|Little Miss Tyrannical
Author: ChristmasInHollywood PM
Without the guidance of a Watcher, Buffy Summers deals with her new powers in a very different way. Meanwhile, something is watching her from the shadows, waiting for the moment to make her his. AU, dark, eventually BAus. ON HIATUS.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Angst - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,931 - Reviews: 24 - Favs: 9 - Follows: 11 - Updated: 04-14-08 - Published: 06-28-07 - id: 3622227
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
What if the Watcher's Council had never found Buffy? Would she have reacted to her powers differently? And I threw in some B/Aus, just for fun. It's not tremendously happy, so if you are looking for teh fluff, look elsewhere (you could even read my other fic, Never Fading, hint hint).
This is AU, I suppose, but all of Buffy's life before becoming the Slayer is as it was in the movie/series/whatever.
NO Gypsy Curse
I recommend watching the original movie (actually I don't, it's pretty bad), which would probably make this clearer. Alternatively, just read the story and hopefully it'll make sense anyway. Enjoy.
Chapter One: POWERUP!!!
Buffy Anne Summers was a spoilt little girl with the face of a magazine-air-brushed angel. She had California skin and eyes like absinthe, one look from which could make or break your day. She was a dream, a vision in designer clothes and perfect makeup from her bleach-blonde hair to her designer heels.
She was a lie.
The insecurities of popularity nibbled away at the back of her mind. Any moment, she could lose the grip she had on those around her. She had to keep looking right, talking right, and acting right. She had to keep being Buffy, or she'd lose it all.
Anyone who said she made no effort at school was very wrong indeed – she made more effort than anyone else, she was sure. Every part of her ached from the effort she put in. Her feet were bruised from expensive shoes and she longed to be able to wipe the makeup from her face.
But she kept her face in that perfect Hollywood smile. She kept acting, constantly alert and aware of anyone who tried to get in her way.
And today was just any other day for her. She woke up and pulled off the eye mask that was guaranteed to reduce bags (to ensure that no one knew she tossed and turned at night – her recent dreams of chaos and death were making her lose beauty sleep) and performed the usual strict morning beauty routine. Everything she did was designed to look easy and effortless, but it always took ages.
She was too busy styling her hair to realise that she'd lifted her dresser clean off the floor to get to her hairbrush. Too busy trying to keep her smile on to realise that the bag on her back seemed lighter. Too busy keeping her oh-so-perfect cool to realise that she'd run for the bus quicker than she'd ever run in her life. And everyone else was too busy noting what she was wearing and who she was talking to to care.
"Ew, have you seen Ellie's shirt? F-u-g-l-y," she sniped, by way of greeting, to her faithful clique. They rushed to agree, restoring her morning confidence, before complimenting her own choice of outfit. She settled down into her seat, their careful comments washing over her like stale heat from a hairdryer – comforting, but only temporary.
The day passed, slowly and without any other major event. She did reasonably well in lessons – not too well, so she wouldn't be classed as a 'geek', but not too badly, she didn't want extra work intruding on her social life – and flicked through magazines at lunch, sipping a low fat smoothie. She always ate less at school, so that everyone would think she stuck to a celebrity diet, whatever was cool this month.
Cheerleading practice seemed a little different somehow. She felt more agile, and her lifts seemed to have improved without explanation.
"Good job, Buffy," said head cheerleader Natalie, as Buffy stood perfectly straight at the top of the pyramid. She beamed with pride, glad that her practicing had paid off, but couldn't shake off the feeling that something was a little different.
"Are you ok?" asked Kimberley after practice, as she pulled on a sweatshirt over her uniform, "you seem a little, like, not here." Buffy shook her head dismissively.
"I'm fine; I'm just a little tired." She grappled around for a topic to switch to. "Have you seen that leather jacket in Macy's? It's so hot. I'm thinking I might go by on my way home." She waited for an answer, and Kimberley rushed to agree.
"Yeah, it's sooo you. I saw something totally similar in Vogue last week, and I was like 'wow, Buffy'd look really great in that'…" she kept gabbling, as Buffy applied lip-gloss, the words just a buzzing in her ears.
She did go by on her way home. There were ten minutes left until closing time when she arrived at the mall, and she trod the route as she had done a thousand times. The jacket felt reassuringly new and expensive in the bag that rustled every time it hit her leg. The way home was less well-lit than the way to the mall, and now it was well after sundown.
Shadows crept in around her, the empty blackness of the night seeming to eat into what little was provided by the dim orange streetlights. Buffy walked faster, her feet strangely light on the sidewalk. Her fast breathing was due to fear, not exhaustion – on the contrary she felt strangely alive. She kept walking, calming herself.
Eventually her route passed a graveyard, and she scolded herself for complying with such a horror movie cliché. She raced past the graveyard, knowing that home was just a block away, and directly into the arms of a grinning, deformed man.
His forehead was gnarled, a ridge over his gleaming yellow eyes. As his grin widened, Buffy saw his long, sharp teeth. Oh God, ohgodohgodohgod. She tried desperately to remember self defence lessons, trying to pull his wrists apart, her eyes still tightly squeezed as though she could make all this go away if she forced herself to believe it was only a dream.
His wrists were suddenly wrenched apart, as though something deep inside her had bubbled to the surface, boiling with strength and rage. Unexplainably, she spun, and hit him with a kick in the chest. He flew back, slamming against the wall. After a beat, he scrambled back up and lunged for her again. She dodged, revelling in what was happening, and he stumbled right past, slamming into a tree.
It took Buffy a moment to realise that a branch was sticking out right through his back. The man – or whatever he was – was moaning in pain, but clearly not dead. Cautious, but excited, Buffy walked up to him.
"You tried to hurt me," she said, in a cold voice that did not sound like her own, seizing his wrist as he had done hers. She yanked it to the side, hearing the bones snap like twigs. The thing roared in pain again, the tree branch still poking bloodily out of his back.
Buffy looked at the branch for several moments, until that strange power rumbled again in her chest. She seized the branch, slippery with blood, and pulled it sharply upwards. The man exploded into dust, and Buffy jumped back, gasping. She looked down at her grimy, bloodstained hands, and she smiled.
It felt… good.
And all the while, something was watching her from the shadows, smiling coldly. Something old, evil and soulless, with the face of an angel.
Should I continue it, or throw it away before I'm compelled to do so?
Please please please review – they make my day!