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tamingthemuseTitle: In a Corner of My Soul
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 514 - Stigmatize
Rating: PG
Word Count: 689
Note: Locked to members of Taming the Muse
The lights were on in Buffy’s house but even though Owen had knocked, nobody came to the door. “Hello? Buffy?” It was a school night and Buffy had said she’d be studying but she’d also said she’d be up for a break around nine. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do. If she had to get back to her studying, they obviously weren’t going to have time to make the Bronze.
As he climbed the steps up to the front door, Owen hoped it’d be Buffy, and not her mother, who answered. Parents seemed to stigmatize poets. He supposed it came down to that whole Lord Byron, sex maniac thing, but that was hardly fair. Emily Dickinson had been a virgin and she was just as much a poet as Byron had been. Maybe Buffy hadn’t mentioned the poetry thing to her mom.
Owen rang the bell <knocked on the door?>. He stood there and waited. The lights were on but nobody came to the door. When he pushed on it, the door opened. “Buffy? Hello?” Still no one answered. He stepped into the house, wondering if he should lock the door behind him. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood but still, leaving the door unlocked with nobody around didn’t seem like such a great idea.
He heard a noise, something hitting the floor, from further into the house. As he stepped forward, Owen wished he had a weapon, a bat or something, but that was stupid. This was Sunnydale. Nothing ever happened here.
But when he stepped into the kitchen, something was happening. There was a guy a pretty big guy and he was holding onto a woman. She was sort of draped over his arms. Maybe she’d fainted?
“What’s going on?” The guy looked up and he growled, he actually fucking growled, and there was something wrong with his face. “Hey, did you hurt her?”
The guy was gone so fast, leaving the woman - Mrs. Summers - on the floor, that Owen wondered if maybe he’d imagined it. The blood, however, wasn’t imagined. He squatted down and put his fingers to the marks on the neck. The blood was still wet. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
Phone. He had to call, uh, someone. 911. That was it. He had to call 911. “What is the nature of your emergency?”
Oh God. “There’s a woman, she’s on the floor. She isn’t moving and there’s blood, not a whole lot, just a little, but she isn’t moving and I’m not sure she’s breathing.”
“Could you give me the address, please?”
Address? Oh God, what was the address? He could go to the front, check the address, but then he’d have to put down the phone.
“Sir, the address?”
“Hold on.” He left the phone dangling. The street numbers were there, by the side of the door. He ran back to the kitchen. “1630. It’s 1630.”
“I’ll need the street name as well.”
Street name? Oh God, what was the street name? He knew it. He’d just walked past the sign. Think. Think. “Uh, Ravels, um, no, that’s not it. Raveler? Uh, Revello. Yeah, that’s it. 1630 Revello.”
Owen never remembered much of the next few minutes. He found a blanket on the couch and put it on her to keep her warm. He checked her breathing. Really it seemed like he never stopped checking her breathing until the paramedics arrived.
They didn’t want him in the ambulance, which was good because he didn’t even know Mrs. Summers. Actually he wasn’t even sure the woman was Mrs. Summers. But that left him alone in the house and he didn’t think he should be in the house without Buffy or her mother. He closed the door, it only locked from the outside, but didn’t know where he could go to find Buffy. He usually saw her with Willow and Xander. Willow he didn’t know how to find but Xander lived about a block from Owen’s cousin. He’d go find Xander and then maybe Xander could tell Buffy what had happened to her mother … if that woman actually was Buffy’s mother.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 514 - Stigmatize
Rating: PG
Word Count: 689
Note: Locked to members of Taming the Muse
The lights were on in Buffy’s house but even though Owen had knocked, nobody came to the door. “Hello? Buffy?” It was a school night and Buffy had said she’d be studying but she’d also said she’d be up for a break around nine. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do. If she had to get back to her studying, they obviously weren’t going to have time to make the Bronze.
As he climbed the steps up to the front door, Owen hoped it’d be Buffy, and not her mother, who answered. Parents seemed to stigmatize poets. He supposed it came down to that whole Lord Byron, sex maniac thing, but that was hardly fair. Emily Dickinson had been a virgin and she was just as much a poet as Byron had been. Maybe Buffy hadn’t mentioned the poetry thing to her mom.
Owen rang the bell <knocked on the door?>. He stood there and waited. The lights were on but nobody came to the door. When he pushed on it, the door opened. “Buffy? Hello?” Still no one answered. He stepped into the house, wondering if he should lock the door behind him. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood but still, leaving the door unlocked with nobody around didn’t seem like such a great idea.
He heard a noise, something hitting the floor, from further into the house. As he stepped forward, Owen wished he had a weapon, a bat or something, but that was stupid. This was Sunnydale. Nothing ever happened here.
But when he stepped into the kitchen, something was happening. There was a guy a pretty big guy and he was holding onto a woman. She was sort of draped over his arms. Maybe she’d fainted?
“What’s going on?” The guy looked up and he growled, he actually fucking growled, and there was something wrong with his face. “Hey, did you hurt her?”
The guy was gone so fast, leaving the woman - Mrs. Summers - on the floor, that Owen wondered if maybe he’d imagined it. The blood, however, wasn’t imagined. He squatted down and put his fingers to the marks on the neck. The blood was still wet. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
Phone. He had to call, uh, someone. 911. That was it. He had to call 911. “What is the nature of your emergency?”
Oh God. “There’s a woman, she’s on the floor. She isn’t moving and there’s blood, not a whole lot, just a little, but she isn’t moving and I’m not sure she’s breathing.”
“Could you give me the address, please?”
Address? Oh God, what was the address? He could go to the front, check the address, but then he’d have to put down the phone.
“Sir, the address?”
“Hold on.” He left the phone dangling. The street numbers were there, by the side of the door. He ran back to the kitchen. “1630. It’s 1630.”
“I’ll need the street name as well.”
Street name? Oh God, what was the street name? He knew it. He’d just walked past the sign. Think. Think. “Uh, Ravels, um, no, that’s not it. Raveler? Uh, Revello. Yeah, that’s it. 1630 Revello.”
Owen never remembered much of the next few minutes. He found a blanket on the couch and put it on her to keep her warm. He checked her breathing. Really it seemed like he never stopped checking her breathing until the paramedics arrived.
They didn’t want him in the ambulance, which was good because he didn’t even know Mrs. Summers. Actually he wasn’t even sure the woman was Mrs. Summers. But that left him alone in the house and he didn’t think he should be in the house without Buffy or her mother. He closed the door, it only locked from the outside, but didn’t know where he could go to find Buffy. He usually saw her with Willow and Xander. Willow he didn’t know how to find but Xander lived about a block from Owen’s cousin. He’d go find Xander and then maybe Xander could tell Buffy what had happened to her mother … if that woman actually was Buffy’s mother.
