All right, first the fb, then the section. Everyone, Happy Hump Day, praise the lord it has come. I dunno about you, but I kinda need this one, so here's hoping every little bit helps. Enjoy the update!
jay/wt4evr:
Thank you so much! I’m trying to be a writer, so I’m glad I’m succeeding enough to give life to these characters and that they seem to be real enough for you guys. Yeah, that heartbreak? Lots more to come, sorry. It’s too good to pass up, but the reunion will be that much sweeter. Thanks for reading, enjoy the update!
Zampsa1975:
I hope we see how Tara comes back, too. I’m still working on that part. It’s hiding somewhere in my brain and scatters when I try to pin it down. But duh, it’ll happen soon enough, so I’ll try to grab that bad boy by the horns.
Wimpy:
I love Anya. She’s such a great character to write, and I think some believe she’s easy and simple, but really? It’s easy to get caught up with talk of orgasms and money, but that’s not all she’s about. She’s so much more complex than that, isn’t she? She sees so much more that we think. And besides the w/t goodness that was their first (and loooooong overdue) kiss on the show, Anya’s breakdown brings me to tears too, and I think it’s one of the most honest, innocent, heartbreaking events on the show. Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean so much. Again, thanks for reading, and enjoy the update!
Tara the Pheonix:
Hey, you! I’m so glad to see you again! Not that I don’t see you, what with the updatey magic of
The Lamb and all, but…you get the idea.
From such a prolific mouth of engrossing and lyrical quality such as yours, I thank you for your kind words. I love these characters so much more when I write, because(and this is a little bad, but..)sometimes, when I’m watching the show I get impatient for w/t screentime and skip a little, so here I get to slow ‘em down a little bit. Anyway, you need no tips from me, f’reals, your writing is so addictive and wonderful. I’m all kinds of flattered that you think so, though
Thanks so much for commenting on little ol’ here, enjoy the update!
katjetson:
Kaaaaaaaat. Hi. What’s up. Oh, your incredibly busy life? But you still manage to spend time on me? Aww, shucks. Seriously, stop being so awesome.
*Ahem* Anyway. Your fb still cracks me up, and apparently that’s a common trend on the Board. Your words are golden and make me all fluffy inside- in a totally not Build-A-Bear creepy way. Just happy fluffy. I said it before and I’ll say it again; I love Anya. And Willow. And Tara. So let’s ache and see where they end up, shall we?
taraslove:
Hey, Jude, right to the point this time, huh?
You’ll find out real quick. I thought I was being a whole lot more sneaky when I was writing, but you guys are too smart for your own good. Dangnabbit. Anyway, love that you post, love that you read, enjoy the update, k?
nimloth:
Hey, Vi’! You know, half the time I don’t even realize what I write, so I’m glad I have online friends now to point things out to me. What you said is really interesting, about W/T relating to each other affectively, it’s true isn’t it, how the little dialogue snapshots give us so much more insight to the characters? I wish the show did it a bit more. Anyway, I like doing it, but hope when a bigger Scooby Gang scene comes up I do it the same amount of justice. Thank you so much for your meaningful fb, I’m absolutely flattered you bookmarked this. I hope I don’t disappoint!
Enjoy the update!
Little Bit:
Thanks so much! I’m a sucker for the angst, so it’s no surprise I’m exploiting the crap out of it here. I’m glad things are starting to piece together now, hopefully this update will help a bit more, enjoy!
Paint the Sky:
Y’know, I’ve been such a floater/lurker here for so long, I still can’t believe that the things I’ve said in fb are being said to me, I really can’t. Really, thank you so much for leaving some here, it means a lot that people are reading and replying and that it makes them hurt, too.
You said what you wanted to just fine, don’t underestimate yourself! You’re quite the writer, missy! I’m still a bit behind on
Saturday Mornings but I promise, I’ll get to it(* slaps self * bad Rachel!), and that little bit of Writer’s Block did you good!
Real good. Plus, we totally benefited
Again, you make me blush with your words, honestly. Ages? Really? Amazing? Really? * bows * Thank you, friend. Please enjoy the update.
Title: Lotus
Author: Zooeys_Bridge(Rachel)
Email: rsietz@email.smith.edu
Rating: PG(for now)
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own their characters. I’m just adding a little bit of spice. And not making a profit.
Spoilers: This is heavily steeped in canon, so be wary of all of it.
Feedback: Yes, please! This is my first story, so please feel free to scribble away with red pen. It’s highly encouraged.
[center].::
Lotus ::.[/center]
Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on
::The Weepies-
World Spins Madly On::
The quiet suited her.
It soothed and whirled in the wind as it caressed her, gently blowing wild her hair and rubbing raw her skin.
The wind didn’t speak. It didn’t quietly cower like the Coven or blatantly forgive like Giles. It simply blew the broken pieces of Willow into blessed nothingness as she sat.
The wind was. And as far as she was concerned, it was the most welcoming thing on earth.
The tree was her furthest hiding spot from the cottage. Sometimes, when the prospect of living seemed too daunting and paralyzing, she needed the quiet growth and easy seclusion of the woods for company.
The magick lessons, of course, didn’t help. The magick was where it all began. And ended. There was nothing Willow wanted to be farther away from than it.
A part of her was innocently fascinated with what the Coven taught her. How it was all connected - Gaia and the root systems; like millions of tiny computer wires in a vast network. But every tendril she followed in the system drew to a forsaken shuddering end. It might have all been connected, but none of it led back to Tara.
So what was the point?
The interest ended there.
She engaged them, of course. The good student was too deeply ingrained to ignore, and it proved useful. But this time, no dormant hopeful innocence hid underneath. The driving force wasn’t thirst for knowledge or geekish habit, but an empty inevitability.
All she wanted was a silent solitude; to be left alone and meditate until nothing remained. But they pressed with their magick and teachings, so she had no choice but to learn.
“Willow, you must try to focus.”
And because she had nothing left, she did. She took deep breaths and tried to imagine the edges of her sight hazing into white. But white just made her think of red. Faltering, she looked desperately into Ms. Harkness’ eyes, her own pleading and begging and raw with fear.
“Willow, stay away from the red. Listen to my voice. Hum with me.”
Weakly, she had forced her vocal chords to vibrate. Small and fragile at first, but with Ms. Harkness’ hum resonating in the background, Willow inhaled and started again low. She didn’t have the strength to tighten the pitch, but the deep strum grew strong and steady on it’s own.
The hum encompassed her, filled her bones with a resonating rhythm, and drugged her mind. Willow sunk into the vibrations in her chest, down into the dark, and a warm tendril pulled forth and surrounded her in a giant yawn.
Nothing existed in the black except the safe and the pulsating warm. Willow was no more or no less than a hum.
Slowly, percolating drops of consciousness seeped into her mind, collecting and forming shape. It was several hours later that Willow fully came into herself again.
Her eyes fluttered open into the dusky light and she saw the patient, tender face of Ms. Harkness wearily smiling back at her proudly.
Willow hadn’t understood until later, as she lay in bed in the dark, that she had relearned how to fall asleep. Away from the nightmares, Willow circumvented her way to slumber. Safe from the white, red, and inevitably, the blue.
Willow sat up straight as she inhaled fully, stretching her and back and lungs. She stood and balanced herself on the tree, momentarily dizzy and lightheaded.
When the fuzz around her vision cleared, the long green stared in front of her; speckled with grass, shrubs, and wildflowers.
With a lasting breath, Willow began the long trek back.
It’s time to learn.
[center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]
“Will, it’s time you learned how to do this,” Tara began patiently.
Approaching the counter with more than a hint trepidation, Willow asked timidly, “Are you sure? My cooking skills are kinda not so great. Remember the George Forman grill? It’s not so George Forman-y anymore.”
Tara smiled at the memory of the deceased kitchen appliance’s demise.
How did she end up getting an entire bowl of brownie batter on it in the first place?
“Which reminds me, sweetie, lesson number one: grilling, baking, and cooking are three very different things.”
“Uh, right. Okay. And sautéing is….?”
“A type of frying,” Tara answered with a half-grin. “But don’t forget the roasting, boiling, searing, poaching, braising, and deep-frying.”
A look of blank awe smacked Willow across the face. “Wow. That’s uh… a lot of terms.”
God, she’s too cute. Her smile never faltering, Tara nodded as she twisted around and reached for the cabinets. “Mhmm, so we’d better get started.”
“Tara?” Willow squeaked.
Tara retracted her arm and turned around to face her girlfriend, who had backed herself into the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. “Yeah, sweetie?”
Biting her bottom lip, Willow glanced down at her feet before nervously asking, “What if I can’t cook it right?”
At that moment Tara fell in love with Willow all over again. Right down to her jittery, bouncing toes encased in fuzzy pink socks.
Seeing Tara’s lazy smile grow even wider, Willow grew puzzled. “Why are you smiling? This isn’t smiley-face material. This is…I-could-start-a-fire-and-burn-the-house-down material. Not at all with the good.”
Crossing her arms, Tara asked, “Willow, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What’s sodium chloride?”
“Um, the ionization of sodium and chlorine atoms?”
Nodding, Tara questioned further. “Good. And what is the square root of pi squared.”
After a moment of contemplation, a baffled Willow squeaked, “Uhhhh, pi?”
Opening a cabinet door, Tara pulled out a bowl and a large wooden spoon from the drawer near her thigh. Slapping them on the countertop next to Willow, she slid close to her lover, feeling their legs and hips melt together like warm chocolate. “And how did you know both of those answers?”
Growing incredibly distracted by the lips dancing in front of her eyes, Willow offered, “Three quarters of a bachelors degree and a handful of mediocre classes in high school?”
Putting her arms on the counter on either side of Willow, Tara leaned in and whispered, “Follow the formula.”
Gulping, Willow’s brain wasn’t making the neural connections necessary to catch Tara’s point. “Following. the…….what?”
Pulling back with an extremely satisfied look on her face, Tara grabbed the bag of flour and placed it into Willow’s capable hands. “The recipe for salt requires synthesis of the ingredients sodium and chloride. For the other, you had to first multiply 3.14 by itself, then divide that by itself to reach a conclusion, yes?”
Willow nodded.
“All you have to do in order to cook is break down the recipe into an equation. It’s no different than a science experiment or a math problem. Follow.
(kiss) The.
(kiss) Steps
(kiss),” Tara finished, punctuating the last three words by kissing Willow on the nose.
The pieces finally clicking into place, a warm confidence poured into Willow, and her face blossomed into a brilliant smile. “How do you do that?”
Tara gathered Willow in a loose embrace, “Well, it was easy ‘cause I love you so much. But I’ll admit, I had an ulterior motive.”
Looking up into Tara’s eyes, the redhead implored, “And what might that be exactly?”
“Well, where would you be when you want to pamper your poor, sick girlfriend who’s stuck in bed with the flu and you don’t know how to make pancakes?”
With a burst of laughter, Willow pecked Tara lovingly on the cheek and began gathering supplies and ingredients with a vivacious flourish.
Soon, buttermilk pancakes were sizzling in the pan and Willow was stirring another batch of batter in a bowl. The kitchen was pregnant with love, and the air was laden with the warm scent of baking. Blissfully content, Tara soaked up the smell of a perfect Sunday mo-
Tara’s eyes fluttered open to the sunshine dancing through the window blinds. She lay under the blankets, still a bit groggy from her dream. It had been so easy for the memory-smell of pancakes to sensually waft her into consciousness. She let the familiar heaviness settle into her heart like it did every morning, but suddenly her eyes snapped open.
Wait, that’s not right. Where’s that smell coming from?
Slinking out of bed, Tara yanked her bathrobe from where it hung on the wardrobe and was pulling it on when every single nerve in her body jumped in alarm.
Tara froze.
A clang. It may have been muffled through the floorboards, but a definite and resounding
clang reverberated throughout the house and shattered her world.
Tara’s pulse pounded in her ears as she stood motionless, but she was soon jolted into action as she heard indistinct mutterings join the clattering downstairs.
No. It’s impossible.
Scrambling to the door, Tara flattened one palm against the hard surface and cracked open the door. The cool air from the hallway blew onto Tara’s face and she closed her eyes with joyous rapture.
It had been so long,
oh so long since she had heard those sounds. Tears leaked from her eyes as Tara stood clutching the door, soaking up the ordinary noises, thinking them more beautiful than any birdsong or opera.
It was almost unrecognizable, this feeling. So foreign, Tara had long given up any expectation of seeing it again. Something as simple as hope had abandoned her. Yet here it was, sizzling and glowing and welling within her, as she let herself believe her waiting might be over.
At last. This is it. Let her come claim me.
She was about to swoop down the stairs in excitement, but a sudden fear expelled her delicate hope, causing Tara to pull back. Was it all another trick? A dream? For all Tara knew, she could still be asleep now, floating on the tendrils of fantasy, only to again wake with a horrible and consuming emptiness.
But the
smell. It pulled her from her misgivings and she took a first step into the hallway. Hardly breathing, as if it would shatter the possibility of the moment, Tara slowly crept down the stairs, each step bringing her closer to the euphoric noises in the kitchen. Slinking across the floor, Tara’s heart resumed it’s rapid fluttering as the sounds in the kitchen grew clearer. It nearly thumped out of her chest when she saw a body at the counter.
Finally. My Willo-
Whatever hope had blossomed inside Tara earlier, in an instant burned to ashes. The metallic taste of copper invaded her mouth and her heart dropped into her stomach. The smile that had graced her face withered into a grotesque twist when the figure turned to face her.
As Tara wavered in the doorway to the kitchen, Spike turned around, spatula in hand, and watched her fall to her knees.
“Oh, you. Need more eggs,” was all Tara heard before she blissfully let blackness claim her.