Angel - Daylight Fading - Deep Thoughts?
((Continued from HERE))
"In your many years of soul sickness, you have become quite the philosophizing kind. Even without realizing it. It's there, even in your silences."
Somehow, I managed a smile. Where just about everyone else around me saw brooding, saw me wallowing in my self-imposed misery over my unique ensouled condition, it seemed that Darla saw me lost in some kind of deep thought. And although I would personally tend to agree with most everyone else, it didn't surprise me that my sire would have such a different perspective.
After all, she'd seen something at the very least intriguing about a wastrel of a rich man's son who spent most of his nights carousing, bedding peasant girls and stumbling drunk.
I gave myself a mental shake. Since when did I start waxing nostalgic about the night I was murdered?
Maybe, I answered myself, when my murderer had gotten herself a taste of conscience a few years ago?
"Are you referring to your days of drinking from those filthy rats? Because I'd agree with you then. I never did know how you could stand that."
"No," I answered in an almost-whisper, shaking my head. "No, it was something else. It was..."
I stopped myself. There was no way I was going to tell that story, not a chance in hell that certain secrets were going to escape my lips. There were a hundred reasons to keep some things to myself, so many people that it would protect.
"It was something else," I repeated, hoping that the tone of my voice would disinvite any further questions into the subject. Thankfully, it had seemed Darla had moved on.
"Champion? I don't understand. I hurt things, and kill people. This qualifies me to be a Champion?"
Now it was an honest snicker at that comment. "Yeah, I've always thought they tended to overuse that particular title, but that's the one you can't stop hearing. And The Powers That Be make a habit out of unpredictable decisions."
To be completely honest, I had no idea if that was really the case. The Powers could certainly have decided that Darla had another chance coming to her, an opportunity to rebalance the scales, but then again, they might not have. Darla could well be laboring under a mistaken identity having been brought back to existence by my enemies again. But for the moment, it was the explanation that worked.
"That silly little Slayer is still around? Not that I care. I have no intentions or reasons to talk to her. She is the reason you killed me the first time, remember that darling?"
I bristled at Darla's badmouthing of Buffy. Suddenly acutely aware of how Darla's arrival was going to effect whatever slight progress I had made with Buffy earlier, my mind began racing. Was I going to be able to explain this well enough that she wouldn't dust Darla where she stood? Feeling my anxiousness rising, I was suddenly aware of something that, in a way, answered my question pretty decisively.
Blinking, I realized that it had been a scent I'd picked up, very faintly, in the air that was slowly drifting in through the window. Concentrating for just a moment, I separated two distinct scents, one for each Slayer, with a few extra notes of something that told me I was now definitely barking up the wrong tree.
Hell.
My eyes found Darla's as my brain returned to the conversation at hand.
"I didn't bring a hat."
"That's okay," I answered. "I heard one of the girls say they're out of fashion."
Sighing, I stood up.
"Now we just have to find out where you're going to stay."
((Open to Darla))
"In your many years of soul sickness, you have become quite the philosophizing kind. Even without realizing it. It's there, even in your silences."
Somehow, I managed a smile. Where just about everyone else around me saw brooding, saw me wallowing in my self-imposed misery over my unique ensouled condition, it seemed that Darla saw me lost in some kind of deep thought. And although I would personally tend to agree with most everyone else, it didn't surprise me that my sire would have such a different perspective.
After all, she'd seen something at the very least intriguing about a wastrel of a rich man's son who spent most of his nights carousing, bedding peasant girls and stumbling drunk.
I gave myself a mental shake. Since when did I start waxing nostalgic about the night I was murdered?
Maybe, I answered myself, when my murderer had gotten herself a taste of conscience a few years ago?
"Are you referring to your days of drinking from those filthy rats? Because I'd agree with you then. I never did know how you could stand that."
"No," I answered in an almost-whisper, shaking my head. "No, it was something else. It was..."
I stopped myself. There was no way I was going to tell that story, not a chance in hell that certain secrets were going to escape my lips. There were a hundred reasons to keep some things to myself, so many people that it would protect.
"It was something else," I repeated, hoping that the tone of my voice would disinvite any further questions into the subject. Thankfully, it had seemed Darla had moved on.
"Champion? I don't understand. I hurt things, and kill people. This qualifies me to be a Champion?"
Now it was an honest snicker at that comment. "Yeah, I've always thought they tended to overuse that particular title, but that's the one you can't stop hearing. And The Powers That Be make a habit out of unpredictable decisions."
To be completely honest, I had no idea if that was really the case. The Powers could certainly have decided that Darla had another chance coming to her, an opportunity to rebalance the scales, but then again, they might not have. Darla could well be laboring under a mistaken identity having been brought back to existence by my enemies again. But for the moment, it was the explanation that worked.
"That silly little Slayer is still around? Not that I care. I have no intentions or reasons to talk to her. She is the reason you killed me the first time, remember that darling?"
I bristled at Darla's badmouthing of Buffy. Suddenly acutely aware of how Darla's arrival was going to effect whatever slight progress I had made with Buffy earlier, my mind began racing. Was I going to be able to explain this well enough that she wouldn't dust Darla where she stood? Feeling my anxiousness rising, I was suddenly aware of something that, in a way, answered my question pretty decisively.
Blinking, I realized that it had been a scent I'd picked up, very faintly, in the air that was slowly drifting in through the window. Concentrating for just a moment, I separated two distinct scents, one for each Slayer, with a few extra notes of something that told me I was now definitely barking up the wrong tree.
Hell.
My eyes found Darla's as my brain returned to the conversation at hand.
"I didn't bring a hat."
"That's okay," I answered. "I heard one of the girls say they're out of fashion."
Sighing, I stood up.
"Now we just have to find out where you're going to stay."
((Open to Darla))