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Yuletide story done (complete with humiliating spelling mistake and last-minute fix). Forty-two pages of Kryptonian Sex Secrets, with another twenty or so to go. Class to prep for. Book reviews to write up.
To prove I haven't left fandom, but also as a concession to reality, here's two pages of the SV/BtVS crossover that I'm never going to finish. (Hey, I hear Joss is writing an "eighth season" of Buffy in comic form. I'll go for it, and of course I'll read his Runaways when Brian K. Vaughn surrenders them, though I couldn't get into Whedon's X-Men.)
“With the Council gone, we need a source of funds, and these funds are essentially unlimited.”
“Giles,” Willow said uneasily. “Deals with the devil ...” Angel did it, he thought, but that was rather more an argument against, even if some of Angel’s group had survived it.
“Mr. Luthor assures me the agreement is ironclad – he will not be able to interfere, though he is entitled to, er, quarterly reports.”
“‘What I Slayed This Summer’? I dropped out of college, Giles!”
“I will take care of the reports.” And their editing, so as to avoid giving LuthorCorp any dangerous information. The real risk was that the alien would find out and consider them Luthor’s allies, and Buffy would feel compelled to test herself against him.
Yet the apocalypses kept approaching, and acquiring new copies of nearly-extinct prophetic texts was expensive, even more expensive than taking care of half-a-hundred Slayers. “I won’t do this against your wishes, Buffy. It is, however, the only way that I can see to avoid turning ourselves into a mercenary force for hire.” If he’d been able to speak plainly to the man from the Wayne Foundation – but the merest mention of magic and that had ended in scoffing and polite incomprehension.
[Lex agrees to a mystical trial with Willow to prove that he’s not going to use their powers for evil. Held in his Metropolis office, the trial transports them to a different dimension. It is a journey through possibilities, image-laden, provocative and disturbing.]
“I need a drink,” Lex said, and headed to the wet bar.
“I need a cigarette,” Willow said. Lex turned, a good host, and she waved him off. “Metaphorically.”
“That was … an intense experience,” he agreed, pouring two fingers of whiskey into his tumbler, drinking them in one steady pull, then refilling. “I hope we’ll be able to repeat it.”
Repeat it? She gaped at him. So much darkness, so much light – their thoughts not adding but multiplying exponentially, looking at the potential in the world, the problems crying out for solutions, the possibilities bombarding them like hail. Even the thought of trying again was –
Tempting.
All power corrupts, she reminded herself.
And that big, inventive brain – it implied things about his abilities in other areas of endeavor. Maybe she could distract him with sex? A millisecond’s worth of consideration made her discard that possibility, but not without regret.
“In the end, Superman and I want the same things,” he said. “Truth, justice, the American way. But I believe that humans have to do the work for ourselves. Not aliens, not magic, just us on this fragile little planet.”
She closed her eyes, remembering why she and the Slayers could never be part of Lex Luthor’s plans. “But that’s the thing, Lex. I’m ‘us.’ Buffy is ‘us.’ We’re human. Magic is human – maybe even Superman is human, because he’s in this together with the rest of us. When you say things like that, it just makes me think you’re not willing to let anyone else have great power.” It occurred to her to point out that Lex didn’t meet a standard definition of “human,” but that wasn’t his fault any more than an unwillingly sired vampire was at fault for not having a soul, and anyway fault wasn’t relevant.
When she opened her eyes, he was right in front of her, looking down with such passion that she wanted to believe in him. “I understand why you feel that way, and I absolutely take your point about magic. But you did not grow up in Smallville. You did not see the alien when he was under the influence of red Kryptonite, or the alien machines he brought with him, or even good old-fashioned self-righteousness about the inherent evil of people with money. Not money, but people with money. He talks a good game and I’ll even concede he believes it right now, but that isn’t good enough. I can’t destroy anyone’s life without the consent of a lot of other people. He’s not subject to that limitation.”
Vampires didn’t have the glamour that some myths attributed to them, the ability to hypnotize victims into nodding compliance. Lex Luthor, she was fast learning, did have that ability. Everything he said made perfect sense, and yet – and yet.
“I’m not asking for your active assistance,” he said, and even though she could hear the ‘not at this time’ it sounded like a pained concession, a gesture of good faith. “Just – please don’t take sides against me. Not without giving me the benefit of the doubt, listening to my reasons.”
All that is required for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.
Which side is evil?
Willow wished she were back in high school, when the bad guys were fangy (or Cordelia) and she was, of course, a good guy. In retrospect, it had been the easiest time of her life, killer computer programs and evil snake mayors notwithstanding.
She was staring up at him helplessly. He must get that a lot – with no sign of noticing her distress, he took a few steps away. She took a deep breath.
“What do you say, Willow Rosenberg?” He wasn’t looking at her; instead, he was staring out the window at his city, his glass almost to his mouth. “You’ve gotten closer to me than anyone else I know. Is there something in me worth following? Worth saving?”
Hecate knew she had her own share of darkness. She’d asked herself the same questions.
To prove I haven't left fandom, but also as a concession to reality, here's two pages of the SV/BtVS crossover that I'm never going to finish. (Hey, I hear Joss is writing an "eighth season" of Buffy in comic form. I'll go for it, and of course I'll read his Runaways when Brian K. Vaughn surrenders them, though I couldn't get into Whedon's X-Men.)
“With the Council gone, we need a source of funds, and these funds are essentially unlimited.”
“Giles,” Willow said uneasily. “Deals with the devil ...” Angel did it, he thought, but that was rather more an argument against, even if some of Angel’s group had survived it.
“Mr. Luthor assures me the agreement is ironclad – he will not be able to interfere, though he is entitled to, er, quarterly reports.”
“‘What I Slayed This Summer’? I dropped out of college, Giles!”
“I will take care of the reports.” And their editing, so as to avoid giving LuthorCorp any dangerous information. The real risk was that the alien would find out and consider them Luthor’s allies, and Buffy would feel compelled to test herself against him.
Yet the apocalypses kept approaching, and acquiring new copies of nearly-extinct prophetic texts was expensive, even more expensive than taking care of half-a-hundred Slayers. “I won’t do this against your wishes, Buffy. It is, however, the only way that I can see to avoid turning ourselves into a mercenary force for hire.” If he’d been able to speak plainly to the man from the Wayne Foundation – but the merest mention of magic and that had ended in scoffing and polite incomprehension.
[Lex agrees to a mystical trial with Willow to prove that he’s not going to use their powers for evil. Held in his Metropolis office, the trial transports them to a different dimension. It is a journey through possibilities, image-laden, provocative and disturbing.]
“I need a drink,” Lex said, and headed to the wet bar.
“I need a cigarette,” Willow said. Lex turned, a good host, and she waved him off. “Metaphorically.”
“That was … an intense experience,” he agreed, pouring two fingers of whiskey into his tumbler, drinking them in one steady pull, then refilling. “I hope we’ll be able to repeat it.”
Repeat it? She gaped at him. So much darkness, so much light – their thoughts not adding but multiplying exponentially, looking at the potential in the world, the problems crying out for solutions, the possibilities bombarding them like hail. Even the thought of trying again was –
Tempting.
All power corrupts, she reminded herself.
And that big, inventive brain – it implied things about his abilities in other areas of endeavor. Maybe she could distract him with sex? A millisecond’s worth of consideration made her discard that possibility, but not without regret.
“In the end, Superman and I want the same things,” he said. “Truth, justice, the American way. But I believe that humans have to do the work for ourselves. Not aliens, not magic, just us on this fragile little planet.”
She closed her eyes, remembering why she and the Slayers could never be part of Lex Luthor’s plans. “But that’s the thing, Lex. I’m ‘us.’ Buffy is ‘us.’ We’re human. Magic is human – maybe even Superman is human, because he’s in this together with the rest of us. When you say things like that, it just makes me think you’re not willing to let anyone else have great power.” It occurred to her to point out that Lex didn’t meet a standard definition of “human,” but that wasn’t his fault any more than an unwillingly sired vampire was at fault for not having a soul, and anyway fault wasn’t relevant.
When she opened her eyes, he was right in front of her, looking down with such passion that she wanted to believe in him. “I understand why you feel that way, and I absolutely take your point about magic. But you did not grow up in Smallville. You did not see the alien when he was under the influence of red Kryptonite, or the alien machines he brought with him, or even good old-fashioned self-righteousness about the inherent evil of people with money. Not money, but people with money. He talks a good game and I’ll even concede he believes it right now, but that isn’t good enough. I can’t destroy anyone’s life without the consent of a lot of other people. He’s not subject to that limitation.”
Vampires didn’t have the glamour that some myths attributed to them, the ability to hypnotize victims into nodding compliance. Lex Luthor, she was fast learning, did have that ability. Everything he said made perfect sense, and yet – and yet.
“I’m not asking for your active assistance,” he said, and even though she could hear the ‘not at this time’ it sounded like a pained concession, a gesture of good faith. “Just – please don’t take sides against me. Not without giving me the benefit of the doubt, listening to my reasons.”
All that is required for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.
Which side is evil?
Willow wished she were back in high school, when the bad guys were fangy (or Cordelia) and she was, of course, a good guy. In retrospect, it had been the easiest time of her life, killer computer programs and evil snake mayors notwithstanding.
She was staring up at him helplessly. He must get that a lot – with no sign of noticing her distress, he took a few steps away. She took a deep breath.
“What do you say, Willow Rosenberg?” He wasn’t looking at her; instead, he was staring out the window at his city, his glass almost to his mouth. “You’ve gotten closer to me than anyone else I know. Is there something in me worth following? Worth saving?”
Hecate knew she had her own share of darkness. She’d asked herself the same questions.
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