StarDestroyer.Net BBS

So, has anyone heard of Fanfic100? No, thought you wouldn't have. Anyway, 'tis a challenge when you take a fandom and try to write 100 fics on it, based on a list of prompts outlined in this table.

Anyway, I chose Fray, by Joss Whedon. And these are my fics. The end.

Ugly Monster Man

2291

"Meeel? Mel are you here Mel? I'm going to stay here because I got scareded and you said I could and hello ugly Monster Man Mel said I could stay here if and ever I got scareded and so I'm going to and Jujie said that you helped Mel because you wanted to eated her and I know that's not true is it Monster Man? I know it's not true because you helped Mel stomp that lurk because she's the slam and she can stomp any lurk 'specially if you helps her and I'm going to have a jelly because Mel said I could and that was yesterday so I can have another one now and I got you one if you want it but you can't have the ginger because that's my special favourite. And if you don't want the tomato then I'm going to put it back because I'm not allowed to have a whole two 'specially because I haven't got my meds that I need because Mel's going to get them for me because she takes care of me and stomps any lurk who tries to eat me whatever Jujie says and what're you doing, Monster Man?"

Snap.

Three

2280

The whole place was so clean. Sanitised. Years later, with so much more experience of such places, she'd never be able to forget the gleaming white corridors of the first mortuary she was ever escorted into, by a bored doctor and a sympathetic, yet efficient police officer, trained in dealing with kind of situation. It was the police officer she remembered later, after she'd seen the body, given the positive identification they needed and been lead out again. How she'd stood respectfully, asked all the right questions and assured her, not only in her words, but her pose and quiet self-possession, that they would find the culprits, and they would be brought to justice.

"I'm going to give you an address to get in contact with Victim Support," she said, pulling out a plastic card. "Is a grid location OK?" Erin nodded. They had a port at home. "OK, drop these guys a line and they'll schedule some sessions for you. You have a brother and a sister, am I right?"

"Yeah," she said, finally finding her voice. "Twins. Eight years old." Jesu, how am I going to tell Harth and Mel?

The officer winced in sympathy, but continued: "Well, you're a legal adult, so I don't think they'll necessarily insist on separating you. But these people will give you advice on that as well, if you need it." A pause. "Thank you, Miss Fray, I think that's all the help with need from you today. Can I offer you a lift home?"

There was no way in hell Erin was fit to drive her rocketbike home, and she couldn't face the Transit, so she silently nodded again. The twins would be home by now anyway, and she needed to fix them dinner, as her dad wouldn't be able to now. God, How could he have been so stupid? If he'd just handed over the money, they'd have let him go. But that was Teken Fray. Too rutting hot tempered to do the smart thing. He had to fight back. Because somehow a few coi were worth risking his life over, just so the kids could have meat all the time? Well, now they didn't even have a father to get them any sort of food. Rutting idiot.

She had been ten when her mother had left. She had been almost relieved at the time. Jemma Fray had liked her eldest daughter, but she and Tek had fought constantly, bitterly and often. Erin had many memories of hiding to avoid the raised voices, just wishing they would be quiet and like each other. When her mom had become pregnant, she remembered thinking that the baby would make them love each other. But the twins had only made things worse. The mother's dramatic moods had intensified, the father's temper became shorter and shorter, and two babies demanding attention all the time had strained everyone's nerves. Especially when they became ill. Erin had been trying to put a feverish Harth to sleep when it happened. The raised voices had become shouts, then screams, that filled Erin's head so much she no longer needed to pretend not to hear any actual words, and she knew that her rhythmic rocking back and forth was becoming less and less to do with the fitful baby in her arms. Then suddenly, she heard the noise. The loud, hollow slap that cut both voices off suddenly. Even shut Harth's whimpering into silence. No one in the apartment moved for an entire second.

Mel, of course, broke the spell by opening her eyes and wailing into the stillness, immediately joined by Harth. Erin heard her mother scream: "That's it!" and felt her storm past on her way out of the door. Her father said nothing, not to Jemma, not to Erin. He merely picked Mel up in an attempt to soothe her.

Within a week, Jemma's name was no longer Fray and her possessions were no longer in the apartment. She didn't attempt to contact the children ever again.

Teken tried his best, he really did, but he could be too impulsive at times. Erin often felt he resented her for looking too much like her mother, for complaining when he spoiled the twins, for not rising to his temper, and for a host of other things. But she knew he loved her. Loved all of them. And she loved him too.

And now he was gone. And it was just the three of them.

Wot? No comments?

-edit- had to split this into two fics.

Lost

2290

Kass Floyd is sixteen years old and doesn't know who he is.

Oh, he knows his name, and knows who gave it to him, but he doesn't know much beyond that. He doesn't know how he ended up sharing a single room in the lowers with two radies, who rut away into the night, while Kass lies with his eyes clamped tightly shut against the movements of the roaches across the ceiling. He doesn't know where his next shot is coming from – whether he'll have to steal it, beg for it, or do something he really doesn't like doing fifty feet up in the air under a crossway on the roof of some creep's car. He doesn't know what he's going to make of his life – whether he'll ever be a grabber like so many of the people who populate the tav in which he regularly shelters from his life, or whether he'll ever find a job that he can keep for a month before they find out he's a shooter and kick him out. He doesn't know when shooting became more important then eating. He doesn't know why he even took that first shot. He doesn't even know whether he is a 'he'. He doesn't know who he is.

He does know who she is. And he knows she knows who she is. She never lies awake wondering who she is or where she's going. She's a thief. The best runner in Versi, they say. Probably in the whole of Haddyn. She has both her eyes and all of her fingers. She never takes any toy from anyone, and she never, ever, does things she doesn’t want to do fifty feet in the air under a crossway on the roof of some creep's car. She's the most beautiful person Kass has ever seen.

And once, she even showed she knew who he was. She came into the tav one night having hit a drugger's in the uppers, and started handing around things, her face set but her eyes soft. She started with the couple who ran the tav – threw a box full of prescription meds across to them, patting the dirty blonde hair of their little girl as she did so, then made her way around the others, taking various payments and extracting promises of favours. She was bought many drinks that night.

Near the end, after the attention had died down some, she brought her drink over to Kass' table, and without looking up, slid a bottle over to him.

"That's pure, that," she told her cup. "Laklan cuts his with all sorts of toy. Killya faster than you're doing on your own."

Kass blinked down at the bottle, read the label with disbelief and started to push it back.

"I can't pay you back for this…"

"Forget it. I'll think of something. You owe me," she pushed it back into his hand, hard enough to jar his wrist. "Now put it away before someone sees me givin' out freebies. Folk'll think I've gone soft."

Kass felt his eyes brimming with tears of gratitude as he stuffed the drugs into his pocket. This really will keep him going for weeks, and won't give him the bad trips Laklan's cut sometimes did. But before he could say anything else, she had gone, and was engaging in a heated argument with Kettie Rawls. Those two never argue for long before violence follows, and this was no exception, so Kass soon found himself sheltering under his table from flying glass.

That night Kass Floyd didn't even need his fix. He lay awake and thought of Mel Fray.

------

Found

Tonight, the radies in Kass' room were louder than ever, and he isn't so high nor so down right now that he can't move his legs, so he's come out to walk along the river as it flows through Versi. If asked, he'd say he was just taking some exercise, but really, he's hoping he'll see someone more exciting than he is. Maybe even her. He would never admit that though.

The kid can't be much younger than Kass, but he's considerably smaller. Short and scrawny, and looking less out of place than Kass himself, he's sitting in a broken and empty second floor window, hugging his knees and staring out into the night, unmoving. Kass only notices him because the headlights of a car flying past some dozens of feet above his head flashes against the boy's glasses.

Seeing him staring, the boy grins and jumps down to Kass' level. Yeah, jumps. And lands lightly, with apparently no pain at all. Must be a pump, then, Kass thinks, although he doesn’t look like your normal pump.

"Hi," the kid says, brightly and friendly.

"Hi," Kass returns, trying to sound much more polite than wary. He doesn't want to be mugged by a kid younger than him. "I don't have any money," he adds, when the boyish grin doesn't fade.

The grin fades and is replaced with a hurt expression of insulted pride. "I'm not a thief," he insists, blue eyes wide.

Those eyes entrance Kass. Big, round, and so so blue. They seem familiar somehow, but he can't quite place why. "So what are you doing waiting there?"

The boy shrugs. "Just hangin'. Looking for someone who looks like they might be a fun person to hang out with." He grins again and looks up at Kass. "And you seem pretty fun. What's your name?"

"Kass."

"Hi, Kass, I'm Harth." Harth takes off his glasses then, and smiles disarmingly. "What do you do for fun around here?"

Kass doesn't know why he doesn't leave. He doesn’t know why he smiles and laughs with Harth, nor why he likes him so much. He doesn't know how he ends up telling him all about himself, nor why he talks for so long about Mel. He doesn't know when exactly they stop talking and lips first touch. He doesn't know what it is that makes this time the first time he's actually enjoyed it. He doesn't know who this boy is, who makes his blood pump so hotly, nor why his lips are so cold against his neck.

Kass Floyd is sixteen years old, and he doesn't know how he dies.

Enjoyed all three.

The first is enjoyable and has the feeling of either a really nervous guy/gal or a five year old, making the ending a small vicious joy.

The second was good and has a nice feeling of sorrow hanging over the piece.

The last has a great teenage feel to it, and the ending wraps up wonderfully what's happening without being explicit.

....well, now I've nicely spoilered it for you, yes, the first is actually very much a five year old. One with severe ADHD at that.

And thank you very very much

Dancing with Devils

2292

Come on guys.

It's a dead end alley. Many decades ago a terrorist attack in the uppers sent steel and concrete plummeting down thousands of feet to the lowers, which fell between the sturdy foundations of two buildings. At the time, the loggers swarmed over the incident, logging the human tragedy, the terrible waste of life, and the evil of the people who committed the atrocity. People whose now forgotten cause was completely irrelevant to those living at the bottom of the city.

The site in the uppers is now a memorial. No one ever bothered to check for casualties on the ground, or to clear up the rubble that, after many years settling and compacting, now blocks her way as she sprints around the corner and into the alley.

Take me on.

The monsters chasing her exchange triumphant looks as they crowd the entrance. They have her cornered now. Talk has it, she has the best blood they've ever tasted, and not one of them wants to miss out. Not one of them has less than six inches on her, and not one of them couldn't close one hand completely around her sinewy neck. Inked skin ripples over rounded muscles, and yellow eyes gleam beneath beast-like brows as they close in, fangs bared.

Let's see what you got.

She runs away from them, straight at the rubble, not slowing down for a second, and jumps up a small distance, thumping one sneakered foot on a block of concrete just long enough to pivot on it, twisting in the air while she pulls out her unique weapon from the back of her shirt. As she dives through the air, she extends the wooden end in front of her, piercing one of her assailants square in the heart. In the brief instant before her fulcrum disintegrates into dust, she vaults over to kick at another, using every blow to keep herself off the ground. A red blade flashes in the artificial light filtering down from the uppers, and the one of the last pieces of wood in Haddyn spears in all directions.

Some people liken the fight to the dance, and devote many years to learning the steps of their chosen style. This Slayer learned to jive in sleazy bars and back alley clubs. The number is short, anarchic, and passionately beautiful. By the time she lands, heavy and ungracefully, not one of the lurks remain, except for dust settling almost gently around and over her.

That all you can offer?

Standing up, she brushes a stray bang of blue-purple hair out of her face, running it through her fingers against her scalp, before tucking it into the loose knot at the back of her head. All the while she surveys her battlefield, her conquest, her dance floor.

Come out and face me.

As she grabs on to a drainpipe and vanishes up the side of the wall, blue eyes shine behind thick lenses, following her.

Soon, my sister. Soon.

To See The Stars

2286

I'm fourteen. It's a clear night in September.

Well, I say clear - nothing's really very clear these days, is it? Well, not usually, but if you go up far enough, you can almost get out of the general smog of the city, and almost see the sky.

And that's where I'm taking Harth now.

Thing is, Harth has always been a fan of the sky he can't see. I'm happy in the city: at home in the three dimensional maze of buildings and vehicles, climbing and running and jumping like a monkey in the jungle on one of those historical nature scopes. Harth, though, he’ll sit for hours in front of the scope screen, just soaking it all in. He'll watch anything really, but he loves history. He'll watch anything that has men on horses or girls in skirts: sword fights, romance, honour: he loves that toy.

But mostly he loves the sky. It's always so blue in the scopes, he says. Nowadays the sky over Haddyn's all sorts of shades of red and violet and yellow as pollutants mix with - well, other pollutants - in the air around the city. I don't mind it so much: I think it's dramatic, but Harth likes the blue from the scopes, and the stars. He loves that in the past they could see stars.

So, what better way to tell my brother I love him than to take him to see the stars? I'm not so spun as to try and get out of the protecting fog while the sun's beating down - I like my DNA as it is, thank you - but after dark, that's safe. The building I'm taking him to has an official name, I think, but I don't know it. We just call it The Needle. Anyway, it's big. Tallest in New York, by all accounts. Apartments, mostly. Folks rich enough to afford somewhere this far above the rest of the city, up above where the usual smog and cloud obscure the light, well, they don’t tend to want to become radies, so they don’t tend to have windows.

And that’s good, because then they can’t see me climbing up the outside of the building with Harth on my back.

Security’s tight, of course, place like this, but as long as there’s no windows, and no way of actually getting into the apartment, there’s nothing I can’t dodge, leap over, or avoid altogether. I’m gonna be a professional grabber one day, this is nothin’.

Harth’s clinging to me. He always was terrified of heights. But I’m not going to let him fall. His hands slip and I just grab onto him. I’d carry him slung over my shoulder if I wasn’t worried about him chucking down my back. That’s not the point, though, anyway. Climbin’s just getting there. And when we break out of the cloud cover, his complaints stop. I cover the last few yards quickly without his whines, and bring him to the top of the building.

“Oh, Mel!” He says, staring up at the sky above. “Look at it, Mel!”

I’m looking of course. That’s why I brought him up here, but I punch him lightly in the arm. “See, Scaredy, toldya it would be worth it!”

He won’t go near the edge of the roof of course, but sinks to his knees right in the center of the roof, head back, mouth open, just gaping at the sight. It’s kinda shiny, I guess. But when it gets down to it, it’s just black with white dots. Harth thinks it’s rocketship though, and that’s what matters. I sit down next to him, wrapping his arm around me for warmth and look up with him.

Harth leans back automatically so we’re lying down, and starts pointing out constellations. “That one there,” he says, “is Cassiopeia. She was the mother of Andromeda, and…” and he carries on with that for hours, telling me stories from his scopes that I have no way of telling whether he’s spinning me or not.

Erin’s gonna be skitzed when we get home. She’ll be skitzed we left without telling her and even more so next week when Harth accidentally lets slip we’ve climbed The Needle. She’ll yell at both of us, spin some line about how she’s doin’ the best she can but we need to be responsible, and Harth’ll be so upset about it that I’ll never be able to persuade him to go back. Within a year, Harth’ll be dead.

But I don’t know any of that now. Now, I’m just lying next to my twin brother, our arms around each other for warmth and comfort, staring up at the stars and listening to his voice.

And I’ll never be that happy again.

This one is a crossover with The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which no one here will ever understand as it references a roleplaying game you people don't knonw about. But as I'm fairly sure either a) no one's reading this anyway, or b) no one here knows Fray either, that's all good.

Why I'm never around on Mondays

When I was new, I liked to go an’ sit in one of the darkest corners in the rafters, just crouch up there for hours and watching stuff goin’ on below me. I still do that from time to time.

Sometimes I know he knows I’m there. Sometimes I’m convinced he’s forgotten. It doesn’t matter that much: he respects that I wanna be alone, and that gets on with whatever he’s doing, whether it’s serving, preparing or just hanging around the bar, chatting to people.

I’m watching his smiles. He has one for every person he talks to. I don’t know if anyone’s ever noticed this, or whether I’m spun for thinking it, but he does. For Ace, it’s mischievous and animated. For April it’s concerned and clowning by turns. For that girl with the strawberries it’s warm and soft.

I dunno, maybe I am spun. Because each of those smiles is constantly changing with jokes and moods and the tone of the conversation anyway, but I swear, if you showed me a scope of just his face as he talks to someone, with the sounds turned right down – and I’ve always been useless at lip reading anyway – I could tell you who he’s talking to just from his smile.

And his smiles are the source of mine.

Another Milliways fic...

Those Things That Landlords Do

It had been over three months. Three months since the stoic, bittersweet farewell. Since goodbyes had been made, leave taken, and Duty explained again. This wasn't the first time she'd left, and it was becoming a little tiring. It's all very well saying goodbye, but when you might turn up again within a few weeks, it ceases to be as final as it might be.

But nevertheless, goodbyes had been said and she'd gone home. And as predicted, she turned up again within the fortnight, strolling casually in as she headed towards her rooms.

And then she found out she wasn't Bound. That she could come and go as she wanted. She could have both worlds. Erin, Indy, Lilly, Steph, Gunther, Legs. Grabbing and Slaying and Security. The rooftops and the lake. Milliways and Haddyn.

Michelangelo.

And she did, for three months. She moved back into 132, bringing her pet demon with her, and continued to see Mikey. She left the bar everyday to carry on with the work, to grab, to patrol, to Slay, and to protect her world. She even managed to get in some Security shifts as usual.

One thing was different though: she couldn't take things out with her. She noticed this first when she was plummeting off a building and went to pull out her skaterug, only to flounder when it wasn't there, and fall hard on her face. Initially, she'd assumed she'd left it in the suite; but when she tried to get food for some of the kids, she discovered that anything she acquired within the bar seemed to cease to exist as she stepped out into Haddyn. Food from the Bar; weapons from Tim or Raven; even the gold bracelet Arithon gave her: all vanished. She could bring her people no food, medicine, nor clean water. Every night she went home to a hot tub and ice cream with a Californian Princess, every morning she woke up in a warm bed next to a warm body and ate a substantial breakfast, and then she went out into her world, where she watched kids waste with malnutrition, saw people lose limbs and succumb to disease because they couldn't afford the healthcare, saw the way they looked at her because suddenly she was always clean and well fed, while they slowly rotted in the forgotten bowels of a corrupt city.

It took her three months to come to the decision. And she hated herself for not making it sooner.

Lilly took the news quietly. Sad, and accepting, she nodded and gave her roommate huge, tight hug. Then they curled up under the fluffy blanket together for one last movie and a gallon of ice-cream.

Indy got tetchy. He snapped at her, tried to persuade her otherwise. Brought up Kitty and Faith and other evil fighters who sustained the dual life, who never felt the need to choose between them. But he knew it wouldn't help. She never was one to buy into his reasoning, once she knew what she thought was right.

Mikey just nodded.

He'd come to the same conclusion long ago. Seen her dilemma before she'd even known she had one. Listened to her tales about the people she saw every day that she couldn't help, heard how detached she felt from them, knew how torn she was. Saw that, if she didn't make the choice, and soon, it would rend her in two. But still, he'd said nothing. Not – though he'd say it was – out of a need for her to come to the conclusion on her own, but for purely selfish reasons. He knew from the beginning what choice she'd make – that was, after all, one of the things he loved about her – but as long as he didn't say anything, there was always the possibility she wouldn't choose, or if she did, that she would choose otherwise. That she would choose Milliways, hot tubs and good food over Versi, crime and filth. That she would choose him.

He knew she wouldn't, but he had hoped, all the same.

So Melaka Fray shed her tears, made her goodbyes, handed in her badge, threw one last, legendary party, and then took her leave of Milliways bar for the last time.

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

Three weeks later she fell though the front door in a flurry of demon gore, landing heavily on her face and in clear need of a healer. And sure enough, she turned out to be Bound this time. When Tim Hunter heard about it, he swore that it was a plot on behalf of the Landlord to get her out of the bar for a certain length of time, and at the same time cause the maximum amount of grief and woe for everyone.

No one believed him.

And back to ones that aren't crossovers.

Ne'er Be Clean

2287

It wasn't the first time Mel had seen blood. Not at all.

It had only been three weeks since she'd seen her own, a week early and just at a time that she didn't want that kinda thing happening to her. She'd cursed, and felt her face flushing as she'd stammered and tried to explain it away.

Case had just laughed.

"Didn't tell me it was your first time, sweetheart," he'd said, not unkindly, but unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "Weren't expectin' this, huh? Nothin' to skitz about, happens to all kids, first time. We'll get it cleaned up."

Then he'd kissed her, while Mel fumed silently in embarrassment and anger, both at herself for being so naïve and at him for laughing it away so cruelly. But she'd said nothing, and let him kiss her. She let him do anything he wanted. Otherwise he wouldn't let her stay and she'd have to steal food again.

It wasn't the first time Mel had seen blood. Her own or other people's. Even on her hands. Even as a kid, she'd dealt out nosebleeds as a regular basis to anyone who dared give grief to her or her brother, but it was the first time she'd had so much on her hands. Literally, at least.

Two months ago she'd woken up in hospital, her back feeling like someone had replaced it with a glowing neon tube, and Erin had told her that Harth was dead. She'd taken her twin brother on a grab, for nothing more than a little bit of fun and some meat for the table, and she'd delivered him right into the hands of a lurk. Pumps who'd taken too much of the wrong treatment; shooters who'd picked up something nasty from a dirty needle; whatever they were, lurks were bad news. Murderers, cannibals, and reputedly worse: you saw a lurk, you ran.

But Harth couldn't run so fast, Mel knew that. And she couldn't carry him and outrun a lurk, so she'd tried to take it on. Tried, and failed. It'd thrown her from the roof of the building, sent her plummeting five hundred feet or more. The last thing she remembered before blacking out and hitting ground was the crunch of her brother's cartilage under its teeth.

When she woke up, her sister told her she'd got their brother killed, ice blue eyes the coldest they had ever been, and left the room. They hadn't seen each other since. Mel had discharged herself as soon as she could stand, told them to bill Erin, and went out on to the streets, where she'd been living on what she could beg and steal until Case found her and offered her a warm bed.

Warm bed and warm blood.

This morning Mel had left Case's rooms for a grab. Sure, she didn't technically have to steal to eat anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't. Mel liked grabbing: always had. It was the only thing in this rutting world she was any good at. Case knew this too, and he'd started suggesting to her a couple of key grabs. Said he knew a couple of good fences. First time she'd brought back a piece from the uppers, she'd boggled at the price he given her for it. Especially as she figured he kept most of the payment for himself anyway. She was young, but she wasn't stupid. She remembered the names of the fences he dealt with. Made sure they saw her face.

She'd need those names now.

Two hours ago she'd returned with the latest loot hidden in her pants to find Case sitting with a bud of his. A pump she'd seen around, knew by sight if not by name. Ugly creep, in her opinion, though not as ugly as some. They'd clearly been waiting for her.

Case had introduced him by name, and he'd offered a hand, leering at her. Mel would later reflect that if it hadn't been for the leer, things might have gone differently, but there it had been, distorting his face into some sort of freak show. She hadn't shaken his hand.

"What does he want?"

"I've been telling you how good you are to me." Case gave her a look she recognised. A look that meant she was being awkward again. A look that said he was getting angry. He'd never hit her, because he knew she could hit back, but he'd threatened to kick her out before. Before those times, he'd had this look too.

"Why?" Mel didn't care that much for his looks right now. She was too busy fixing her glare on the new face. His leer had faded, but not gone, and he was waiting for Case to explain the situation.

Case sighed and took a step towards her. Mel was short even for a fifteen year-old, and like nearly everyone else he had to bend down to talk in her ear.

"C'mon, sweetheart. I've found a way for you to pay your half of the rent on this place."

He didn't pay rent. He was swatting in these rooms same as everyone else in the building. Only reason he got them to himself was because no one wanted to fight him for them.

Still looking at the pump, Mel grimaced in a mockery of a girly smile before finally turning to Case. "My grabbin's not enough for you?" She didn't bother lowering her voice.

Case smiled fondly and raised his eyebrows in the same infuriating look he gave her every time she betrayed her age and inexperience, and Mel nodded. He grinned and slapped her on the ass as he turned to the door.

"Don't use my bed, OK?"

Mel didn't know later if it was that order or the butt slap that made her snap, or whether she'd gone already and was just waiting for her moment. She just remembered that she wasn't angry anymore, and that at that moment everything appeared to slow down and she saw the whole situation with crystal, absolute clarity.

"Case…"

He turned to her even as she spun around to him, extending a fist towards his head. She'd never ever meant to cause damage like she did then. Never let her arm extend with so much force, never before felt her shoulder and elbow lock like that. And yet, she knew – knew – that she was holding back still. The rest of her body didn't move, and she just extended a fist.

His nose had crumpled under her knuckles like so much plastic, and she'd seen blood pouring over her hand, splatter down his body and her own, heard a wet crunch as the cartilage shattered - the crunch of her brother's cartilage under its teeth – and felt her hand make contact with his cheek bones even as he'd flown back under the force of her punch.

His body had arched backwards almost gracefully as he flew through the air, spraying the room with red, and there was another crunch as the top of his head had crashed into the far wall, and he'd slid down slowly, leaving a further trail of blood against the plaster, his eyes under his ruined face staring at her in shock and fear.

His buddy – the pump – was still standing in the same place. Either he was pinned in place by surprise or the entire scene between Mel and Case had only lasted a couple of seconds or less, which she supposed it must've. She turned to the spectator even as he started to move, and saw the same look of sheer terror in his eyes as in Case's.

She kicked him. Not as hard as she'd hit Case: the perfect clarity of the moment was already becoming fogged with the blood – so much blood – but she chose her target well, and made sure that she was the last fifteen year-old girl he'd ever attempt to pay to rut.

When she left the room, they'd both been breathing and one of them had been conscious. He could see to Case when he stopped howling in pain. If Case lasted that long: Mel didn't care. He wasn't her problem.

Melaka Fray had blood on her hands and stolen property burning a hole in her pants. She had names to track down.

Behind Blue Eyes

Mel doesn't look in mirrors all that often.

This surprises many people when they notice it. They see her dyed hair, multiple piercings, tattooed lips and upper arm, and peg her down as vain. And they'd be right, to an extent: she is vain. She does care about her appearance. But not in the way they believe.

It's a disguise, really. She dyes her hair and stains her lips because each time she does it, the face in the mirror becomes that bit less recognisable.

And she does it because she's afraid.

When she can, she puts money aside. It's not very often she has money to spare, but occasionally she'll run for something particularly valuable and she'll get paid extra. And she'll put it aside. She's saving up for another act of vanity. One that costs more than tattoos or dye jobs or hair cuts or having holes punched in her body.

Mel wants to change the colour of her eyes.

She has beautiful eyes: she's been told this enough times to know that they're her best feature. Large, and pale blue, but rich in colour nevertheless, many people have asked her if she's already had the procedure done. Just as many people accuse her of being a pump, although neither is true. But her eyes, she knows, aren't because she's the Slayer. This is pure, old fashioned genetics. She inherited them from her father, and they're the only physical similarity she has with her taller, curvier, blonde sister.

And with Harth.

Mel was fifteen when her twin brother died. And she will always blame herself for leading him into the jaws of the vampire that killed him. For all her strength, and speed, she couldn't protect the most important person in her life. She couldn't Slay at the one time she most needed to. She failed the first and most important test of the Slayer, before she even knew that's what she was. Since then, every time she's let herself linger at a mirror, every time she's let herself make eye contact with the girl she sees there, those eyes fill up her vision. Those large, azure spheres become all she can see, and they cease to become hers.

They're his. Staring back at her accusingly. Reminding her that she got him killed. Asking her why she couldn't have protected him. Pleading with her to come back to him. And, lately, telling her that everyone she loves is in danger and that, too, is her fault. She often expects them to turn yellow and beast-like, but they never do.

So Mel wants to get rid of them. She wants to look into the mirror and see brown eyes. Or green ones. Or, hell, if she's going to do it, why not get red or purple or cat slits? Anything but blue. Or yellow, for that matter.

But every so often, she changes her mind. She wants to keep them. The last connection she has to the brother she loved. Still loves. The other half of the Slayer. The other half of herself. So she takes what she's saved up and gets something else. Another tattoo, a hole in her ears or nose, a new hair colour or style. Anything that takes the attention away from her eyes.

But one day, she'll do it. And they won't be blue any more. And she'll severe the last connection she has with the dead.

But maybe not today.

The End

Despite herself, Erin had found herself crying.

Admittedly, she may have been able to blame the tears on the fact that both her legs and most of her fingers were broken, that her spine was crushed in several places, and for countless other injuries sending pain coursing through her body.

She certainly didn't like to think she was crying to see the thing that had tortured her for so long be defeated at last. She wouldn't admit to herself she was mourning her brother as she saw his body crumble into dust. Because it wasn't him in there, was it? It was a monster, a lurk, a vampire, that had possessed his body when he died. Years ago. That wasn't him. Harth would never have done this to her.

No, Erin was almost certain, what cut her deeper than all of Harth's torture, what brought tears to eyes that she thought had been drained dry long ago, was what she saw as the dust dissipated and blew away. The figure standing behind him, stock still, holding a long wooden handled scythe straight out horizontally. The expressionless look on Mel's usually animated face. Her eyes.

As different as the three of them had always been, they always had that one thing in common. They had the same blue eyes. Pale, almost icy blue eyes that Erin could read in Harth and Mel as well as she could read her own in the mirror. She knew them. And when she looked into Mel’s perfect copy of her own eyes, she wept because she could see nothing behind them.

It’s over.

Yay more!

I got the two crossovers well enough and while more intimate knowledge would likely help me, honestly both were good enough on their own to convey a story I enjoyed reading. Dancing... and To see the stars are great opening thoughts to Fray's world. And I enjoyed the other three. For me the best I enjoyed would have to be either The End or To see the stars

I hope ya have more