Author – Mrs. Vertigo
Email – avitalkeshet@hotmail.com
Website – none, sorry
Rating – PG
Type – err… vignette?
Violence – nope. None. See the PG rating? That stands for “no pointless and unnecessarily brutal death scenes”.
Pairing – W/T
Spoilers – none
Disclaimers - Joss Whedon, ME, blah blah blah, own Willow and Tara, and I should have my bottom smacked for borrowing them. I’d like to take credit for the single other character that appears here but hey, she’s about as ancient as human civilization.
Distribution - sure, just keep my disclaimer intact
Summery – an outside look.
Notes – this wasn’t Beta-d, so feel free to point out the typos and errors if you’re so inclined
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The beach is nearly empty; a rare occasion in the Californian summer. Only two figures disturb the endlessness that is its stretch of sun-bleached sand. They’re both young women, lying head to head on colorful towels, knees folded upright against the merciless afternoon sun. One is a redhead, wearing a dark green bikini to match. Her white, freckled is skin exposed carelessly, hard to distinguish from the sand if not for the vivid towel. She turns slowly to bury her lips in the curve of the other woman’s neck. She’s a blonde, not as extremely skinny and wearing a blue bathing suit in a design that probably dates as early as the 1920’s. After a relative eternity the redhead withdraws, turns her gaze to the ocean and brushes her hand on her lips in annoyance. “Sand,” she explains and sighs in dismay.
The blonde twists her head to return the gesture and replies thoughtfully. “Salt,” she says. “And… sunscreen. Lots of. In my mouth. Eww.”
“Burn, easily.” The redhead drawls slowly. “Burning bad. Pain and pinkness, then freckles ensue. Skin… cancer… the badness that is overexposure.”
“True…” the blond answers.
They sink back into silence, dehydrating contentedly in the heat, lulled by the rhythmic crushing of the weaves. After a while their coordinated breathing is regulated, deep.
They sleep peacefully, however lightly, until the breeze turns cool. As the heat breaks the redhead’s eyes are sliding rapidly back and forth under the skin of her eyelids, indicating that she has sank yet one level deeper into the realm of sleep. A dream-induced whimper passes her lips.
The blonde jolts lightly at the sound and her eyes blink open. She struggles to regain orientation and sits up, looking about to find the source of the sound that had woken her. The redhead mumbles dream fragments incoherently, quietly, and the blonde calms. She stretches silently and repositions herself to cradle the head of her sleeping partner, who stirs ever so lightly.
The redhead wakes slowly, yawning, refusing to open her eyes until the last trace of sleep has escaped. Then suddenly she straightens up, nearly bumping heads with the blonde.
“Sun! Screen! HIV, uh, no, I mean, UV rays! Sleep, I forgot, a-and gonna go full lobster on you in about five seconds if I don’t apply my sun blockage!”
“Sun is setting,” the blonde watches in amusement as the other woman rummages through her tote bag. “I don’t think it’ll make much difference now. But you don’t look much like a lobster to me.”
The redhead drops the tote bag back onto the sand. “Freckles,” she sums up sadly. She sighs in defeat and hugs her thin arms. “C-c-c-cold,” she prompts, chattering her teeth on every ‘c’ and holds her arms out to be dressed. In what can only be called obedience the blonde finds a sweater and pulls it over the stretched arms and head, adjusting it until it sits well. Once covered, the redhead turns smoothly around and sinks into the blonde’s embrace, who’s face light up with a slow, awe filled smile. “We brought all these stuff…” she says distractedly.
“Inventory me,” the redhead asks.
“Uh, a volleyball, a chessboard, a blanket, grapes, jelly beans, sandwiches, sodas, sunglasses, two books, sunscreen and a newspaper.”
“Since when do we read the newspaper?” the redhead grins, than pauses. “I guess we did over pack… as is in, got stocked up for an eternity of torture and cancerous UV rays in Boredom Vill. Or a third world war… you know, as side watchers? Sunglasses are for the fiery mushroom clouds. Not that they’d help, ya know, but I bet they’d look cool. All Terminator II, ” she lowers her voice for an impression. “It’s the end of the future and I’m a machine, asta lavista baby… no, wait, that one’s not cool.”
“Next time, it’s just us and the towels,” the blonde nods in agreement, her grin almost too wide for her jaw.
“And the sunscreen,” the redhead hurries to add.
“I love you,” the blonde suddenly breaths out, leaning into the embrace with all her weight.
The redhead moves like a cat against her, firmly pressing a pale, wind-chilled cheek to hers. “Take me home,” she purrs. In reply the blonde clings to her, eyes close, nodding her agreement.
When the intensity of the moment had passed they stand up, slapping the sand out of their towels. The sky is by now a non-too-clear shade of purple, and slowly they shoulder their belongings and head away from the ocean. For a moment the blonde lingers, eyes set on the sand, then turned back to the sea. Her grip on the strap of her backpack tightens so her knuckles turn white. Her brow furrows in an effort to see.
As she catches up with the redhead she quickly entwine their hands. “Are you hungry, baby?” She asks. “Cause I’m starving. How about Kuskus? I could make us some Kuskus-…”
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The next day rises on a typical morning on the Californian beach. The joggers and surfers are already breaking into a sweat. Others are there to meditate; another kind simply woke up on the sand and hasn’t yet found a ride home.
Humans aplenty. I’ve seen it all before.
I’ve seen the Californian summer countless times.
I’ve seen it eons before it was ever called ‘Californian’.
Most of it was redundant. There are only so many ways sand can be blown in the wind, so many different sounds to the crushing of waves. If you’ve seen a ship dock once then you’ve seen it a hundred times. All dogs shake the water out of their fur the same way; all those who drown have the same horrified expression when they sink.
Common belief is that deities are interested in the living things on this planet. That we like to watch, meddle and communicate. That we care. I cannot stress just how mistaken a belief that is.
Usually.
I find it hard to explain why yesterday was different, why those two were different. But they were, and if I had a heart I’d say it melted at the sight of them. And that was about the first and last time in human history I’ve chosen to interfere. But I’m not worried; I don’t think anybody noticed. Even the two of them.
They probably just thought it was a lovely day on the beach. Truth is it wasn’t.
It was perfect.
On Buffy, Season 7: ”Bored now…”
Edited by: Mrs Vertigo at: 10/26/02 7:50:01 am
-Viv-