![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
BtVS: Bonfire Night (8/9)
Title: Bonfire Night (8/9)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Dawn/Giles, Madelyn
Rating: PG
Summary/Notes: A family celebrates a British holiday and suffers an attack of British poetry. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
karabair. This fic involves Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men." You can find it here.
Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII
Bath, England—November 5, 2019
Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason, and plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent to blow up the King and the Parliament.
The three watched as the once-demon-posessed effigy burned away into nothing.
“You sure you’re all right, Madelyn?” Dawn said as she handed her niece a caramel apple.
The girl nodded. “Just weak is all. The demon was so loud in my mind, I couldn't hear anything but that poetry. I couldn't think anything else.”
“It could have been worse,” Giles noted. “Your aunt could have quoted American poetry. Joyce Kilmer, even.”
Dawn turned towards her husband. “Eliot was an American.”
“Who fled your shores the first bloody chance he got,” Giles observed. “Along with Pound, Stein, H.D., and everyone else with even a modicum of talent. Including, might I add, your own lovely self.”
“You saved yourself with that last part, mister.”
“Did I? I assure you, no ulterior motive was involved.” He paused. “The only thing that still bothers me is that comment about the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Do you have any idea what you meant by that, Madelyn?”
The little girl nodded. “It’s already begun.”
Dawn looked confused. “What has?”
“The apocalypse,” Madelyn answered. “The first horseman’s come and gone. Fifth November, 1605 Christian Era.”
Giles nods. “The very first Bonfire Night.”
Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
TBC. . . . here
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Dawn/Giles, Madelyn
Rating: PG
Summary/Notes: A family celebrates a British holiday and suffers an attack of British poetry. For
karabair. This fic involves Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men." You can find it here.Bath, England—November 5, 2019
I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent to blow up the King and the Parliament.
The three watched as the once-demon-posessed effigy burned away into nothing.
“You sure you’re all right, Madelyn?” Dawn said as she handed her niece a caramel apple.
The girl nodded. “Just weak is all. The demon was so loud in my mind, I couldn't hear anything but that poetry. I couldn't think anything else.”
“It could have been worse,” Giles noted. “Your aunt could have quoted American poetry. Joyce Kilmer, even.”
Dawn turned towards her husband. “Eliot was an American.”
“Who fled your shores the first bloody chance he got,” Giles observed. “Along with Pound, Stein, H.D., and everyone else with even a modicum of talent. Including, might I add, your own lovely self.”
“You saved yourself with that last part, mister.”
“Did I? I assure you, no ulterior motive was involved.” He paused. “The only thing that still bothers me is that comment about the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Do you have any idea what you meant by that, Madelyn?”
The little girl nodded. “It’s already begun.”
Dawn looked confused. “What has?”
“The apocalypse,” Madelyn answered. “The first horseman’s come and gone. Fifth November, 1605 Christian Era.”
Giles nods. “The very first Bonfire Night.”
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
TBC. . . . here
no subject
no subject
Thank God--this was supposed to be a short little ficlet written Saturday night. But then Madelyn began quoting poetry it wasn't in character for her to know and, what do you know? The thing developed plot.