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snoggedTitle: Who We Are (the becoming you and me remix)
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters and recognizable elements from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Pairing: Buffy/Angel
Rating/Warnings: FRT/PG; hints at Angel’s dark side and sexual innuendo. Mostly, though, this is pretty close to fluffy for me.
Word Count: 1149
Setting: Set during the 1996 flashback of Season 2, “Becoming Part 1.” Pre-series.
Summary: What if Angel had introduced himself to Buffy when he first saw her in LA?
Beta: The thorough and efficient![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
velvetwhip. All other mistakes are mine.
A/N: I’d like to make a shout-out topickamix, who suggested the bunny that led to this story. I’d also like to thank angelus2hot for running the IWRY marathon and letting me participate this year.
Welcome to Los Angeles.
City of....
No. Can't really call himself one of those yet. Not until he's figured out why Whistler has brought him....
Here.
To the sun-baked land of California. It's a far cry from the trash-bag and rat-infested alleys of New York...and it's an even longer drive via train and "borrowed" cars. His usual mode of transportation has always been to tuck himself into the dark corners of a freighter ship, but it's hard to make that happen quickly.
So that's why he's here.
Here.
In the backseat of a cheap blue-and- rust-colored Chevy Impala with windows that were hastily slopped on with some stolen cans of black paint he found in an alley behind a hardware store. The petty theft doesn’t do anything to convince him there’s still anything good inside of him, but at least it keeps the sun at bay.
He rolls the window down just a crack, giving the rays of light just enough of an invitation to singe off the ratted knots of his hair. He's unkempt, disheveled. He's a veteran of a war where he's felt like a schizophrenic soldier for nearly a century. He's been the demon and the man, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance.
So when he sees her for the first time, he's really not surprised that a new battle begins to rage.
Staring out the window at a group of giggly teenage girls reminds him of the amazing predator he once was. Dark, agile, and ruler of all things Aurelius. The demon inside of him smirks as she pops the round red lollipop into her mouth, swirling her little pink tongue around the diameter. The act is laced with naiveté and latent sexuality. If the soul were not there to combat the demon, Angelus would have gladly forced the girl to her knees and put that naughty little tongue to much better uses, much like he had with those nuns at St. Catherine's.
Angel shivers and groans as his soul burns with the sins of his past, the horrors of that night. He's flooded with images of other nights as well where young blondes writhed and wriggled beneath him screaming for mercy as he drew out their pain, waiting for their last breath to hitch in their throats before he tore them from their mortal coil.
He nearly throws his head through the glass, ready to burn in the California sun, before Whistler reaches over and rolls the window up.
"Careful, big guy. We already had the chat about you and your tortured soul. Don’t need to be making me vacuum vampire dust off these remarkable leather seats now, got it?”
Angel nods and whispers:
"Why did you bring me here?"
Whistler shakes his head, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "I told you once, could tell you a thousand times.” He raps his fist against the side of Angel’s head and Angel growls in defense. Whistler pulls back his hand and shrugs: “You needed to see this, man. Needed to see the world through her eyes, see if you’re more than a useless dumpster vampire. You need to see the big moments that you just know she doesn't see coming. Makes you itch to see more, doesn't it? Don't you just want to know how big the britches are on this girl?"
Angel considers this for a minute and then, rolls down the window again. Just as Whistler predicted, an older gentleman has approached the pretty blonde on the stairs and Angel can hear him speak to her.
Destiny.
Vampire Slayer.
Chosen one.
A normal teenager would use some awful colloquialism like “bug off” and call the cops on the possibly crazy old man in the stuffy suit and tie But this girl is different. Despite her Valley girl sentiments and wide, doe-eyed stare of disbelief, she still gets up to follow him
She chooses to become somebody instead of wasting away on the sidelines of the football game hoping some self-absorbed twit notices her waving her pom-poms and takes her to the prom.
Isn’t that what Whistler wants him to do?
Not the pom-pom part, of course, but the other part.
The part about becoming someone.
About being counted among the heroes.
"Are you getting it yet?" Whistler asks "Or do I need to continue on with this Dickensian adventure?"
"I want to see more," Angel replies and that is what they do.
He watches her fight.
His body tenses as the vampire tackles her, pinning her beneath him. The demon inside is cheering, but the soul knows better. He can see the fight in her, can see the way the panic alters her movements. She’s a fighter, a survivor of the own battle that is now being waged in her mind. She stakes the vampire once (in the gut), again in the heart, and his own demon stills.
The Watcher appears, daring her to understand the true depths of her power, and Angel watches again as she struggles to understand. The Watcher leaves her alone again and he takes a step forward, alerting the young woman to his presence as he crushes five sticks beneath his feet.
“Do I kill you too? She asks, her voice tentative as she takes in his appearance. “Or do homeless guys get to win some sort of vampire charity thing?”
A half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“I’m a friend.”
“Then why are you following me?”
He raises his eyes brows
“I saw you. At school today. I didn’t know that you were a vampire or anything, but I…I did feel something. That thing that old guy was telling me about. Um…it was like Slayer instinct or something.”
Angel nods. “I don’t bite. Promise.”
She extends her pinky to him, slender and painted pink at the top. He eyes her with confusion and she shakes it at him as if that will send the message across loud and clear.
“It’s a pinky swear.”
She steps forward, tentatively extending her hand across the space between them and he nods in understanding. He hooks his pinky finger with hers and she exhales sharply, without letting go.
“I don’t know if it’s the cemetery or something, but you super smell like death.”
He chuckles and she smiles.
“Yeah, I gotta work on that. A friend is going to help me though. As long as he doesn’t make me dress like him.”
She nods and the appearance of blush creeps into her cheeks.
“Or you know, I could always help. No on the vamp polish, of course, because that’s way not trendy. But maybe we could try a hair-cut and a little bit of hair gel? Also, silk. Red silk is definitely in this year.
Also, I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers.”
His eyes soften and he takes her full hand into his.
Welcome to Los Angeles.
City of…
“Angel. Call me Angel.”
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters and recognizable elements from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Pairing: Buffy/Angel
Rating/Warnings: FRT/PG; hints at Angel’s dark side and sexual innuendo. Mostly, though, this is pretty close to fluffy for me.
Word Count: 1149
Setting: Set during the 1996 flashback of Season 2, “Becoming Part 1.” Pre-series.
Summary: What if Angel had introduced himself to Buffy when he first saw her in LA?
Beta: The thorough and efficient
velvetwhip. All other mistakes are mine.A/N: I’d like to make a shout-out to
pickamix, who suggested the bunny that led to this story. I’d also like to thank angelus2hot for running the IWRY marathon and letting me participate this year.Welcome to Los Angeles.
City of....
No. Can't really call himself one of those yet. Not until he's figured out why Whistler has brought him....
Here.
To the sun-baked land of California. It's a far cry from the trash-bag and rat-infested alleys of New York...and it's an even longer drive via train and "borrowed" cars. His usual mode of transportation has always been to tuck himself into the dark corners of a freighter ship, but it's hard to make that happen quickly.
So that's why he's here.
Here.
In the backseat of a cheap blue-and- rust-colored Chevy Impala with windows that were hastily slopped on with some stolen cans of black paint he found in an alley behind a hardware store. The petty theft doesn’t do anything to convince him there’s still anything good inside of him, but at least it keeps the sun at bay.
He rolls the window down just a crack, giving the rays of light just enough of an invitation to singe off the ratted knots of his hair. He's unkempt, disheveled. He's a veteran of a war where he's felt like a schizophrenic soldier for nearly a century. He's been the demon and the man, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance.
So when he sees her for the first time, he's really not surprised that a new battle begins to rage.
Staring out the window at a group of giggly teenage girls reminds him of the amazing predator he once was. Dark, agile, and ruler of all things Aurelius. The demon inside of him smirks as she pops the round red lollipop into her mouth, swirling her little pink tongue around the diameter. The act is laced with naiveté and latent sexuality. If the soul were not there to combat the demon, Angelus would have gladly forced the girl to her knees and put that naughty little tongue to much better uses, much like he had with those nuns at St. Catherine's.
Angel shivers and groans as his soul burns with the sins of his past, the horrors of that night. He's flooded with images of other nights as well where young blondes writhed and wriggled beneath him screaming for mercy as he drew out their pain, waiting for their last breath to hitch in their throats before he tore them from their mortal coil.
He nearly throws his head through the glass, ready to burn in the California sun, before Whistler reaches over and rolls the window up.
"Careful, big guy. We already had the chat about you and your tortured soul. Don’t need to be making me vacuum vampire dust off these remarkable leather seats now, got it?”
Angel nods and whispers:
"Why did you bring me here?"
Whistler shakes his head, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "I told you once, could tell you a thousand times.” He raps his fist against the side of Angel’s head and Angel growls in defense. Whistler pulls back his hand and shrugs: “You needed to see this, man. Needed to see the world through her eyes, see if you’re more than a useless dumpster vampire. You need to see the big moments that you just know she doesn't see coming. Makes you itch to see more, doesn't it? Don't you just want to know how big the britches are on this girl?"
Angel considers this for a minute and then, rolls down the window again. Just as Whistler predicted, an older gentleman has approached the pretty blonde on the stairs and Angel can hear him speak to her.
Destiny.
Vampire Slayer.
Chosen one.
A normal teenager would use some awful colloquialism like “bug off” and call the cops on the possibly crazy old man in the stuffy suit and tie But this girl is different. Despite her Valley girl sentiments and wide, doe-eyed stare of disbelief, she still gets up to follow him
She chooses to become somebody instead of wasting away on the sidelines of the football game hoping some self-absorbed twit notices her waving her pom-poms and takes her to the prom.
Isn’t that what Whistler wants him to do?
Not the pom-pom part, of course, but the other part.
The part about becoming someone.
About being counted among the heroes.
"Are you getting it yet?" Whistler asks "Or do I need to continue on with this Dickensian adventure?"
"I want to see more," Angel replies and that is what they do.
He watches her fight.
His body tenses as the vampire tackles her, pinning her beneath him. The demon inside is cheering, but the soul knows better. He can see the fight in her, can see the way the panic alters her movements. She’s a fighter, a survivor of the own battle that is now being waged in her mind. She stakes the vampire once (in the gut), again in the heart, and his own demon stills.
The Watcher appears, daring her to understand the true depths of her power, and Angel watches again as she struggles to understand. The Watcher leaves her alone again and he takes a step forward, alerting the young woman to his presence as he crushes five sticks beneath his feet.
“Do I kill you too? She asks, her voice tentative as she takes in his appearance. “Or do homeless guys get to win some sort of vampire charity thing?”
A half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“I’m a friend.”
“Then why are you following me?”
He raises his eyes brows
“I saw you. At school today. I didn’t know that you were a vampire or anything, but I…I did feel something. That thing that old guy was telling me about. Um…it was like Slayer instinct or something.”
Angel nods. “I don’t bite. Promise.”
She extends her pinky to him, slender and painted pink at the top. He eyes her with confusion and she shakes it at him as if that will send the message across loud and clear.
“It’s a pinky swear.”
She steps forward, tentatively extending her hand across the space between them and he nods in understanding. He hooks his pinky finger with hers and she exhales sharply, without letting go.
“I don’t know if it’s the cemetery or something, but you super smell like death.”
He chuckles and she smiles.
“Yeah, I gotta work on that. A friend is going to help me though. As long as he doesn’t make me dress like him.”
She nods and the appearance of blush creeps into her cheeks.
“Or you know, I could always help. No on the vamp polish, of course, because that’s way not trendy. But maybe we could try a hair-cut and a little bit of hair gel? Also, silk. Red silk is definitely in this year.
Also, I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers.”
His eyes soften and he takes her full hand into his.
Welcome to Los Angeles.
City of…
“Angel. Call me Angel.”
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no subject
on 2014-11-06 03:43 am (UTC)Gabrielle
no subject
on 2014-11-06 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
on 2014-11-06 07:48 am (UTC)It sounds odd but I think Buffy could have used a friend in that moment. someone she felt a bond/connection with in a liminal space, rather than an impersonal "you have a destiny" watcher. I wonder if it might have made her life in that period easier, to have someone to talk to, to not have to hide to at least one person.
It probably would have helped him as well. And now I'm suddenly rather fond of the two of them all over again - or rather of what could have been.
no subject
on 2014-11-06 12:45 pm (UTC)I don't think it sounds odd. Buffy did need a friend at that point...and Angel needed more of a reason to decide he wanted to become a hero.
Thank you so much for your comments!
no subject
on 2014-11-06 12:46 pm (UTC)Possibly?
Either way, thank you much for the prompt!
no subject
on 2014-11-06 05:16 pm (UTC)Also, Whistler is a creepy, manipulative creep. I know we already know that, but damn, you really highlighted it here. Who in their right mind would point a grown man (relatively speaking) in the direction of a fifteen year old girl and say, "Don't you want to know more?" ::shudders::
Great job, babe!
no subject
on 2014-11-06 07:02 pm (UTC)I agree that Whistler was both manipulative and creepy. I'm glad you thought I portrayed him well.
no subject
on 2014-11-07 04:02 am (UTC)Yes on both counts! ( I'd like to assume Joss and David got the irony etc of Angel and Whistler's, um, reasoning? "Look, pretty girl!" Say what, now?)
That "pinkie swear" scene is delightful. I can just see him totally taken aback - she has no idea how out of the box she is from his perspective. Like most modern American kids she can't possibly have any sense of time or tradition. (So of course her first boyfriend is 200 years old, right?)
no subject
on 2014-11-07 04:04 am (UTC)Those are two of my favorite details in a wonderful story. Thank you for providing the inspiration, hon!
no subject
on 2014-11-07 04:07 am (UTC)Right? Given the way both series play out I'd like to think that Joss realized that but - I have no idea how that man's mind works to be perfectly honest.
no subject
on 2014-11-07 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
on 2014-11-07 12:32 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked the pinkie swear scene. I liked that one too.
no subject
on 2014-11-07 12:38 pm (UTC)Although I guess it makes sense from a dude's perspective - but even still, been around 200 years. seen (and tortured) lots of pretty women, been with Darla for 100, destroyed a lot of innocence....ok, still not making sense to me. (Oh the soul, right.)
(But - shhh! don't tell anyone! - his reasoning in IWRY never made any sense to me either so, I guess Angel is consistent in that way. Um, yay?)
no subject
on 2014-12-09 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2014-12-10 12:06 am (UTC)Here from buffyversetop5
on 2015-01-08 08:22 pm (UTC)Re: Here from buffyversetop5
on 2015-01-08 10:59 pm (UTC)