, which is what Avon would have expected. Perhaps he’s afflicted with the same strain of doomed heroism Blake is. Certainly it seems catching, because on several occasions Avon has found himself acting uncharacteristically. Not that he’s heartless, no matter what some of his companions may believe. (Not that he feels the urge to correct their misapprehensions, either; he’s long ago learned that the opinions of others are only of use as currency, and not in of themselves. If anything, he’s doing them the courtesy of being closer to his honest self around them, not that many of them would recognise the gesture if it slapped them in the face.)
        Even so, Avon cannot allow him to finish what he plans. Not before he has a chance to step in. It would be a waste to shoot the man. He’s considering shooting the other, Ethan, probably, given the name of the shop, if only because he’s never been very fond of mirrors. But that, only after he’s gotten what he wants.
        So, instead, once he has enough of a read of the room, he makes his move. Distasteful, recently gained familiarity with the cruder aspects of self-defense ensures that Giles is unprepared for such a move and crumples on the spot, without further difficulty. He doesn’t have any time to demand what Avon thinks he is doing, which is an improvement, since Avon himself has been doing nothing but questioning it since he set out to do this. On the other hand, once he’s set his mind on something, he sees it through. No matter how idiotic this plan might be, it’s the only thing he can think of that has a remote chance of success. However much Blake might like to not utilize his engineer’s brain nor indeed most of the tools at his disposal, he does still retain some level of intelligence worth using more often underneath all the layers of adjustment and trauma. His comment about not wanting to risk Cally or the young woman inhabiting her body had dug into Avon’s skin. Of course, then Blake followed it up by being a complete hypocrite, in a gesture that some would call selfless and Avon would (and had) called reckless to the point of martyrdom, deciding to give himself up to Travis’ tender mercies. The good of the one versus the good of the many, an equation that Blake would always read as balanced for the good of the many. Particularly, not that he would recognize it, when his own self was involved.
        Little as Avon likes to admit it, he has the feeling that Blake was, sadly, once again right. The costume had not been chosen as random, but, as the phrase would have it, perhaps along the lines of ‘kindred spirits’. It feels like the tendency to sacrifice themselves for others who would probably never know nor care nor thank him for the gesture is a bad habit they both share, one borne of an infuriating moral complex and equally irritating lack of self-worth.
        A choice he has no business making, not without seeking second opinions, but he’d never seek one. The most bothersome of Blake’s traits, and, again, probably one they share.
        Ethan glances up, absolutely delighted and little caring about the ropes tying him in place nor the bruises nor the gun Avon has pointed at his throat. “You’re rescuing me?”
        If you wish to define ‘rescue’ rather generously, perhaps. My name is Kerr Avon. I have reason to believe you may have heard of me.” Rather than cowering, as Avon would prefer, Ethan merely smiles, but at least there’s a pinch of more respect than there had been previously. “Explain how you brought about all of this, and I would hurry, if I were you. If your own dithering allows Blake to die, you will not survive.”
        He merely smiles wider. “I always thought there was something there!”
        Nonsensical. Well, nonsensical if you considered it an answer to Avon’s question. Clearly it isn’t. It’d be uncomfortable, being seen so clearly, if this didn’t indicate rather more thoroughly his feeling of reflections. He pokes the gun closer, and Ethan swallows involuntarily, getting back on track. “I am not stalling, but from one warlock to one comp tech—getting close like that is how you get your gun stolen from you and aimed in your direction instead.”
        A ploy, to make Avon believe he’s being honest. Rather effective, as such things go. Avon moves away, just in case, a move that seems to please Ethan.
        He continues warmly. “That statue is for Janus. All of this was an offering to Janus. If you’re seeking an audience, he may answer.”
        And what do you get from this...generosity?” He suspects he knows, but he wants confirmation.
        Ethan shrugs as best he can, under the circumstances. “Curiosity. Ripper here was going to put an end to my fun. You’re keeping it going a little longer, and that’s enough cause for me to be generous.”
        He could ask about the point of all this, but suspects he knows the answer, and it’s hardly relevant in the first place. More knowledge might be valuable in seeking an audience, or an alliance or boon or whatever else might be in store, but above all he can’t afford to waste any more time, specifically because he’s not sure Blake himself has more time, so, instead, feeling a little foolish, he faces the statue and begins to speak. “I only have one request. Make sure Blake—or Xander—survives this.”
        The statue’s eyes light up. A trick, he would’ve said, before he’d seen any of this. And then a voice. “Are you sure that’s all you want?”
        Of course it isn’t, but he doesn’t wish to jeopardise any chance of success by being too greedy. “Does it matter? What are your terms?” It’s a good thing he has, as Vila put it, a good poker face. That at least is a bonus when it comes to negotiations. Blake, on the other hand, is highly prone to overplaying his own hand or being too uselessly honest.
        The statue actually chuckles at him, otherworldly. Perhaps something along the lines of those...beings, on that world devastated by war. He swallows any hint of pride. “I am a union of opposites, which is why I have two faces. Order and chaos, beginnings and endings. Your choice pleases me. Revolutionaries have always been one of my more favored agents of change.” A test, maybe. Avon forces the humiliation away. He wants this over and done with, and yet Janus is toying with him, playing a game, and he cannot, must not fail.
        “...I don’t want to die. But if that is the price that must be paid, I offer it willingly.” Making Blake right about another of his favored statements, that it was, always had been, their choice to stay, to risk their lives in his senseless war. No matter how much it never felt like that, like Blake was manipulating them, and not always even of his own volition, because he used leverage he didn’t realize he had, which, of course, only made Avon despise him, at times, even more.
        Perhaps Janus senses this, because he stops altogether, responding, for the first time, in a straightforward manner. “Both are within my power, and both are a fitting tribute. I grant you both.”
        Avon’s consciousness flickers, interrupted power to a computer, before he’s gone.

 

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