Nice Coat... Where'd You Get It? (Fray/BtVS crossover)
Posted: 2007-03-22 04:01am
This is quite old, written for a friend who requested a Fray/BtVS crossover for winter celebrations. I don't as a whole approve of Fray/BtVS crossovers, but who am I to refuse a request?
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He's pretty, that’s the first thing I see. Too rutting pretty, that's the problem. Folk down here, we don't stay pretty. Hunger, fighting, disease, it gets to you after a while. I've got rocket healing, even I've got a scar to show for my life down here.
Too pretty, might as well have a map and a camera. Tourists, that what they are, upper folks coming down to scope out life in the slums. Maybe they'll scatter food around, having got the idea that credits are no use to us. Maybe they'll try and talk to us, try and figure out how our life turned to crime, what went wrong with us or why we're not all pretty and grateful like in the scopes.
You can't resent them, it's different worlds.
This guy's a tourist, though he tries not to stand out as one. I don't even think he knows how bad he sticks out, leaning against the wall as I come out of the job. He's waiting for me – not just a tourist in the lowers. Practically a tourist in time. Glances over as I stride out of the building, catching my eye, pushing himself up from the wall.
"'Bout time."
Bet he wasn't expecting me to stride straight past him and drop off the edge of the roof.
"Hey!"
Told ya.
It knocks him off, and he hurries after me, and… here's the best part: it’s only a coupla floors to the river level, but he leaps off, letting that antique coat of his flare out behind him. Poser.
"I'm talking t'you, Luv!" Who's he kidding with that accent?
Fine. OK, now I bother to turn around to face him. On my terms.
"Bloody hell, can't you even stop and talk to a bloke who's been waiting… how long were you in that place? What happened to just breaking and entering?"
"Leaves a trail," I point out, taking the time to take him in more thoroughly now. Jesu, but how stupid or cocky does one need to be to wear a coat like that round here? It's seen better days, sure, but it's black, antique, and real ganic animal skin, if I'm right. That thing's worth a sil at least.
Pretty, like I said.
"Hark at her, talking about trails with that thing on her back." He nods towards the scythe nestling snug through the fabric of my shirt. Souvenir of my heritage, present from an old friend. "Kinda announces you to all the creatures of the night, a thing like that."
"Creatures like you."
'Cause let's be linear here. Pretty boy, antique coat, cocky attitude. Guy's a lurk. Old one too. From the time they had smarts.
Not that lurks've ever had many smarts to go around. I've read up. And there's a reason they went extinct.
"Got it in one, Slayer."
Was he expecting more talk? I almost get the impression he was, but really, that's all I need to know. So instead of replying, I swing a foot at his head. He dodges, but not quick enough.
"Ow! Hey, now…" he starts, in the small time he has before having to block a back fist while I draw out the scythe.
"I'm not here to fight you, you silly bint." Where have I heard that before?
He deflects the swing of the blade with a raised wrist and pushes me back heavily with his other hand.
"Oh please, girlie. I've fought more Slayers than you've had hot dinners – from the weight of you, anyway. Can we stop so we can talk?"
Only get a chance to throw a couple more swings afore I'm kinda distracted all of a sudden by these other lurks appearing out of nowhere. Guess I couldn't hope that just one would bother me tonight. A whole pack of them jump us from the side, and one's got me by the waist sending the two of us hurtling into the water.
Which is just nasty. This water's not so clean: practically a sewer down here, where all the filth from the Uppers washes down. Not too deep, though. It's been a baking summer.
Rutting lurks set me up with their pretty boy talking.
The one the jumped me pays for it with his head as soon as I've kicked him away. Two of the others catch the blade on the back swing, but only one actually dusts. There's about eight of them I figure. Gonna have my work cut out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see pretty boy making some sort of dramatic gesture of exasperation and shrugging off his coat. Guess if he wants in the party his clothes are gonna get pretty dirty in this. Bring him. I can handle one more lurk.
Figure now that he's not one of them, from the way he's laying into them, not me. Means my work gets done twice as fast. I watch him out of that corner of my eye that needs to be watching the rest of the brawl in the middle of a fight.
Got style. Even when he fights. Kinda like he's fighting for an audience. Which maybe he is, if you count me. He's got the special kung-fu lurk moves down, the snap back, the return to a ready position, everything you need from someone trained in it.
Me and the other lurks, we fight dirty. I wonder if he notices the difference between me now, sending the last one out into the smoke swirls of the city, and how I was before, on the banks.
I wonder if he realises I was feeding him moves before to figure him out.
He despatches the last of the lurk, and turns to me, smirking.
"You helped me," I observe, blandly.
"'Cause I'm not playing the bad, anymore, Slayer. Got a soul, now, I 'ave. If you'd listened to me instead of getting all kicky earlier, we'd've cleared that up. I'm here to help you."
I let him help me, all right. I let him give me a leg out of the water so I can reach down and pull him out.
"So you're a lurk, but a good one, and you want to help train me as a Slayer to fulfil my Destiny, 'cause there's some big evil prophesy you need me to fight to save the world, that kinda toy?"
"Actually, no prophesy," he says, picking up and dusting off his coat. "I'm just looking to rejoin the good fight. Rest of that's right enough, though."
Says he's fought Slayers before. Knows how they fight. Bet he wasn't expecting me to kick him there.
Thing about lurks is, when you dust them, clothes go with. Real shame when you're as hard up for everything as the folks around here. Luckily he took that antique off before diving in after me.
It's worth a sil or two, but I don't see the need to sell it. It's warm and comfy, and feels like it was made for me. They just don't make them like this anymore.
That's pretty skitzing toy he was spinning about having a soul. When I get back to the library, I'll see if I can't find anything about lurks with souls. I doubt it, though.
----------
He's pretty, that’s the first thing I see. Too rutting pretty, that's the problem. Folk down here, we don't stay pretty. Hunger, fighting, disease, it gets to you after a while. I've got rocket healing, even I've got a scar to show for my life down here.
Too pretty, might as well have a map and a camera. Tourists, that what they are, upper folks coming down to scope out life in the slums. Maybe they'll scatter food around, having got the idea that credits are no use to us. Maybe they'll try and talk to us, try and figure out how our life turned to crime, what went wrong with us or why we're not all pretty and grateful like in the scopes.
You can't resent them, it's different worlds.
This guy's a tourist, though he tries not to stand out as one. I don't even think he knows how bad he sticks out, leaning against the wall as I come out of the job. He's waiting for me – not just a tourist in the lowers. Practically a tourist in time. Glances over as I stride out of the building, catching my eye, pushing himself up from the wall.
"'Bout time."
Bet he wasn't expecting me to stride straight past him and drop off the edge of the roof.
"Hey!"
Told ya.
It knocks him off, and he hurries after me, and… here's the best part: it’s only a coupla floors to the river level, but he leaps off, letting that antique coat of his flare out behind him. Poser.
"I'm talking t'you, Luv!" Who's he kidding with that accent?
Fine. OK, now I bother to turn around to face him. On my terms.
"Bloody hell, can't you even stop and talk to a bloke who's been waiting… how long were you in that place? What happened to just breaking and entering?"
"Leaves a trail," I point out, taking the time to take him in more thoroughly now. Jesu, but how stupid or cocky does one need to be to wear a coat like that round here? It's seen better days, sure, but it's black, antique, and real ganic animal skin, if I'm right. That thing's worth a sil at least.
Pretty, like I said.
"Hark at her, talking about trails with that thing on her back." He nods towards the scythe nestling snug through the fabric of my shirt. Souvenir of my heritage, present from an old friend. "Kinda announces you to all the creatures of the night, a thing like that."
"Creatures like you."
'Cause let's be linear here. Pretty boy, antique coat, cocky attitude. Guy's a lurk. Old one too. From the time they had smarts.
Not that lurks've ever had many smarts to go around. I've read up. And there's a reason they went extinct.
"Got it in one, Slayer."
Was he expecting more talk? I almost get the impression he was, but really, that's all I need to know. So instead of replying, I swing a foot at his head. He dodges, but not quick enough.
"Ow! Hey, now…" he starts, in the small time he has before having to block a back fist while I draw out the scythe.
"I'm not here to fight you, you silly bint." Where have I heard that before?
He deflects the swing of the blade with a raised wrist and pushes me back heavily with his other hand.
"Oh please, girlie. I've fought more Slayers than you've had hot dinners – from the weight of you, anyway. Can we stop so we can talk?"
Only get a chance to throw a couple more swings afore I'm kinda distracted all of a sudden by these other lurks appearing out of nowhere. Guess I couldn't hope that just one would bother me tonight. A whole pack of them jump us from the side, and one's got me by the waist sending the two of us hurtling into the water.
Which is just nasty. This water's not so clean: practically a sewer down here, where all the filth from the Uppers washes down. Not too deep, though. It's been a baking summer.
Rutting lurks set me up with their pretty boy talking.
The one the jumped me pays for it with his head as soon as I've kicked him away. Two of the others catch the blade on the back swing, but only one actually dusts. There's about eight of them I figure. Gonna have my work cut out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see pretty boy making some sort of dramatic gesture of exasperation and shrugging off his coat. Guess if he wants in the party his clothes are gonna get pretty dirty in this. Bring him. I can handle one more lurk.
Figure now that he's not one of them, from the way he's laying into them, not me. Means my work gets done twice as fast. I watch him out of that corner of my eye that needs to be watching the rest of the brawl in the middle of a fight.
Got style. Even when he fights. Kinda like he's fighting for an audience. Which maybe he is, if you count me. He's got the special kung-fu lurk moves down, the snap back, the return to a ready position, everything you need from someone trained in it.
Me and the other lurks, we fight dirty. I wonder if he notices the difference between me now, sending the last one out into the smoke swirls of the city, and how I was before, on the banks.
I wonder if he realises I was feeding him moves before to figure him out.
He despatches the last of the lurk, and turns to me, smirking.
"You helped me," I observe, blandly.
"'Cause I'm not playing the bad, anymore, Slayer. Got a soul, now, I 'ave. If you'd listened to me instead of getting all kicky earlier, we'd've cleared that up. I'm here to help you."
I let him help me, all right. I let him give me a leg out of the water so I can reach down and pull him out.
"So you're a lurk, but a good one, and you want to help train me as a Slayer to fulfil my Destiny, 'cause there's some big evil prophesy you need me to fight to save the world, that kinda toy?"
"Actually, no prophesy," he says, picking up and dusting off his coat. "I'm just looking to rejoin the good fight. Rest of that's right enough, though."
Says he's fought Slayers before. Knows how they fight. Bet he wasn't expecting me to kick him there.
Thing about lurks is, when you dust them, clothes go with. Real shame when you're as hard up for everything as the folks around here. Luckily he took that antique off before diving in after me.
It's worth a sil or two, but I don't see the need to sell it. It's warm and comfy, and feels like it was made for me. They just don't make them like this anymore.
That's pretty skitzing toy he was spinning about having a soul. When I get back to the library, I'll see if I can't find anything about lurks with souls. I doubt it, though.
.
.