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catkoRating: PG
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: Don't own
Words: 240
Summary: Encounter in the Mausoleum, The Harvest. For![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fantas_magoria.
When you've got 240 years, memory, well, it works in a strange way. His past is like a corridor in an old hotel, stretching back, doors on both sides. He can't see all the way to the end, or rather, the beginning. But he can walk back and revisit each moment, the years, the decades, centuries down through time. As if he would want to. Why would he want to?
Sometimes a memory would yank him backward, like being sucked into another dimension. Or dropped from another dimension, naked and snarling, into a past age. Landing with a thud in a place, a self he doesn't want to remember. It might flash up with sudden vivid reality. Torches burning, women screaming, hot sweaty horse snorting between his legs, pounding across a field. Or the dreamy lassitude that overwhelms the senses as he sinks his teeth into an ivory throat, and feels the blood rising between his lips.
But now, at this moment, he can find no memory. No picture in his mind, or feeling in his—uh—soul. Nothing. The end of her question hangs in the air of the marble chamber.
"… have a friend?" Friend.
The silence travels 240 years but lasts only an instant. Framed by the iron door, Buffy's face moves from impertinent to puzzled, almost tender. Her lips part, and her voice is soft as she says, "That wasn't supposed to be a stumper."
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: Don't own
Words: 240
Summary: Encounter in the Mausoleum, The Harvest. For
fantas_magoria.When you've got 240 years, memory, well, it works in a strange way. His past is like a corridor in an old hotel, stretching back, doors on both sides. He can't see all the way to the end, or rather, the beginning. But he can walk back and revisit each moment, the years, the decades, centuries down through time. As if he would want to. Why would he want to?
Sometimes a memory would yank him backward, like being sucked into another dimension. Or dropped from another dimension, naked and snarling, into a past age. Landing with a thud in a place, a self he doesn't want to remember. It might flash up with sudden vivid reality. Torches burning, women screaming, hot sweaty horse snorting between his legs, pounding across a field. Or the dreamy lassitude that overwhelms the senses as he sinks his teeth into an ivory throat, and feels the blood rising between his lips.
But now, at this moment, he can find no memory. No picture in his mind, or feeling in his—uh—soul. Nothing. The end of her question hangs in the air of the marble chamber.
"… have a friend?" Friend.
The silence travels 240 years but lasts only an instant. Framed by the iron door, Buffy's face moves from impertinent to puzzled, almost tender. Her lips part, and her voice is soft as she says, "That wasn't supposed to be a stumper."
no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 08:23 pm (UTC)