I figure it'd be AU, about S4-5 Willow,.. No BTVS universe and it'd focus soley on some academic stuff, and more so on a relationship. Kinda set 2000'ish, maybe late 90's?..
I am in love with first meetings and new touches and stuff, so, that'd be the idea...
I just started this..(But it isn't even close to having a full idea or direction) last night and just thought i'd send it out there.
Feedback would be good, let me know if it's really boring...worht building on.. or anything and i'll settle back into my usual onlookers chair of DCP board and read the awesome stories (So many I await updates
Thanks for your time, and any ideas for direction or your own vision would be cool....
(So, this is how it may start)
Just as the forecast predicted, grey clouds rolled in early Monday morning; bloated with the want for release, to expel the dull and dreary promise of another day at school. Rain poured absentmindedly on the pavement, unsure of settling down into a puddle or tapping onto the window pane, to catch a glimpse of the lone figure perched over several books, scattered about the oak table now buried under the aftermath of the infinite Rosenberg -study-hurricane.
However, all sounds of precipitation fell on deaf ears to those inhabiting the large room, where noise was but an outcast. Large vertical shelves were the home to paper insulation, tightly woven books of various colors and origin, remaining tall, seeming to leer over the petite- almost frail looking redhead, whom just finished her 3 books--simultaneously, by coincidence and much multitasking.
Closing each cover one at a time, making sure no pages were creased, no corners were to protrude - she carefully aligned the books on top of one another then pushed them aside, where a small vacant space welcomed in the worn out paperbacks, giving head to the unread ones to make themselves known. The redhead took one of the larger texts and pulled it towards her, then taking a moment to gaze upward at the clock across the room; a miniature 16th century version of a grandfather clock, lacking a base, suspended above a circular desk, looming underneath the only other person in the musky room – the librarian.
The librarian portrayed nothing of the older ones depicted in movies or in books. In fact, she was not older – or old at all, but young in her late 30’s, slim with dark brown hair transcending almost to Black in appearance. The volume and slight curl of her hair gave height to her sculpted facial features, vivid cheekbones and perfectly plucked eyebrows. Her frame garnished a Blue sweater vest that concealed all but the neatly ironed undershirt collar. Below that her attire threw out the window the assumption of heavy cloth dresses of colorless patterns; skin nowhere to be seen. Instead she wore a semi-modest gray skirt, lingering over her thighs, clearly not at all the redundant visage of lengthy skirts, shackled to the high sock ankles of most librarians.
Looking up from her state of concentration, the librarian met eyes with the student across from her and smiled through her dark tresses.
The librarian while gazing, took note of the redhead’s appearance, which had slowly been altering over the course of time. Her once long dark red hair was inches shorter, and noticeably redder; vibrant with the shine of health. Her skin had flourished from rosy cheeked adolescence to the milky light complexion of a young woman, few freckles now remained, scattered lightly on her nose, under her ear, and the nape of her neck.
Her clothes; however, remained current, as all students were required to adhere to the same dress code, ...even though the seniors took this lightly, hemming their skirts, shirts, and buttons not quite following the “1 button undone, no more than 3” rule.
Her hands were less tentative and had more of a confident elegance as she readied herself to venture into the depths of knowledge.
Finishing her assessment of the student, she caught the redhead’s line of vision before it dropped from the clock.
“
Willow, “she began, “you can study all you want, but come...” The librarian mimicked the focus of the students attention and mentally took note of the time, “-10:30, you do have to join in the festivities of P.E”
Lifting her head to continue comfortably in conversation, Willow responded.
“See, now that’s where I think I found a loophole, Miss Calendar,” began Willow, her eyebrows arching in the direction of the commotion churning about in her mind. “Now, I know Ms. Chase expects me to join in the mandatory recreation of physical movement, but I figure, hey, dodge ball why so mandatory with the forced assault on one another? Why not aid the teams with sketches, strategies and ‘plays’. This way I am contributing to the team, and not being a human contributor to their right arm throw. It’s a solid idea; really, I mean...it worked for Football season, didn’t it?”
Miss Calendar quirked an eyebrow, stifling a laugh at the expressive green orbs only feet from her desk, brimming with innocence and what appeared to be a sliver of deviousness reflecting from her so called solid-plan. .
“I suppose it’s worth a shot, “the brunette began. “ But Willow... sketches and diagram scrimmages can only get you so far, what about when they tackle something more heavily like weight lifting, or wrestling for that matter. This may be a boarding school for females, but it is not subjected to sexual orientation, girls are expected to gain the same credentials as public schools or all-boy schools. I believe also,” she paused.” Wrestling is to come in the later of November is it not?” She questioned aloud.
Willow, who all but forgot about the fountain of knowledge awaiting her attention, closed the book absentmindedly as the word “Wrestling” bound into her consciousness. She scrunched her forehead and began her own internal debate of future P.E. class.
How was she to avoid wrestling without the aid of her brain? Fake an injury? No, this didn’t fit into her diagram diversion at all. They already had charts posted in the basement gym; she couldn’t possible re-draw or re-phrase them could she? Of course not, that would be like plagiarizing! Willow being the straight A student that she was couldn’t even fathom repeating two words or tracing any form of any kind if it meant cheating. Willow, with no other options for her physical-opt out just settled on sighing heavily with defeat.
“There there, Willow” Miss Calendar soothed as she strode over to the redhead, who’s lips became taut with worry; married in indecisiveness. “I didn’t want to burst your analytical bubble, but I had to forewarn you, but let’s not get into that now,” she took a swat at the air, as if to push away anymore thought on the matter. “You still have 20 minutes until gym, let’s just focus on that hour where you can sketch your way into an A”
With that Willow weakly, but still grateful to the retreating figure of her librarian, probably one of her favourite teachers in her boarding school of (?hmmm). who took a real interest in her life, whatever life that may be classified as anyway, if any.
Truth is, Willow was never popular growing up; in fact she seemed to hold the heiress of anti-popular, skimming through her younger years with no friends but acquaintances of her mother’s clients children who were just as repugnant as their birth-givers, greedily airing out their distaste for those lower than themselves. The ‘less educated’ and or ‘underprivileged’, as her mother liked to call them. Far be it for Willow to become one of the deprived children of public schools, dances and sleep-over’s... no, Willow had to be straight A Harvard, Duke or Proud-Display-For-Mom material, Willow had to be a good example, Willow had to be perfect,... just like her mom, distant and friendless.
That plan seemed to be panning out just fine. Why? Because she was seventeen years old, (Okay, 16 years, 329 days, and 12 hours) but 17 nonetheless, and still, friendless.
With that regurgitation of Willow-centred problems, vast social life, and mingling P.E drama, she neglected to take notice of her senses; one of them anyhow, i.e. her sight, because before she knew what hit her, something did.
CRASH!
All her worries and self-loathing toppled with the half-read books once nestled comfortably in the crook of her arm. Two pairs of hands and legs flailed, books clattered against one another, papers flew, and a pencil skipped down the polished floors of the hallway, trying to escape the full-on collision.
Lying in a heap on the ground were intertwined limbs of two figures, one being the disoriented and bruised body of Willow, the other cushioned from the body beneath her, a blonde, gaining her single vision back and ready to be on the offence of apologies. Before the‘s’ of sorry escaped her lips, another whirlwind caught her off guard, as Willow began a storm of apologies of her own.
“Oh! I am so sorry I-“Willow attempted to sit up, still not registering that her body just hit the ground with full force, plus the force of another somebody still on top of her. “-Ow,” she winced, pain deciding to extract itself into her every being. Regardless of the body’s initial interruption; though, she continued
“- I, I was so wrapped up world, “she extracted one of her arms to gesture to the top of her head” -that I wasn’t looking up, not that I stare up at the ceiling every time I walk, more waking in the center,. ..Not to say I hog the middle off the hall, like I own it saying “Hey! Only I can walk here.” not to say I keep to just one side either, butt-“
The foreign body hovering over, still winded, emitted a hoarse chuckle of intrigue, decisively cutting off the redheads rant.
Tearing her eyes from the two animated birds circling her own head, she came to see blonde hair gaining clarity as the blur of what happened had passed. Blonde hair that curtained skin of radiance, skin that whispered soft, silky...divine, and on it the home to pink full lips; owner to the amused chuckle.
Above those lips, in perfect symmetry laid a nose, with a slight curve... and to which Willow found, oddly interesting... But that wasn’t all, blue eyes, not one but two- were gazing at her, a blue she hadn’t known existed, and she knew every color in the book. Literally, she had written a 1,000 word essay on colors in grade 4 being very specific to each colors origin, the results of mixing, the conundrum of white vs. Yellow, and the red/orange equation.
Not quite sure why she had taken such an extent on capturing the features above her, she pushed all inquiry down and away, instead taking the hand just offered by the woman and stood up, and only then she realize that the blonde was speaking to her,...right now . Words became audible as Willow’s sense of hearing kicked in.
**********8
Umm, this is all I have,..so far, as I said, im comfortable just viewing others fics..ive been a fan since like, 2002 or something, lol.
BTW, I dont really know how to use the html stuff and codes...so if it looks funky that's why.
