Who will remember these landmarks, unless we tell the world of them?
Half a dozen drabbles cross-posted and archived here from open_on_sunday
On Kingman's Bluff
There's a hint of spring warmth in the breeze on her skin. She doesn’t feel it. The sun's starting to rise. She won't see it. Won't feel the heat. Not yet. The shell of ice she's wrapped around her heart will see to that. There are no cracks in it. There can't be. She's busy. She can sense the flames burning inside her, but she can't let them out. Not yet. Things to do. Hard and cold. Don’t think. Can’t let herself feel it.
The grass around her turns black in an ever-widening circle. Don't worry. The flames are coming.
Duck the blow. Hard and fast, up through the ribcage. Dust. A six-armed ... thing comes at them, but she's already swinging the Scythe like it's part of her, and now it's a four-armed thing with no head.
"Behind you, B!"
She’s already spinning around, but another demon slams her down and she can't breathe for the pain but then its head just explodes, and Kennedy's stood there with a crossbow and a smug grin; and now the demons are running from them, they're breaking through, they've made it...
…And there’s that blue-haired woman from her dream, still standing. But where’s…?
"Yeah, so, I’m getting the fuck out of town when - "
"What? You're kidding. You my dad now, telling me to watch my language?"
"Whatever. Buffy shows up, and at first I’m thinking "She wants me back." Stupid of me. She's still Miss Holier-Than-Me. Then your boys jump us; and that skinny black dude's got her pinned. And all I have to do...
"But - guess I'm not as tough as I... Well, he’s dust. And then she starts to thank me. I can't stand it, so I’m like, "My treat," and walk off, fast.
"And here I am."
The Lamps Go Out
She loved satin and silk; but lately she preferred slaughter. Wading thigh-deep in blood might ease the pain of his betrayal. Eventually.
The Balkans were a good place; in their wars the humans could surpass even his inventive cruelty. Now she sat in Schiller's café on Franz-Joseph-Strasse, listening to the wild-eyed teenager boast of his plans for tomorrow. He'd already shown her his Browning automatic; now he raved of the great blow he'd strike for Serbian liberty against the tyrant.
Darla smiled. She'd planned to kill him afterwards, but now she thought letting him live would be much more interesting...
("The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime."
– Sir Edward Grey, British Foreign Secretary, speaking on 3 August 1914)
The sergeant hastily scribbled a note and put down the receiver.
"Sixty-plus heading northwest over Dover; another hundred coming up the Thames."
"Going to be a hot night. Better make sure we're secure."
Bundling his coat tightly against the November chill, the warden went out onto the street. In the entire darkened city the only light came from the full moon overhead and... wait. The flare of a match?
"Oi! Put out that light, or - !"
In the glow of his cigarette, the stranger’s eyes suddenly flashed yellow.
"Or what, mate?"
The warden’s dark-lantern clattered onto the street, unnoticed…
Blackout (part 2)
"Oh! My poor Spike is all red and black and purple, like a rosegarden at midnight."
"Well, yeah. That would be because I bloody nearly got myself killed, you stupid bint."
Drusilla whimpered and turned away, and Spike's attitude instantly softened.
"I'm sorry, pet. I just didn't think I'd make it, for a bit there. "
"Angry birdies tried to peck you to death. Peck! Peck! Peck!"
"If by birdies you mean Jerry bombers, that's about the size of it. How the bleeding hell was I supposed to know they would target the light of my cig as their aim-point?