Hey Kittens I won't argue with that. Apart from Tabula Rasa I couldn't say I have ever knowingly heard a Michelle Branch song.
"Everywhere" though... It ain't a perfect fit but for some aspects of this story - largely the dream ones and heading towards resolution - it is perhaps even better than the "theme."
----------
"...I recognize the way you make me feel
It's hard to think that you might not be real
I sense it now, the water's getting deep
I try to wash the pain away from me"- Michelle Branch/John Shanks
----------
Deep water? Getting deeper all the time.... and talking of getting deeper.
I have found other songs that also mirror this story. Pretty much anything that is angsty and about love has a shot at being able to fit in there. What can I say? I am a cliche... either that or this is an angsty love story. Hidden beneath the ick. I know which I think*S*
Anyway to Part 16... as I keep saying... read the end note before commenting. I hope it will be unneccessary to say any of that - but I wouldn;t want anyone to get the wrong idea or to bring a debate here that was not suitable.
You'll see what I mean.
Here you go Part 17 follows on directly from this... look out for it
Katharyn
-----------
Title:
The Sidestep Chronicle – Poodle Cut (Part 16)
Author: Kerry Forrister and Katharyn Rosser
Feedback: Constructive criticism always welcome. Please read the endnote first though.
katharynrosser@hotmail.comSpoiler Warning: Pretty limited. The story occurs in an alternate universe though reference is made to events that occur in both realities.
Summary: Willow has some vengeance to exact. Not nice.
Disclaimer: I still don’t own any of the copyrights or anything else associated with BTVS. All rights lie with the production company, writers etc, etc. I am making zilch from this series of stories.
Rating: 15 – Minimum.
Couples: The utter destruction of what
was somewhere else.
Notes: There is an end note to this fic. Please read that before commenting. A slight nod to Zahir in here too for you all to spot. I’ll try to work a few more tributes to others in as I go but with all the foreshadowing it is tricky. What you hadn’t noticed the foreshadowing? Geeze have faith – a little anyway*S*
Thanks To: Kerry who took the lead on this part. I offered her the piece, she jumped at it and she came up with something that is stunning. Pretty much this is her fic… I have redrafted it to fit my needs and integrate some of my own stuff but the plot and dialogue is largely hers. This accounts for an inevitable change in style to some extent – but you might think of that as refreshing. I do. That said this is ultimately my story – witness the fact that the more… brutal… original version was toned down by Kerry. It was good – but it was too much – even for me. What is good is hers, what is bad is mine. Jo who has been diligently beta reading this thing and making it flow as well as it has – again what is good is hers and what is bad is mine. Louise - Your my always babe, good and bad don’t matter – though I know which I prefer.
The Sidestep Chronicle
Poodle Cut
By
Katharyn Rosser
Willow made her way through the streets. It had not been a good night so far on the hunt. She hadn’t been able to find that young woman who had been out hunting vampires. That one still buzzed inside of her head. Nor had she found much to eat. Snacks but nothing too fulfilling.
But she was back with the Master and asserting her control over his lesser brethren. All things were not created equal. Alhough there was still the ‘talk’ that they were due to have about her return… They had not had that one out yet. She had no real explanation for it and she would tell him that. But that was for another time. Right now she had other things on her mind. Like being staked. By a White Hat. Not even that scarred Slayer. A White Hat. She remembered it all too well – she should do, she’d experienced it twice… along with some strange weirdness in a fuzzy place. But it was being killed that made her cranky and perhaps that was what was making the Master cautious… he had always said keep your allies close and rip your enemies heads off. He hadn’t done that had he? Instead he had sent her out to play. The Master knew how she loved to play.
It had taken a few nights to track this one down – she’d been out of the loop too long and the creatures that she could have once tortured for information had faded away. Probably tortured to death by something else that hadn’t taken as much care to keep them alive as she had. So she had been to that bar and asked nicely. With just the barest hint of a threat.
Still, if she had found something more fun to do then she would have done that instead and saved this one for later. But everything was proving so boring tonight. Her intended had moved on since he had killed her in the Master’s factory. Out of his home and into a van. But a van wasn't a home – no matter what you did to it. No more than some vagrant’s cardboard box would force her to knock and be invited in. She smiled to herself. So whilst he might be mobile – he certainly wasn’t safe. He should know better than that. Bad dog. She could do what she wished with him… to him… without being blocked by any superstitious restrictions – even those he thought were still in place.
The van was parked down the bottom of the long sweeping road that was Crawford Street. Supposedly that spot, just through some big wrought iron gates was hallowed ground. She’d see if that had any effect, but she guessed it wouldn’t. That would just burn… if she touched it. She had no intention of touching anything but him.
She didn’t leave him time to fall asleep though. She wanted him awake for this. It was no fun if they were asleep when she got there. All confused and with fuzzy minds. Sharp, waking, clarity was much better for hurting humans. Terror usually provided that clarity for them. As she approached the van there was briefly something in the air. Music. He was playing… a guitar. Mmmmn, maybe she would garrotte him with his own guitar strings or break it over his head and crush his skull. Either way would be quick and efficient, not her normal choice, but for some reason, on this occasion, she found herself strangely disinterested in playing. Or even in feeding.
She didn’t like to play with the boys… she was quite willing to hurt them though.
This was just pure revenge. So it was a good job she had stopped off for that snack, otherwise she might have got peckish and been forced to indulge. She didn’t want him anywhere near her mouth.
She couldn’t remember having just one motivation to kill for such a long time. But someone had to do something didn’t they? The Master hadn’t bothered to honour her ashes. Sure he had killed the slayer but had he tried to hunt down the killer of his favourite? Obviously not. This one wouldn’t have lasted a month – let alone a year – if the Master had done for her what he expected of his brethren.
The Master said they were family… but this White Hat lived on. Even if it was in his stinky van. And it was stinky… a weird smell. She could have sniffed him out. The Master hadn’t even taken the time to kill the White Hats... or the librarian either.
Perhaps he didn’t deserve to have her back, she thought to herself. Then she slapped herself mentally. She must
never think that in his presence… he
would know. Still… she should have left Luke to be the Master’s favourite. Gone somewhere else… but there was something holding her in Sunnydale. The dreams. The hunter. Unfinished business like this. And she wanted back what had once been hers.
To his credit the white hat was watching as she approached, sitting with his legs hanging out the back of the van. Perhaps she would crush those legs in the doors. Just for amusement. She sighed… she couldn’t even remain purely focused on petty vengeance. Still a little torture never hurt anyone. If she showed a little discipline. She had a reputation to maintain – or even to get back – since he had staked her. Even though that had been as much an accident as anything else. He couldn’t have known that the splinter of wood would enter her heart. Chances were apart from that he was just going to piss her off back in the factory.
Guess what White Hat?
Hello… it had worked.
He kept playing as she walked down the middle of the road, ignoring a passing car that highlighted her in its headlights. But she was still too far away to be anything but a figure to him and even if he could tell what she was he wouldn’t know who she was. And when he perhaps began to suspect… why would he believe it? She was long since dead as far as he knew. After all he’s been there. And if even he believed… it would be too late. Best not to take any chances though. It would be more than embarrassing to be staked by him again…
The music continued as she left the road and headed into the trees, moving like a ghost through the woods. The sound of the night creatures did not cease or alter. Even they could not tell she was there. Moving through their domain on her hunt. She slipped past the van and the music continued. Soft strumming. Just the one chord.
Back to the road now, coming up from the front of the van. Still the strumming. She looked through the open window and saw a crossbow, stake and cross. No use to him there. The White Hat was a fool. And they were even less use when she removed them and placed them behind a tree. And the keys… She should remember to thank him for making this so easy.
It may have been the tinkle of those keys that finally stopped the music. Too late though. Far too late. There was a sound… like a sniff. Like a doggy sniffing the wind. But she was downwind of the White Hat. She could smell him… his sudden fear. There was fear. He feared something.
The whiff became a stench she scraped her inhumanly sharp nails down the panelling of the van. The suspension of the van pushed the back end upwards as he exited and turned around the door to see her there.
--------------------
Oz had parked his van on the grounds of the old Crawford Street church. While the church itself was in severe disrepair, hidden behind the thickening trees the congregation had planted a century ago, the ground was still hallowed and a priest came regularly to reconsecrate the site. It was some Catholic thing he didn’t quite understand but nevertheless appreciated because it meant that this ground was relatively safe. He and Veruca’d had
another fight… it was what had kept the relationship alive – and she had chucked him out of their shared room. He didn’t have the money right now for a hotel room and it was far too late at night to impose on Giles and Jenny. So he’d decided to spend the night in his van as he had done so many times before. Strumming his chords and wondering about the day that had passed and the strange girl who had known about him killing vampires. What had Larry been telling her – he was pretty sure Giles had defined the term secret.
He had just arrived back in Sunnydale from his trip to Tibet and he noticed the change in atmosphere almost immediately. Giles and Miss Calendar were engaged. Which was not really unexpected – although they had always said they would wait - but somehow despite his graduation they were still teachers and it just seemed strange and disturbing in an elderly sort of way. The vampires were still around but their numbers seemed pretty much diminished. And they seemed dumber somehow too. Since that big battle with the Master and his minions where he himself had staked the second most dangerous vamp in town - Willow, he had taken the time to seek out some solution for his personal problem.
And now, after consulting Tibetan monks, he wasn’t cured, but he had learned techniques for fighting the change. The meditations, together with the herbs he now took regularly, ensured that he had been wolf-free for the last three full moons. It drove Veruca wild… literally sometimes and that always left him without a place to stay. His girl had long since embraced her nature – she’d been born to it after all. Not a later – bitten - convert like him.
His girl? Was she? Had she ever been?
They were drawn to each other sure… but she was the wolf, masquerading in human clothing… and quite often out of them.
He was the man… sometimes lapsing into being the wolf. But not any more.
Never the twain and all that jazz?
He thought about laying the guitar aside. Playing didn’t actually take any of his brain at all. In fact some of his best thinking was done on stage. Music wasn’t soothing the savage beast much this night and he needed a little more than the bracelets and the herbs were offering him. Should he settle himself down and draw his thoughts together? Maybe… For now he continued with the strumming and concentrated on regular breathing. Actually the music – sort of helping. He began the series of visualizations and soft chanting that took him into the trance. Deeper and deeper he sank into a state where he was at one with his inner humanity. It was in this place his subconscious took control of his body and the changes that came upon him every full moon were checked.
It was the painful sound of something scratching on metal that roused him from his meditation. Screeech, screeech. The sound was less than rhythmic, with all the irritating tones of fingernails being dragged down a blackboard. Veruca? No… His mind was filled with grim possibilities until he remembered that he was parked on hallowed ground – that ought to eliminate some of those possibilities. That reminded him of the tree he’d parked under and a grin passed his lips. The noise continued. He opened the door and stepped out into the night.
-------------
There he was. She remembered him very well indeed. You did remember when someone staked you. As a rule. It brought you much closer together. So she smiled at him and even waved. And caught the vaguest whiff… of what? In amongst his fear, his scent… that of his woman… what else?
“Hmm.”
That was all he had to say?
“I killed you didn’t I?” he finally asked after a few long seconds. He was probably wondering what that might mean…
“Yes.” She pouted at him, upset at being reminded of what he had done.
“And now you’re back?” he mused.
“Yes.” His question was pointless wasn’t it? She was back, wasn't she? She was here?
“Huh.” It was a weird acceptance of the fact. He seemed strangely silent. It was like confidence. But not. He must have known that she had the upper hand with his weapons out of reach.
“Guess what?” she asked him sweetly.
“What?”
“It’s no fun if you don’t guess,” she suggested to him but got the impression that he wasn't in the mood for fun. Which was just fine. Still he did have a guess.
“You’re going to kill me?” he suggested, pretty sure that was going to be the answer.
She smiled and moved towards him. He looked around as if seeking some protection but the silly boy had just assumed that holy ground was going to protect him. He should have guessed again – but instead she told him. “Not just yet. The Master told me I had to play,” even though she didn’t much want to. And then her fist smashed into his chin.
------------------
He woke slowly, his eyes blurry at the start. As his mind struggled to focus on what had happened he realized that he was in his van. It took a moment more for him to realize that he was chained at the legs and wrists. His own chains – used in the days when a full moon was a time of horror for him. He knew that they were fastened to the steel frame of the van and were almost impossible to break, but he struggled almost instinctively. He became aware of someone behind him rummaging through his stuff. As he tried to turn his head to see his captor, he heard a voice that he somehow knew. That impossible voice, one that no longer existed except in the form of dust. At least that should have been it. Full of mocking tones. Then he remembered just who it was that had confronted him. How could she be here, now? And after this afternoon as well. Being asked those questions by the girl with the stammer about this vampire… that was pretty weird too. Had that other girl known something? Feared something? Sort of beside the point right now with imminent death charging up to him.
“Ah, so the doggie’s awake.”
He shook his head – he was still unconscious, or delirious, or hallucinating or something. This should not be. It was one thing accepting her presence when he was free to run… or fight. Quite another… like this. Was he ever going to see Veruca again?
“Awww, is the doggie surprised? You shouldn’t be. They told me that you went away whilst I was… gone. You should have stayed gone. You should have known that I would be back one day.”
He should have known? How? He was pretty sure that this was kind of unprecedented. He’d dusted her – stuck a shaft of wood in her back and watched as she crumbled into dust with a final expletive. She could not be here.
“You’re dead!” He finally choked the words out, the reality hitting home. Chained like this… with her. He wasn’t going to see dawn. He wasn’t going to see Veruca again. He wasn’t going to have a chance to get her to try his cure.
Her expression said ‘been here, done this.’ But she answered him anyway. “I’ve been dead a while.” The voice sounded silky and sensuous, but with a hint of something nasty in it. “It never slowed
me down at all. Do you think it will you?”
“But how?” Oz sputtered. “You were dusted.”
“Now that would be telling.” The voice commented, though there was the tiniest hint of uncertainty in there too. And if he was free to question her at length he might even have tried to find out because Oz knew that there was something very wrong here. She could not be here. They, vampires, didn’t just come back – except in movies. And even if she hadn’t been staked she couldn’t be here.
“This is hallowed ground. You can’t be here.” He spat at his tormentor.
He could hear the smile in her reply. “Not anymore little doggie – the priest had an unfortunate accident a couple of months ago. This is our territory now. Besides… wearing boots.” She showed him her boots and as he looked down at them she lashed out with her foot, striking him. “It’s like sunlight… can’t hurt if it doesn’t touch you.”
He strained against the chains and felt his blood begin to boil inside him. The pain of her pointless kick was bringing out the worst side of him… one that fought for self-preservation. It was the animal side and he recognised it’s coming – even when there was no moon. He tried to calm his mind, to focus, but the situation was hardly conducive to meditation. Perhaps he shouldn’t even be trying? He began to change. But he knew that the chains were strong enough to hold him… that he needed to be conscious to find a way out of here… not the beast. But his last human thought was of Veruca.
--------------
Willow reacted to the change in her own way of course…
“Ooooh! A floor show! I used to love the floor shows in the Bronze… I
was sort of one for a time before... Even though it wasn’t on the floor… I was in a cage. Not chained like this… But I’ve never seen this before.” He wasn’t listening, there were too many groans and the occasional scream for that. It had to hurt… in new and interesting ways she hadn’t really considered before. Willow crouched in the corner of the van and watched as the changes took place, mentally making notes as she considered what to do next. The Master said she had to play… and this looked like far more fun than it should have been – chaos take pure revenge... After a while there were no more changes, although the beast struggled wildly in its chains, the White Hat part of it seemed to have disappeared entirely. It was wild… an animal. She supposed it was becoming a werewolf.
She’d carefully examined the contents of the van while her victim was still unconscious, dismissing most of the mundane items she found. The tattered copy of a skin magazine held her interest briefly, until she found the scented wooden box containing the journal of his travels, boring, and several packets of herbs which she did intend to take with her. That wiccan group had used magic to bring her back and she had seen that other, stupid version of herself could use magic. So she’d found herself developing an interest in witchcraft and was collecting any information she could. It might prove a good source of power one day, and any power was to be seized and used. As long as these things weren’t for his disgusting human food. Herbs wouldn’t go well in blood… besides how would you get them inside the meal’s body to get the taste? Force feeding perhaps?
The change was completed in a remarkably short time. Chained to the van walls was what was definitely a snarling young werewolf. She briefly wondered if it could be kept as a pet, but quickly decided against it. Too much trouble by half and besides most of the time it would be whiny white hat boy.
“Mmmmm. So who’s a cute little doggie?” Willow’s voice was pure silk as she ran her fingers through the mottled and already matted fur. “Someone isn’t using a conditioning rinse.” The werewolf snapped at her and was treated to a numbing slap to the muzzle. “None of that!” Briefly it sat back, shocked and chastened then seemed to remember what it was, thinking it had some sort of innate dignity. Willow knew dignity was overrated – and delicious to strip away. The beast responded with yet another snap so she settled the matter by taking a roll of duct tape she’d found and taping the dangerous looking muzzle shut. She didn’t want to lose any of her lovely fingers. The beast just glared at her. Fido was much more interesting than the boy had ever been. The doggie had a vicious streak of the type that had always interested her since she had
become. Even more fun when it was helpless… wanting but unable to have as she ran her fingers through that fur again and all it could do was throw itself around and let out stifled growls. Attempts at roars.
A thought occurred to her and she smiled a sadistic smile as she considered the unruly mass of fur under her fingers. She reached out for his scissors and began to cut. Fur fell to the floor and eventually piled high as she worked. That was a lot of doggie. Getting the basic shape she then turned to a razor he probably hadn’t used that much to finish the job. It took a little while and the sight of blood where his struggles had caused little nicks and cuts caused her to pause while she wiped the spots with her finger, licked the finger clean, spitting hair but savouring the slightly exotic taste.
Finally it was complete. Her creation. She picked up a shaving mirror and showed the beast its reflection. Dignified much doggie? She was delighted with it. The doggie just responded by going wild, snarling and lunging, but the chains held it tight. She admired her handiwork once more – a werewolf with a poodle cut. She taunted him for a bit with the mirror until boredom set in and she decided that she’d had enough play. And pain didn’t seem to do much to it. The whimpers were more fun when you reduced a human to that. Animals always whimpered, where was the pleasure in that? But how to finish the job? Artfully? Poetically? Perhaps lots of blood? Maybe just a quick kill?
She decided that a stomach full of its blood was not really to her taste, though she had prepared a nice shaven patch on its wrist to drink from – without all the fur to get in the way. Just in case but she’d already snacked that night anyway. Then her eye fell on a small tire iron. She hefted the tool and decided that it would do for the job. So she turned to the doggie once more, wondering if would understand its fate at all. But not much caring. It was getting time to move along.
“You know I was particularly miffed when you staked me. And I know that I am back and some might say ‘no harm done.’ I don’t say that. I can’t let that pass or everyone will get the idea they can do it. Then where would we be? What would playtime with Willow mean then?”
He looked at her with the eyes of the beast – no human understanding left. She sort of regretted allowing him to change – despite the floor show - as he could no longer feel the anticipation that always gave her a thrill before the end of her play. She took the tool and thrust it deep into his chest – causing a muffled yelp. Twisting and letting the blood flow down her hand. Just an extra little taste then when she cleaned up.
Strangely enough he didn’t die straight away. Perhaps with a werewolf the heart was not where it was in the person. The thought made her curious and she thought of opening the chest to find out, but the idea of being covered in fur and blood left her colder than usual and the tools were primitive. She’d have to do it right if she did it at all. She remembered all of her self-taught comparative anatomy. The old Willow was definitely good for some things.
The eyes began to glaze over and she watched intensely as it drew its last breaths. The chest heaved once, then again, and struggled to rise once more but failed. She waited for him to change back. Like the movies. But his features remained those of a wolf. His long tongue lolled out of his mouth and the golden eyes stared into nothingness.
“That was a bit of a disappointment.” She had thought that it would be more fun than that. “Oh well – c’est la vie, c’est la mort.” The old Willow had been good at French too. Sometimes that was handy to have the last word.
She took the wooden box of herbs and the skin magazine for further examination and left the van. Magazines like that were always useful for baiting a trap for youngsters. Should she ever want a little morsel. Almost as an afterthought she opened the petrol cap and stuck in one of his towels then as the petrol raced up along the fibres she dragged his body and dumped it by the open doors of the van – she wanted to send a message not just turn him into a crispy doggie. Lighting the towel with a cigarette lighter like a wick she turned and walked away a little being rewarded by a loud explosion soon after as the petrol tank exploded. A bent and slightly scorched license plate landed on the ground in front of her. That could have been dangerous… a bit higher and it might have hit her neck. She paused to admire the warm glow in the sky that would draw the attention of those she wanted to find him and then disappeared into the darkness.
---------------------
Endnote: You always know that I am concerned when I stick an endnote on… Okay I can imagine that there are two basic reactions to that fic. Both should involve “ick” but beyond that you either like it in a sick sort of way (given the reality) or you hate the very idea of Willow killing Oz. I would have left all this to be clarified in the “cleanup” part in the next fic but I think it is important to get this out in the open right now since Oz/Willow interaction in any form nearly always raises the emotional temperature.
There are real reasons for this action in overall plot terms. It was not a ‘casual’ “karma kill” as I have done to other characters and will continue to do. Oz abandoning Willow in the Prime Buffy Reality is not a justification for this. Heck that decision gave us Tara! My reasons then:
1) As you will see next time it becomes an important determining factor in choices made by others that I won’t spoil now.
2) Also I think in the character of Vamp Willow it is kind of critical. Would she really have let Oz stick around in Sunnydale after dusting her? Twice-ish… I think not… I couldn’t very well justify her
not doing something to him in the light of her other activities.
3) You should be persuaded by now – and further by this act – that this Vamp Willow is not suddenly going to be motivated to come over all “good” just because Tara turns up. She will change… but not like that. I promise you happiness by the end but how I get you/them there… that’s the fun. I congratulate Kerry on getting through this. It is well written but it is not really a fun piece at all.
Just for the record, as this is not a debate I would want to have here, I liked Oz as a character. I liked Oz with Willow. Willow loved Oz and Oz loved Willow. That in no way suggests that Willow is anything other than gay (which she is) or has any implications for her loving Tara – aside from the fact that she does. A lot. Okay? By all means pull me up on doing this to him but not based on any presumed hatred of the Oz character or anything like that. Plus nothing directed at Kerry apart from praise. If I didn’t like and approve of anything she had written I would have changed it as I did some other stuff in the draft. It was me okay?
I hope that I am just being foolishly cautious adding this note… but the Oz/Willow feelings run deep. I know that. Just have some faith in my reasons and it will get better. If it helps… for a long, long time I think this is the last real detailed nastiness.
****************
You hear that baby?
Edited by: Katharyn at: 4/11/02 9:36:42 pm
by Katharyn » Tue Apr 09, 2002 10:27 pm 
I liked Oz. I really did.