Nano Scene, and 1013 words on the day
Nov. 17th, 2006 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hobgoblinnOkay, I've reworked a little of the past couple of days (but unless my math is off, I end up with a net gain of only 10 words....sigh) and I've got a longer new bit to go with it. I'm liking how Willow is sounding so far. Also like seeing her more mature inner voice and life. One thing I'm having a hard time with is coming to grips with how Giles might believeably be now, estranged from his friends, alone with the weight of the world crushing him. How far to take that and still have him able to function? How far before he's no longer Giles at all?
I've got a kidless day tomorrow as small boy goes off to earn his Horsemanship merit badge with the younger guys in his troop. The older guys get to jump off a perfectly good cliffside and rappel down to the bottom. I'm So glad he's still one of the younger guys. Can't do High Adventure (or death defiance) until you're at least 14. So maybe I can rewatch some Buffy and re-kindle my ideas about this story, listen to the characters tell me what it's about.
Good writing and reading to all, and to all a good night. And back to the Lady Antenna's much friendlier progress meter:
8,491 / 50,000
(17.0%)
Willow made her way down the narrow ramp from the plane to the terminal. There was a damp chill to the air, and she knew it was late, local time, though she wasn’t exactly sure how late. She emerged from the tunnel and looked about, knowing that it was unlikely the Watchers Council would have pulled the requisite strings to get one of their own in the Passengers only area-- in fact, it was likely as not that there was nobody waiting for her at all.
But there was a familiar reedy voice calling her name, and she saw Andrew moving eagerly through the crowd, brown hair a little shorter, but still sticking straight up in places. She wondered that the sight of Andrew, of all people, would bring from her a sigh of genuine pleasure and relief. But he had come a long way since Sunnydale, and after he had shed his whole Darth Vader/ fantasy refashioning of his life, he had become a useful and valued companion. But there was also a twinge, that Giles hadn’t seen fit to come himself.
Willow returned the exuberant hug and let him take her carry on as they began to follow the other passengers to claim her luggage. “Did, um, Giles send you?” Willow asked as they walked. His expression told her everything she needed to know.
“Not exactly,” the young man replied, not looking directly at her. “Um, Maia, from the coven, had a dream, and she knew you’d be on your way back tonight. I checked his calendar and saw you weren’t on it, so I decided to come, just in case.” He cleared his throat, found a spot to look at on the still empty baggage carousel, and added, “He’s been very busy lately.” Apologetic, but still that fierce loyalty.
“Well, he didn’t call me back, and he obviously wasn’t here tonight, so I’m glad you came. I should have called you directly, but I hoped....”
“I’m sorry, Willow. I know you care about him a lot.”
“It’s all right, Andrew.” They picked up her suitcase from the carosel made their way through the terminal, Willow trying to engage her mind in the gossip of the doings of mutual friends and acquaintances she had not seen for many months.
When they finally got everything collected and got out to the car, Andrew opened the door for her and got her settled inside before closing it and stowing her luggage in the boot. He then opened his own door and settled behind the wheel with the resolute and focussed look on one who is determined not to make a mistake, or to show how nervous he really is. Willow reached over to pat him on the hand. “Andrew,” she said, and he glanced up, startled. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile. “I’m really glad you came.”
He made a visible effort to relax, and Willow wondered if she would always have this effect on him. They’d worked together on his magic and hers at the coven, in the months following the fall of Sunnydale, and tenuous bonds of trust and even affection had been forged. But Andrew was hypersensitive to the emotions of those around him, and still narcissistic enough to assume their moods were some kind of reaction to him. And there were some things he was trying to bring himself to say that he was sure she wouldn’t like. Things about how Giles was, why he wasn’t here to pick her up himself. Willow gave up trying to block out his broadcasted thoughts, which were threatening at this point to drown out the football match recap on the radio. She reached forward and switched it off, then turned to him.
“Okay, Andrew. Spill. What’s going on?”
Andrew froze in the act of placing the key in the ignition, then pulled it back and looked at it for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Okay. I should have known you’d pick up on it. Things have been bad since you left. He comes in every day, he reads all the reports, he issues all the orders, or calls meetings and issues orders from that. But-- Every day, he looks a hundred years older than the day before. I don’t think he sleeps; he only eats if someone reminds him. I try to schedule lunch meetings just to make sure he gets something during the day.” His voice caught then, and Willow realized with a shock that the young man was actually close to tears. “I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to help. But there’s only so much I can do, you know? It’s like he’s in hell, and -- he Wants to be.” He glanced over anxiously. Then, in a smaller voice, “And please don’t turn me into a newt.”
She sighed. “It’s not your fault, Andrew. I know you’ve been doing your best.” She was suddenly very tired. “Well, let’s get going.”
Andrew inserted the key into the ignition, as if relieved to have that conversation over. “Where to, Milady?” he asked, trying for a little levity.
His grin faded when she replied quietly, “Giles’ flat.”
****
Andrew pulled up to the curb in front of Giles' place, a modest ?brownstone in a solidily middle-class neighborhood of (West? East? What works here?) London. He switched off the engine and looked down the quiet street in front of them, fog beginning to rise from the damp earth. For a long while, neither spoke. Then, “It's late,” he observed.
Willow nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
There was another pause. Then, “Um..want me to help you in with your bags and all?”
“Nah. I travel-- I travel pretty light, these days.”
Andrew seemed relieved, and Willow certainly sympathized. She herself was also in no hurry to face the man on the other side of that solid, imposing oak door. But it had to be done. With a final deep breath, Willow opened her door, and Andrew sprang out to pop open the boot and pull out her lone suitcase and small carry on. He handed them over to her and clanged the boot closed, then fidgeted a little, looking down at his scuffed boots, as if unsure what to say.
Willow put down her bags and hugged him again, once again feeling in him the uncomfortable shock, then the relaxing into her affectionate embrace. Willow thought, not for the first time, that Andrew had not been on the receiving end of many of these, growing up, and she felt sad for him. She caught without meaning to, the sense of wonder, that their relationship had grown to this, the wondering if having a sister, or any real family at all, might have been like this. Might have made a difference. And she nearly drowned in his relief, that he was no longer alone in trying to stave off the dissolution of Rupert Giles.
They broke apart, and Willow gathered up her bags and turned resolutely toward the grey stone building at the end of the walk. Andrew watched as she mounted the steps. Just as she put her bags down at the top in order to pull back the heavy brass knocker, he called out softly, “Go get 'em, She-Witch.”
Willow turned back and shot him her delicate, elf-like grin, the one that had caused so many in the new Council to underestimate her, until they'd learned better. Andrew quickly got back in the car, and he was already well down the block before Willow finally brought herself to knock. The metallic clank echoed a little in the stillness. No way Giles would miss it.
It was damp out (of course, being London) and it was rather cold out as well. After months in sunny South America, this California native's thin blood was feeling the chill more than usual. She counted slowly to twenty in Sumerian, then knocked again, more loudly.
He wasn't asleep. She was sure of that. Not only could she feel it, through the wards he, or someone, had set up for him, but she knew his habits. He seldom retired before 2:00 a.m., and even then, he did not sleep particularly well. It was only 12:30, and she had seen the light glowing from his study window as they'd pulled up. She gave him to another count of twenty,wondering what her plan B would entail. She was just raising her hand for a third try, when heard the bolts click back with a solid thunk. The door creaked open, and she was looking up into the face of her old mentor and friend.
She grinned nervously up at him. “Hey, Giles.”
He gazed down on her, blinking, eyebrows creasing in what looked like confusion. “Willow, um....” He stood aside as she picked up her bags. “Do...um....”
He looked rumpled, as if he'd been battling with some heavy research, and losing. Willow passed him and breathed in the slightly musty but warmer air of the entry corridor. She tried but failed to not pick up his sense of being invaded, and the sound as he closed the door, then slammed the bolt home with deceptive force. She heard him clear his throat.
“Ah... did you have a pleasant flight?” His voice sounded a little rusty, as if he were unaccustomed to using it much these days. And there was a slightly accusatory edge, and a wondering if she had teleported all the way from Rio to his doorstep.
Willow was glad she'd prepared herself mentally for weird, and for garden variety, passive aggressive hostility. She replied, with forced cheerfulness, “Yeah, it was okay. Kid on the plane behind me was a little annoying. Why do parents let kids like that out of the house, anyway? I wanted to turn him into a newt.” She caught his sharp glance and added quickly, “But I didn't. I totally controlled myself. Which is more than I can say for the kid and his mom.” She gave him an uncertain grin, watching his thoughts flicker behind his eyes, but deliberately not reaching for them.
Giles gazed at her piercingly for another moment, then dismissed whatever he was going to say, opting instead for, “Here, let me take your bags.”
Willow shook her head. “No, I'm good. They're not that heavy.” She shifted her hold on them slightly to get a better grip.
“Suit yourself.” He turned to lead the way down his narrow hallway to where she knew the guest room lay. Over his shoulder, he asked the obligatory question, “Would you like some tea?”
“I'd love some tea,” she replied fervently. It might not thaw Giles, or their relationship, but at the moment, she'd settle for getting back some feeling in her stiff fingers.
He opened the guest room door and flipped on the light, then continued on down the hall toward the kitchen. “I'll just let you get settled,” he called softly over his shoulder, sounding more now like someone who had not just had an uninvited and unwelcome guest appear on his doorstep well after midnight. Not at all the old Giles, but it would do for a start.
I've got a kidless day tomorrow as small boy goes off to earn his Horsemanship merit badge with the younger guys in his troop. The older guys get to jump off a perfectly good cliffside and rappel down to the bottom. I'm So glad he's still one of the younger guys. Can't do High Adventure (or death defiance) until you're at least 14. So maybe I can rewatch some Buffy and re-kindle my ideas about this story, listen to the characters tell me what it's about.
Good writing and reading to all, and to all a good night. And back to the Lady Antenna's much friendlier progress meter:
8,491 / 50,000
(17.0%)
Willow made her way down the narrow ramp from the plane to the terminal. There was a damp chill to the air, and she knew it was late, local time, though she wasn’t exactly sure how late. She emerged from the tunnel and looked about, knowing that it was unlikely the Watchers Council would have pulled the requisite strings to get one of their own in the Passengers only area-- in fact, it was likely as not that there was nobody waiting for her at all.
But there was a familiar reedy voice calling her name, and she saw Andrew moving eagerly through the crowd, brown hair a little shorter, but still sticking straight up in places. She wondered that the sight of Andrew, of all people, would bring from her a sigh of genuine pleasure and relief. But he had come a long way since Sunnydale, and after he had shed his whole Darth Vader/ fantasy refashioning of his life, he had become a useful and valued companion. But there was also a twinge, that Giles hadn’t seen fit to come himself.
Willow returned the exuberant hug and let him take her carry on as they began to follow the other passengers to claim her luggage. “Did, um, Giles send you?” Willow asked as they walked. His expression told her everything she needed to know.
“Not exactly,” the young man replied, not looking directly at her. “Um, Maia, from the coven, had a dream, and she knew you’d be on your way back tonight. I checked his calendar and saw you weren’t on it, so I decided to come, just in case.” He cleared his throat, found a spot to look at on the still empty baggage carousel, and added, “He’s been very busy lately.” Apologetic, but still that fierce loyalty.
“Well, he didn’t call me back, and he obviously wasn’t here tonight, so I’m glad you came. I should have called you directly, but I hoped....”
“I’m sorry, Willow. I know you care about him a lot.”
“It’s all right, Andrew.” They picked up her suitcase from the carosel made their way through the terminal, Willow trying to engage her mind in the gossip of the doings of mutual friends and acquaintances she had not seen for many months.
When they finally got everything collected and got out to the car, Andrew opened the door for her and got her settled inside before closing it and stowing her luggage in the boot. He then opened his own door and settled behind the wheel with the resolute and focussed look on one who is determined not to make a mistake, or to show how nervous he really is. Willow reached over to pat him on the hand. “Andrew,” she said, and he glanced up, startled. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile. “I’m really glad you came.”
He made a visible effort to relax, and Willow wondered if she would always have this effect on him. They’d worked together on his magic and hers at the coven, in the months following the fall of Sunnydale, and tenuous bonds of trust and even affection had been forged. But Andrew was hypersensitive to the emotions of those around him, and still narcissistic enough to assume their moods were some kind of reaction to him. And there were some things he was trying to bring himself to say that he was sure she wouldn’t like. Things about how Giles was, why he wasn’t here to pick her up himself. Willow gave up trying to block out his broadcasted thoughts, which were threatening at this point to drown out the football match recap on the radio. She reached forward and switched it off, then turned to him.
“Okay, Andrew. Spill. What’s going on?”
Andrew froze in the act of placing the key in the ignition, then pulled it back and looked at it for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Okay. I should have known you’d pick up on it. Things have been bad since you left. He comes in every day, he reads all the reports, he issues all the orders, or calls meetings and issues orders from that. But-- Every day, he looks a hundred years older than the day before. I don’t think he sleeps; he only eats if someone reminds him. I try to schedule lunch meetings just to make sure he gets something during the day.” His voice caught then, and Willow realized with a shock that the young man was actually close to tears. “I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to help. But there’s only so much I can do, you know? It’s like he’s in hell, and -- he Wants to be.” He glanced over anxiously. Then, in a smaller voice, “And please don’t turn me into a newt.”
She sighed. “It’s not your fault, Andrew. I know you’ve been doing your best.” She was suddenly very tired. “Well, let’s get going.”
Andrew inserted the key into the ignition, as if relieved to have that conversation over. “Where to, Milady?” he asked, trying for a little levity.
His grin faded when she replied quietly, “Giles’ flat.”
****
Andrew pulled up to the curb in front of Giles' place, a modest ?brownstone in a solidily middle-class neighborhood of (West? East? What works here?) London. He switched off the engine and looked down the quiet street in front of them, fog beginning to rise from the damp earth. For a long while, neither spoke. Then, “It's late,” he observed.
Willow nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
There was another pause. Then, “Um..want me to help you in with your bags and all?”
“Nah. I travel-- I travel pretty light, these days.”
Andrew seemed relieved, and Willow certainly sympathized. She herself was also in no hurry to face the man on the other side of that solid, imposing oak door. But it had to be done. With a final deep breath, Willow opened her door, and Andrew sprang out to pop open the boot and pull out her lone suitcase and small carry on. He handed them over to her and clanged the boot closed, then fidgeted a little, looking down at his scuffed boots, as if unsure what to say.
Willow put down her bags and hugged him again, once again feeling in him the uncomfortable shock, then the relaxing into her affectionate embrace. Willow thought, not for the first time, that Andrew had not been on the receiving end of many of these, growing up, and she felt sad for him. She caught without meaning to, the sense of wonder, that their relationship had grown to this, the wondering if having a sister, or any real family at all, might have been like this. Might have made a difference. And she nearly drowned in his relief, that he was no longer alone in trying to stave off the dissolution of Rupert Giles.
They broke apart, and Willow gathered up her bags and turned resolutely toward the grey stone building at the end of the walk. Andrew watched as she mounted the steps. Just as she put her bags down at the top in order to pull back the heavy brass knocker, he called out softly, “Go get 'em, She-Witch.”
Willow turned back and shot him her delicate, elf-like grin, the one that had caused so many in the new Council to underestimate her, until they'd learned better. Andrew quickly got back in the car, and he was already well down the block before Willow finally brought herself to knock. The metallic clank echoed a little in the stillness. No way Giles would miss it.
It was damp out (of course, being London) and it was rather cold out as well. After months in sunny South America, this California native's thin blood was feeling the chill more than usual. She counted slowly to twenty in Sumerian, then knocked again, more loudly.
He wasn't asleep. She was sure of that. Not only could she feel it, through the wards he, or someone, had set up for him, but she knew his habits. He seldom retired before 2:00 a.m., and even then, he did not sleep particularly well. It was only 12:30, and she had seen the light glowing from his study window as they'd pulled up. She gave him to another count of twenty,wondering what her plan B would entail. She was just raising her hand for a third try, when heard the bolts click back with a solid thunk. The door creaked open, and she was looking up into the face of her old mentor and friend.
She grinned nervously up at him. “Hey, Giles.”
He gazed down on her, blinking, eyebrows creasing in what looked like confusion. “Willow, um....” He stood aside as she picked up her bags. “Do...um....”
He looked rumpled, as if he'd been battling with some heavy research, and losing. Willow passed him and breathed in the slightly musty but warmer air of the entry corridor. She tried but failed to not pick up his sense of being invaded, and the sound as he closed the door, then slammed the bolt home with deceptive force. She heard him clear his throat.
“Ah... did you have a pleasant flight?” His voice sounded a little rusty, as if he were unaccustomed to using it much these days. And there was a slightly accusatory edge, and a wondering if she had teleported all the way from Rio to his doorstep.
Willow was glad she'd prepared herself mentally for weird, and for garden variety, passive aggressive hostility. She replied, with forced cheerfulness, “Yeah, it was okay. Kid on the plane behind me was a little annoying. Why do parents let kids like that out of the house, anyway? I wanted to turn him into a newt.” She caught his sharp glance and added quickly, “But I didn't. I totally controlled myself. Which is more than I can say for the kid and his mom.” She gave him an uncertain grin, watching his thoughts flicker behind his eyes, but deliberately not reaching for them.
Giles gazed at her piercingly for another moment, then dismissed whatever he was going to say, opting instead for, “Here, let me take your bags.”
Willow shook her head. “No, I'm good. They're not that heavy.” She shifted her hold on them slightly to get a better grip.
“Suit yourself.” He turned to lead the way down his narrow hallway to where she knew the guest room lay. Over his shoulder, he asked the obligatory question, “Would you like some tea?”
“I'd love some tea,” she replied fervently. It might not thaw Giles, or their relationship, but at the moment, she'd settle for getting back some feeling in her stiff fingers.
He opened the guest room door and flipped on the light, then continued on down the hall toward the kitchen. “I'll just let you get settled,” he called softly over his shoulder, sounding more now like someone who had not just had an uninvited and unwelcome guest appear on his doorstep well after midnight. Not at all the old Giles, but it would do for a start.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-18 01:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-18 01:39 am (UTC)Now, run along and torture our favorite Watcher a bit. The things we do for Art, huh?
*grins*
Hob
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-18 05:26 am (UTC)