Illyria ficlets
Apr. 28th, 2005 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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buffyverse1000 back over Xmas break. Illyria/Dracula, Illyria/Files&Records, and Illyria/Amy. Evidently the Old One is also a total slut. Rated R or the equivalent.
Into the Darkness
"I know what it is like to no longer be feared," says the half-breed who forms out of a cloud of dust which appears from thin air. "It is so much harder, for one remembers what it is to be great and powerful. One yearns for the glory days which come no longer."
Illyria examines the half-breed. "Who are you?" she asks.
"I am Dracula."
"The shell was familiar with that name. She believed you to be fictional."
Dracula nods. "Those are the only ones who fear, anymore. Familiarity breeds contempt. Those who know are emboldened by the new balance of power, think a hundred Slayers will make them safer than just one or two. For those who I am just a shadow in the night, to them I am the true terror of darkness."
"Mystery creates the illusion of power," Illyria summarizes.
Dracula shakes his head. "Power is never an illusion, Old One. As long as they fear the illusion, the illusion gives one power. You never needed to learn that lesson, able always to strike down your enemy. But now you are as me, a remnant of a world that has passed. Welcome to a world which fears only what they do not understand."
"And so you suggest I seek to be misunderstood?"
Dracula nods. "Come into hiding, into exile with me. Let your name be whispered in shadows rather than spoken to your face. In the light, you are nothing more than an ex-god in the body of a mortal. Stay in the darkness, and the Goddess will live on."
He steps closer to Illyria, wraps his arms around her. "Come with me, Illyria."
The Old One presses the shell's lips to his and steps into the darkness.
Remembering
"Do you know who I am?" Illyria asked.
"I'm Files and Records," the woman answered. "I know everything. You are Illyria. God-king of the Primordium. Shaper of Things. Colossus of Qartryn. Immaculate embodiment of rule."
Illyria's catsuit dissipated as she modulated her form. "Go on," she whispered, stepping forward.
"You are an Old One. Beyond flesh. Beyond perfection. Omnipotence of Earth. Idol of millions. God to gods. Sovereign of Seyarx. Undisputed ruler of half the multiverse."
Illyria smiled as she slipped her hand under Files and Records' skirt. At least someone remembered Illyria's greatness.
About Power
"It isn't about power," the Wiccan says. "It's about balance, about the way of the world. You don't belong in this world; you know it. You've killed a woman. It's about karma and about retribution."
"Do you fancy me a fool?" asks Illyria. "It is always about power."
"Silence, Old One," Amy says and raises a hand. Illyria finds herself suddenly unable to speak, her entire body now under the girl's control. The witch makes a gesture and triggers a simple modulation of Illyria's form, reverting it to that of the shell. The blue in her eyes, hair, lips, forehead recedes and is replaced by pinks, reds, and browns. Her multicolored leather catsuit vanishes into thin air to reveal the naked body of Winifred Burkle.
Amy drops her hand and Illyria drops with it, gasping as she regains control of the shell. "Very well. It is about power," the witch admits. "You once had power. Near omnipotence. You ruled a dozen dimensions with and without shrimp. You were--what did you call yourself? God-king of the primawhatsit."
"Primordium," Illyria corrects as she pulls herself to her feet. She is struck by a wave of pain and falls back, moaning.
"I did not give you permission to speak, Old One," Amy says. "The worlds you ruled are gone. Now you must live in our world, with television and shopping malls and 57 varieties of ketchup. And who holds the power? Those who can harness the magicks. Wiccans. In particular, me. And if you wish to learn to live in this world, Old One, you would do well to remember that."
Illyria nods, gets down on her knees before the Wiccan. "I understand, mistress," she says as the witch Amy Madison begins to unfasten her trousers.
buffyverse1000 back over Xmas break. Illyria/Dracula, Illyria/Files&Records, and Illyria/Amy. Evidently the Old One is also a total slut. Rated R or the equivalent.Into the Darkness
"I know what it is like to no longer be feared," says the half-breed who forms out of a cloud of dust which appears from thin air. "It is so much harder, for one remembers what it is to be great and powerful. One yearns for the glory days which come no longer."
Illyria examines the half-breed. "Who are you?" she asks.
"I am Dracula."
"The shell was familiar with that name. She believed you to be fictional."
Dracula nods. "Those are the only ones who fear, anymore. Familiarity breeds contempt. Those who know are emboldened by the new balance of power, think a hundred Slayers will make them safer than just one or two. For those who I am just a shadow in the night, to them I am the true terror of darkness."
"Mystery creates the illusion of power," Illyria summarizes.
Dracula shakes his head. "Power is never an illusion, Old One. As long as they fear the illusion, the illusion gives one power. You never needed to learn that lesson, able always to strike down your enemy. But now you are as me, a remnant of a world that has passed. Welcome to a world which fears only what they do not understand."
"And so you suggest I seek to be misunderstood?"
Dracula nods. "Come into hiding, into exile with me. Let your name be whispered in shadows rather than spoken to your face. In the light, you are nothing more than an ex-god in the body of a mortal. Stay in the darkness, and the Goddess will live on."
He steps closer to Illyria, wraps his arms around her. "Come with me, Illyria."
The Old One presses the shell's lips to his and steps into the darkness.
Remembering
"Do you know who I am?" Illyria asked.
"I'm Files and Records," the woman answered. "I know everything. You are Illyria. God-king of the Primordium. Shaper of Things. Colossus of Qartryn. Immaculate embodiment of rule."
Illyria's catsuit dissipated as she modulated her form. "Go on," she whispered, stepping forward.
"You are an Old One. Beyond flesh. Beyond perfection. Omnipotence of Earth. Idol of millions. God to gods. Sovereign of Seyarx. Undisputed ruler of half the multiverse."
Illyria smiled as she slipped her hand under Files and Records' skirt. At least someone remembered Illyria's greatness.
About Power
"It isn't about power," the Wiccan says. "It's about balance, about the way of the world. You don't belong in this world; you know it. You've killed a woman. It's about karma and about retribution."
"Do you fancy me a fool?" asks Illyria. "It is always about power."
"Silence, Old One," Amy says and raises a hand. Illyria finds herself suddenly unable to speak, her entire body now under the girl's control. The witch makes a gesture and triggers a simple modulation of Illyria's form, reverting it to that of the shell. The blue in her eyes, hair, lips, forehead recedes and is replaced by pinks, reds, and browns. Her multicolored leather catsuit vanishes into thin air to reveal the naked body of Winifred Burkle.
Amy drops her hand and Illyria drops with it, gasping as she regains control of the shell. "Very well. It is about power," the witch admits. "You once had power. Near omnipotence. You ruled a dozen dimensions with and without shrimp. You were--what did you call yourself? God-king of the primawhatsit."
"Primordium," Illyria corrects as she pulls herself to her feet. She is struck by a wave of pain and falls back, moaning.
"I did not give you permission to speak, Old One," Amy says. "The worlds you ruled are gone. Now you must live in our world, with television and shopping malls and 57 varieties of ketchup. And who holds the power? Those who can harness the magicks. Wiccans. In particular, me. And if you wish to learn to live in this world, Old One, you would do well to remember that."
Illyria nods, gets down on her knees before the Wiccan. "I understand, mistress," she says as the witch Amy Madison begins to unfasten her trousers.
