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buffyfic-digest         Monday, June 22 1998         Volume 02 : Number 241



In this issue:

       BUFFYFIC: BUFFYFIC   Diaries - Buffy1
       Re: BUFFYFIC: BUFFYFIC   Diaries - Buffy1
       BUFFYFIC: "Syndicate: Holding On To The Night"
       BUFFYFIC:  Diaries
       BUFFYFIC: Reflections  (1/1)
       Discuss: Re: BUFFYFIC: Reflections  (1/1)
       BUFFYFIC: Memories At Dawn 1/1

See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic
or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Sun, 21 Jun 1998 22:05:25 +0100
From: "Mark Jones" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: BUFFYFIC   Diaries - Buffy1

I haven't written any fic for a while, so some feedback, be it good bad, or
just ugly would be nice!
[e-mail]

Disclaimer:  They aren't mine
Summary:  Just a quick peek in Buffys diary, nothings gone wrong ,
everythings fine!



Dear Diary,
ItÆs strange, today was one of the most normal days that IÆve had for ages,
but to most people it would have been totally weird.
School was not really important, Giles was in mega research mode, according
to him something big is supposed to happen next month, and heÆs all
ôItÆs better to be preparedàö
I guess heÆs right, life would be good if it was all mapped out.  I wonder
what it would be like to be a ænormalÆ person, with no complications, no
vampires and no Hellmouth, but then again what about the feeling of not
knowing, the feeling that something could happen and that I can save peoples
lives, I would miss being different.  And most of all, Angel, it would be
totally different, would I know that heÆs a vampire, or would I just be
forever wondering why we never meet in the day.  If I was a ænormalÆ person,
who would the slayer be?  Willow?  No, too sensible, Xander?  No, I donÆt
know why, thereÆs just something about him, maybe it would be Cordelia?  I
donÆt know why but she strikes me as the kinda person who is not just the
kind of person she shows herself to be.  I wonder what it would be like for
Giles, would it be easier?  Harder?
What about me, where would I be?  ItÆs strange how one person can affect
other peopleÆs lives, only realising how when they think about what it would
be like without themselves.
Goodnight Diary,
Buffy.

By Rachel Jones.
I was thinking about extending this to the other characters, and making it
into a kinda mini series, what do u think?
[e-mail]

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 09:27:45 -0700
From: Wirchler <[e-mail]>
Subject: Re: BUFFYFIC: BUFFYFIC   Diaries - Buffy1

Mark Jones wrote:
>
<snip>
>
> By Rachel Jones.
> I was thinking about extending this to the other characters, and making it
> into a kinda mini series, what do u think?
> [e-mail]

Why not?  It certainly might be fun to create the 'insights' of Xander,
Willow, Cordelia, and even Oz and Giles......  Cordelia is vain enough,
Giles retentive enough.....  :)

What about a diary 'series'?  I think it's a great idea.....  just my
thoughts on the matter......
- --
Wirchler
[e-mail]

Note to self:  If someone asks if you're a god, you say yes!!

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 12:42:35 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Syndicate: Holding On To The Night"

Notes: This takes place after the last Syndicate story I posted, "Syndicate:
Termination", but you don't need to read the first to get this one, at least I
don't think so. If you'd like to see it, e-mail me at [e-mail] and
I'll mail it off. It also takes place after "Becoming II".
Disclaimers: The Syndicate and its players (except for Snyder) are mine and
may not be used without my permission. The rest is Joss' and I don't control
it.
Feedback: Yes, please!

~

                    "Holding On To The Night"
                         By Rachel Brody

     She felt the tears running down her cheeks, knew there was
something wrong with what she was doing-- running. She knew she
should never have done this, and some part of her even sincerely
regretted having taken the actions she'd taken so far.
     But she couldn't let this go. She couldn't let go of
everything she'd done, she couldn't let go of the memories, and she
couldn't let go of the people she cared about. Which meant she had
to leave it all, so it wouldn't be ripped from her grasp like
everything else she had ever cared about.
     Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as she choked on
another sob, her legs curling up beneath her on the bus seat, her
bag next to her, praying there would be some way to keep from
showing the rest of the world what she felt.
     The bus had been driving for nearly a day now, with breaks
every few hours. She hadn't looked up the entire time. She knew
eventually she would reach her destination, but when that would be
she didn't know. She hadn't even paid attention when she'd bought
the ticket, she had just asked for whatever ticket it was her money
would buy. Fate could spin the wheel of chance for her, she had
decided as she'd tried to decide on where to go. Fate had covered
everything else in her life, up to now. Maybe it would be best if
she let it keep going like that, didn't try to make an effort to
direct her own life.
     So she had left, deciding that if fate had wanted her to stay,
it wouldn't have stolen everything she loved. Her mother, her
friends, her life. She wouldn't let herself think of the last thing
she'd lost, or she would never be able to find the ability to carry
on.
     "Miss," came a voice from the aisle, "is this seat occupied?"
     Buffy looked up, knowing her eyes were red from tears, knowing
she was presenting the perfect picture of a classic runaway.
     The man who had spoken looked to be in his early-to-mid-
twenties, wearing a leather jacket, with long, blonde hair that was
pulled back into a ponytail. He presented a certain appearance
of breeding and flair that made her wary of believing that he was
simply another guy off the streets.
     She shrugged and picked up her bag, putting it at her feet and
making room, not saying anything for fear that her voice might
break.
     He watched her, and although her eyes were on the scene
passing by outside the window as the bus pulled away from the
station, she could feel his eyes on her. Just as she began to get
the feeling that she'd just as soon have him speak and get it over
with, she heard his voice.
     "A bit young to be traveling by yourself, one might think."
     She looked back at him, glaring.
     He smiled slightly, as though he was amused by her anger. "And
yet, you seem as though you would be too sensible a young woman to
do something which would put you in danger." His smile widened.
"Which might lead one to ask, what is it about you that makes you
think you can handle whatever is thrown your way?" He waited a long
few seconds, but when Buffy refrained from answering, he shrugged
and nodded toward her duffle bag. "Adolescents are the same in any
era, aren't they." He shook his head. "We run from that which we
are loathe to face, and yet somehow it always returns to haunt us."
     "Excuse me," Buffy finally managed to say, almost keeping her
voice from trembling, "but I'd kind of prefer if you shut the hell
up and leave me alone."
     "Very well," he said, "I can be quiet, of course, and yet
somehow I doubt very much that you'll ever find yourself left
alone, at least until you face whatever demons it is you're running
from." He smirked slightly, pulling the sunglasses down slightly so
he was peering at her over them, his eyes bright and quick. "Your
aura, my dear, is simply breathtaking."
     "My _aura_?" she hissed, nearly snapping in his face.
     "Yes," he replied. Then he smiled, pulling a small wad of
bills from a pocket she hadn't previously noticed. "Here," he said,
"young Slayer."
     Her suspicion growing by orders of magnitude, Buffy's eyes
narrowed slightly. "How do you--"
     "How do I know who you are?" The man smiled slightly, shaking
his head and pulling a business card from nowhere. "Newell
Burbank," he said with a smile, passing her the small piece of
stiff paper.
     She glanced over it, raising an eyebrow when she saw the logo.
A burning cross. "Tasteful," she said, giving him a sour smile.
     "Isn't it, though?"
     "And what kind of name is the Syndicate?" she asked, her voice
holding no trace of humor.
     "A worthy one," he said with a shrug. Then he smiled slightly.
"You may keep the card, young Slayer," he said as the bus pulled
to a stop and pressing the bills into her palm. "As well as the money.
And...you might think of lightening up on yourself, Slayer. You've
been screwed over, time and again, I know." The smile widened
as Buffy glanced to the window and realized they had hit the end of
the line. "Think of this as a new beginning," Burbank told her. "A
chance to live without those bastards screwing you to the wall every
chance they get. You're free."
     Not wanting to admit that his words made a certain amount of
sense, Buffy reached under the seat to grab her duffle.
     "And feel free to contact me. Whenever you wish."
     "Thanks," Buffy said, dragging her duffle out from under the
seat, "but I think I'll--"
     She broke off abruptly as she straightened and stood,
realizing that Newell Burbank had vanished.
     Confused, with a sigh, Buffy moved toward the bus doors, not
bothering to look at the sign that hung overhead as she walked out
of the bus depot. She didn't care where she was, only that it
wasn't Sunnydale. She could feel the tears she had been crying
earlier, dried on her cheeks, and made a swipe at them, realizing
that suddenly she didn't feel quite so much like crying.
     Looking around, Buffy smiled to herself, just a little. Free,
she thought to herself, tasting the word with her mind. Burbank,
wherever he had gone to, was at least right in that respect. They
were all free. She, from her obligations, and maybe one day from
the guilt that tailed her wherever she walked. The rest of them,
from getting hurt by the things she had done to them.
     Maybe she would finally be able to start over, she thought as
she left the bus terminal and started scouting for a cheap hotel,
somewhere she could go where she wouldn't deplete the money she had
withdrawn from her credit account and her savings account before
she'd left Sunnydale.
     Not wanting to litter, but having no use for Burbank's card,
Buffy simply slid it into her jeans pocket, promptly forgetting it
had ever existed as she walked, ready for once in her life to meet
whatever destiny she might find, because now she knew whatever it
was, she would have had some say in selecting it. No longer was she
going to be the pawn of some nameless, faceless organization that
had simply stepped into her life one day and told her what to do.
No, she was going to take a stand, have her say. She refused to let
the Watcher Network trample her into the ground under their high-
minded objectives, and she vowed to herself she wouldn't let them
set her up to get hurt like she had been.
     For the first time in a long time, as Buffy walked, she felt
like she might finally be regaining some sort of control over the
crazy phenomenon she liked to call her life.

THE END
(for now)

Comments to [e-mail], please.

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 20:24:31 +0100
From: "Mark Jones" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC:  Diaries

Hi!
This is Willows diary, I've decided to make this into a kind of mini series
and have all the characters think about what life would be like with out
them...

Disclaimer:  They aren't mine.
Summary:  A quick look in Willows diary, none of the bad stuff has happened.
Feedback:  Yes, yes, yes!!  I need to know what you think, so I can make the
next parts better!  Please!  [e-mail]

DIARIES - WILLOW
***********************
Dear Diary,
ItÆs me, the ever so helpful assistant to Buffy.  When you think about it,
thatÆs all I am.  BuffyÆs assistant.  If she needs help I give it to her,
when research has to be done, I help do it, without me they would be fine.
Everyone chips in with research, everyone helps Buffy, IÆm not unique.
Xander has his jokes, BuffyÆs the Slayer, Giles the watcher, AngelÆs the
Vamp and Cordelia has the one thing IÆve always wanted û Xander.  Without me
everyone would be fine.  ItÆs strange to think that I have such little
effect on everyone.  I wish I did, I wish I was just a bit special, a bit
unique.
Oz is great though, I guess he must find me a bit special, a bit important,
or why else are we together?  But, is he the one that I really want, do I
still want Xander?????  Even though we are best friends and both seeing
other people, I would love to be with him.  If only he knewàbut what about
Oz?
Life can be so tough, I mean I found today pretty normal, yet we researched
about demons from the Middle Ages that could come back to terrorise
Sunnydale, I mean is that actually normal?  If anyone knew we did this, weÆd
probably all be put in the nut-house!
Life is so complicated, I think the others are right when they tell me not
to think so much!
Goodnight,
Willow.
************************

Feedback please!  It's ever so important to me!
[e-mail]

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 14:11:00 PDT
From: "Sara Barton" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Reflections  (1/1)

Title:  Reflections
Author: Sara B. [e-mail]
Note: This is just a little peice that I wrote.  I just finished it
today, and thought I'd send it to the list.  I have been so busy lately
that I haven't been able to read or write fiction, so I've been a little
cranky lately.  Anyway, just tell me what you think of it.


Reflections  (1/1)

He stared into the mirror; the aged eyes never leaving, never blinking.
As if in a daze, he would just sit and stare for hours on end like there
was no other world around him.  His eyes intent, he searched for
something--anything.  He prayed to for a glimpse...a small image of what
he had so long lost but never forgotten.  This was all he had left to
do.

He was alone.  He was lost.  He had nothing at all.  He often wondered
why he continued to live.  What was the point?  He had nothing to live
for.  But something kept him alive.  Was it faith?  No, he had not
faith.  He lost it when he lost himself.

He lived alone in grief.  A mirage of angst and suffering.  It had been
this way for so long.  He was in more pain that he ever thought humanly
possible.  It was more intense everyday like a throbbing wound that
infected his body and soul.  It plagued him day and night, never letting
him have a moments peace.  He suffered in a vicious misery.

As he stared into the dusty mirror, searching for a sign of himself as a
person, all he could see was his reflection.  But it wasnÆt his; it was
the reflection of every soul--every innocent man, woman, and child that
he took the life of.  It was the reflections of his victims.  Thousands
of them flashed before his eyes in that mirror; their faces etched in
his mind.  Those faces filled with the terror and the horror and the
agony that he had so carelessly inflicted upon their lives before
killing them.

Everyday he would watch the reflections stare at him.  The haunting
vision of their pleading eyes so vivid. Guilt throbbed inside him,
tearing at his insides like sharp claws.  Their blood poured from his
soul like the tears that fell from his eyes.  Their cries pounding in
his ears like the sobs that trembled in his body.  Their last breath so
hot on his neck like the ones he wished he had.

This was what it was all about.  Pain.  Suffering.  Agony.  That is the
way they made it to be.  They wanted him so suffer for what he did.  For
what the demon did.  That terrible beast that took over his body and
raised hell on earth.  It was never him that did those God-awful deeds;
it was the demon.

And as he sees the reflections of the deeds, it is his guilt that
thrives inside him.  He suffers for his one mistake...that foolish
mistake that took everything from him.  It killed him and killed his
family and his friends.  He was dead, but yet he sat there; alive and
immortal staring at a mirror, forced to remember the past years.  He
tried to block it out; the visions, the nightmares, the cravings.....

The cravings.  The demon longed for one taste of the warm liquid on itÆs
lips.  He could feel his stomach rumble loudly...begging and pleading
for a feast of blood to quench itÆs dire thirst and soothe the nearly
out of control desire.  But he couldnÆt.  He would never kill again.  He
would never feed off of another human being for as long as he lived,
which could very well be forever.  He pictured the dead animal blood
that he now lived off of.  A shudder rippled through his body.  The
longing for fresh blood was strong, and the old, stale blood made him
nauseous.  But it was all he had.  He thought by now he would be used to
it, especially after so long.

It had been ninety-seven years since his last feed when he killed that
gypsy girl.  He remembered the searing pain--the intense burning feeling
as if his body was on fire when the spell was put on him.  He wished
they had just killed him.  But they wanted him to suffer.  And he
did....more than they knew.

His stomach rumbled louder.  He knew he had to eat.  He tore himself
away from the mirror and he stumbled out of the dirty building into the
dark alley.  The ground was wet and slippery from the rain which now
fell so lightly on his face.  He walked over to the dumpster and dug
through but found nothing he needed.  Nearly fainting from the stench,
he stepped backward and grabbed onto a post for support, coughing
loudly.

A breeze blew through the ally, sending the smell of prey past him.
Searching, his eyes land on a rat that scampered past him.  He felt the
rumble in stomach again.  He knew this was going to be his meal.  He
stepped forward to stalk the small animal but it disappeared behind the
dumpster.  He dove after it, but lost the rat and crashed into trash
cans and bags.

Fuming, he flailed his arms in anger.  He looked up to see a man in
front of him.  ôGod, you are disgusting,ö the man said, looking at his
filthy body.  ôThis is really an unforgettable smell.  This is the
stench of death youÆre giving off here.  And the looks says, uh...Crazy
Homeless Guy.  ItÆs not good.ö

His anger grew intensely.  ôGet away from me,ö he growled.

ôWhat are you gonna do, bite?ö  The man gasped and jumped back.
ôHorrors!  A vampire!ö  He looked at the man in surprise, almost wanting
to laugh at the irony.  ôAh,ö the man continued, ôbut you wouldnÆt bite
me on account of your poor, tortured soul.  ItÆs so sad, a vampire with
a soul.  ItÆs so poignant.ö

He stared at the man, confused and shocked at his words; not
understanding how he could know who he was.  ôWho are you?ö

ôLetÆs take a walk,ö the man said.

This is what Angel had to live for.

              ~*The End*~

Feedback, por favor!

______________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 17:42:05 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: Discuss: Re: BUFFYFIC: Reflections  (1/1)

Very well-written, technically speaking-- but a couple continuity errors. I'm
posting to the list cuz I think they're important for other people to know,
too.

>He stared into the mirror; the aged eyes never leaving, never blinking.

Angel can't see his reflection. At all. In "Out of mind, out of sight", Giles
commented that it must be interesting to be invisible, and then the camera
showed his reflection in the glass of a cabinet (something like that) and
Angel said it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

>And as he sees the reflections of the deeds, it is his guilt that

Skipped tenses hereabouts, something I've seen less of lately than usual.
Careful about that.

>It had been ninety-seven years since his last feed when he killed that
>gypsy girl.

And here, you might want to clarify that it's his last _human_ feeding. He's
been killin' rats and stuff since then.

Other than those, interesting. Well-written. You might want to go over stuff a
time or two more before you post it, to make sure stuff like the above doesn't
slip thru. :)

Rachel

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 1998 18:09:20 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Memories At Dawn 1/1

Title ~ Memories At Dawn 1/1
Author~ Shani ( [e-mail] )
Time~ After Passion, before Becoming I & II
Rating~ IÆd go with G
AuthorÆs note~ This fic takes place several years in the future.  ItÆs
basically a             Buffy/Angel/Angelus story from BuffyÆs POV.  Comments
of all sorts are more than welcome.  I wrote this after I wrote a similar
story for a Language Arts class, I just changed it to fit w/Buffy.  The
original story was from February, and was changed before Becomng I & II
Disclaimer~ Buffy Summers, Angel/Angelus, Jenny Calendar, and Willow all
belong to Joss Whendon, Mutant Enemy Productions, Kuzui Productions, Sandollar
Productions, and 20th Century Fox.  No infringement intended.  Story for
entertainment purposes only.


            Memories At Dawn

    It was all there, just as she had left it.  A dirty glass stood near the
sink, a small book sitting casually on the table.  She glanced around the
apartment, her gaze finally resting on the stake in the center of the room.
Slowly, without realizing what she was doing, she walked to the stake.
Bending down, she reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it
up.
    Her eyes glazed over for a moment, as if she were somewhere far away.  She
closed her eyes.  She still remembered it as if it were yesterday, but it
hadnÆt happened yesterday, it happened years ago.
    She had just turned seventeen.  She had loved him so much.
    She opened her eyes.  Was she ready?  Was she ready to go back to that night?
A soft sigh escaped her lips.  Yes.  It was time, whether she was ready or
not.  Once again, she closed her eyes, ready to return to that night.
    It was her seventeenth birthday.  After narrowly escaping the Judge, they had
returned here.  She had been cold, drenched with rain water.  He offered her
something to change into.  They had let passion consume them.  Neither one
thinking or caring about what could happen. Having no idea the consequences
that they would suffer.  After he had killed Jenny Calendar, he went after
Willow.  It was then that she had to confront him.
    Buffy took a deep breath, calming herself for a moment.  She was sitting in
the same spot he had died.  The same spot that she had destroyed him.
     She had come to kill him.  They had fought violently for at least an hour.
She finally managed to plunge the sharp wooden stake into his chest.  It took
him longer to turn to dust, longer than she thought was usual.  Time seemed to
slow.  Buffy, almost eighteen, watched Angelus die.
    A tear ran down her cheek, followed by another, and another.  She let them
fall.  Through the window, she saw the sun begin to rise.  The brilliant
colors illuminating the sky.  She walked over to the unmade bed and lay down.
She let her eyes close.  A blanket of warmth and peace surrounded her.
    Buffy the Vampire Slayer got up.  She glanced around the apartment.  Her gaze
this time settling on the figure in the doorway.  There Angel stood, bathed in
sunlight.  His arms outstretched and welcoming.  She ran to him.  He folded
her into his arms.  Buffy looked into the apartment.  Her lifeless body lay on
the bed.  Her young face looked at peace for the first time in over three
years.  Together, they disappeared in a flash of brilliant light only they
could see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
comments very welcome!!   [e-mail]

------------------------------

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