Three things
Firstly, and least importantly, honestly how helpful is this headline: "Jones Becomes Welsh Leader"? Bravo, BBC website.
Secondly, happy December! I still believe in advent calendars (the proper picture ones, not the chocolate cheaters), and this year I have a Manuscripts and books from the Bodleian calendar which makes me very happy. Even though it's perilously close to being actual work.
Finally, and to be spread across this dark, cold month, I am wishing happy midwinter festivals to all on LJ. My gift to you (and myself) is The Turning of the Year, a bunch of seasonal ficlets set in the Rulesverse. Watch Faith and Giles’s relationship, and the Council itself, develop as the years pass, with merry candles and occasionally intrusive demons. No more than R, mainly lower ratings, and not as fluffy as all that. (Though some are fluffier than a kitten under a high-powered hair-dryer, to be fair). As ever, the Rulesverse timeline is your all-purpose continuity-referencing friend.
The Turning of the Year 1/7
December 25 2003: The Beginning
The castle was echoing, as usual. Far too huge even for the vast number of teenage (and older) women now occupying it. Giles and Xander waved occasionally across the echoing chambers and sea of femininity in some sort of penis-having solidarity. They never got close to within talking distance - the girls were spreading the males as thinly as possible.
It was, relatively, a joyous occasion. The Slayers were not all present, of course, since demons rarely take the holidays off. But enough had managed to come to make it a proper reunion of those who had taken the Choice, and a good sprinkling of those who had been Chosen willy-nilly along with them.
Willow was in her element, arranging decorating by magical and practical means, and conjuring goodwill spells (with permission) to ensure everyone felt the warm fuzzies. Her drooping green dress looked suitably witchy, but kept being trodden on in the crush.
Faith, temporarily back from her Colombia posting, was spinning round the room dispensing two sorts of punch (“Fruit-cup, or the good stuff? What the hell, kids, we’re in Europe. Everyone drinks here!”). But she was making fairly sure no one got incapably drunk, and Giles felt this was one moment when the Antepenultimate-Sentient-Watcher-Alive might reasonably turn off his radar.
Buffy was quiet, of course. Pining for Spike, but there had been no chance for him to leave Los Angeles for the holidays. It was astounding to find the vampire taking his destiny seriously, but it was happening. Grudgingly (“sodding helpless, always wanting help”), but genuinely all the same. Giles couldn’t quite decide whether to be impressed or worried. For today, he turned off that radar too.
A third radar had been on the blink all day, dammit, and he’d just got caught again. Christmas, greenery, goodwill, lots of girls and few men equalled infinite repetitions of the old “Oh, is that mistletoe above us?” innocent routine. Giles was now tapped on the elbow by little Mina, one of the newer Slayers. Her English was basic, and she wasn’t Christian (or pagan, so far as he knew), but she’d got the mistletoe dodge down perfectly. He indulged her with a chaste peck. But was annoyed to find her replaced by pushy Corliss, with her grating voice. She looked as though she was doing him a favour - not so, Ms Gerard. Not so at all.
He had to get away before he ended up with another queue of pointless kissing. It wasn’t Scrooge-like, was it? He liked kissing pretty girls; but preferably not underage ones for whom he was in loco parentis.
Oh lord. The hordes are massing.
Another tap on his elbow, but a familiar voice made him relax. “Hey kids - leave the poor guy alone. At least till you can kiss like women.”
Faith managed to sweep Giles almost off his feet (quite a feat, given the height difference), and into a dramatic back-bent embrace.
She kissed exactly like a woman. Warm lips, tasting of brandy-cup and lip-gloss, lightly flicking tongue, to let him know this wasn’t merely for show.
Giles did a reasonable job of recovering when Faith put him back on his feet. Not visibly staggering, or aroused. Internally though, he was vibrating with shocked pleasure.
She’s not your Slayer, you know. It was an exciting new thought, rippling through the sexless festivities.
Faith watched him, discreetly. Caught his eye occasionally. Smiled.
This was going to be an interesting year.
*
Part two is here
Secondly, happy December! I still believe in advent calendars (the proper picture ones, not the chocolate cheaters), and this year I have a Manuscripts and books from the Bodleian calendar which makes me very happy. Even though it's perilously close to being actual work.
Finally, and to be spread across this dark, cold month, I am wishing happy midwinter festivals to all on LJ. My gift to you (and myself) is The Turning of the Year, a bunch of seasonal ficlets set in the Rulesverse. Watch Faith and Giles’s relationship, and the Council itself, develop as the years pass, with merry candles and occasionally intrusive demons. No more than R, mainly lower ratings, and not as fluffy as all that. (Though some are fluffier than a kitten under a high-powered hair-dryer, to be fair). As ever, the Rulesverse timeline is your all-purpose continuity-referencing friend.
The Turning of the Year 1/7
December 25 2003: The Beginning
The castle was echoing, as usual. Far too huge even for the vast number of teenage (and older) women now occupying it. Giles and Xander waved occasionally across the echoing chambers and sea of femininity in some sort of penis-having solidarity. They never got close to within talking distance - the girls were spreading the males as thinly as possible.
It was, relatively, a joyous occasion. The Slayers were not all present, of course, since demons rarely take the holidays off. But enough had managed to come to make it a proper reunion of those who had taken the Choice, and a good sprinkling of those who had been Chosen willy-nilly along with them.
Willow was in her element, arranging decorating by magical and practical means, and conjuring goodwill spells (with permission) to ensure everyone felt the warm fuzzies. Her drooping green dress looked suitably witchy, but kept being trodden on in the crush.
Faith, temporarily back from her Colombia posting, was spinning round the room dispensing two sorts of punch (“Fruit-cup, or the good stuff? What the hell, kids, we’re in Europe. Everyone drinks here!”). But she was making fairly sure no one got incapably drunk, and Giles felt this was one moment when the Antepenultimate-Sentient-Watcher-Alive might reasonably turn off his radar.
Buffy was quiet, of course. Pining for Spike, but there had been no chance for him to leave Los Angeles for the holidays. It was astounding to find the vampire taking his destiny seriously, but it was happening. Grudgingly (“sodding helpless, always wanting help”), but genuinely all the same. Giles couldn’t quite decide whether to be impressed or worried. For today, he turned off that radar too.
A third radar had been on the blink all day, dammit, and he’d just got caught again. Christmas, greenery, goodwill, lots of girls and few men equalled infinite repetitions of the old “Oh, is that mistletoe above us?” innocent routine. Giles was now tapped on the elbow by little Mina, one of the newer Slayers. Her English was basic, and she wasn’t Christian (or pagan, so far as he knew), but she’d got the mistletoe dodge down perfectly. He indulged her with a chaste peck. But was annoyed to find her replaced by pushy Corliss, with her grating voice. She looked as though she was doing him a favour - not so, Ms Gerard. Not so at all.
He had to get away before he ended up with another queue of pointless kissing. It wasn’t Scrooge-like, was it? He liked kissing pretty girls; but preferably not underage ones for whom he was in loco parentis.
Oh lord. The hordes are massing.
Another tap on his elbow, but a familiar voice made him relax. “Hey kids - leave the poor guy alone. At least till you can kiss like women.”
Faith managed to sweep Giles almost off his feet (quite a feat, given the height difference), and into a dramatic back-bent embrace.
She kissed exactly like a woman. Warm lips, tasting of brandy-cup and lip-gloss, lightly flicking tongue, to let him know this wasn’t merely for show.
Giles did a reasonable job of recovering when Faith put him back on his feet. Not visibly staggering, or aroused. Internally though, he was vibrating with shocked pleasure.
She’s not your Slayer, you know. It was an exciting new thought, rippling through the sexless festivities.
Faith watched him, discreetly. Caught his eye occasionally. Smiled.
This was going to be an interesting year.
*
Part two is here