winter | Public announcement

:D

So he's not even sure if she'll wake up human?

(Now, torture scene?)

Now, he's not even sure he'll get out undead ;)

It's very interesting to see him out of his depth like this - still holding on to his self-assurance, but acknowledging the possibility of failure...

When people say "I'm not real. I'm mystical energy" you don't think it could all be contained witin one tough little human and only now is he starting to realise that "oh, wait, it can be" :D

High time for him to be just a little bewildered ;) How's the torture scene coming along?

I'm hopping between it and the Spike/Faith thing in the present chapter.

Will be waiting.

BTW, any idea why everyone's requesting smut from me? I don't know how to write it!

Regarding smut? Because they like to torment you :D But I didn't offer smut *angelic* Just underwear :D

Oh and Illyria's in charge of the torture brigade. Spike's wanting to kill and can't think around it, so he's letting her pick the methods:

“Six against two? And not one of them can even tell she wasn’t a vampire.”

In the basement, the prisoners had been stripped of their weapons with embarrassing ease, not one of them thinking to carry an irremovable cross anywhere on their person or even managing to hide any tools anywhere imaginative.

Prowling around the huddled knot of five men and one woman, Illyria was tilting her head from side to side, making the bones crackle slowly. “Such fools have no use for the brains they possess,” she murmured. “The Graf will plaster the walls with them.”

“Come now,” Herbert was leaning against the wall of the room, arms folded loosely over his chest, his hair spilling around his face. “You know father better than that, Illyria. He would hardly wish to ruin the decor with such mundane things.”

“S’true, that,” Spike said, examining a deadly-looking axe. “Think this thing would break a leg?”

“Probably messily,” Herbert murmured. His eyes were fixed, cold and hard, on the huddle of mortals. “I suspect these charming people are locals, William. If you wish to threaten them, I would suggest their own language.”

Spike made a face. “I hate sodding Romanian,” he grumbled. “Always trip up on the vowels. Got to be an easier way...”

He looked around the room, then wandered over to the body of the man Illyria had killed. His head pointing in the wrong direction, which had apparently scared at least one of the survivors into piddling all over the floor.

“Really want to do one of them in,” he muttered, giving the body a kick.

“Take one and break every bone in their body,” Illyria was standing ominously close to the prisoners, her hands flexing by her sides as if she wanted nothing more than to reach out and snap them like twigs. “One bone at a time, until there is nothing but powder within their flesh.”

Spike looked at Herbert. “Well, they wouldn’t be dead...”

Herbert gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. “Make it hurt.”

“No question of that,” Spike replied with a vicious grin. “Blue, want to start? I’d say we go with the girl.”

The demon reached into the middle of the huddle. The single female was shielded by the larger bodies of the men, but Illyria plucked her out, shrieking and struggling, as if unaware of the blows landed by the men.

I really like Herbert in this scene. Vicious, remote and in control at the same time, effortlessly, even as his mind is elsewhere.

He's not going to do anything but stand there and be ice-hard. Illyria has grown accustomed to Dawn and dislikes the people so she's doing the hands on torturing, while Spike grins a lot and makes threatening noises.

I assume Spike also gives some suggestions? :D

(And as long as we're talking suggestions, threatening the hunters with turning them should go over nicely with their greatest fears...)

“I wish to begin,” she said, staring coldly at the woman’s pale face. One blue-tinted hand closed around the woman’s and there was a dull, wet popping sound punctuated by an agonised scream.

Spike’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive for just the tip of a pinkie,” he said, one side of his mouth curling up. “Go on, Blue, do it again.”

Illyria’s solid eyes turned to him. “Too soon and the fresh pain will be dulled by the first,” she said flatly. She looked back at the woman’s wide, terrified eyes. “This one has no tolerance for pain. It shall not take long.”

A second crackling pop echoed off the walls.

Again, the woman screamed.

One of the men cursed and tried to rush at the demon, but was cut off. His right calf and foot falling sideways, he dropped forward onto his face, howling in pain and pulling his maimed and bleeding stump of a leg towards him.

“Huh,” Spike looked at the blade, surprised. “Sharp, innit? Didn’t think it would go all the way through.” Tossing it aside with a clatter, he squatted down beside the man with a pleasant grin. “See,” he said in Romanian. “If you just stayed still, you would still have two legs and be able to run away when the Graf comes after you.”

*bops Spike on the nose* Oi. No fair making the meat bleed out and die before Johannes can get his claws on them :>

*throws popcorn*

Oh, he's gs leet nurse skills to fall back on ;) He's had enough people trying to bleed themselves to death before munching to know how to use a torniquet ;)

And a bit of a snack while he's at it? :> Can't blame a guy for wanting to keep his hands clean...

The man, sobbing in pain, and cursing tried to crawl away, but Spike reached out and caught his bloody stump of a knee by the shattered end of the bone. With a casual tug the made the man shudder and go limp, he pulled him closer.

“Kill him!” One of the other men cried out. “He is bleeding anyway! Kill him!”

Blue eyes rose and regarded the vampire hunters and Spike slowly, lifted his hand to his lips and licked the blood from his fingers. “Think I’ll keep him alive,” he said, eyes gleaming gold. “Patch him up and make myself a new pet.”

Terrified eyes stared at him as he loosened his belt and wrapped it around the bleeding limb, pulling it tight. He straightened up then, licking blood from his fingertips as if it was a rare delicacy.

“Herbie, you got any kind of nice, hot fire or pokers or something that burns?”

Grey eyes slanted towards him. “There is always a fire in the drawing room,” he said quietly. “A metal bucket stands beside the grate. There should be a variety of pokers of interesting shapes.”

“Good stuff,” Spike grinned unpleasantly.

Too bad mortals can't take that poker-through-the-chest thing Spike did to Angel, really.

BTW, Viktor and Draculea is now 400 words and counting. Bloody vampires.

Spike's going to entertain himself by cauterising. And cutting. And cauterising. And cutting. And cauterising. He likes to burn stuff *nodnod*

(allow me a bwhaahahah! :D)

Pyromaniacs unite :D

(Will possibly wrap up within 600 words. Draculea's far less subtle about the pwning than VK, really.)

And ooh look! Bone fragment! Wait til he regains a bit of consciousness then pull :D

Spike's really the cutest thing, isn't he? :D

(BTW, how will they know that VK's thing is done and over with? Herbert getting a magical nudge?)

Despite being all soul-full, Dawn is his among other things and anyone who hurts her deserves everything they get and then some. Plus, he doesn't like idiots ;)

(Methinks VK will short out for a time and the whole lot of them will feel it, because he's put everything into pulling her back. It'll be like someone switched off all the lights and Herbie'll flip and run for the room)

The rain had reduced itself to drizzle, but the sky was still grey and Spike and the Slayer took shelter on one of the balconies on the middle level of the manor to avoid the chill.

“Hand it on, ducks.” A pale hand unfolded in front of her. A cigarette and lighter were clapped into his palm and he lit up, inhaling a coil of smoke like it was ambrosia from heaven itself. “God, that’s good...”

“Been a while, huh?”

“Not got much in the way of local shops, hereabouts,” Spike replied, sitting down against the wall, beside the doorway. Taking another drag, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “So, what you got figured?”

Sitting down beside him, snatching her lighter back and lighting her own cigarette, the Slayer blew a stream of smoke towards the upper level.

“You and goldielocks are on and happenin’ in the more-than-fuckbuddies way,” she said with confidence. One blue eye cracked open. “Buddy, you’re doing the happy-glow thing. Ain’t seen that in... well... ever.”

“One point to Slayer,” the vampire grinned around his cigarette. “And...?”

“Little D has got it on in a heavy way with the uber-vamp.” Tapping ash from the end of the cigarette, she examined the glowing tip thoughtfully. “But this is where I get kinda... confused. You get pettings from the uber-vamp and V looks like he would kill for ‘em and D doesn’t give a damn?”

Spike chuckled. “Welcome to the madhouse, love,” he said, tilting his head back against the cool stone. “You stay here long enough without getting knocked off or kicked out and you’re claimed. Old Graf does it the most primal way.” He gradually became aware of the silence and looked sideways at the Slayer, who was staring at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You’re tellin’ me that Graf-guy, the most mannersome vamp I ever did see, screws whoever he likes as a houseguest?”

*cheers for Faith*

Just fell off the chair laughing. OUCH.

Re: Random Faith/Spike

fyrie.livejournal.com - 2006-04-01 11:23 (UTC) - Expand

FOR ALL THE SULTAN’S GOLD

Transylvania, Anno Domini 1503; Year of our Lord 7012 of the Eastern reckoning

The leaves on the flagstones of the wall walk cracked and rustled under Viktor’s boots. The battlements to his side him were blackened with fire and torn already by earthquakes. None living in this place, but it was the one he would start in.

All this would not have happened, had he reigned in the previous century, he thought. Marcus had ignored the first rumours of a local lordling’s strange habits, of impossible escapes and too precisely devastating plagues. They still did not know who had bitten the Wallachian, nor when, but the grave at Snagov had been empty when Kraven had checked it.

Enough of it. Viktor would find the man, tear his head off and watch as the last of that cursed blood drained across his boots. There were rules to be contended with, his rules, and none of them provided for a madman to be given this power.

In the darkness over Poenari Castle, a wolf howled. Paws skidded over stone.

Viktor turned, unsheathing his sword with a curse. But it was no wolf in the doorway of the staircase, not this broad shadow, a tattered cloak flapping in the breeze. The scent of blood, fresh and old, wove through the air.

“I am an Elder of the Great Coven,” Viktor declared. “Show yourself.”

The shadow – the creature – moved forward, conveying the suggestion of a crawl even as it remained upright. Still the starlight shied away from it.

The voice was rusty with disuse, but the Latin was melodious, precise. “Are you a descendant of Corvinus?”

“No. I am Viktor. But I bear in me the power of Corvinus and the blessing of his blood. All who bear it obey the Elders, and this is your place also.”

That drew a low, rich laugh, the figure bending forward either in mirth or in preparation to attack. “I met a Corvinus, once, who would have me bend to his will. I betrayed him.”

Viktor took a step forward, letting his sword arm hang free, unthreatening. “There is so much we can offer you.”

“That sounds familiar, too.” This close, the shape of the creature’s head was visible in the shadows, elegant features framed by long, straight hair. “Power? Knowledge? Women? Boys?”

“What would you want?” Behind his back, Viktor tensed his arm, testing the balance of the blade.

Movement, pain. The pure sharp sound of metal on stone as his sword flew over the castle wall, and darkness and stars flashing as he was pushed over the battlements, falling himself-

Suspended in mid-motion, a long-fingered hand around his throat.

The starlight fell on the creature openly now. Pale skin with a red flush on the cheeks and lips, the mouth open to reveal fangs longer than they should be. Werewolf teeth, but a vampire’s face, vampire’s breath. The touch was cold, chilling, and the smell under the blood was of old parchment and crumbling gravestones.

Viktor bared his own fangs as he tore at the hand squeezing his throat. He hissed and knew his eyes were burning blue with the power of his blood. But what answered him was an inhuman growl and eyes the colour of poison.

“I was offered all for my obedience and my chains, Viktor of the Great Coven,” the monster said, not even breathing hard. “My freedom is not for sale. Not for all the sultan’s gold, not for all the sultan’s love, and not for anything the pathetic crawling creatures you call vampires can offer me.”

Viktor arched his neck, fighting for a gulp of air. “What are you?” he choked out.

In Vlad Draculea’s smile, there was the warlord and the defender of the faith, the tyrant and the traitor. “Did you think Corvinus was the only one to make a deal with the Devil?”

From the battlements of Poenari Castle to the waters of the Princess’s River below, it was a long way to fall.

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Random Faith/Spike

Re: Random Faith/Spike

Your fic, m'lady