Buffy Summers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whattingawhat) wrote2009-02-24 08:16 pm
whattingawhat) wrote2009-02-24 08:16 pm
Entry tags:
Pocket Full of Posies [Ashes, ashes we all fall down]
[Inspired by
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The word trap resonated all the way down to her toes—and really they were nice toes in a pair of fantastic three inch heeled, Italian leather boots. No one made shoes quite like the Italians Buffy had discovered. Anyway, that was so beside the point and things were getting very pointy down here. Down here being catacombs and who knew Rome would be filled with stinky, musty, dusty eww catacombs. Well Buffy did but only because they were a regular part of her patrol. Anyway back to the pointy.
The pointy being the fact that bones and corpses were starting to move. Some of them had been dead so long they were dust but someone had been storing the fresher sort of dead down here; a ploy that Buffy only discovered when a very ripe hand curled around her throat, cold fingers pressing into her skin and sealing off her windpipe. Crushing windpipes are never any good and for a minute she flailed unable to remember if zombies felt pain or not. She was pretty sure that was a no but she did remember something about destroying the brains. Thank you every zombie movie ever. A stake through the temple did the trick. The zombie went limp and for a minute, so did Buffy. More things were moving and ass in gear was looking like a better option all the time.
She was pretty sure the whole trap thing was in effect because while she was killing plenty of zombies—and wow did she ever hope dead juice came out of Italian leather—mostly she noticed they were <i>herding</i> her in a certain direction. Masses blocked off escape routes and forks in the road, the way ahead of her always relatively clear. Two could play that game…or a game. She wasn’t real clear what the game was. Right, prey. She’d never succeeded very well in that role. And when the tunnel half collapsed behind her, keeping the zombies out of the large chamber she’d been driven into, she knew she wasn’t going to play that role today.
“Well this is an unexpected turn of events,” Buffy chirped. “If you’ve never seen a horror movie or an episode of Scooby Doo.”
She had to admit, despite the quips it was pretty creepy to hear a little girl’s voice singing ring around the rosy. The shadows revealed their secret and the little girl that’d killed her stepped into the middle of the room, scythe in hand.
“But you’re the one who turns to ash,” Buffy told her.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” The little girl’s tone was petulant and pitch perfect spoiled, twelve year old.
“You’d be surprised how often I hear that and yet the answer is always…psyche.”
She’s not sure if it’s a slayer thing—one of the perks of the job—or a Buffy thing—ways that she’s a freak of nature 101—either way, dying made her stronger, faster and prettier. Willow had theories. She’d given them to her once. They’d involved the slayer pool of power and double dipping. She’d used chips and queso as props but abandoned the whole lesson when Buffy had started wolfing down chips and asked if she was contaminating the slayer queso.
Anyway, little girl was ashes, ashes and Buffy was singing ring around the rosy before the whole thing was done. Scythe was reclaimed and who knew it’d be the equivalent of a zombie genocide in her hands? Rhetorical question, no need to answer.
The word trap resonated all the way down to her toes—and really they were nice toes in a pair of fantastic three inch heeled, Italian leather boots. No one made shoes quite like the Italians Buffy had discovered. Anyway, that was so beside the point and things were getting very pointy down here. Down here being catacombs and who knew Rome would be filled with stinky, musty, dusty eww catacombs. Well Buffy did but only because they were a regular part of her patrol. Anyway back to the pointy.
The pointy being the fact that bones and corpses were starting to move. Some of them had been dead so long they were dust but someone had been storing the fresher sort of dead down here; a ploy that Buffy only discovered when a very ripe hand curled around her throat, cold fingers pressing into her skin and sealing off her windpipe. Crushing windpipes are never any good and for a minute she flailed unable to remember if zombies felt pain or not. She was pretty sure that was a no but she did remember something about destroying the brains. Thank you every zombie movie ever. A stake through the temple did the trick. The zombie went limp and for a minute, so did Buffy. More things were moving and ass in gear was looking like a better option all the time.
She was pretty sure the whole trap thing was in effect because while she was killing plenty of zombies—and wow did she ever hope dead juice came out of Italian leather—mostly she noticed they were <i>herding</i> her in a certain direction. Masses blocked off escape routes and forks in the road, the way ahead of her always relatively clear. Two could play that game…or a game. She wasn’t real clear what the game was. Right, prey. She’d never succeeded very well in that role. And when the tunnel half collapsed behind her, keeping the zombies out of the large chamber she’d been driven into, she knew she wasn’t going to play that role today.
“Well this is an unexpected turn of events,” Buffy chirped. “If you’ve never seen a horror movie or an episode of Scooby Doo.”
She had to admit, despite the quips it was pretty creepy to hear a little girl’s voice singing ring around the rosy. The shadows revealed their secret and the little girl that’d killed her stepped into the middle of the room, scythe in hand.
“But you’re the one who turns to ash,” Buffy told her.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” The little girl’s tone was petulant and pitch perfect spoiled, twelve year old.
“You’d be surprised how often I hear that and yet the answer is always…psyche.”
She’s not sure if it’s a slayer thing—one of the perks of the job—or a Buffy thing—ways that she’s a freak of nature 101—either way, dying made her stronger, faster and prettier. Willow had theories. She’d given them to her once. They’d involved the slayer pool of power and double dipping. She’d used chips and queso as props but abandoned the whole lesson when Buffy had started wolfing down chips and asked if she was contaminating the slayer queso.
Anyway, little girl was ashes, ashes and Buffy was singing ring around the rosy before the whole thing was done. Scythe was reclaimed and who knew it’d be the equivalent of a zombie genocide in her hands? Rhetorical question, no need to answer.
OOC
Re: OOC