Counting to Ten with Crows, part one
Jan. 15th, 2011 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladycallieFandom: Buffy
Characters/pairings: Willow/Tara implied, Willow, Buffy, Xander
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Triggers: none
Setting: Post Wrecked
Written for WhichWitch Willow ficathon at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
whichwillow
Summary: The energy throbbed inside her, humming through bone and sinew, lightening bursts and her vision sparkled as magick crested across her brain, tripping neurons. How do you deal with addiction alone?
Characters/pairings: Willow/Tara implied, Willow, Buffy, Xander
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Triggers: none
Setting: Post Wrecked
Written for WhichWitch Willow ficathon at
whichwillowSummary: The energy throbbed inside her, humming through bone and sinew, lightening bursts and her vision sparkled as magick crested across her brain, tripping neurons. How do you deal with addiction alone?
I suppose he is the hardest lot that wears feathers. Yes, and the cheerfulest, and the best satisfied with himself. He never arrived at what he is by any careless process, or any sudden one; he is a work of art, and "art is long"; he is the product of immemorial ages, and deep calculation; one can't make a bird like that in a day.
He has been reincarnated more times than Shiva; and he has kept a sample of each incarnation, and fused it into his constitution. In the course of his evolutionary promotions, his sublime march toward ultimate perfection, he has been a gambler, a low comedian, a dissolute priest, a fussy woman, a blackguard, a scoffer, a liar, a thief, a spy, an informer, a trading politician, a swindler, a professional hypocrite, a patriot for cash, a reformer, a lecturer, a lawyer, a conspirator, a rebel, a royalist, a democrat, a practicer and propagator of irreverence, a meddler, an intruder, a busybody, an infidel, and a wallower in sin for the mere love if it.
Following the Equator , Mark Twain
He has been reincarnated more times than Shiva; and he has kept a sample of each incarnation, and fused it into his constitution. In the course of his evolutionary promotions, his sublime march toward ultimate perfection, he has been a gambler, a low comedian, a dissolute priest, a fussy woman, a blackguard, a scoffer, a liar, a thief, a spy, an informer, a trading politician, a swindler, a professional hypocrite, a patriot for cash, a reformer, a lecturer, a lawyer, a conspirator, a rebel, a royalist, a democrat, a practicer and propagator of irreverence, a meddler, an intruder, a busybody, an infidel, and a wallower in sin for the mere love if it.
Following the Equator , Mark Twain
The Raven's house is built with reeds,-- Sing woe, and alas is me! And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds, High on the hollow tree; And the Raven himself, telling his beads in penance for his past misdeeds, Upon the top I see. - Thomas D'Arcy McGee
One for sorrow
If you could be ... you know, plain old Willow or super Willow, who would you be?
She skipped classes on Wednesday. She’d gotten up and ready even though she hadn’t done the reading in advance. But two steps down the stairs she heard Dawn piling her breakfast dishes in the sink and the guilt came rushing back, like a murder of crows, oily and black, rushing to her stomach. Quickly she turned and retreated back to her room. She didn’t know what to say to Dawn.
She waited until she heard the front door slam before tiptoeing downstairs. Buffy was gone already; Willow glanced at the schedule hung on the refrigerator. The Slayer was pulling a double. A post-it was stuck on the counter beside a puddle of spilled milk. Xander is bringing Italian @ 7. Please bring in the mail and eat some salad, in Buffy’s slanted cursive. Willow wasn’t sure who the note was a reminder for.
Someone— her— had forgotten to add coffee to this week’s shopping list, and the tea in the cupboard reminded her of Tara and Giles so she ducked her head and snagged a water bottle from the ‘fridge, settling on the couch, a blanket over her feet. Her laptop booted quickly; her media player loaded her study music and for a few hours she let herself wander though lecture slides and emails and pretended that she wasn’t cutting class even as she watched the time, the raven in her belly ruffling its feathers, uneasy.
“When you have come to the edge of all light that you know and are about to drop off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly."
– Patrick Overton
– Patrick Overton
Two for joy
Things fall apart, they fall apart so hard. You can't ever put them back the way they were.
She tried not to notice.
Wednesday she’d been remorseful and ashamed, Xander had brought dinner over and she’d slipped away before they ate, mumbling that she wasn’t hungry. Dawn was hurting, tired and embarrassed at having to wear her sling to school, unable to tell her concerned friends and teachers what had actually happened. Xander had thoughtfully come alone, but Willow didn’t want to see the confusion in his face. Xander was Xander; lovable, goofy, caring, Xander shaped, normal male type guy. He liked football and porn, although she shared that interest, and he was happy. He skirted the knife’s edge of popularity in high school, unpopular and dorky but outgoing and gregarious enough to aim high. He took the ego bruising in stride and learned to laugh at those who wouldn’t laugh with him.
She loved him so much it hurt. And selfishly she didn’t want to hurt anymore. Seeing the disappointment and worry in his soft puppy dog eyes turned her mouth sour. She sat alone in her room as he and Dawn finished dinner, soft sounds of cups and forks clinking, a handful of giggles, the low whoosh of the dishwasher seeped though the walls and up to her room. A half hour and all her cuticles chewed off later, there was a soft knock. She dropped her hands in her lap as Xander let himself in, a bowl of pasta in hand.
“Awfully clever hiding spot you’ve got here, Will. I never thought of looking in your room,” he smiled, settling himself on the bed, facing her perch at the vanity. “I saved you the wagon wheels,” He handed her the bowl.
“Thank you,” she accepted, “I wasn’t, I couldn’t…” Wincing, she poked at the pasta.
“Yeah, Buffy told me what happened. Dawn too,” he leaned forward, “They’re worried about you.”
Willow snorted, “Everyone is,” She studied the bowl in her lap for a moment, “It was bad, Xander. I let it get bad and Dawn got hurt.”
“Buffy said you’re off the juju though. She said you’re gonna go cold turkey,” His voice wasn’t a question.
“I have to. I thought I could control it. I thought things would just work themselves out, that I could find a way to push through it. But that wasn’t what happened. And now Tara’s gone and probably hates me, Giles thinks I’m reckless and he’s right, Dawn’s alternating between being terrified of me and never wanting to see me again.”
“Well, I’m not any of those things. Neither is Buffy. You can do this, you’re strong.”
“Sometimes I don’t believe that.”
“Sometimes you’re a dummy,” Xander stood, and dropped a kiss to her head. “Eat your circles and come down. I smuggled a slice of tiramisu away from the teenage and half of its yours.”
“Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.” - Macbeth act III
Three for a girl
The only thing I had going for me... were the moments, just moments, when Tara would look at me and I was wonderful.
She skipped classes on Friday too. She’d slept fitfully; too warm under the blankets, flinging them off made her cold and clammy. It felt like she was floating above sleep, dipping her feet into dreams, ripples of memory but still aware of her surroundings. Time seemed to drag, heavy wingstrokes cutting through the dull air, shoulders weary, each time she shifted to see the clock it was only minutes from the last time. Her head ached like she had a winter cold. She eventually fell into a dreamless but deep sleep after her alarm had chimed at eight, daylight streaming in feathered patterns across the bed.
Buffy peeked in, blond hair damp from her post work, pre slayage shower. “Will? You feeling any better?”
The pillows groaned, a slim hand followed by an arm emerging from the nest of blankets. “No, not really. The UCS football team is still practicing tackles with my brain.”
Buffy chuckled sympathetically, “Poor Willow brain. I’m about to head out; Dawn is doing homework with Shelly downstairs… can you just keep an ear out for them?”
“Yeah, sure,” she reached for the bottle of aspirin on the bedside table, her trembling hands making the pills cackle as they fell into her palm in a row, birds on a wire.
“He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry.” – Psalms 147:9
Four for a boy
Let me tell you something about Willow. She's a loser, and she always has been. People picked on Willow in junior high school, high school, up until college with her stupid mousy ways. And now... Willow's a junkie.
She pressed her head to the cool ceramic of the tub, stomach still rolling. Her mouth burned from the bile and black filth she’d vomited. She’d hacked and choked, unbearable ache hugging her close, sliding darkness in her gut, bleeding through her veins. It was worse than too much nog, worse than the bender she’d ridden for a week after invoking Osiris. Worse than all the headaches and nosebleeds put together. The energy throbbed inside her, humming through bone and sinew, lightening bursts and her vision sparkled as magick crested across her brain, tripping neurons. Whimpering, she drew her knees to her chest and wept.
Hours later, trembling hands twisted the tub, filling the bath with tepid water. Willow fumbled with the button on her shirt, fingers cold and uncooperative. She slid damp slacks off and grabbed the side of tub with both hands, easing her body into the water. Slowly she sponged sweat and sticky resin off herself, the bubbles gradually graying.
She fell into bed, naked and tangled in a wet towel and sheets, exhaustion quieting the clamor of magick inside her.
And still the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting on the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor, and my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted--nevermore. - Edgar Allan Poe
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-16 05:13 am (UTC)Time seemed to drag, heavy wingstrokes cutting through the dull air, shoulders weary, Incredible metaphor.
I've never gone through withdrawal, so I can't say for sure, but your description with Willow and the tub seems spot on.
Excellent story!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-16 05:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-16 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-17 01:36 am (UTC)Feedback-a-thon Goodness
Date: 2011-12-27 10:06 pm (UTC)Were this mine, I would cut the above text. The first sentence is confusing--I'm still not sure I know exactly what you mean--and from there down you're really just feeding your audience information they already have. If there was a purpose in the reminder, it might play, but really, it feels to me like you picked the story up there after a break and wrote that as warm up material. I'd suggest tying it more concretely to a pang of sentimentality if you want to keep it, but I think it just weighs the piece down.
The rest of the piece is marvelous, though I find it hollow in one way. With addiction there's a sense that if you can just have another taste of whatever your poison of choice is, you'll be fine. You always think that It wouldn't take much. Just another tiny drop and angels would sing, manna would fall from heaven and all of your misery would go 'bu-bye.' That sense never goes away. You learn to live with it in time, but frankly, even ex-smokers, when they get stressed, will Jones for a cigarette. And cigarettes are pretty low on the list of crap you can get hooked on. I'd think that the Jones of being 'super Willow' would be whole lot more compelling. It's not like she even needs to go out to score. It's right there. All she needs to do is touch it.
Talk about something that would suck.
Re: Feedback-a-thon Goodness
Date: 2011-12-30 05:46 am (UTC)Would you say it would benefit from adding more of this hollowness you mentioned? The way my mind plays it, it's empty but full, that soul deep need, that moment where you stop saying no and just say yes,t before the guilt and responsibility empty you out again. I worry adding more would slog the story down, or contrast with the none to subtle bird metaphors...? But I agree, there's more here, I just need to dig it out a bit.
Re: Feedback-a-thon Goodness
Date: 2011-12-30 06:53 am (UTC)What I would to with this is have the craving stimulate some of the thoughts she has. Like you have her think about Dawn...
Broken down it would look like this:
1. Willow craves her drug of choice. She is in pain and a shot of 'magic' would make that pain go away.
2. Willow argues with herself. It wouldn't have to be much, just a tiny 'hit' or 'fix.' I can handle it. "It'll just be the teensiest little bit. I'll be just dandy."
3. She has a few living, breathing deterrents around that cause her to think better of cheating to get a 'fix.' She thinks of Dawn, or Buffy, or... The primary reason for not cheating is usually not being able to bear the disappointment the act will inspire. Though in the case of Dawn, Willow could snap to having hurt her.
4. "Oh, God! Dawnie is supposed to be here tonight."
5. I can't deal! I feel like poop! I hurt. Blah, blah, blah...
6. Rinse and repeat because it truly is a cyclical thing.
There's the mind of a junkie. Just loop that and you'll have a perfect piece of characterization.
The thing is you really won't need to tear up too much, just slide that cyclical progression in where you feel it fits. It can lead into her thinking about Xander and Buffy and Tara and Giles and anyone else who has any meaning to her at all.
Pain to Jones to inner turmoil to important person...
:)
Re: Feedback-a-thon Goodness
Date: 2011-12-30 07:47 am (UTC)Another aspect of the Jones that would be horribly complicated from Willow's POV is that even the act of calming herself would be tied to her practice of magic. She meditates. We see her doing that. What she is doing is purging negative energy and taking in 'power' from the Earth.
Yeah, magic. So, she'd be royally screwed here. In order to not use magic she couldn't even bleed off the bad in the way she's accustomed to. If she did, she'd be inclined to go for a 'fix' to restore her health.
This would be massively sticky. She'd be drawing lines in the sand and scribbling them out and drawing lines and scribbling them out.
And the real bitch of the sitch would be that she'd be the only one truly aware enough of her actions to slap her own wrist. Tara would be able to help her with setting parameters, but she isn't there, so Willow would totally be fumbling around in the dark, cutting herself to ribbons over how to deal with cleansing herself.
You've really created a fine little hell here. It's beautiful.
Re: Feedback-a-thon Goodness
Date: 2011-12-30 12:20 pm (UTC)If you wrote the additions in a way that was counter to your nature, you could slide them in with very little impact on the flow.
Limit yourself to 8 words per sentence, no more. Fewer if you can pull it off. Make it Hemmingway tight. Just the barest of information to get the point across. Lace it in and back out.
The tightness will heighten the tension of the story. When mixed with your more florid prose describing the pain, the effect should be very striking.
Small footprint - huge bump in authenticity.
Try it and see if you like it.
Feedbackathon
Date: 2012-01-29 05:58 pm (UTC)At the same time, the story feels incomplete in a way. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but I feel like there's something missing from the story. I am not sure if it's some sort of resolution (perhaps a scene with Dawn) or if it's perhaps the fact you lightly touch on Willow's addiction in the last scene.
On the whole, I do feel that this story fits in with canon and the treatment of Willow. It's a very plausible piece of what happened off camera that led to Willow's eventual breakdown at the end of the Season.
Re: Feedbackathon
Date: 2012-02-07 05:01 am (UTC)Thanks again!