VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, [2], 3, 4 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 08:47:36 04/09/04 Fri
Author: Kuzibah
Author Host/IP: 12.175.117.195
Subject: New Fanfic- Blanket of Stars (part 1)

Blanket of Stars
by Kuzibah

Disclaimer: Xander, Oz, and other characters and situations particular to “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other entities too various and far-flung to numerate. Needless to say, none of them are me. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.

Introduction: Xander catches us with Circus Internationale. A sequel to “Two Hearts” (this year’s Valentine story), and part of what I’m calling the Shadow Gypsies Anthology. Previous stories can be found here, but you really only need to be familiar the Oz stories in that group. In a nutshell, Oz has been traveling with a circus in Europe, and Xander signs on to do some carpentry work.

- - - - -

Love, in this summer night, do you recall
Midnight, and Venice, and those skies of June
Thick-sown with stars, when from the still lagoon
We glided noiseless through the dim canal?
A sense of some belated festival
Hung round us, and our own hearts beat in tune
With passionate memories that the young moon
Lit up on dome and tower and palace wall.
We dreamed what ghosts of vanished loves made part
Of that sweet light and trembling, amorous air.
I felt in those rich beams that kissed your hair,
Those breezes, warm with bygone lovers' sighs-
All the dead beauty of Venice in your eyes,
All the old loves of Venice in my heart.
-Night in Venice
John Hay (1838-1905)

Xander awoke in his compartment as the train shuddered to a start leaving Paris. He’d left Giles’s cottage early that morning; Giles himself had rented a car to drive Xander, his roll bag, and a tool chest the size of a small dresser to Dover, where he could catch the Ferry to Calais and then a train to Venice. It would take most of two days to get there, and Xander planned to sleep all he could.

He peered out the window, trying to catch some of the sights, when the compartment door opened. He turned to see a young, harried mother and her small son struggling to get through the doorway as the train picked up speed.

At the sight of Xander’s face, the woman took a startled step back, so Xander smiled warmly. “Let me help you,” he said, rising and lifting her bags onto the overhead rack.

The woman flushed, embarrassed at her earlier shock, and with a mumbled, “merci,” sat down with her son opposite.

The boy, who looked no older than four, stared at Xander curiously. His mother opened a magazine and tried to ignore him.

Xander gave the boy another smile, and the child pointed one chubby finger at him, then at his own eye. The mother, flushing again, took the child’s hand in her own, prompting what Xander was sure was a simple, innocent question.

“It’s okay,” Xander started to tell her, but she began to scold her son, so he remained silent.

“I am sorry,” she said after a moment, with a small, helpless shrug.

Xander waved it off, then pulled his own book from his roll bag, to discourage further trouble.

- - - - -

Xander dozed again, waking in Germany when a group of four drunken students came into his compartment. They were also initially startled by his appearance, but unlike the Frenchwoman, their veneer of civilized behavior had been stripped away by drink.

Xander endured only five minutes of their broad, obvious jokes at his expense before gathering his effects and fumbling through the darkened train to the club car and spending much of the rest of the night working through some beers and watching MTV Europe on the bar TV.

- - - - -

The train reached Venice the next afternoon, and Xander, bleary-eyed, made his way onto the platform and collected his tool chest. The crowd thinned quickly, and Xander anxiously scanned for Oz or Luca Hearne, the Gypsy who had hired him to repair the caravans. Only when Xander was alone, and beginning to wonder if there’d been a mix-up, did the werewolf step out of the station, flanked by two enormous roustabouts.

“How was your trip?” Oz asked, leading Xander to a waiting truck while the roustabouts carried the toolbox between them.

“Not bad,” Xander said. “Slept for most of it.”

Oz nodded. “Luca and the rest are eager for you to start,” he said. “I hope they don’t put you to work before you get a chance to change your clothes.”

“I don’t mind,” Xander said, watching the two other men load the toolbox, then themselves, into the bed of the truck. “I’m kind of itching to get to work.”

Sure enough, Luca was waiting when they pulled up, and greeted Xander warmly. “Our carpenter is here,” he announced to no one in particular. “Come, I will show you the space where you can work, and the wood you asked us to get for you.”

“Maybe we can show him where he’s staying,” Oz said, and Luca gave an embarrassed look.

“Of course,” he said, and led Xander to a tiny “teardrop trailer,” little more than an enclosed bed on wheels. Xander looked at Oz, wondering if this was some sort of joke, but the werewolf’s expression conveyed that it wasn’t, and that Xander should not comment.

“Uh, thanks,” Xander said, pushing his roll bag through the trailer’s small door.

Oz indicated a wooden building at the edge of the camp. “That’s the water shed,” Oz said. “Showers, sinks, and toilets.” He pointed to a white canvas tent that was more central. “There’s the chow tent. Breakfast and dinner, and you can pick up some staples there, too.”

Xander nodded. “Good,” he said.

“Come. We’ll go to your workshop,” Luca said.

He led the two through the camp to where the gypsies kept their wagons in a group slightly removed. “I know the trailer is small,” Oz said to Xander, quietly so Luca wouldn’t hear. “But they all are. Space is at a premium, and people just spend most of the time outside.”

Xander looked around the camp, noticing the vans and small campers with wash hanging on lines, tables and chairs arranged under canvas awnings, and camp stoves set on folding tables. Even the gypsy caravans, with their painted doors and humped roofs, were only twenty or so feet long, at most.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I spent a year in my parents’ basement. I can pretty much live anywhere.”

They stopped at a large canvas tent with open sides, where the roustabouts had set up his tool chest. There were also sawhorses and a wooden worktable. Stacked to one side were wooden dowels and poles, planks of various kinds of woods, panes of glass and cans of paint.

Xander lifted a board of hard, fine-grained wood. It was heavy and smooth. He glanced toward the gypsy wagons, the sun beginning to set behind them.

“I’ll start first thing in the morning,” Xander promised Luca, and the big Gypsy nodded.

“Very well,” he said, and gave a slight bow. “I bid you good night, then.”

- - - - -

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

[> Re: New Fanfic- Blanket of Stars (part 2) -- Kuzibah, 08:48:41 04/09/04 Fri (12.175.117.195)

Xander joined Oz and his wife of less than a month, Bema, for dinner at their home, Oz’s old van. It had been re-painted with a stylized mural of fierce wolves and a banner announcing, “The Legendary Werewolf ~ Transforms Before Your Eyes!”

The van itself had been refitted, the interior paneled with honey-colored wood, throw rugs piled on the floor. The bed folded up against one side on a hinge, secured out of the way, but Xander could see how it would come down to rest on facing storage units, filling the van wall-to-wall. The folding table and chairs had been set up in a canvas enclosure adjoining the van, and the gas stove where Bema cooked was just beyond. Oz lit lanterns and candles for illumination, and they cast a soft yellow glow over the company.

The meal was simple fare, a soup of vegetables and rice, and thick, crusty rolls, but the company was fine, indeed. Bema and Oz were warm and charming hosts, and told Xander of their travels. In return Xander related the goings-on in the last few years in Sunnydale, and the nine months after, and they talked long into the night. It was only when Oz began to talk of his courtship of Bema that Xander was reminded he’d promised to begin his work with first light, and thus excused himself and went to his trailer and bed.

Xander had to fumble in the darkness before he found the tiny battery-powered light just inside the teardrop’s door, then contort himself to make the bed inside with the sheets left for him and open his bedroll for a blanket. He climbed out again, comfort overcoming modesty, to change into his nightclothes and enter again.

He shut out the lamp, and burrowed into the covers, sleep already overtaking him. His last action of the night was to slip off his eye-patch, and hide it inside his pillowcase.

- - - - -

Morning, true to the cliché, came early.

And instead of a rooster to wake the circus folk, the lions greeted the dawn with a roar. Xander sat up at the sound, banging his head against the curved wall of his abode, then cursed and climbed out to stretch and yawn. He gathered a change of clothes and a plastic-mesh bag with his toiletries. His frequent trips around the globe had forced a quick self-education in the best ways to cope in less than ideal conditions, and he’d found this hold-all to be useful and practical. It held soap, razor, toothbrush, paste, comb, deodorant, and shampoo, and hung conveniently on bathroom doorknobs. He also grabbed two towels.

The water shed Oz had pointed out earlier already had a line for the eight shower stalls, so Xander made his way to the long, trough-like sink to brush his teeth.

He could sense the intense interest of those around him, curiosity about the “new kid,” and it was only a matter of a minute or two before a round-faced man across from him extended a hand.

“Good morning,” he said with a heavy German accent. “I am Helmut Meng, called Rollo in the clown corps.”

“Xander Harris,” Xander said, shaking his hand. “I’m doing some work for the Gypsies. Luca Hearne…”

“Yes, yes, the carpenter,” Helmut said, nodding. “Welcome. When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Helmut said. “Best of luck.”

Xander thanked him and joined the shower line. The ice having been broken, several more of the performers and crew introduced themselves, and Xander was quickly engaged in a Q and A regarding his background, his work experience, and how he found his visit so far. He slipped into a vacant shower stall gratefully.

There were hooks on the shed’s back wall, a few feet removed from the showers, and Xander stripped out of his sleep clothes, only dropping his shorts after modestly concealing himself with a towel, and then realized he had himself in a quandary; no one but his doctors had seen him without the eye-patch since the bandages had come off. He found himself more embarrassed by the possibility that someone would see the knotted scar where his eye had been than that somebody would see him naked.

Still, his only other option was to wear it into the shower, and the material wasn’t rugged enough to stand up to soap and water, he feared. He cast a nervous glance up the row to see if anyone was looking, and met the gaze of a slim girl with dark curly hair and pale green eyes. She was completely nude.

“Mind your business,” she snapped, turning and striding into her stall. It was only then Xander realized she had no arms, only smooth, rounded shoulders.

His face flushed, and he slipped off his eye-patch and put it on the hook.

- - - - -

Afterwards, Xander went to the meal tent. There was a breakfast line, so he got in it and got a plate of eggs, sausages, and sliced meat on a hard, crusty roll. Across the tent he saw the armless girl eating her breakfast and reading a magazine. He almost didn’t recognize her at first, as she was using one foot to manipulate her fork as dexterously as a hand, but he crossed to her table and sat down opposite.

“I want to apologize,” he said, and she looked up, regarding him with a furious expression. “I wasn’t trying to spy naked girls, I swear,” he went on. “I just… it’s my first day, and I was feeling really self-conscious about…” he indicated the eye-patch. “It’s stupid, I know, but I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of creep.”

Her expression had softened into wry amusement. “Here’s a joke for you,” she said. Xander was slightly stunned by the sudden change of topic, so he only nodded.

“There was this guy,” the girl began, “and he’d lost his eye in an accident.” Xander stiffened, certain he would hate this joke, but the girl went on. “He couldn’t afford a regular glass eye, so he had one made of wood. It really bothered him and he felt very self-conscious about it. Anyway, he gets invited to a dance, and he’s sure none of the girls will want to dance with him, but he goes anyway.

“Once he’s there, he sees a girl off on the side with a hare-lip. He thinks, maybe this girl won’t mind my eye too much, so he goes over to her and asks, ‘would you like to dance?’

“The girl is thrilled and screams, ‘Would I?’

“And the guy backs up and points at her, saying, ‘Hare-lip! Hare-lip!’”

Xander shook himself, too startled to reply.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like that guy,” she said. “It’s my first day, too.” She delicately extended her foot. “I’m Gracie Hicks. They’re billing me as ‘The Living Venus de Milo.’”

Xander shook her foot without hesitation. “Xander Harris,” he said. “What do you do for your act?”

She laughed lightly. “What I’ve always done. Eat with a spoon, doodle, crochet. It’s just I’m doing it in front of an audience. I was in this documentary for Film Canada, triumph of the human spirit thing, and then I got a letter from the Parliament of Wonders inviting me to join them for the season, and my parents thought it would be a good opportunity to travel. What about you? What do you do?”

Xander blushed. “I’m not a performer,” he said. “I’m a carpenter. I’m doing some work on the caravans.”

Gracie smiled. “Cool,” she said. “My dad’s a general contractor. You like it?”

“Yeah,” Xander said. “I do.”

They went back to their meals before they got cold, and after a few minutes Gracie said, “well, let’s see it, then.”

“See what?”

“Under the patch.” Xander gave her an incredulous and slightly terrified look. Gracie rolled her eyes.

“You’ve seen me in my altogether,” she said. “The least you can do is show me this shocking disfigurement.”

Thoroughly embarrassed now, Xander slipped the patch from his face.

He knew the scar was livid and unpleasant, but Gracie examined it calmly. After a few moments she shrugged. “It’s not that bad,” she said, and returned to her breakfast.

- - - - -


[ Edit | View ]

[> Re: New Fanfic- Blanket of Stars (part 3) -- Kuzibah, 08:49:43 04/09/04 Fri (12.175.117.195)

Xander got started on the caravans right after his meal, framing the windows on the most needy of the wagons. By mid-afternoon several of the circus’s children had gathered round to watch and keep up a steady stream of questions. By the twentieth request to “help” by running one of the power tools, Xander began handing out sheets of fine-grit sandpaper to his “volunteers,” with instructions on smoothing the outward-facing sides and edges. He lost quite a few after five or ten minutes of unidirectional sanding, but to his delight three of them stayed on until he quit for the day.

The three, two boys and a girl, were promoted to “assistants,” and dismissed for dinner with an invitation to return the next morning, when they might move up to staining.

Xander met up with Oz and Bema in the mess tent, and was pleased to see Gracie there, as well. In fact, the table was seated with many of the performers from the Parliament of Wonders, Circus Internationale’s sideshow attraction where Oz transformed into a werewolf for the crowds.

Xander quickly gathered from their conversation that they had begun designing and rehearsing the season’s show. Gracie told him about her idea, to begin seated at a vanity, framed where the mirror should be, her lower body partially concealed by the vanity skirt. As the audience filed in, she would appear to be simply preparing to go out: patting on powder, brushing her hair, spraying on perfume with an old-fashioned squeeze-bulb bottle. It would only slowly become evident she was doing it all with her feet.

They discussed the way her booth was to be decorated, and what Gracie should wear. They debated whether music should be used, and the patter the barker would say in introduction. They continued to talk long after dinner ended, and when the cooks asked them to vacate the tent, they spread a blanket alongside Xander’s teardrop and talked for two more hours while the moon rose.

- - - - -

Xander installed the caravan windows first thing in the morning, then began work on one set of axel and wheels that had rotted into splinters. The caravan was currently supported on a truck trailer with I-beams, but Xander wanted to make the new wheel base strong enough that the caravan could be rolled into the grass at each encampment.

The “assistants” arrived mid-morning, and Xander showed the two younger ones, Pali and Simza, how to mask the glass on the windows with tape and brown paper before painting the frames. The older boy, Balo, though near 17, was a little slow, so Xander decided to have him help by holding the heavy oak logs steady while Xander shaved them down perfectly round and smooth. This also involved transporting the axel back and forth between the sawhorses and the worktable to see how it rolled.

After about 20 minutes, Simza, the girl, suggested she and Balo switch, since painting was so boring, and insisting she was just as strong as he. Xander managed to placate her by explaining he had pegged her for someone with an artistic eye, and the work continued in relative peace.

That night, after dinner, Gracie came and talked with him while he lathed the 64 spokes he needed for the caravan’s four wheels.

- - - - -

Things fell into a routine. The caravans, being small, were going more quickly than Xander had first estimated, allowing him to take some time on the ornamentation. He carved leaves and birds, abstract curlicues and the interlaced knots he’d learned from a Welsh craftsman in England. He learned from Luca that the symbol of the Romany Gypsies was a red spoked wheel, so he incorporated it into the decoration, much to the clan’s delight.

Gracie continued to rehearse and refine her act, adding props and music. Enid, the circus’s seamstress, created a beautiful beaded leotard, and Xander used part of his first day off to accompany Gracie on a trip to Venice’s flea markets to find a suitable vanity, and the rest of the day to strip it and paint it white.

After ten days, Xander came to the job one morning to find the show’s artist, Etienne, had hung a canvas poster from the side of Xander’s work tent proclaiming “The Amazing Xander! See Breathtaking Feats of Carpentry performed LIVE Before Your Eyes!” Below was a caricature of Xander as a blue-skinned Hindu god, each of his six arms holding a different woodworking tool. At the sight of it, Xander could only lean forward with his hands on his thighs and laugh.

- - - - -

That same week, the circus acts who’d wintered elsewhere with their families began to return to the roost. Xander could barely concentrate on his task at hand as the encampment filled up with elephants and tigers, stunt motorcyclists, clowns and performers of all kinds.

Mr. Carling, the circus’s owner, was the calm eye in a storm of activity as the season’s show took shape. Xander’s eye and attention wandered often as he saw the various acts rehearse, and Gracie and Bema had to bring him his dinner while he worked.

He saw his three assistants less often, as they were needed to take part in their families’ acts: Balo handing the knives and axes to his brother for precision throwing, Pali and Simza tending to the horses their sisters rode bareback.

Everyone got up early and worked late into the night, not just on their performances but preparing the circus “infrastructure” for its seven-month tour through Europe. The enormous striped tent was stress-tested and reinforced in every seam, damaged panels patched or replaced before being carefully repainted with red and yellow dye. Trucks and vans were tuned until they purred like the show’s big cats, and props were brought into perfect repair.

Enid led expeditions to the famous Venetian costume houses and returned with bounties of feathers, beads, sequins, and satins that out-dazzled a garden of flowers. And Etienne could be heard at all hours in his truck-trailer workshop, Motown music blaring as he painted the dozens of banners that would announce to all passers-by that the circus had come to town at last.

The circus was scheduled to move out at the end of March and play its opening dates by the first weekend of April. Carling wanted at least three previews before they left, and they’d already had inquiries from the locals, since the previews were open free to the public. The days were running short.

Xander, it seemed, was the only one comfortably ahead of schedule. He’d punched out on the caravans and was now refurbishing the cabinet for the calliope and the orchestra grandstand. He was, in fact, doing them for next to nothing, looking for an excuse to stay on. He wanted to see the previews, having seen too many bits and pieces to not bring his curiosity to a pitch. He hadn’t even scheduled a time to return to England, knowing he could catch the train home at any stop along the way.

- - - - -

In the week before the first preview, time seemed to compress. Around Xander’s workshop, it felt like the circus was moving in fast-forward as the show was molded into its final shape.

At dawn the morning of the preview, the encampment was awakened by the clanging of the bell outside Carling’s trailer. Roustabouts took off at a run to erect the enormous tent in the adjacent field, assisted by the three trained elephants and many of the performers.

Mr. Carling stood at the edge of the field with a stopwatch, dictating notes on the progress to his son, Brandon. Once the tent was up, the grandstand, bleachers, rings, lights, high wire, and trapeze were set up and tested. The sideshow, meanwhile, got their stage and tent in place. By the time the performers were starting to dress for the show in the late afternoon, a sizable audience had gathered, and the popcorn and cotton-candy sales were brisk.

Xander had dismantled most of his own work-space, and Etienne had given him room to store it in his trailer. Now he eagerly joined the crowd waiting to see the sideshow, and stood admiring the canvas banners hinting at the wonders within.

Oz’s banner showed a strange man/wolf hybrid, seemingly split down the middle of his body and dressed in horror-movie-style shredded clothes. The head had two faces, both in silhouette: a calm man’s face looking left, a snarling wolf looking right. Even knowing the werewolf as well as he did, Xander found the image disturbing, and a credit to Etienne’s skill.

Gracie’s banner was more straightforward, a simple, but flattering portrait of her posed as the Venus de Milo surrounded by smaller images from her act.

The show was the classic “ten-in-one,” ten performers in a line of platform stages separated by canvas walls. Barkers led through groups of fifteen to twenty, presenting each act with a short patter about them.

As Xander waited, he felt a touch on his elbow and turned to see Simza and Pali, his “apprentices.”

“We won’t be needed yet,” Simza said, “and we wanted to see the show.”

“Come with us,” Pali said.

“I was planning to,” Xander told them. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“We’ll have Mr. Tivoli lead us,” Pali said.

“He’s the owner of the sideshow,” Simza explained. “And he can tell us in English.”

“Oh, good idea,” Xander said, and then they were at the head of the line.

Mike Tivoli was, like most of the sideshow performers, from North America. St. Louis, specifically. He was somewhere between thirty-five and fifty, and was just the sort of big, outgoing guy you’d expect would run a circus show. He led Xander and the two children into the first berth, and launched into his pitch.

“Step up and see the Living Skeleton. Standing six-foot-two and weighing less than fifty pounds…”

- - - - -


[ Edit | View ]

[> Re: New Fanfic- Blanket of Stars (part 4) -- Kuzibah, 08:50:47 04/09/04 Fri (12.175.117.195)

Gracie was fourth in line, and she gave Xander a warm smile when he entered, then began her act. Xander had seen bits of it before, when she was rehearsing, but here, with the lights and the costume, everyday things like doing her makeup and hair seemed other-worldly.

Oz was in the final berth, and even knowing the werewolf as well as he did, Xander felt his heart climb into his throat as the transformation took place. He was relieved to step back into the evening air.

“To the big top, then?” Xander asked the children. Pali nodded excitedly, but Simza looked apprehensive, and glanced around as though looking for someone.

“You okay?” Xander said.

“I….” She hesitated. “Something’s not right.”

“What is it?” said Pali.

“I don’t know,” said Simza. “Something…”

Oz came up behind them, accompanied by Gracie. He had a baseball cap pulled low to conceal his hair, and Gracie wore an oversized denim jacket around her shoulders.

“Come on,” Oz said. “They’re starting.” And the group climbed into the section of the bleachers reserved for the circus staff.

Etienne and Enid were there, along with many of the performers’ family members and the show’s office clerks. In the bandstand the orchestra began the traditional “March of the Gladiators,” and the performers began to process around the ring.

- - - - -

After a few acts, Pali and Simza left to help their family with the horses, and Gracie moved down to lean against Xander. He slid an arm around her back, and felt her body relax against his. It was nice.

After about an hour, a group of four contortionists took the ring. They wore patterned body suits and face paint, and when the lights dimmed, their costumes were studded with tiny lights.

Oz leaned forward and said softly into Xander’s ear, “remind me to tell you a story about them.”

Suddenly the evocative music stopped, and the orchestra launched into “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”

“Did they miss a cue?” Xander asked as the performers hurried from the ring.

“No,” Oz said, getting to his feet. “That music is only played in emergencies. Come on.”

Miss Lili and her trained poodles took the ring as Xander, Oz, Gracie, and the rest of their section silently exited their seats and slipped out under the canvas.

They gathered at the ticket booth where an agitated group was milling. Brandon Carling, the circus owner’s son, ran up to Oz and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s Tivoli, Oz, he’s…”

He was interrupted by his father. “Brandon,” the ringmaster said, “take Oz, Xander, Luca, and the rest of the Gypsies. Show them what we’re up against.” He addressed the others more loudly. “We’re ending the show early. I’ll go in after Lili and announce we have technical difficulties. The audience will be disappointed, but we need to get them out and to their cars as quickly and safely as possible.”

“Come on,” Brandon said, leading the small group around to the sideshow.

They stepped inside. The fluorescent work-lights were on, harshly illuminating the first platform stage. There, carefully laid on a canvas tarp, were three bodies: Mike Tivoli, the owner of the sideshow, Helmut Meng, still in his clown pantaloons and face paint, and Balo, the oldest of Xander’s carpentry assistants.

With a sob, Gracie pressed her face to Xander’s shoulder, but Oz climbed onto the stage and tipped Mike’s head to the side. On his throat were two ragged fang marks.

“Vampires,” Oz said, his voice low and furious.

“Oh, God,” Xander said, and Luca muttered a curse in his own language.

“Xander, take Gracie to our van,” Oz said. “Tell Bema what happened. She’ll know what to do. Do you have a stake?”

Xander shook his head, and Oz muttered, “and you born in Sunnydale, too.” He reached around and pulled a stake from the back of his waistband and tossed it to Xander. “Take that and meet me back here. Luca, you and the rest of your men surround the perimeter…”

Xander put an arm around Gracie and half-led, half-pulled her towards Oz’s van. Bema met them at the door. She clutched a stake and a crucifix.

“I heard already,” she said. “I’ll keep Gracie here.” She passed the crucifix to Xander. “Take this,” she said. “I have many others.”

“Thank you,” Xander said, and he took off back to the sideshow.

The tent was deserted when he returned, and Xander brandished the cross a little as he stage-whispered, “Oz!”

Xander stifled a not-at-all-girly scream as he felt the furry body of Oz-wolf against his leg, then hissed, “do you know where they are?”

In response, the wolf sniffed the ground, padded in a circle, and started tentatively towards the horse paddock. A panicked whinny, cut off suddenly, set them both to running. They entered the cramped, dimly-lit enclosure of trucks and canvas that served as a stable. The horses moved about, clearly agitated. Xander stepped towards the light-switch and heard a shouted, “Look out!”

He saw only a blurred shape in his peripheral vision, simultaneous with the snarl from the wolf, and then there was a cloud of dust and the smell of wood smoke that came with a vampire’s demise.

Nearby, two horses reared and made a horrifying sound, and the space was suddenly filled with vampires. Xander swung his stake arm, stabbing two vamps in quick succession. The wolf leapt for the fiends’ throats, tearing two heads off with animalistic ferocity.

Then Xander whirled, scanning for his next adversary, and he saw her---

Simza, his little helper, spinning through the air, with the broken end of a broom handle in one hand and a length of chain in the other. Time seemed to slow down as she dispatched the three remaining vampires with a ruthlessness that was beautiful. Her hands and feet were a concert of deadly force as she swung the chain, looping it around each neck, pulling the creature off-balance, then plunging the stake home.

Xander felt the hair on his arms and neck rise, as though the air was shot through with electricity; he was transfixed by this incandescent brutality.

When the last vampire was dispatched, as the dust settled into the hay, Simza dropped her weapons and retrieved her brother from behind the saddle-rack.

“Are you all right, Pali?” she fussed, and Xander snapped his mouth shut.

“Oh, God,” he said. “You’re a Slayer.”

- - - - -

By the time the sun rose, most of the encampment sported Gypsy-made collars under their clothes, close-fitting bands of silver, embossed or etched with crosses. And more than a few had stakes and crosses shoved into pockets or tucked in waistbands.

Xander had woken Giles around 3 am, once he’d assured himself Simza was indeed one of the Chosen. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done the tests dozens of times already.

By 6 am arrangements had been made for Faith to meet Xander and Simza in Dover and take the Gypsy girl on to the new headquarters in London. Xander would continue on to Bath, and Giles’s home, where he would make his report. Oz would arrange to ship his tools. They would leave by train the next morning.

Further previews in Venice were cancelled, and Carling arranged to have the circus move 100 miles north and preview there. The sideshow, finding itself without a guiding hand, voted unanimously to have Oz take over Tivoli’s role. The werewolf humbly accepted.

With a heavy heart, Xander packed his bag. It wasn’t fair, he thought as he unpinned his flannel work-shirt from the clothesline stretched between Oz’s van and Enid’s trailer. This was supposed to be a break from his responsibilities, his service in the fight against evil. And here he was, once again taking a confused little girl away from her family.

“Xander.” Gracie’s voice broke into his reverie and he turned to see her standing among the drying sheets that billowed around her like sails. “Will you be coming back?” she asked.

Xander shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned her face against her shoulder to wipe them away. In three steps, Xander had his arms around her, brushing back her hair and whispering hushing sounds in her ear.

“It’s just, we were moving towards something special, you know?” she said. “And I wanted it to grow, and see where it went, and now…”

“Gracie, I…”

“Xander…” she whispered, and her eyes fluttered shut and she tilted her face to his.

Xander cupped her face with one hand, and brushed his thumb over her chin. He tilted her face back down and kissed her forehead. “I can’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

He hugged her tight and let her cry, protected by his arms and the swell of the wind through the sheets.

- - - - -

Xander watched Simza out of the corner of his eye as she stood at the ship’s rail, leaning into the channel winds. She had dressed traditionally, and looked like someone out of time in her long skirts, full blouse, and red kerchief. A few sooty curls had slipped out and been tangled by the sea breeze, and she kept trying to unknot them with one hand, the gesture her only concession to the nervousness she refused to show.

Each time Xander had looked at her during their journey, she had composed herself the same way: back straight, feet together, black eyes revealing nothing. It served to remind Xander that her people had spent centuries concealing themselves from those who would oppress them, and uncomfortably placed himself in the category of just another gadjó kidnapper.

She had barely spoken, only one-word answers to direct questions, and it so saddened Xander to see his little “apprentice” this way that he just stopped talking, too.

Off at the horizon, they saw the sun reflected off the beach at Dover. “We’ll be there soon,” Xander said, and Simza gave a curt nod.

They watched the water curl out from under the ferry for several minutes, then Simza gave a small sigh. Xander glanced over and caught her eye, and for a moment she looked like the vulnerable little girl she was.

Xander had seen that look many times in the previous ten months, and no matter how much he hoped it would get easier, it just got harder. And he was a carpenter, dammit, not a Watcher. He shouldn’t have to drag little girls halfway around the world.

“Will it hurt?” Simza asked suddenly.

“What..?” Xander couldn’t understand her meaning.

“Becoming a Slayer,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

“You’re already a Slayer,” Xander told her. “You have been since you were born. It’s just that until I saw you kill vampires, nobody knew.”

Simza looked a little puzzled at that. “Oh,” she said.

Xander reached across and took her hand. “But sometimes,” he said, “it does hurt to be a Slayer.”

- - - - -


[ Edit | View ]

[> Re: New Fanfic- Blanket of Stars (Conclusion) -- Kuzibah, 08:52:02 04/09/04 Fri (12.175.117.195)

Faith was waiting for them at the end of the gangplank. Alongside her were two other Slayers Xander had helped recruit: Swati, from India, and Katarina, from Bellarusse. They smiled and waved when they saw Xander coming, and he felt a little better.

Faith made introductions all around, and the other girls asked Simza about her background and how her powers had manifested. When they climbed into Faith’s car, Simza caught Xander’s eye and gave a tiny, confident nod. Xander waved as they all drove off.

- - - - -

Xander returned to Giles’s home, his home now, really, and things fell back into a natural pattern. He researched, supported Buffy and Willow in their world save-age, played big brother to Dawn, and did a hundred odd repairs around the house.

His tools followed three days behind him, and Xander felt a rush of gratitude when he found Oz had carefully rolled and packed Etienne’s poster of him in the case’s top drawer. By the end of the day he’d built a frame and hung it in the bedroom.

- - - - -

After a week, a letter arrived, addressed in careful block printing and bearing an Italian postmark. Xander stood beside the mailbox staring at it for several long moments before stuffing the rest of the letters back in for Giles to deal with and retreating to the garden shed to read it in peace.

When he opened it there was the subtlest scent of the rosewater Gracie kept in her atomizer, and Xander felt his heart speed up. He unfolded the crinkly pages and began to read.

He could imagine her writing it, propped at the vanity, the pen between her toes.

She told him of the frantic move from Venice and the last-minute previews. She told him the show was going well, mentioning comments overheard, and how Oz was getting along as both manager and attraction.

Then she told him how much he was missed, how at the end of each day she felt his absence like a shortage of stars in the sky.

She asked him to write, including a schedule of performances, with the address in each town. He noticed the ones in England were underlined and starred.

He sat on the bench in the shed, in the quiet, dusty sunlight, and read it through three times. He felt a pang for Anya, but it was a shade, the ghost of guilt, and he knew it was time to try happiness again.

He folded the letter into his pocket and returned to the house, and went into Giles’s study. He pulled out a sheet of vellum and a good fountain pen.

“Dear Gracie,” he began.


[ Edit | View ]

[> I enjoyed this a lot once again. -- wwolfe, 14:26:54 04/13/04 Tue (161.149.63.106)

I think it's especially nice to read about Xander, given how little attention he got over the last few seasons.

Also, this served to wash away the aftertaste of "Pinata Island." For which I'm very grateful.


[ Edit | View ]

[> Awesome, as always. -- firecHild, 18:59:21 04/14/04 Wed (203.48.107.240)

I'm one of those people that doesn't try and second guess a story, to see where it's going to end up. I live in the present, go along for the ride, and at the end of it look back to see if I enjoyed the journey.

With your stories, I always do.

There are always clues to pick up on, that were leading me in the right direction (Simza insisting she is as strong as the 17 year old boy, and sensing that something was wrong just before the attack), but you surprise me none-the-less when she is revealed as a Slayer.

The scene's are again set up beautifully, with all of the senses used to not only put me in the scene, but inside Xander, as he picks up the wood, or holds Gracie, or smells the rosewater on her letter. I could also palpably feel his discomfort/embarrasement about his missing eye, and his sheepishness after meeting Gracie in the shower stalls.

A few of my favourite phrases:

"Morning, true to the cliché, came early." (LOL)
"felt his absence like a shortage of stars in the sky" (poignant and the source of the title of this story?)
"but it was a shade, the ghost of guilt" (lovely)
“But sometimes,” he said, “it does hurt to be a Slayer.” (So telling. So Xander.)

Thanks again. Your fic's are truly appreciated.


[ Edit | View ]

[> [> Thank you -- Kuzibah, 08:32:15 04/15/04 Thu (12.175.117.195)

I'm glad you enjoyed it. And Simza surprised me, too. I had planned for Xander to just leave the circus when it left Venice, but as the story went on I thought, why would he? Luckily (for the plot), the vampires attacked.

The title actually comes from a song by Counting Crows called "Mrs. Potter's Lullaby" which uses circus and film imagery to talk about memories (it's a great song, BTW.) It always seems to be playing in the back of my mind whenever I write one of the circus stories.

And Xander was kind of channeling his inner Giles when he was crossing the channel with Simza. I imagine he does that a lot these days.


[ Edit | View ]

[> [> [> Re: Xander -- wwolfe, 13:22:03 04/15/04 Thu (161.149.63.100)

And his "Inner Giles."

Isn't it funny how Xander, of all people (particularly given Giles' less than high opinion of him in the earlier years) has very much become the young Giles? I like that, and it feels right.


[ Edit | View ]


Forum timezone: GMT-5
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.