Distribution: Oh! Well, if it helps at all, I'm gonna say Yes.
Feedback: Hello, you've reached Ailie's ego. I'm not in right now, but if you'd leave me a message about this story I'd really appreciate it!
Dedication: For Ems, cause she's letting me be the Queen! ;)
Disclaimer: Oz and Willow obviously do not belong to me. If they did BTVS would be called "The Willow and Oz Show." Oh, and they lyrics aren't mine either. The song is "Sleep to Dream Her"
by the Dave Matthews Band.
Author's Note: Dave Matthews is such an amazing poet. He writes and sings in a way that pulls all the same heart strings that Willow and Oz do. From that comes the "Yellow Flame" series. Each will be a stand alone song fic with DMB lyrics. The Yellow
Flame comes from "Tripping Billies" ... //We are all sitting Legs crossed round a fire My yellow flame she dances//
Also, please note no Tara bashing intended. This is following Oz's train of thought once he has gone a little over the edge.
**********
//I know I'll miss her later
Wish I could bend my love to hate her
Wish I could be her creator
To twist her arms now//
E-flat, D, D-flat. It was an easy enough song as far as the bass line was concerned. Damn easy, in fact. The rest of the band had been rather surprised when Oz suggested they cover it. They
rarely did covers do begin with, let alone one that was so different from their normal punkish style. But it did work nicely for some variety in a long set, and eventually the guys agreed to give it a shot.
Time now found Oz and the band at a hole in the wall that tried to pass itself off at a bar. His days playing The Bronze with "Dingoes" seemed like the lap of luxury compared to this.
Actually, in a way the falling plaster and chipped Formica did remind him of his old haunt ... after a vampire attack, anyway. Plus it wasn't exactly the crowd their manager had promised;
a few drunken men sprawled across the bar, several women desperately looking for love in very wrong places, and maybe a dozen bored college students lounging in the back.
And yet Oz still scanned the crowd, hoping that this would be the day.
//She stares up at the stars when
The stars fell from her hair then
I bent down to collect them
And then she was gone//
Still fresh in his mind was the day he had gone back to Sunnydale. The evening walk he had taken with his love. The way moonbeams played amongst stray strands of hair as Willow tilted
her head to face the full moon. Starlight in her eyes and smile when she made the connection. Shadows crossing her delicate features when he attempted to ask her back into his life.
Looking back now, he realized he had known. He had known the second she broke their embrace under that cursed moon. But that hadn't been his vision, his fantasy of the way that moment
should have been. So he ignored it, and her. That ignorance had cost him everything.
//Oh I sleep just to dream her
I beg the night just to see her
That my only love should be her
Just to lie in her arms//
In dreams alone did Oz's Willow now live. This Willow woke beside him every morning, mumbling about raspberry hats or some other such nonsense. She rambled when she was nervous, bit her
lip when she was thinking naughty thoughts. She had taken him back with open arms that night so many years ago, and now sat in the audience of every club or bar he played in his mind.
Waking hours brought pain of reality, but this song ... it seemed to offer some sort of hope. He recalled their last conversation somewhat selectively. "Part of me will always be waiting," she had said. "If I round the corner and bump into you, I won't be surprised." That had been his Willow talking, not *hers.* His Willow would walk into one of these bars some day and see him, of that he was certain. She would hear this song and know, just know, that he had picked it out for her. The same way she had just known the right things to say and do before ... she would do the right thing again. She would live in his life as well as dreams.
//Oh I came there to find out
Find out she made up her mind
My arms are all tied up
To me she was blind//
Sometimes Oz would come to his senses and realize that he was the blind one, not Willow. He was the one who refused reality both then and now. Those days were the worst. One or two of
them had ended in excessive drinking and the rampaging destruction of motel property. Eventually he had decided denial was the best place to live ... and the rest of the band decided it was best to keep him there with whatever drugs they could find. So they kept him in his happy place, and he continued to play, although slightly sloppier than before.
//This space between us
Where wingless dreams fall earless
Will you not bear me witness
With your back to me now
It seems so unnerving
Yet still somehow deserving
That she could hold my heart so tightly
And still not see me here//
With the end of the song rapidly approaching, Oz frantically scanned the crowd. In every girl there were little pieces of her. That one had her smile. Over there, bright blue eyes. And
red hair being all the rage, any girl could be her from behind. But the total package wasn't there. It never was.
She never was.
//Oh I sleep just to dream her
Beg the night just to see her
That my only love should be her
Just to lie in her arms//
Derek had realized a long time ago that his bass player had his quirks, and learned to work around them. He glanced Oz's way to signal the end of the final chord and notice of the man's
slighly frazzled expression. Time to end the set, give the poor guy something to calm and collect him before going back on stage. The habit was expensive to support, but he had to admit that Oz was a helluva player, and they needed him if they were gonna get anywhere.
Oz never offered to talk about his past, and Derek never asked. It had been a subject of some debate during late night hotel room parties, when the melancholy basist had been passed out
and alone in his own room. Whispers of women, sometimes of men. Maybe a crime committed in a moment of blind passion. Who knew? What Derek did know was that a demon lurked under that
calm water, and he wasn't about to disturb it.
//I know I'll miss her later
I wish I could bend my love to hate her
Wish I could be her creator
To be the light in her eyes//
END
***************
Ailie McFarland
***************
WILLOW: Well, I like you. You're nice and you're funny. And you
don't smoke. Yeah, okay, werewolf, but that's not all the time. I
mean, three days out of the month I'm not much fun to be around either.
OZ: You are quite the human.
WILLOW: So I'd still, if you'd still.
OZ: I'd still. I'd *very* still.
OZ: Would it help you if I panic?
WILLOW: Yes, it'd be swell. Panic is a thing people can share in
times of crisis, and everything's really scary now, you know, and I
don't know what's going to happen and there is all sorts of things
you're supposed to get to do after high school and I was really
looking forward to doing them and now we're probably just going to
die and I'd like to feel you maybe you would ... (Oz shuts her up
with a kiss) What are you doing?
OZ: Panicing.
WILLOW: Oz...don't you love me?
OZ: My whole life, I've never loved anything else.
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------------------------------
Date: Tue, 6 Mar 2001 19:42:01 EST
From: Slayervick@aol.com
Subject: Re: (arfic-l) Sleep to Dream Her 1/1
oh oooh, michele, can we post this pleeeeeeeeeze?
that's all i gots to say about that, hope all of you on ar-submissions hear
this too
~victoria
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------------------------------
Date: Tue, 6 Mar 2001 21:17:14 -0500
From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@neo.rr.com>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: I'm Still Anne (1/1)
Title: I'm Still Anne
Author: M. Bumbarger
Email: mbumbarg@pair.com
Fandom: Buffy, the Vampire Slayer/Angel: The Series
Rating: PG
Summary: Two years after the events of "Anne," Anne stops to think and
reflect. Sequel to "The Other Anne." ("The Other Anne" can be found at the
Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive, http://www.alternate-realities.net
in the Buffy, the Vampire Slayer section of the archive).
Spoilers: Buffy, Season Three Episode, "Anne." Mild hinted at spoilage for
Angel, Season Two Episode, "Blood Money." This story takes place in
Angel-verse before the episode, "Blood Money."
Author's Notes: A special thank you to my beta-readers, Caroline and
Victoria.
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy Summers, Angel, Anne, and Lilah Morgan
do not belong to me. Nor does Wolfram & Hart belong to me. All are the
property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Tim Minear, Mutant Enemy and Fox
Productions. They used here without permission but not for profit.
****
I'm Still Anne
By M. Bumbarger
I got to thinking about her the other day. Not that I don't think about her
a lot 'cause I do. She believed in me. She trusted me. She made me believe
in myself. So, I do think about her a lot. At night, when I'm in bed, and
the shelter is mostly quiet, or when I'm just sitting by the window staring
out of it. I think about her whenever a new kid wanders in off the streets
that wants our help. Whenever there's a new face who's decided that he doesn
't want to sell drugs or she doesn't want to pimp her body or they realize
there's things out there in the dark that are just as bad as gang bangers
and crooked cops.
It's funny, but I never thought that I would think that vampires and the
things that really do go bump in the night are as bad a gang bangers, or a
kid beat beyond recognition 'cause she didn't want pay up what her pimp
thought she should or because she tried to work the wrong corner. It's all a
perspective thing, I guess. At least with vampires, you know, they get you,
one bite and you're pretty much dead. Or like them. But what I see . . .
what those kids see and live through everyday . . . hell, vampires aren't so
bad after all.
I'm making it now. I'm making it and I'm making a difference, but still I
always come back and think about her. You know, Buffy. I wonder what
happened when she went back to Sunnydale. I wonder if she actually went back
to that place. I mean, it was like she was going to, like she finally
figured out that she couldn't run and had to go back and stand her ground,
but you never know. I mean, she seemed so strong, but you never know about
people really. She seemed strong back when I called myself Chantrelle and a
bunch of us thought that vampires would free us when all they really wanted
to do was make us dinner. She seemed strong, like she had it all together,
but then she ended up in LA, barely holding it together and trying to be
something that she wasn't. Just like me. So, maybe she wasn't as strong as
we thought.
But I kinda wonder if she ever made it back and ended up dealing with her
demons. And I wonder if she ever thinks about me, down here in LA. I wonder
if she sometimes stops and looks around and wonders if I'm still doing what
I was doing or if I'm actually trying to pull it together.
I wonder how surprised she would be to know that I have pulled it together.
I am somebody now. People look up to me, they respect me. There's a whole
mess of kids out there - runaways and throwaways - who know that I'm here
for them if they need me. They know that they've got somewhere to go and
somebody who understands because I've been there.
But I don't think that I would be here right now, doing this if it hadn't
been for Buffy. I know I wouldn't be - I would be old and dead just like
Ricky. Or maybe cut up and beat up like Rosalie who came through last week.
Or shot dead like T-Bone for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I
definitely wouldn't be here; I wouldn't be making a difference.
That's why I kept the name Anne. I mean, officially. Went through all the
paces to change it legally and everything. Lilah Morgan at Wolfram & Hart
helped out with that - pro bono. A little bit of paperwork, and I'm really
Anne. No one knew me before I was Anne and that's a good thing - I don't
think they would have recognized me anyway.
So, here is Anne, doing good and making a difference. Doing all those things
that "Anne" did for me - leaving hope and helping out. Showing the way.
The kids love me, they thank me for helping them. They thank me for seeing
them as real people when no one else did or would or could. And it makes me
feel good inside. Two years ago, I wouldn't have thought that it was
possible to feel this good inside, to look in a mirror and be able to really
like what you see there. Two years ago, I really wouldn't have wanted to
look in a mirror.
"Anne" helped me see the light. She helped me find my way. And I don't know
if she's back to being Buffy Summers now, or if she's still running from
whatever she was running from.
But I do know one very important thing.
I'm still standing.
I'm still Anne.
*** End ***
M. Bumbarger
03.06.01
"You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I
thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible
things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I
take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
Marcus, Babylon 5, Episode: "A Late Delivery from Avalon"
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------------------------------
Date: Tue, 6 Mar 2001 19:34:04 -0800 (PST)
From: Worlds Away <worldsaway2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Worlds Away (18/??)
Title: Worlds Away (Part 18/??)
Author: M. Bumbarger
Email: worldsaway2001@yahoo.com
Fandom: New Series Tomorrow People
Rating: PG-13/TV-14
Summary: The Tomorrow People are swept away to a
different world, where they must take up the lives of
their alter-egos and try to find their way home . . .
which won't be easy.
Notes & Dedication: An extra special chocolately
goodness thank you to Caroline Fales for helping me
over several humps with this chapter and keeping the
story on track.
Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People (Adam Newman, Ami
Jackson, Megabyte Damon, and Jade Weston) are the
property of Roger Damon Price, Thames Television, ITV,
Tetra Television and Nickelodeon. They are used here
without permission, but not for profit. The lands,
countries, customs, deities, and original characters
are mine and mine only, springing from the depths
of my imagination and should not be used anywhere else
without my permission. Please do not repost this to
any list or archive it anywhere else without my
express permission.
Previous parts at
http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway
*****
Chapter Eighteen
Power.
Life.
Energy.
It flowed from every point around Adam, flowed into
the Sword and seeped into his very soul. Unending,
unyielding power and energy surrounded him and
devoured him, molded with him and shaped him to its
will. The power guided his sword strokes, guided his
hands and his feet, carrying him along in the wake of
a powerful tidal wave. He was one with the Sword, he
was one with the world around him, joined as one with
universe. Give and take, take and give until there was
nothing else but this force that could not be defeated
or ignored. It fed him, it nourished him, and it
provided him with everything.
It was everything.
Therefore, Adam found himself shuddering and stumbling
to his knees when it was quite suddenly ripped from
him, leaving him cold and hallow and wanting. He
grasped for the thin tether he held on that powerful
magic, mentally reaching outwards with phantom fingers
for the phantasmal cord, recoiling when he brushed
against a wall as smooth as glass and as cold as ice.
His fingers instinctively tightened on the Sword hilt,
yearning and seeking, repeatedly ramming against the
invisible wall that separated him from the life energy
of the magic.
"Woman, have you taken leave of your senses?" A voice
- -- Stewart's voice -- came from down a long tunnel, as
the world slowly rose to meet him again, as reality
met up with him. "You do not interfere like that! You
are mad!"
"No more than you. You will allow him to do too much
and go too far. And a dead prince is not of much use
to the kingdom."
Adam lifted his head, somehow it felt heavier than he
could ever remember it feeling, to the source of the
second voice. The image before him blurred and
shifted, doubling and tripling before finally fusing
into one. "Halista?"
The woman gave him a deep curtsy. "I am sorry,
Aldaric, but I could not stand by and wait for you to
burn yourself to a cinder." Two old wrinkled hands
wrapped around the hilt of his sword, pulling it
gently from his hands. Adam tried to resist, but in
his weakened state, the old nurse was the stronger of
the two. "I think that your lesson is at an end for
the day."
Adam shook his head in an effort to clear it. He was
gathering his bearings again, thank goodness for small
miracles, but while his head was clear, that did
nothing to banish the shivering that went deep to the
core of his soul. He had been studying and reading,
learning about this world's magic, and only using it
when Stewart required it of him, so he had a good idea
of what had happened. It was called blocking, and
Halista had carried it out quite effectively. Even
now, with the Sword that he relied on to touch the
magic at all beyond his reach, he was still aware of
that wall between him and the energies that made up
the magic.
He was aware that he couldn't touch them at all.
And he didn't like the feelings of terror and loss
that accompanied that knowledge.
"Well, you've certainly left him in no condition to do
much else today," Stewart barked. Adam flinched at the
sound of Stewart's sword being thrust back into its
sheath. His senses, all of them, sight and sound,
taste and smell, even touch, were hypersensitive after
being exposed to any amount of magic.
Although the voice was gruff, the hands that lifted
him from the ground were gentle. And Adam was grateful
for Stewart's aid; he didn't think that he would have
been able to stand up without the older man's help.
[Adam?]
[Hey pal, you okay?]
The two simultaneous telepathic whisperings in his
mind made Adam wince and recoil, reflexively pushing
both of his friends away. He held tight to Stewart's
shoulder and hoped that the man did not notice that
his prince almost went back down to his knees in the
dirt again.
He felt panic at his reaction - mental panic coming
from the two minds a day's ride away and he sighed
heavily, opening his shields slightly. [I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to worry you. I'm fine.]
[What happened?]
[Nothing, Megabyte. Just one of Stewart's lessons.]
The lie left a bad taste in his mouth, but Adam wasn't
ready to share *that* particular aspect of being
Prince Adam Aldaric with his friends just yet. It was
one of those things that was too close to him, too
intimate, too personal and he didn't think that there
was anyway that he could possibly make them
understand, particularly when he didn't understand it
himself.
Adam remembered the first time he wielded the magical
power, he remembered how disturbed and unsettled he
had been by it. In those early days, he had hoped that
he would never have to do it again, but that had not
been the case. Stewart required it of him; existing in
this place as Prince Adam Aldaric required it of him .
. . and some days, he required it of him.
The magic was like a drug - powerful and pure in its
raw intoxication. When he touched the magic, when he
opened himself to its influence, the feeling of
completeness and wholeness was nothing that he had
ever felt before or could even put into the proper
words. Each time he opened himself, it grew easier to
do it again and again; each time he found himself more
willing to do it the next time.
Everything that he read said that magic required
discipline.
He understood why.
A part of him had hoped that with the wedding fast
approaching, and the increased activity at the Palace,
Stewart would be lax in his training, and he would not
be forced to deal with the complex and conflicting
feelings and emotions wielding the magic brought forth
in him. The other part of him had desperately hoped
that Stewart would not be lax.
[Are you sure? Because it felt like -]
[Megabyte, I'm fine. It was nothing.] The words came
out sharper than Adam had intended and he sighed
again. [I'm just having a hard day, all right? All of
you, stop worrying about me.]
A few more concerned probes, and his friends withdrew,
leaving him alone once again with his own thoughts,
worries, and fears.
And Halista and Stewart, both of whom were staring at
him with more than a little concern as he lowered
himself to the nearest bench.
"What?" Adam demanded.
"I am simply reassuring myself that you are still of
sharp and clear mind," Stewart directed the words at
Adam, but the icy glare he reserved for Halista.
"Too sharp and too clear, if the pain in my head is
any indication," Adam remarked, rubbing his temples.
His eyes were drawn to the Sword, his Sword, in
Halista's hand and he forced himself to look away.
"He has a headache," Stewart growled.
Halista laid the Sword on the bench beside him, "It
will pass." The woman gave him a soft pat to his
shoulder and turned to Stewart. "See that he does not
over tax himself again." With those words, she spun on
her heel, wandering away from the practice grounds
with the same light tread that she had approached
with.
"That woman will be the death of me," Stewart grumbled
and gestured at the Sword lying on the bench. "Sheath
that, Your Highness. There'll be no more lessons
today. As we are lucky you are still standing and --"
"Who trained you, Stewart?" The question came out of
nowhere, even later, Adam would not know why he asked
it.
"Your Highness?"
"The Sword, the magic," Adam gestured with his free
hand, the other carefully encircling the hilt of his
sword, "Halista trained you right?"
It was a guess, gleaned from Stewart's interactions
with the woman and things Adam had learned from
carefully listening.
"You know this already, Adam. I don't see why we are
discussing it."
"Maybe you should work together," Adam stood and
sheathed his Sword, "She can't teach me everything
Stewart, but neither can you."
"I was wondering when it would come to this."
Adam looked to the other man in surprise. He thought
that perhaps the prince had discussed this with
Stewart before, thought that perhaps that was the
reason for the animosity between the man and Halista.
He was surprised to learn that he was wrong. Still, he
managed to downplay his surprise with a shrug, "It
only makes sense. If I'm to receive official
instruction at the Temple of Damiaren someday, maybe
learning from someone who's been there isn't such a
bad idea?"
"You still have not mastered the fine art of royal
subterfuge, Adam, but you are learning." Stewart gave
him a fond smile and a clap on his shoulder, "But
perhaps, this is a conversation that we should have
after your wedding? You might change your mind by
then. You might have only an interest in your wife
teaching you that which you would like to know."
Adam ignored the gleam in Stewart's eyes, and was
grateful that Hagen was not around. His cousin would
certainly not have passed up the opportunity to make
some lewd comment or another about Adam's bride, the
wedding night, or both. "Stewart, I doubt the Damiar
Princess is going to be capable of, or at the very
least interested in teaching me anything that has to
do with magic. She probably can't even teach herself,
she is newly raised, remember?"
While still not understanding all of the subtle, and
not so subtle, nuances of the world he now occupied,
Adam understood enough that the world was at least
beginning to make sense to him. For instance, he
understood that there were twelve levels of ascension,
or Circles, within the Temple of Damiaren, and that
the Damiar Princess had only been accepted into the
first circle a few weeks *after* the engagement had
been publicly declared. He didn't pretend to
understand the complexities of honor and title
surrounding the Circles, or the idea that some who
studied at the temple would never have the power or
the strength to enter the circles, although they would
forever be known as damiar, not a title, simply a
description of what they were. And on the opposite end
of the spectrum, there were those like Halista who had
ascended several, if not all Twelve Circles, but did
not carry an honorific of any sort, nor did she even
identify herself as damiar.
Between the world politics and the religious politics,
Adam sometimes felt like his head would explode if he
thought about it for too long.
"You presume I was speaking of magic."
Adam stiffened and shook his head slightly. "And here,
I thought you were a wiser man than Hagen and knew
when to keep your own counsel."
"I am not the only one who finds it interesting to
note that you do not seem to have any wish or desire
to speak of your future bride," Stewart remarked
quietly. "Why is that, Your Highness?"
"And I find it interesting to note that everyone else
around me does want to talk about it," Adam returned.
"Why is that, Stewart?"
"Because it is unprecedented. A marriage outside of
the kingdom. One that will give our kingdom some
leverage within the Temple of Damiaren. There are a
great many reasons to talk about it. Your marriage is
not, and unfortunately quite probably will never be, a
private matter."
"All the more reason why I'm not going to waste time
and breath to speculate or discuss it, with *anyone.*
I'll be married soon enough, come what may I can't
change that. What's left to talk about?"
"You sound like your father."
"You say that like it's a bad thing." The words
surprised Adam, although he was certain his face did
not show it. On earth, his father was a man that he
did not know, and a man that he wanted to forget; he
would never have taken pride in the type of statement
that Hagen had just made. But here, King Martine was
respected and loved by his subjects, respected and
loved by his family. Being compared to the sovereign
of Stiborn could hardly be an insult.
"Your father is a good man and a good king, but one
day you will be King, and it would be a pleasant
change if you sounded like Adam Aldaric. But I wonder
if he even has a voice of his own."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You are your father's son, Adam, and that is a
blessing. But someday, you will have to rule this
kingdom without the shadow of King Martine to support
you. This marriage is only the beginning. It's your
chance to be more than the son of Martine and Carrina.
"Instead of burying yourself in books and reading
fables, you would be served well by remembering that."
"Stewart, I don't know whether you just insulted me or
complimented me."
"That is because I am far more skilled at playing the
royal game than you are, Your Highness." Stewart gave
him a bow, "Sleep on it, and perhaps it will make
sense to you in a few years time."
With those cryptic last words, Stewart turned and
departed the practice grounds, leaving Adam staring
blankly after him.
And wondering if he would ever really get the hang of
