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slashthedrabble Feb. 26th, 2005 01:32 pm)
reremouse.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Feb. 26th, 2005 01:32 pm)This will be the opening for my Yinathon story. She asked for Xander in Africa or after Africa. It begins in Africa. It begins...here:
Xander wondered how long it took to go from being hungry hungry to being...food.
He didn't know how long he lay out in the desert, baking, baking like a Nairobi human biscuit.
Mmmmm biscuits.
Biscuits with thick country gravy that would make him drool if he had any saliva left in him.
Any moisture left in him.
He felt like a biscuit.
Maybe wild animals didn't like human jerky.
Except.
Except they hadn't eaten him before he dried out either, when he was still a moist and nummy treat.
He could hear them, distant and close. Sometimes he felt a wet nose snuffle at him, at his belly, at his throat.
While he could still hear and feel real things that were real and not the sun rising and the sun setting, while he could tell the difference.
Nothing took a bite.
Not even the demons took a bite and hey maybe he'd finally stopped being demon nip.
Great.
Xander was pretty sure his eye was closed and the oven of the world kept cycling. Red and black, red and black, like flying low face first over a gigantic checkers board.
Red was hot and that made perfect sense while he could still make sense - while he still wanted to - and black was cold-cold, shivering until he was shivering all the time and before he couldn't shiver anymore.
He lost count of how many reds and how many blacks.
It was a big checkerboard.
He wondered if he was done baking yet.
He wanted to be done. That was the point. That was the reason.
Black and footsteps.
There were often footsteps - pawsteps.
The hyenas were wearing boots now.
It was funny.
Xander tried to giggle but didn't have any left.
Too bad.
Black melted into silver and the moon was pretty - fuzzy.
Xander stared into it until black swallowed the moon too and he closed his eye because what was the point of making the effort to keep his eye open if the moon was going to taunt him by getting itself eaten. When he couldn't.
Rude fucking bastard moon.
"Oi! None of that now, Harris."
Spike?
Xander had heard Spike before now. Spike in his head. Spike was sounding ragged around the edges these days. Sounded like he was crying - couldn't be crying. Even Xander's imagination didn't have enough moisture left for tears.
But there it was, splashing onto his face - too wet to come from him.
Kinda…
Kinda hurt.
And itched.
If Xander was going to dream moisture, it sure as hell wouldn't itch and burn like that.
Fucking Spike showing up and fucking crying on him.
Which he would never do in anything Xander's brain could cook up.
Hah. Cook.
Go away, Spike. I'm baking.
It had to be real then.
"Hey Spike." Xander shaped the words but didn't know if they came out - smiled or grimaced, one of those two and squinted up at him in the moonlight. "I'm dying."
Xander wondered how long it took to go from being hungry hungry to being...food.
He didn't know how long he lay out in the desert, baking, baking like a Nairobi human biscuit.
Mmmmm biscuits.
Biscuits with thick country gravy that would make him drool if he had any saliva left in him.
Any moisture left in him.
He felt like a biscuit.
Maybe wild animals didn't like human jerky.
Except.
Except they hadn't eaten him before he dried out either, when he was still a moist and nummy treat.
He could hear them, distant and close. Sometimes he felt a wet nose snuffle at him, at his belly, at his throat.
While he could still hear and feel real things that were real and not the sun rising and the sun setting, while he could tell the difference.
Nothing took a bite.
Not even the demons took a bite and hey maybe he'd finally stopped being demon nip.
Great.
Xander was pretty sure his eye was closed and the oven of the world kept cycling. Red and black, red and black, like flying low face first over a gigantic checkers board.
Red was hot and that made perfect sense while he could still make sense - while he still wanted to - and black was cold-cold, shivering until he was shivering all the time and before he couldn't shiver anymore.
He lost count of how many reds and how many blacks.
It was a big checkerboard.
He wondered if he was done baking yet.
He wanted to be done. That was the point. That was the reason.
Black and footsteps.
There were often footsteps - pawsteps.
The hyenas were wearing boots now.
It was funny.
Xander tried to giggle but didn't have any left.
Too bad.
Black melted into silver and the moon was pretty - fuzzy.
Xander stared into it until black swallowed the moon too and he closed his eye because what was the point of making the effort to keep his eye open if the moon was going to taunt him by getting itself eaten. When he couldn't.
Rude fucking bastard moon.
"Oi! None of that now, Harris."
Spike?
Xander had heard Spike before now. Spike in his head. Spike was sounding ragged around the edges these days. Sounded like he was crying - couldn't be crying. Even Xander's imagination didn't have enough moisture left for tears.
But there it was, splashing onto his face - too wet to come from him.
Kinda…
Kinda hurt.
And itched.
If Xander was going to dream moisture, it sure as hell wouldn't itch and burn like that.
Fucking Spike showing up and fucking crying on him.
Which he would never do in anything Xander's brain could cook up.
Hah. Cook.
Go away, Spike. I'm baking.
It had to be real then.
"Hey Spike." Xander shaped the words but didn't know if they came out - smiled or grimaced, one of those two and squinted up at him in the moonlight. "I'm dying."
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From:
no subject
That...and then you stop and...dying and burnt biscuits and...
DAMN! That was good! Sheesh, I'd be dying to go to the movies if even half the trailers they showed on the telly was that good!! You are so very talented!! Good job!
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I had to stop - 500 words is the limit!
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Xander's mental ramblings are wonderfully circular and understandably obsessed.
Demon nip. Hee!
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WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
Thanks.
Now, um, you arne't going to torment us for the next month and a half by waiting are you?
*taps foot*
*looks nervous*
Please?
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Torment? Maybe... *weg*
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thanks!
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because it's fucking fabulous.
seriously.
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There could be another short but the body of the story is for the Yinathon.
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Wow! Loved this! Wonderful beginning! It's so intriguing!
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Neat, neat, neat.
Pawsteps!
Hyena's with boots!
:)
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There's not much hyenas won't eat.
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OK, now I KNOW you're ev0l.
Bade Rere.
Bad, BAD Rere.
From:
no subject
ev0l? Possibly!
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...
::is speechless from the teasing::
I love it. Don't stop.
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Thank you for the prompt! I'm not stopping!
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*ahem* This was good. An excellent beginning.
Oh, and random thing. As British-ized (heh) as I am now with fic and stuff? I saw your title and began to read and only when I came to the biscuits and gravy part did I get that it was an actual biscuit and not a cookie. *g*
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no subject
It's the beginning to 'Wilderness'. Xander and Spike's story isn't over.
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I'm sitting anxiously on the edge of my seat, waiting for more!
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But ... Xander in the desert, dying, knowing it, staring at a checkerboard sky, red after black, hot after cold, Spike is there and itchy tears that aren't Xander's and you make me wait?
*sigh*. I suppose I don't make much sense, as I'm far too excited at the prospect of this story to be coherent. Meh. Coherence is overrated.
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Everyone waits! *veg*
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More is my Yinathon story: Wilderness.
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biscuit
How long is the wait for more? Yinathon? I'll go look. :-)