Post by The Muse on Aug 5, 2009 23:00:37 GMT -5
The day has come to read the submissions for our third SlayAlive Scribes writing challenge! Get ready to vote for your favorite entry that best embodies the prompt.
Illustrate a battle scene (battle of wills, of the mind, superpowers, etc.) set within the Whedonverse (BtVS, AtS, Firefly, Dollhouse, Dr. Horrible).
All submissions must be between 500-1000 words. Good luck to all the participants![/size]
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Entry #1
Entry #2
Entry #3
Entry #4
Entry #5
Entry #6
Illustrate a battle scene (battle of wills, of the mind, superpowers, etc.) set within the Whedonverse (BtVS, AtS, Firefly, Dollhouse, Dr. Horrible).
All submissions must be between 500-1000 words. Good luck to all the participants!
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Entry #1
Title: Wesley vs Justine
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Wesley & Justine
Summary: Wesley goes knocking on Justine's door following Angel's disappearance in "Tomorrow". Set just before "Deep Down"
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, a little blood
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters
Word Count: 569
Author's Note: None
WHAM!!
The door flew off its hinges, as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce stepped inside the dimly lit apartment. And then had to suddenly duck when a baseball bat came flying at his head. Rolling onto his feet, Wesley whirled around, as Justine Cooper swung her bat again. Dodging the bat, Wesley quickly moved in, catching the bat in one hand and delivering a blow to Justine’s jaw with the other. She staggered back, losing hold of the bat, which Wesley tossed aside, before assuming an aggressive stance
“What the hell are you doing here, English?” Justine demanded
“I’m here for the whereabouts of Angel. I’m sure you would know”
“No, I don’t. Why would I care about a disgusting creature like him?”
“See, now I believe you had something to do with his disappearance”
Justine lunged at the ex-Watcher, but he grabbed her arms and tossed her aside. She crashed into the chair legs, but quickly got up, hair askew and anger etched on her face as she swung her left fist. Wesley blocked and swung, but Justine ducked and sank her fist into his stomach, before slamming her elbow onto his back. Wesley hit the floor, as Justine then grabbed him by the back of his jacket, throwing him backwards onto the small coffee table. Glass flew everywhere when Wesley smashed the table apart, as Justine grabbed his shirt and struck him in the face. Grabbing hold of her wrist, Wesley planted one foot in Justine’s stomach and threw her overhead, sending her flying into the couch, knocking it over, as he got to his feet and stepped around the couch, as Justine shakily got to her feet
She swung her fist, but Wesley ducked and dodged to his right, swinging his fist. Justine staggered, as Wesley followed up with a straight blow to her chin. Spitting blood, Justine flew into a rage, swinging her fists wildly, as Wesley did his best to block and deflect, before delivering a kick to her stomach, knocking her back. Following through, he grabbed Justine and threw her into the small kitchen. Justine groaned when she hit the refrigerator, before dodging Wesley’s fist and striking him in the jaw, then grabbed him and threw him against the sink. Parrying her fist, Wesley drove his elbow into her face, before following up with another punch, knocking her to the ground. Justine groaned, spitting up blood as Wesley stood over her
“You’re gonna tell me everything you know,” Wesley said, “Or I’ll just settle for beating it out of you”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you’ll love doing that,” Justine said, “Beating up a woman”
“What have you done with Angel?”
Justine didn’t reply. Instead, she swung her leg upwards, striking Wesley in the groin. He doubled over, groaning in pain, as Justine rose up, grabbing a vase and smashing it on Wesley’s head, before grabbing the baseball bat. Wesley straightened, narrowly dodging the bat, before doing a small roll when Justine swung again. Grabbing one of the chairs, Wesley swung it around, throwing it at Justine and knocking her down, before grabbing the bat and taking it away from her, then delivering a few blows, the last one knocking her unconscious. Sighing, Wesley removed the chair, before lifting Justine up and carrying her fireman style from the apartment. Thankfully, there was no one about, as he deposited Justine in his car, before driving away from the scene
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Wesley & Justine
Summary: Wesley goes knocking on Justine's door following Angel's disappearance in "Tomorrow". Set just before "Deep Down"
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, a little blood
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters
Word Count: 569
Author's Note: None
WHAM!!
The door flew off its hinges, as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce stepped inside the dimly lit apartment. And then had to suddenly duck when a baseball bat came flying at his head. Rolling onto his feet, Wesley whirled around, as Justine Cooper swung her bat again. Dodging the bat, Wesley quickly moved in, catching the bat in one hand and delivering a blow to Justine’s jaw with the other. She staggered back, losing hold of the bat, which Wesley tossed aside, before assuming an aggressive stance
“What the hell are you doing here, English?” Justine demanded
“I’m here for the whereabouts of Angel. I’m sure you would know”
“No, I don’t. Why would I care about a disgusting creature like him?”
“See, now I believe you had something to do with his disappearance”
Justine lunged at the ex-Watcher, but he grabbed her arms and tossed her aside. She crashed into the chair legs, but quickly got up, hair askew and anger etched on her face as she swung her left fist. Wesley blocked and swung, but Justine ducked and sank her fist into his stomach, before slamming her elbow onto his back. Wesley hit the floor, as Justine then grabbed him by the back of his jacket, throwing him backwards onto the small coffee table. Glass flew everywhere when Wesley smashed the table apart, as Justine grabbed his shirt and struck him in the face. Grabbing hold of her wrist, Wesley planted one foot in Justine’s stomach and threw her overhead, sending her flying into the couch, knocking it over, as he got to his feet and stepped around the couch, as Justine shakily got to her feet
She swung her fist, but Wesley ducked and dodged to his right, swinging his fist. Justine staggered, as Wesley followed up with a straight blow to her chin. Spitting blood, Justine flew into a rage, swinging her fists wildly, as Wesley did his best to block and deflect, before delivering a kick to her stomach, knocking her back. Following through, he grabbed Justine and threw her into the small kitchen. Justine groaned when she hit the refrigerator, before dodging Wesley’s fist and striking him in the jaw, then grabbed him and threw him against the sink. Parrying her fist, Wesley drove his elbow into her face, before following up with another punch, knocking her to the ground. Justine groaned, spitting up blood as Wesley stood over her
“You’re gonna tell me everything you know,” Wesley said, “Or I’ll just settle for beating it out of you”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you’ll love doing that,” Justine said, “Beating up a woman”
“What have you done with Angel?”
Justine didn’t reply. Instead, she swung her leg upwards, striking Wesley in the groin. He doubled over, groaning in pain, as Justine rose up, grabbing a vase and smashing it on Wesley’s head, before grabbing the baseball bat. Wesley straightened, narrowly dodging the bat, before doing a small roll when Justine swung again. Grabbing one of the chairs, Wesley swung it around, throwing it at Justine and knocking her down, before grabbing the bat and taking it away from her, then delivering a few blows, the last one knocking her unconscious. Sighing, Wesley removed the chair, before lifting Justine up and carrying her fireman style from the apartment. Thankfully, there was no one about, as he deposited Justine in his car, before driving away from the scene
Entry #2
Title: (the title of the work)
OLD DAYS
Challenge: (e.g. #1 Favorite Character/Ship, #2 Villain's POV)
500-1000 WORDS BATTLE/FIGHT SCENE
Fandom: (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse)
BUFFY/ANGEL
Pairing/Characters: (List either ships e.g. Buffy/Angel or characters here)
ILLYRIA/GLORY and I made up another character
Summary: (short summary - One to three lines of what the work is about)
SHOWDOWN IN A COLISEUM!
Rating: (G - General, PG - Parental Guidance recommended, PG-13 - not suitable for under 13, R - recommended for mature audiences, NC-17 - not recommended for under 17, please err on the side of caution)PG13
Warnings: (sexual situations, violence, blood, etc, anything that may be of concern to the reader) VIOLENCE AND GORE
Disclaimer: (statement e.g. "I don't own the characters. All bow to Whedon.")
THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO JOSS WHEDON, I AM JUST OBSESSED ENOUGH TO WRITE ABOUT THEM.
Word Count: (final word count of the piece)
1000 exactly
Author's Note: (thanking anyone who helped you with the work, anything else you might like the reader to know)
Praise and/or criticism is appreciated cause I'm new at this!I also should explain that I felt like I had to write some motivation for this fight as well.
Illyria arrived at the Coliseum with its Qwa'ha Xahn in tow. The situation was desperate, but what is urgency to one who commands time? Organs and tentacles decorated the archway that it undulated toward, dripping vile fluids and enticing the vast crowd into raucous cheering from the stands. Illyria was in no mood for formalities this day. She arrived at her summoner's side.
“Ephrasia. I am here at your behest. Explain this to me.”
“There is no more time, Illyria.” Ephrasia began, “Not even for one who can manipulate it and move about it so freely as you do. This world is no longer worth we Old Ones staying here. As you know, some of our kind wither, and die. Some run away to try and find new homes. There is a plague coming, called humanity.” As Ephrasia uttered the word its scales quivered. The creature continued. “We cannot abide these squalid creatures, even though they are small. Though they seem insignifigant their numbers will swell rapidly and make it impossible for us to continue as we once did. They wouldn't even serve as food. It is better if we abandon this world, and leave it to the pests and vermin. I think a solution has been reached. Have you been able to see what shall happen Illyria?”
“No, I have not Great Cull. I simply know none of us seem to be as considerable as we once were. Beyond that, I cannot see or travel. It as if there is a great unknown void.” Admitting this only deepened Illyria's foul mood, but if it would bring this to a conclusion it was of little matter. Ephrasia glanced toward the arena, and flashed fangs at Illyria.
“You battle another Old One. The outcome decides where you shall go to be free of this world. And you shall be given a putrid human form until the affray is over. It is so we may keep tally. You will still have some of your strengths. That is all you need to know.” With that, Illyria was pushed through the archway and into the arena. Magical flames danced in the direction from which she came. She? How curious.
Illyria strode a few steps on her new human legs. Everything seemed to work fine. She spent a few moments curiously taking stock of her new form, until she was interrupted by a great blow to the side of her face. “C'mon! Let's get this over with! I have better things to do. I'm too good for this kind of dirty work.” This one had the bravery to hit Illyria? Who did she think she was? It was time to split her open and find out. She shall get this over with, indeed.
Illyria crouched with her leg out and swept the fair haired woman's feet out from under her, felling her. She knelt over the woman and rested her knee on her chest, leaning over her menacingly. “Who dares strike Illyria, God King of the Primordium, in this pathetic fashion?” she spat. Without flinching, the woman smiled up at her viciously and batted her away as if she were an insect. Then she rose and dusted her red clothing off as Illyria landed hard.
“I am too splendid, too exalted, too glorified to have a name. Yes.... that is what you may call me. Glory. Don't ever forget I deserve it.”
“I would rather call you dead.” Illyria said upon standing. “Your name is of no importance to me. Your demise is.” Before Glory could think of a reply Illyria had reached her, and threw a punch to her face.
“Ow, my new human nose!” Glory whined. “It was cute.” She picked the tattered remains of it off and threw them aside. She advanced on Illyria, throwing punches and kicks wildly in succession. Illyria felt things crunching and snapping inside her as she matched Glory blow for crushing blow. She blocked a roundhouse kick and grabbed Glory's foot, using her own momentum against her to throw her. Glory landed with a tearing sound. Flesh was so fragile, how did anyone abide it?
Illyria walked over to the dazed woman and grabbed her hair, pulling her to stand. “You shall finish on your feet, as I command it.” She said. Glory's smile was blood filled. Grabbing Illyria's shoulders, she rammed a knee up into the new softness that was Illyria's midsection. There was a wet, ripping sound and Illyria spat out a fount of crimson onto Glory's head and shoulders. Glory began to laugh as Illyria doubled over to regroup and let all the liquid out on the ground. It was a sharp, trilling laugh, almost as unnerving as being human.
“I-ii have a see-cret” Glory chirped in a sing-song tone. “And you aren't going to lii-ke it.” She danced to Illyria and grabbed her head in her hands. “I could just kill you, but that's no fun.” Then she slid her fingers up and sunk them through the skull and into Illyria's brain with ease. She inhaled deeply and threw back her bloody head with pleasure. Illyria felt what was about to happen and smiled herself.
“And I have secrets as well. Every battle large or small is fought within the mind.” She let go a myriad of images and thoughts all at once, deluging Glory with them. Engulfing her in the very thing she wanted. Drowning her in it. Glory began to scream. She tried to free her hands in vain.
“Enough, Illyria.” Ephrasia's voice boomed. “You have driven her mad.”
“I wish to kill her.” Illyria replied.
“Unnecessary. Fates are decided.” The raving lunatic in red was carried away shouting about revenge, and time, and killing Illyria's army.
“What of me?” she asked.
“The Deeper Well.” Ephrasia answered.
OLD DAYS
Challenge: (e.g. #1 Favorite Character/Ship, #2 Villain's POV)
500-1000 WORDS BATTLE/FIGHT SCENE
Fandom: (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse)
BUFFY/ANGEL
Pairing/Characters: (List either ships e.g. Buffy/Angel or characters here)
ILLYRIA/GLORY and I made up another character
Summary: (short summary - One to three lines of what the work is about)
SHOWDOWN IN A COLISEUM!
Rating: (G - General, PG - Parental Guidance recommended, PG-13 - not suitable for under 13, R - recommended for mature audiences, NC-17 - not recommended for under 17, please err on the side of caution)PG13
Warnings: (sexual situations, violence, blood, etc, anything that may be of concern to the reader) VIOLENCE AND GORE
Disclaimer: (statement e.g. "I don't own the characters. All bow to Whedon.")
THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO JOSS WHEDON, I AM JUST OBSESSED ENOUGH TO WRITE ABOUT THEM.
Word Count: (final word count of the piece)
1000 exactly
Author's Note: (thanking anyone who helped you with the work, anything else you might like the reader to know)
Praise and/or criticism is appreciated cause I'm new at this!I also should explain that I felt like I had to write some motivation for this fight as well.
Illyria arrived at the Coliseum with its Qwa'ha Xahn in tow. The situation was desperate, but what is urgency to one who commands time? Organs and tentacles decorated the archway that it undulated toward, dripping vile fluids and enticing the vast crowd into raucous cheering from the stands. Illyria was in no mood for formalities this day. She arrived at her summoner's side.
“Ephrasia. I am here at your behest. Explain this to me.”
“There is no more time, Illyria.” Ephrasia began, “Not even for one who can manipulate it and move about it so freely as you do. This world is no longer worth we Old Ones staying here. As you know, some of our kind wither, and die. Some run away to try and find new homes. There is a plague coming, called humanity.” As Ephrasia uttered the word its scales quivered. The creature continued. “We cannot abide these squalid creatures, even though they are small. Though they seem insignifigant their numbers will swell rapidly and make it impossible for us to continue as we once did. They wouldn't even serve as food. It is better if we abandon this world, and leave it to the pests and vermin. I think a solution has been reached. Have you been able to see what shall happen Illyria?”
“No, I have not Great Cull. I simply know none of us seem to be as considerable as we once were. Beyond that, I cannot see or travel. It as if there is a great unknown void.” Admitting this only deepened Illyria's foul mood, but if it would bring this to a conclusion it was of little matter. Ephrasia glanced toward the arena, and flashed fangs at Illyria.
“You battle another Old One. The outcome decides where you shall go to be free of this world. And you shall be given a putrid human form until the affray is over. It is so we may keep tally. You will still have some of your strengths. That is all you need to know.” With that, Illyria was pushed through the archway and into the arena. Magical flames danced in the direction from which she came. She? How curious.
Illyria strode a few steps on her new human legs. Everything seemed to work fine. She spent a few moments curiously taking stock of her new form, until she was interrupted by a great blow to the side of her face. “C'mon! Let's get this over with! I have better things to do. I'm too good for this kind of dirty work.” This one had the bravery to hit Illyria? Who did she think she was? It was time to split her open and find out. She shall get this over with, indeed.
Illyria crouched with her leg out and swept the fair haired woman's feet out from under her, felling her. She knelt over the woman and rested her knee on her chest, leaning over her menacingly. “Who dares strike Illyria, God King of the Primordium, in this pathetic fashion?” she spat. Without flinching, the woman smiled up at her viciously and batted her away as if she were an insect. Then she rose and dusted her red clothing off as Illyria landed hard.
“I am too splendid, too exalted, too glorified to have a name. Yes.... that is what you may call me. Glory. Don't ever forget I deserve it.”
“I would rather call you dead.” Illyria said upon standing. “Your name is of no importance to me. Your demise is.” Before Glory could think of a reply Illyria had reached her, and threw a punch to her face.
“Ow, my new human nose!” Glory whined. “It was cute.” She picked the tattered remains of it off and threw them aside. She advanced on Illyria, throwing punches and kicks wildly in succession. Illyria felt things crunching and snapping inside her as she matched Glory blow for crushing blow. She blocked a roundhouse kick and grabbed Glory's foot, using her own momentum against her to throw her. Glory landed with a tearing sound. Flesh was so fragile, how did anyone abide it?
Illyria walked over to the dazed woman and grabbed her hair, pulling her to stand. “You shall finish on your feet, as I command it.” She said. Glory's smile was blood filled. Grabbing Illyria's shoulders, she rammed a knee up into the new softness that was Illyria's midsection. There was a wet, ripping sound and Illyria spat out a fount of crimson onto Glory's head and shoulders. Glory began to laugh as Illyria doubled over to regroup and let all the liquid out on the ground. It was a sharp, trilling laugh, almost as unnerving as being human.
“I-ii have a see-cret” Glory chirped in a sing-song tone. “And you aren't going to lii-ke it.” She danced to Illyria and grabbed her head in her hands. “I could just kill you, but that's no fun.” Then she slid her fingers up and sunk them through the skull and into Illyria's brain with ease. She inhaled deeply and threw back her bloody head with pleasure. Illyria felt what was about to happen and smiled herself.
“And I have secrets as well. Every battle large or small is fought within the mind.” She let go a myriad of images and thoughts all at once, deluging Glory with them. Engulfing her in the very thing she wanted. Drowning her in it. Glory began to scream. She tried to free her hands in vain.
“Enough, Illyria.” Ephrasia's voice boomed. “You have driven her mad.”
“I wish to kill her.” Illyria replied.
“Unnecessary. Fates are decided.” The raving lunatic in red was carried away shouting about revenge, and time, and killing Illyria's army.
“What of me?” she asked.
“The Deeper Well.” Ephrasia answered.
Entry #3
Title: On Top
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Lilah, Lindsey, Nathan
Summary: Late Season 2 AU. The Senior Partners have decided to promote either Lilah or Lindsey, who it is depends on them, as they fight to the death.
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong Violence, I guess.
Disclaimer: Me no own the characters or verse. That'd be Joss
Word Count: 760
Author's Note: Thanks to Stephanie Romanov and Christian Kane for a great rivalry.
"Lindsey McDonald and Lilah Morgan." Nathan Reed, bald and ugly, stood before the two of them in one of the many hallways of Wolfram & Hart. They were dressed in their usual business attire: Lindsey's black suit and tie and Lilah's blouse, skirt and killer heels. "As you already know, the Senior Partners have decided to promote one of you as the head of Special Projects." Both of them tensed at just the sound of that sentence, so close to what they've been fighting for. "But who it is depends on you."
"What do mean?" Lilah asked.
"You two just walk through that door, which will soon be one of yours."
Lindsey shook his head. "There's gotta be a catch."
"Why of course. Ask yourselves who wants it more, or maybe what you're willing to do to get the position. Show us that you want this... I'll be right out here."
***
Lilah and Lindsey stood in the middle of the office, staring at each other. "We're fighting to the death aren't we?" she asked, already knowing.
"Looks like." he answered.
"Leave it to Wolfram & Hart." She paused for a second. "Lindsey, I want this."
"I need this, and you aren't stopping me." he told her.
"After all we've been through?"
"After all we've been through."
"Come on Linds, would you really hit a lady... oh wait, you already did, because of that stupid vampire bitch. You screwed that up royally, no way do you deserve this like I do."
"Shut up." The anger inside him was building.
Lilah smiled, "Where is she now? Didn't she leave you? Guess it wasn't true love."
Lindsey started walking towards her. "You walk and talk tough, you like to pretend you're better and badder than every man in this building, but deep down you're weak and pathetic. I'm coming out on top this time." Lindsey kept walking closer, causing Lilah to back up and bump into the desk, a look of anger could be read across on her face. His body was up against her's, she could feel his breath and looked away. Lindsey nodded, "You ready for this?"
Lilah looked back up at him, "You know, physically we've never been this close, and I never realized just how much I tower over you."
In what felt like an instant, a hand grasped Lilah's throat and held her down on the desk. She flailed her arms around, knocking a computer, phone and supplies off the side. Using all her strength, she tried to yell but all oxygen was cut off. Lindsey's face of determination started to blur. The attempts to scratch his hands weren't working and his face was out of reach. Spotting a knocked over lamp on the desk, she used whatever was left in her to grasp it. Chucking it at Lindsey's head, the lamp shattered instantly. Cuts appeared on his face and he had to let go of his grasp to get the glass shards off his face.
Lilah sat up, "You... son of a bitch." she coughed out.
"Practically begging for it." Lindsey started walking back towards her.
Lilah looked at the mess of office supplies at her feet. She leaned down and picked up a stapler, flipping it open. Lindsey picked her up by the hair and she rasped out a scream. Stapler in hand, she slammed it across Lindsey's face. The 'click' sound and Lindsey's yelp of pain relieved her a bit. Lindsey stumbled back and Lilah went after him, repeatedly slamming the stapler into his head, the sharp pains of the metal piercing his skin were almost unbearable. He managed to catch her arm and knocked the stapler out with his other, prosthetic, hand.
Lindsey shoved her hard across the room, making her stumble against one of the windows, part of it cracking on impact. He ran at her, but she quickly dodged out of his path. The impact of his head hitting the glass made him fall onto his back, dazed and confused.
"Oh Lindsey," Lilah stumbled towards, "I always come out on top." Gritting her teeth, she lifted her foot, and with all the force possible, she pushed down, her heel puncturing through Lindsey's forehead. After a few seconds of twitching, he stopped moving. Forcing the heel out, Lilah slowly walked to the door and opened it, seeing Nathan standing in front of her.
"Ah, Miss Morgan. Congratulations." he said.
"Yeah whatever, have this office cleaned up, will you? Got a busy day tomorrow."
"Of course." Nathan walked away.
Lilah turned around and took another look at the office, her office, and at Lindsey's body lying on the floor. This time, the expression on her face couldn't be read.
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Lilah, Lindsey, Nathan
Summary: Late Season 2 AU. The Senior Partners have decided to promote either Lilah or Lindsey, who it is depends on them, as they fight to the death.
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong Violence, I guess.
Disclaimer: Me no own the characters or verse. That'd be Joss
Word Count: 760
Author's Note: Thanks to Stephanie Romanov and Christian Kane for a great rivalry.
"Lindsey McDonald and Lilah Morgan." Nathan Reed, bald and ugly, stood before the two of them in one of the many hallways of Wolfram & Hart. They were dressed in their usual business attire: Lindsey's black suit and tie and Lilah's blouse, skirt and killer heels. "As you already know, the Senior Partners have decided to promote one of you as the head of Special Projects." Both of them tensed at just the sound of that sentence, so close to what they've been fighting for. "But who it is depends on you."
"What do mean?" Lilah asked.
"You two just walk through that door, which will soon be one of yours."
Lindsey shook his head. "There's gotta be a catch."
"Why of course. Ask yourselves who wants it more, or maybe what you're willing to do to get the position. Show us that you want this... I'll be right out here."
***
Lilah and Lindsey stood in the middle of the office, staring at each other. "We're fighting to the death aren't we?" she asked, already knowing.
"Looks like." he answered.
"Leave it to Wolfram & Hart." She paused for a second. "Lindsey, I want this."
"I need this, and you aren't stopping me." he told her.
"After all we've been through?"
"After all we've been through."
"Come on Linds, would you really hit a lady... oh wait, you already did, because of that stupid vampire bitch. You screwed that up royally, no way do you deserve this like I do."
"Shut up." The anger inside him was building.
Lilah smiled, "Where is she now? Didn't she leave you? Guess it wasn't true love."
Lindsey started walking towards her. "You walk and talk tough, you like to pretend you're better and badder than every man in this building, but deep down you're weak and pathetic. I'm coming out on top this time." Lindsey kept walking closer, causing Lilah to back up and bump into the desk, a look of anger could be read across on her face. His body was up against her's, she could feel his breath and looked away. Lindsey nodded, "You ready for this?"
Lilah looked back up at him, "You know, physically we've never been this close, and I never realized just how much I tower over you."
In what felt like an instant, a hand grasped Lilah's throat and held her down on the desk. She flailed her arms around, knocking a computer, phone and supplies off the side. Using all her strength, she tried to yell but all oxygen was cut off. Lindsey's face of determination started to blur. The attempts to scratch his hands weren't working and his face was out of reach. Spotting a knocked over lamp on the desk, she used whatever was left in her to grasp it. Chucking it at Lindsey's head, the lamp shattered instantly. Cuts appeared on his face and he had to let go of his grasp to get the glass shards off his face.
Lilah sat up, "You... son of a bitch." she coughed out.
"Practically begging for it." Lindsey started walking back towards her.
Lilah looked at the mess of office supplies at her feet. She leaned down and picked up a stapler, flipping it open. Lindsey picked her up by the hair and she rasped out a scream. Stapler in hand, she slammed it across Lindsey's face. The 'click' sound and Lindsey's yelp of pain relieved her a bit. Lindsey stumbled back and Lilah went after him, repeatedly slamming the stapler into his head, the sharp pains of the metal piercing his skin were almost unbearable. He managed to catch her arm and knocked the stapler out with his other, prosthetic, hand.
Lindsey shoved her hard across the room, making her stumble against one of the windows, part of it cracking on impact. He ran at her, but she quickly dodged out of his path. The impact of his head hitting the glass made him fall onto his back, dazed and confused.
"Oh Lindsey," Lilah stumbled towards, "I always come out on top." Gritting her teeth, she lifted her foot, and with all the force possible, she pushed down, her heel puncturing through Lindsey's forehead. After a few seconds of twitching, he stopped moving. Forcing the heel out, Lilah slowly walked to the door and opened it, seeing Nathan standing in front of her.
"Ah, Miss Morgan. Congratulations." he said.
"Yeah whatever, have this office cleaned up, will you? Got a busy day tomorrow."
"Of course." Nathan walked away.
Lilah turned around and took another look at the office, her office, and at Lindsey's body lying on the floor. This time, the expression on her face couldn't be read.
Entry #4
Title: It's Always the Quiet Ones
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: BtVS/Dr Horrible
Pairing/Characters: Moist, Clem
Summary: Moist is trying to turn his life around, but runs into unforeseen complications thanks to a friendly demon in Sunnydale.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just having fun.
Word Count: 1000
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta!
Moist rapped on the crypt door, a large pet carrier resting at his feet. The door opened and a red-eyed demon with pale, hanging flaps of skin looked at him curiously. “Oh, hi.” Moist waved at him awkwardly. “I’m here to see a-” He pulled a work-order sheet out of his shirt pocket. “Mr. Clem.”
“That’d be me. I’m he,” Clem said, smiling widely.
“Uh, do you have any cats on the premises, sir?” Moist nervously wiped his hand on his shirt, inadvertently leaving a trail of moisture from his breast pocket to his waist.
“Yeah, sure. Well, kittens. Not fully grown cats. I’m more of a veal kinda guy. Why?” Clem asked. Then recognition lit up his eyes, “Oh, hey! I know you. I saw you on the news. You got arrested for vandalizing a Federal Trust Bank.”
“Vandalism?” Moist scoffed. “Try felony attempted robbery. Talk about underestimating my talents. I was breaching a highly secured perimeter through increased conductivity of H20 molecules.”
“Huh?”
“Water damage. I was gonna break in through the roof. It would’ve worked too if I’d had two more weeks.”
“Right, uh, that’s a shame. Look I don’t mean to be rude, but is this gonna take long? ‘Cause I’ve got some pizza rolls and a Murder She Wrote marathon with my name on it. Unless you’d care to join me…”
Moist shook his head. “No, no. Well, maybe later. I just need to know where the cats are. And if you wanna help me put them in this carrier, that’d be swell.” Moist raised his hands to show his wet palms. “I don’t want my car smelling like wet cat. Yucko.”
“Yeah no, don’t think so,” Clem said, laughing uncomfortably. “No cats around here.”
“You just said you had cats.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Look just hand them over. Now. This is official business,” Moist demanded, pulling a laminated card out of his pocket and flashing it in Clem’s face.
“PETA? You work for PETA? Oh, heh, Moist. What kind of name is that? Anglo-Saxon?”
“No.” Moist scowled petulantly. “And for your information, I’m heading up PETA’s Anti-Evil Demon Outreach division. It’s how I’m giving back to the community for all my villainous criminal-y undertakings.”
“PETA? Anti-evil? Ooookay. Um, I’ve gotta go now, but you have a nice night. Buh-bye.” Clem waved as he closed the door in Moist’s face.
Moist stared at the door; his shoulders slumped and head hanging low. “Come on, man.” He lightly slapped his face. “Get tough. Don’t give up. Yeah, you can do it. You can doooooooooo eeeeeeeeeet.” Head nodding in self-encouragement, he bounced on the balls of his feet for a minute before shoving through the front door.
Clem jumped out of his recliner at the sound of the door banging against the inner wall. “Hey! You can’t just-”
“Hand over the kittens. Now.” Moist swallowed audibly, rubbing his hands on his shirt. “…please.”
“Hey, man, now hold on just a minute.”
“Hand ‘em over or…or…” Moist lunged forward and grabbed the plate of pizza rolls on the table next to the recliner, hanging a dripping hand over the plate. “Or your pizza rolls won’t be so crispy and delicious!”
Clem gasped. “You wouldn’t. Why? Why would you…why would anyone...no, you wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I dare. I dare plenty,” Moist said, his hand shaking as held the plate of pizza rolls out of Clem’s reach.
“Okay, okay,” Clem said, raising his hands placatingly. “Let’s not overreact here.”
“Give me the kittens!”
“Look, they’re not here,” Clem said, flinching when Moist squeezed his hand into a fist and a few drops of sweat fell onto the plate. “Wait! They’re not here yet. My friend is bringing some over with a bucket of KFC. Original and extra crispy.”
“You’re lying,” Moist accused him, his hands trembling. “You think I’m playing here? No one takes me seriously. Like making things soggy isn’t a valid lifestyle choice.”
“Hey buddy, no judgment coming from this corner. I bet you’re the best at what you do. Like those flash floods up in Oregon – bet that was you, huh? Great job, man. Kudos.” Clem gave two thumbs-up. “C’mon, we can work this out. Let’s just put down the pizza rolls and do the talking thing.”
Moist shook his head again. “I’m done talking,” he muttered, clenching his fist and releasing a flood of sweat that soaked the plate and splashed onto the floor.
“Oh, why’d you have to go and do that?” Clem said sadly. “Bad move.”
Moist dropped the sodden plate and picked up an open bag of Doritos. “You ready to cooperate or you wanna lose another carb-filled snack? You know I’ll do it. How much you willing to lose, huh?”
Clem scowled, his affable smile dropping to hint at a sinister inner potential. “No more Mr. Nice Guy,” he muttered. A second later, the flaps on his face pulled back like the opening sides of a Venus flytrap. His tongues shot forward, three feet long, whipping in the air like angry snakes intent on devouring flesh.
"Agh!" Moist stumbled back in shock, slipping on a puddle of his sweat and falling to the floor. “…you made me wet myself,” he whimpered, clutching the bag of Doritos to his chest like a security blanket.
Face back to normal, Clem shuffled forward and patted Moist on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you. Well, okay. I did. But you should know better than to mess with a demon’s dinner.”
“I’m so gonna get fired,” Moist moaned. “Water cooler time is gonna be brutal come Monday. Moist failed. You know that’s what they’ll say. He couldn’t even pick up a bunch of kittens from a non-violent demon with a bad skin condition.” He dropped his head into his hands. “What am I gonna do?”
“Have you thought about changing careers? Just the whole non-evil goal is admirable, but… PETA? Wrong way to go, man. ”
“…PETA’s evil?”
“And how, buddy.”
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: BtVS/Dr Horrible
Pairing/Characters: Moist, Clem
Summary: Moist is trying to turn his life around, but runs into unforeseen complications thanks to a friendly demon in Sunnydale.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just having fun.
Word Count: 1000
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta!
Moist rapped on the crypt door, a large pet carrier resting at his feet. The door opened and a red-eyed demon with pale, hanging flaps of skin looked at him curiously. “Oh, hi.” Moist waved at him awkwardly. “I’m here to see a-” He pulled a work-order sheet out of his shirt pocket. “Mr. Clem.”
“That’d be me. I’m he,” Clem said, smiling widely.
“Uh, do you have any cats on the premises, sir?” Moist nervously wiped his hand on his shirt, inadvertently leaving a trail of moisture from his breast pocket to his waist.
“Yeah, sure. Well, kittens. Not fully grown cats. I’m more of a veal kinda guy. Why?” Clem asked. Then recognition lit up his eyes, “Oh, hey! I know you. I saw you on the news. You got arrested for vandalizing a Federal Trust Bank.”
“Vandalism?” Moist scoffed. “Try felony attempted robbery. Talk about underestimating my talents. I was breaching a highly secured perimeter through increased conductivity of H20 molecules.”
“Huh?”
“Water damage. I was gonna break in through the roof. It would’ve worked too if I’d had two more weeks.”
“Right, uh, that’s a shame. Look I don’t mean to be rude, but is this gonna take long? ‘Cause I’ve got some pizza rolls and a Murder She Wrote marathon with my name on it. Unless you’d care to join me…”
Moist shook his head. “No, no. Well, maybe later. I just need to know where the cats are. And if you wanna help me put them in this carrier, that’d be swell.” Moist raised his hands to show his wet palms. “I don’t want my car smelling like wet cat. Yucko.”
“Yeah no, don’t think so,” Clem said, laughing uncomfortably. “No cats around here.”
“You just said you had cats.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Look just hand them over. Now. This is official business,” Moist demanded, pulling a laminated card out of his pocket and flashing it in Clem’s face.
“PETA? You work for PETA? Oh, heh, Moist. What kind of name is that? Anglo-Saxon?”
“No.” Moist scowled petulantly. “And for your information, I’m heading up PETA’s Anti-Evil Demon Outreach division. It’s how I’m giving back to the community for all my villainous criminal-y undertakings.”
“PETA? Anti-evil? Ooookay. Um, I’ve gotta go now, but you have a nice night. Buh-bye.” Clem waved as he closed the door in Moist’s face.
Moist stared at the door; his shoulders slumped and head hanging low. “Come on, man.” He lightly slapped his face. “Get tough. Don’t give up. Yeah, you can do it. You can doooooooooo eeeeeeeeeet.” Head nodding in self-encouragement, he bounced on the balls of his feet for a minute before shoving through the front door.
Clem jumped out of his recliner at the sound of the door banging against the inner wall. “Hey! You can’t just-”
“Hand over the kittens. Now.” Moist swallowed audibly, rubbing his hands on his shirt. “…please.”
“Hey, man, now hold on just a minute.”
“Hand ‘em over or…or…” Moist lunged forward and grabbed the plate of pizza rolls on the table next to the recliner, hanging a dripping hand over the plate. “Or your pizza rolls won’t be so crispy and delicious!”
Clem gasped. “You wouldn’t. Why? Why would you…why would anyone...no, you wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I dare. I dare plenty,” Moist said, his hand shaking as held the plate of pizza rolls out of Clem’s reach.
“Okay, okay,” Clem said, raising his hands placatingly. “Let’s not overreact here.”
“Give me the kittens!”
“Look, they’re not here,” Clem said, flinching when Moist squeezed his hand into a fist and a few drops of sweat fell onto the plate. “Wait! They’re not here yet. My friend is bringing some over with a bucket of KFC. Original and extra crispy.”
“You’re lying,” Moist accused him, his hands trembling. “You think I’m playing here? No one takes me seriously. Like making things soggy isn’t a valid lifestyle choice.”
“Hey buddy, no judgment coming from this corner. I bet you’re the best at what you do. Like those flash floods up in Oregon – bet that was you, huh? Great job, man. Kudos.” Clem gave two thumbs-up. “C’mon, we can work this out. Let’s just put down the pizza rolls and do the talking thing.”
Moist shook his head again. “I’m done talking,” he muttered, clenching his fist and releasing a flood of sweat that soaked the plate and splashed onto the floor.
“Oh, why’d you have to go and do that?” Clem said sadly. “Bad move.”
Moist dropped the sodden plate and picked up an open bag of Doritos. “You ready to cooperate or you wanna lose another carb-filled snack? You know I’ll do it. How much you willing to lose, huh?”
Clem scowled, his affable smile dropping to hint at a sinister inner potential. “No more Mr. Nice Guy,” he muttered. A second later, the flaps on his face pulled back like the opening sides of a Venus flytrap. His tongues shot forward, three feet long, whipping in the air like angry snakes intent on devouring flesh.
"Agh!" Moist stumbled back in shock, slipping on a puddle of his sweat and falling to the floor. “…you made me wet myself,” he whimpered, clutching the bag of Doritos to his chest like a security blanket.
Face back to normal, Clem shuffled forward and patted Moist on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you. Well, okay. I did. But you should know better than to mess with a demon’s dinner.”
“I’m so gonna get fired,” Moist moaned. “Water cooler time is gonna be brutal come Monday. Moist failed. You know that’s what they’ll say. He couldn’t even pick up a bunch of kittens from a non-violent demon with a bad skin condition.” He dropped his head into his hands. “What am I gonna do?”
“Have you thought about changing careers? Just the whole non-evil goal is admirable, but… PETA? Wrong way to go, man. ”
“…PETA’s evil?”
“And how, buddy.”
Entry #5
Title: Logical Mania
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Buffy/Firefly
Pairing/Characters: Drusilla and River
Summary: Instead of a conventional battle, mine portrays a battle of wits, or powers, or crazy, or whatever you wanna call it. It is about a chess match between the future seeing Drusilla and the mind reading River
Rating: Not sure, let you be the judge
Warnings: There be a bit of violence, kinda.
Disclaimer: I do not own Drusilla and River.
Word Count: 851
Author's Note: Thanks to my betas for pointing out silly errors such as the word “the” twice in a row and what not. While I am not much of a Twilight fan, I must give Stephanie Meyer a nod. This idea was somewhat inspired by the chess match between Edward and Alice in one of the books.
Inside a large, dark room, two women stand beside chairs placed at a small wooden table. On the table rests a chess board set up and ready to be played. The paler of the two women runs her hands along the sides of her black frock, the red trim standing out against her skin. She purrs as if warming up to the event. The other woman, standing in a loose black dress, stares inquisitively at her opponent, as if trying to piece together some puzzle.
River bends down, producing a coin from inside her combat boots. She stands straight and flips it very high into the air saying, “The statistical probability of such an equally weighted object landing on one side of the other is approximately 49.99983%, leaving a 0.00034% chance of landing on the edge at any point, and that’s only when ignoring factors such as …”
“Heads, because they taste better than bottoms,” Drusilla interrupts as the loud clap of River capturing the coin between her hands fills the room. River checks the coin and nods toward Drusilla. “I always have more fun in the black. No Mr. Sun ruining my party,” she says as the competitors move to sit at the appropriate side of the table. Immediately upon sitting, River reaches forward, moving the pawn in front of her king forward two spaces. “Eight little soldiers all in a row, here to protect the aristocracy from those of less privileged means,” Drusilla states while staring fixedly at her own pieces. After a few moments, she looks up slightly, noticing the moved piece. “That little tin man has been naughty. Stepping out of line while the monarchy is left without clothes. He shall be punished.” She moves the knight on her left side up two spaces and right one, threatening the moved pawn.
“The Alekhine’s Defense fails seven out of ten times in this scenario,” River coldly states, bringing a pout to her opponent’s lips. “That is unless the quantum and intangible nature of identity causes the pieces to transfer particles of their controller into themselves, giving you a total of sixteen small, plastic, constantly regenerating, undead soldiers.”
At this, the pout slowly retreats and her gaze seems to move upward toward the ceiling. “The stars, they show me small children with pitch forks coming from the bog to tell the captain it’s their turn to ride the pony.” Her gaze returns to River as a second white pawn is moved forward to protect the one in danger. “But he won’t let them. ‘Single file,’ he said, but they won’t listen. They only understand the rules,” she says to River, a slight smile coming across her face.
“The stars can tell you, through mathematical calculations, things such as the gravitational forces surrounding it as well as it orbits of object within its sphere of influence. I’m not so sure that they can measure the move my pieces will make before they actually move in a localized sense. That is unless the stars are near a wormhole that connects to the appropriate time and space. Is there a wormhole?”
Drusilla, ignoring the ramble, examines the board intently to decide her next move, while River stares at her as if still trying to work out an enigma.
Then, as if she has been meaning to say it for some time, River blurts out, “You don’t breathe.” Drusilla looks up and nods. After a short pause, “You must have a pulmonary CO2/O2 conversion system implanted. That could also explain the change in your epidermal color scheme.” Drusilla shrugs nonchalantly as if not knowing the answer and not caring, and returns her gaze to the board.
After a couple minutes of River staring at Drusilla as she stares at the board, Drusilla’s head cocks to the side as if trying to hear something in the distance. After a moment of listening and staring off into the distance, her pout returns. “The king of night and the king of light are not friends. Nor are the friends of their subjects. One by one they trickle way. Drip. Drip. Drip. Then Mr. Night and Miss Knight are all alone in the garden with walls and priests forming around. They just want to be alone to enjoy the daffodils, but the light beams down burning them to cinders.” As Drusilla speaks, River begins smiling, not at the words but as if seeing or listening to something else. Drusilla reaches out toward her king and lays him on his side, forfeiting the game.
“You should have gone with the Nimzowitch Defense. This is the outcome when you allow astronomical formations to play chess for you,” River states while shaking her head in disapproval. Her head jerks up quickly bringing all her attention to Drusilla. “What do my eyes have to do with it?” The loud noise of chairs sliding along the floor fills the room as both women jump to their feet, fangs and fists ready for a fight.
As Drusilla leaps across the table at River, scattering chess pieces all over the place, she screams, “EVERYTHING!”
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Buffy/Firefly
Pairing/Characters: Drusilla and River
Summary: Instead of a conventional battle, mine portrays a battle of wits, or powers, or crazy, or whatever you wanna call it. It is about a chess match between the future seeing Drusilla and the mind reading River
Rating: Not sure, let you be the judge
Warnings: There be a bit of violence, kinda.
Disclaimer: I do not own Drusilla and River.
Word Count: 851
Author's Note: Thanks to my betas for pointing out silly errors such as the word “the” twice in a row and what not. While I am not much of a Twilight fan, I must give Stephanie Meyer a nod. This idea was somewhat inspired by the chess match between Edward and Alice in one of the books.
Inside a large, dark room, two women stand beside chairs placed at a small wooden table. On the table rests a chess board set up and ready to be played. The paler of the two women runs her hands along the sides of her black frock, the red trim standing out against her skin. She purrs as if warming up to the event. The other woman, standing in a loose black dress, stares inquisitively at her opponent, as if trying to piece together some puzzle.
River bends down, producing a coin from inside her combat boots. She stands straight and flips it very high into the air saying, “The statistical probability of such an equally weighted object landing on one side of the other is approximately 49.99983%, leaving a 0.00034% chance of landing on the edge at any point, and that’s only when ignoring factors such as …”
“Heads, because they taste better than bottoms,” Drusilla interrupts as the loud clap of River capturing the coin between her hands fills the room. River checks the coin and nods toward Drusilla. “I always have more fun in the black. No Mr. Sun ruining my party,” she says as the competitors move to sit at the appropriate side of the table. Immediately upon sitting, River reaches forward, moving the pawn in front of her king forward two spaces. “Eight little soldiers all in a row, here to protect the aristocracy from those of less privileged means,” Drusilla states while staring fixedly at her own pieces. After a few moments, she looks up slightly, noticing the moved piece. “That little tin man has been naughty. Stepping out of line while the monarchy is left without clothes. He shall be punished.” She moves the knight on her left side up two spaces and right one, threatening the moved pawn.
“The Alekhine’s Defense fails seven out of ten times in this scenario,” River coldly states, bringing a pout to her opponent’s lips. “That is unless the quantum and intangible nature of identity causes the pieces to transfer particles of their controller into themselves, giving you a total of sixteen small, plastic, constantly regenerating, undead soldiers.”
At this, the pout slowly retreats and her gaze seems to move upward toward the ceiling. “The stars, they show me small children with pitch forks coming from the bog to tell the captain it’s their turn to ride the pony.” Her gaze returns to River as a second white pawn is moved forward to protect the one in danger. “But he won’t let them. ‘Single file,’ he said, but they won’t listen. They only understand the rules,” she says to River, a slight smile coming across her face.
“The stars can tell you, through mathematical calculations, things such as the gravitational forces surrounding it as well as it orbits of object within its sphere of influence. I’m not so sure that they can measure the move my pieces will make before they actually move in a localized sense. That is unless the stars are near a wormhole that connects to the appropriate time and space. Is there a wormhole?”
Drusilla, ignoring the ramble, examines the board intently to decide her next move, while River stares at her as if still trying to work out an enigma.
Then, as if she has been meaning to say it for some time, River blurts out, “You don’t breathe.” Drusilla looks up and nods. After a short pause, “You must have a pulmonary CO2/O2 conversion system implanted. That could also explain the change in your epidermal color scheme.” Drusilla shrugs nonchalantly as if not knowing the answer and not caring, and returns her gaze to the board.
After a couple minutes of River staring at Drusilla as she stares at the board, Drusilla’s head cocks to the side as if trying to hear something in the distance. After a moment of listening and staring off into the distance, her pout returns. “The king of night and the king of light are not friends. Nor are the friends of their subjects. One by one they trickle way. Drip. Drip. Drip. Then Mr. Night and Miss Knight are all alone in the garden with walls and priests forming around. They just want to be alone to enjoy the daffodils, but the light beams down burning them to cinders.” As Drusilla speaks, River begins smiling, not at the words but as if seeing or listening to something else. Drusilla reaches out toward her king and lays him on his side, forfeiting the game.
“You should have gone with the Nimzowitch Defense. This is the outcome when you allow astronomical formations to play chess for you,” River states while shaking her head in disapproval. Her head jerks up quickly bringing all her attention to Drusilla. “What do my eyes have to do with it?” The loud noise of chairs sliding along the floor fills the room as both women jump to their feet, fangs and fists ready for a fight.
As Drusilla leaps across the table at River, scattering chess pieces all over the place, she screams, “EVERYTHING!”
Entry #6
Title: Grandeur
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, a redheaded woman and a demon
Summary: Expanded sequence from Angel Season 2 – “Blood Money”
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, demon blood
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters.
Word Count: 861
Author's Note: Enjoy!
The words blurring together, Wesley shut the large tome that was spread out on Angel’s desk and took off his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to remember what he was even trying to research. The hours had slipped away and he had lost focus.
Returning his glasses to their rightful place, Wesley stood and walked over to a small table where he kept his tea and began preparing it.
A loud crash startled him and he gave a sharp yelp as he turned towards the lobby. The expansive front doors of the Hyperion Hotel opened with a bang and an attractive woman with curly red hair was running towards him.
“H-help!” She stammered; her breath caught in her throat. “It’s after me!”
“Dear lord.” Wesley replied; his eyes narrowing as he caught her in his arms. Flustered, he patted her on the back of her head as she cried into his dark shirt.
Before he could ask what she was running from, a large demon jumped through the entrance. It had long arms, scaly green skin and thin wisps of black hair falling around two large ivory horns that were attached to its forehead. Hunched over, it paused and sniffed the air before snapping its head around and baring its teeth.
Wesley’s head snapped back as he took the creature in and then herded the woman behind Angel’s desk.
“Stay here, please.” Wesley said as she lowered herself down behind the desk, sobbing in fear. The demon was already in the office doorway when Wesley turned back towards it.
“Enough is enough. I will not allow you to harm this lady,” he said firmly, standing straight as the demon just growled.
Wesley leapt forward, attempting to catch the demon off guard with a low tackle. The demon was fast, and there was a sharp blow to Wesley’s back as the demon struck with its large arm, sending Wesley to the floor. Without a moments pause, the demon reached down and tried to grab Wesley by the neck, but Wesley scrambled forward beneath the demon’s legs and kicked the demon’s left leg as hard as he could. There was a sizzling howl of pain as the demon crumpled to the floor and Wesley jumped to his feet.
The weapons chest was too far away, so Wesley gave a sharp kick to the back of the demon’s neck and jumped over its large green mass back into the office. As he reached for the red katana on the wall, there was a startling pain in the back of his leg as the demon reached and dug its claws into Wesley’s ankle.
An exasperated gasp escaping his lips, Wesley grabbed the teapot off the nearby table and threw it into the demon’s face as he fell to the floor. The teapot shattered and boiling water splashed all over the demon’s face. Releasing its hold on Wesley’s ankle, the demon screamed in pain. Wesley grimaced as he got to his feet again, but the demon kicked out with its leg this time and sent Wesley into the back wall. Dazed, Wesley watched as the demon stood and began moving toward the redhead, who was trying to push herself further into a wall that was not budging.
“No!” Wesley exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall but then falling to his knees. The demon grabbed the redhead and slammed her into the desk. Deciding it was time for its meal, the demon lowered his head to her neck, preparing to strike.
Before it could sink its teeth into the redhead’s neck, the demon’s head whipped back as Wesley grabbed its withering strands of hair into his hand and yanked backwards.
“Release her or die.” Wesley seethed into the demon’s ear. Responding only with a vicious snarl, Wesley jerked the demon’s head back further and slammed a metal ballpoint pen into the demon’s neck. Dark green blood began streaming from the wound as the demon slid to the floor. It hissed and howled on the floor as more blood spilled out around the pen still lodged in its neck.
“Stand back, Miss.” Wesley said calmly as he reached and picked up the heavy book he was reading earlier. Walking around the demon, Wesley stood above its head and raised the book above his own head.
“That’s better.” Wesley whispered, bringing the book down with a loud crunch onto the demon’s head.
The redhead peered out from behind the desk before rising.
“Who—Who are you?” She asked, her hand covering her mouth as she looked from the demon to Wesley. Standing in front of the desk, Wesley turned away from her.
“Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He said in a deep, almost Scottish voice.
The video camera beeped as Wesley shut it off remotely. He turned around, but the demon and the redhead were gone. His teapot was safe and sound on the small table, and the large book was still sitting on Angel’s desk, his pen lodged between its many pages.
Wesley lowered his eyes to the floor and smirked. He had told Cordelia not to use the camera as a toy, and that’s exactly what he did.
Challenge: #3 Battle Scene
Fandom: Angel
Pairing/Characters: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, a redheaded woman and a demon
Summary: Expanded sequence from Angel Season 2 – “Blood Money”
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, demon blood
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters.
Word Count: 861
Author's Note: Enjoy!
The words blurring together, Wesley shut the large tome that was spread out on Angel’s desk and took off his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to remember what he was even trying to research. The hours had slipped away and he had lost focus.
Returning his glasses to their rightful place, Wesley stood and walked over to a small table where he kept his tea and began preparing it.
A loud crash startled him and he gave a sharp yelp as he turned towards the lobby. The expansive front doors of the Hyperion Hotel opened with a bang and an attractive woman with curly red hair was running towards him.
“H-help!” She stammered; her breath caught in her throat. “It’s after me!”
“Dear lord.” Wesley replied; his eyes narrowing as he caught her in his arms. Flustered, he patted her on the back of her head as she cried into his dark shirt.
Before he could ask what she was running from, a large demon jumped through the entrance. It had long arms, scaly green skin and thin wisps of black hair falling around two large ivory horns that were attached to its forehead. Hunched over, it paused and sniffed the air before snapping its head around and baring its teeth.
Wesley’s head snapped back as he took the creature in and then herded the woman behind Angel’s desk.
“Stay here, please.” Wesley said as she lowered herself down behind the desk, sobbing in fear. The demon was already in the office doorway when Wesley turned back towards it.
“Enough is enough. I will not allow you to harm this lady,” he said firmly, standing straight as the demon just growled.
Wesley leapt forward, attempting to catch the demon off guard with a low tackle. The demon was fast, and there was a sharp blow to Wesley’s back as the demon struck with its large arm, sending Wesley to the floor. Without a moments pause, the demon reached down and tried to grab Wesley by the neck, but Wesley scrambled forward beneath the demon’s legs and kicked the demon’s left leg as hard as he could. There was a sizzling howl of pain as the demon crumpled to the floor and Wesley jumped to his feet.
The weapons chest was too far away, so Wesley gave a sharp kick to the back of the demon’s neck and jumped over its large green mass back into the office. As he reached for the red katana on the wall, there was a startling pain in the back of his leg as the demon reached and dug its claws into Wesley’s ankle.
An exasperated gasp escaping his lips, Wesley grabbed the teapot off the nearby table and threw it into the demon’s face as he fell to the floor. The teapot shattered and boiling water splashed all over the demon’s face. Releasing its hold on Wesley’s ankle, the demon screamed in pain. Wesley grimaced as he got to his feet again, but the demon kicked out with its leg this time and sent Wesley into the back wall. Dazed, Wesley watched as the demon stood and began moving toward the redhead, who was trying to push herself further into a wall that was not budging.
“No!” Wesley exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall but then falling to his knees. The demon grabbed the redhead and slammed her into the desk. Deciding it was time for its meal, the demon lowered his head to her neck, preparing to strike.
Before it could sink its teeth into the redhead’s neck, the demon’s head whipped back as Wesley grabbed its withering strands of hair into his hand and yanked backwards.
“Release her or die.” Wesley seethed into the demon’s ear. Responding only with a vicious snarl, Wesley jerked the demon’s head back further and slammed a metal ballpoint pen into the demon’s neck. Dark green blood began streaming from the wound as the demon slid to the floor. It hissed and howled on the floor as more blood spilled out around the pen still lodged in its neck.
“Stand back, Miss.” Wesley said calmly as he reached and picked up the heavy book he was reading earlier. Walking around the demon, Wesley stood above its head and raised the book above his own head.
“That’s better.” Wesley whispered, bringing the book down with a loud crunch onto the demon’s head.
The redhead peered out from behind the desk before rising.
“Who—Who are you?” She asked, her hand covering her mouth as she looked from the demon to Wesley. Standing in front of the desk, Wesley turned away from her.
“Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” He said in a deep, almost Scottish voice.
The video camera beeped as Wesley shut it off remotely. He turned around, but the demon and the redhead were gone. His teapot was safe and sound on the small table, and the large book was still sitting on Angel’s desk, his pen lodged between its many pages.
Wesley lowered his eyes to the floor and smirked. He had told Cordelia not to use the camera as a toy, and that’s exactly what he did.
which to choose!? Oh dear.. and there's only half hour left.. better decide quickly!
So sorry Em! I loved yours as well! If i'd only known! I love ties 
