ethrosdemon ||| Buffy & Angel

In My Head
by ethrosdemon


Distribution: List archive.
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny. Mutant Enemy and others own the rights. No suing please.
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: To Rabbit who told me she LOVES songifcs, so I made one. You are so old school. Lar for actually reading it even though I told her about the song thing ahead of time.
Notes: Very short Improv fic. I am being all weird lately with my stuff. Be scared. The song is ‘Silent All These Years’ by Tori Amos. Not the topic is a departure for me or even a stretch, man am I predictable.
Improv: air -- chime -- orange -- dark
Spoilers: Dead End

=====

All the so called men hovering just on the other side of the sliding doors, I can hear them shuffle-shuffle, mumble and whisper ‘Do you think she’s ok?’ ‘You go in and check this time.’ ‘When will she come out?’.

Flip the volume up on the stereo to drown them out. One of the new powers of being treated like an invalid, they don’t complain about the music.

“Years go by will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand
Years go by if I'm stripped of my beauty and the orange clouds raining in my head
Years go by will I choke on my tears till finally there is nothing left
One more casualty you know we're too easy easy easy

Well I love the way we communicate.
Your eyes focus on my funny lip shape.
Let's hear what you think of me now but baby don't look
Up. The sky is falling.”

*sigh * Tell me about it, Tori. How long will it take before the vision-gig causes my face to wrinkle around my mouth and under my eyes from the pain? Worn out and used up at twenty-five, I’m betting. Don’t have anybody to call baby, to tell about the huge corner of sky that dropped right on my skull. So much for the new hair. Didn’t explain the true badness with the new visions. Already wanna smack them each in the face like one of those old movies, them standing in a line, smack smack smack. Yeah. That’d be sweet.

The visions don’t go away at all. They linger, one bleeding into the others, overlapping and twisting up, horror embracing horror, a chorus of screams and death grunts. I’ve gotten to know the victims individually. Knife guy, the eye in the back of the head girl. They all know each other inside my head. Getting used to it now. And knowing you’re going nuts doesn’t seem to actually stop it, so I keep the boys out of the know.

After the whole back-stabbing bitch from hell episode I don’t really feel like talking a whole lot. Showed my neediness a little too obviously by taking Harmony in and ignoring the vamp thing. God, What Was I Thinking? Oh, I think it’s number 1061 on that question.

Close my eyes, and poof, there’s knife in the eye guy. Hey, what’s up? That still hurt? Yeah. Figured as much. No, the headache’s better. Sitting in the dark helps. Maybe Angel used to have headaches all the time. Hm. Never considered that. Do vamps get headaches? Prolly just cause them.

“Cordy?” Goddamn! He’s the elected victim of the hour. Trying to be slick, sneak in and stalk up behind me. Oh, earnest face. Gimme a break.

“What do you want, Angel?” Look, it’s the pained attempt at a smile.

“We were wondering if you might want dinner. You’ve been in here all afternoon. You have to be hungry.” Waving a menu in the air. No, two, oh, they’re letting me decide. Again.

“Not hungry. You can tell Gunn and Wesley you tried to get me to eat.” Great. He’s sitting down. Elbows on knees: ‘we have to talk’ stance. Whatever.

“This music is, that is, don’t you think this music is sort of , I don’t know, depressing?” Piano chiming out a flurry of high notes as he indicates the stereo with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah, it is. Perfect soundtrack to my day.” Is he sighing? Please. How many days of his unlife has he spent in full mope mode playing the same piece by Chopin over and over on his record player?

“I’ll leave you alone. We’re right in there…”

“When I want to talk. I know where you are. I know you want me to spill my guts. You don’t have to remind me every hour, ok?” Can the hurt face, mack. Not in the mood. Eyeball girl wants to tell me how she died again.

end



back to top