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tamingthemuseTitle: mirror, mirror
Chapter: 1
Word Count: 510
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Prompt: #378 loop @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Warning: none
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: The beginning of a much longer story. Eventually to become a crossover.
Synopsis: This Buffy was caustic beyond reason and had a scathing comeback for the simplest of questions.
Pale hands pulled at the fuzzy material of Willow Rosenberg’s sweater, fingers tugging the sleeves down to cover her arms and help ward off the chill permeating the room. The scent of sage had saturated the air after Giles’ ritual cleansing of the warehouse and her nose wrinkled at the heavy scent. She leaned forward to light the candles closest to her, her tights catching on the concrete as her knees shifted. The candles sat at two points of the pentacle Giles had drawn in chalk on the floor and he lit the other three as she studied the contents of the bowl in the center of it all.
There was an overabundance of herbs and even a few spices that Giles had crushed with in a stone mortar and pestle set that had Willow just a smidgen envious. It was a far cry from the set she’d picked up at a flea market the summer before and he’d ground the ingredients in half, maybe even a quarter, of the time it would have taken Willow. They’d also added their blood to the mixture to help harness the residual magic left over from the spell she’d foolishly performed with Anya the previous night.
A spell Buffy had interrupted and that interruption had brought a second—or was it third—Slayer into their world. A Slayer that was a ‘Mirror, Mirror’ version of their Buffy and Willow kind of wondered if the scar took the place of the goatee. This Buffy was caustic beyond reason and had a scathing comeback for the simplest of questions. Though, Willow supposed, it probably hadn’t been the wisest thing for Xander to ask what had happened to her face. He did sort of deserve that retort for his lapse in judgment. Even Giles, who she consistently referred to as Geeves, ignored her less than stellar attitude and simply focused on getting this Slayer home as he settled himself across from Willow in the circle.
If this Buffy even had a home to go back to—Willow just wasn’t certain about that not so minor detail—since the world Anya described to them didn’t sound entirely Slayer friendly. Not that their world was, but at least their Buffy had them; the Scoobies, and her mom. Willow had seen the look of longing this Buffy had given Mrs. Summers earlier in the night and how she’d stayed quiet, even frowned, at the back and forth between their Buffy and Giles as if she wasn’t used to a Slayer having a say in, well, anything.
She looked defeated Willow decided and wished, if only in her mind, that she could help her as she finished lighting the last candle—finished adding her will, that silent wish to the spell.
Green eyes narrowed at the wide expanse of forest before, behind—pretty much surrounding—her and Buffy sighed out an exasperated breath before muttering out loud to the no one beside her, “That’s what I get for trusting witches, Watchers and demons. Son of a bitch.”
Chapter: 1
Word Count: 510
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Prompt: #378 loop @
tamingthemuseWarning: none
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: The beginning of a much longer story. Eventually to become a crossover.
Synopsis: This Buffy was caustic beyond reason and had a scathing comeback for the simplest of questions.
Pale hands pulled at the fuzzy material of Willow Rosenberg’s sweater, fingers tugging the sleeves down to cover her arms and help ward off the chill permeating the room. The scent of sage had saturated the air after Giles’ ritual cleansing of the warehouse and her nose wrinkled at the heavy scent. She leaned forward to light the candles closest to her, her tights catching on the concrete as her knees shifted. The candles sat at two points of the pentacle Giles had drawn in chalk on the floor and he lit the other three as she studied the contents of the bowl in the center of it all.
There was an overabundance of herbs and even a few spices that Giles had crushed with in a stone mortar and pestle set that had Willow just a smidgen envious. It was a far cry from the set she’d picked up at a flea market the summer before and he’d ground the ingredients in half, maybe even a quarter, of the time it would have taken Willow. They’d also added their blood to the mixture to help harness the residual magic left over from the spell she’d foolishly performed with Anya the previous night.
A spell Buffy had interrupted and that interruption had brought a second—or was it third—Slayer into their world. A Slayer that was a ‘Mirror, Mirror’ version of their Buffy and Willow kind of wondered if the scar took the place of the goatee. This Buffy was caustic beyond reason and had a scathing comeback for the simplest of questions. Though, Willow supposed, it probably hadn’t been the wisest thing for Xander to ask what had happened to her face. He did sort of deserve that retort for his lapse in judgment. Even Giles, who she consistently referred to as Geeves, ignored her less than stellar attitude and simply focused on getting this Slayer home as he settled himself across from Willow in the circle.
If this Buffy even had a home to go back to—Willow just wasn’t certain about that not so minor detail—since the world Anya described to them didn’t sound entirely Slayer friendly. Not that their world was, but at least their Buffy had them; the Scoobies, and her mom. Willow had seen the look of longing this Buffy had given Mrs. Summers earlier in the night and how she’d stayed quiet, even frowned, at the back and forth between their Buffy and Giles as if she wasn’t used to a Slayer having a say in, well, anything.
She looked defeated Willow decided and wished, if only in her mind, that she could help her as she finished lighting the last candle—finished adding her will, that silent wish to the spell.
Green eyes narrowed at the wide expanse of forest before, behind—pretty much surrounding—her and Buffy sighed out an exasperated breath before muttering out loud to the no one beside her, “That’s what I get for trusting witches, Watchers and demons. Son of a bitch.”
