Diary of a Suburban Squeen

Posy the Vampire Ballerina

:: for katie__pillar ♥ ::

Buffy hung in the metallic contraption, cursing her luck. The vampire mistress who was responsible for her fate stood before her, dressed in tights, ballet shoes and a shabby white dress.

“I simply can’t let you kill me,” the vampire said calmly. “I’m a dancer, you see.”

“This is Posy Fossil,” said one of her minions, an older man in evening clothes and glasses, his voice hushed and awed.

“Oh, don’t encourage her,” said another vampire, casting a disgusted look at the man. “Look here, Posy, I’ve adapted the chassis and run a current through the… Posy, will you pay attention!”

Posy the Vampire Ballerina was dancing, her face a picture of concentration as she whipped through six fouettés and finished in an arabesque en pointe. After holding the position for a moment, she curtseyed deeply, and turned to the other vampire girl.

“Sorry, Petrova, what were you saying?” she asked vaguely. “I was just remembering something.” Petrova pulled a face.

“Oh, you’re hopeless!” The older man seemed to take exception, and inhaled sharply, starting a long speech on the wonders of Posy Fossil. Petrova broke in half way through, clearly bored.

“Oh, do shut up! Posy, what are we going to do with her?” Posy shrugged, clearly indifferent to Buffy’s fate.

“Can’t we kill her?”

“I s’pose, only I can’t help but feel that Nana wouldn’t be awf’ly pleased.” Posy looked rather surprised.

“But Nana’s dead.” Petrova’s mouth took on a grim line.

“Yes. I know.” She stared pointedly at Posy, who was too busy admiring the arch of her foot to notice. “But I don’t think we should kill her. It’s not… well, cricket, I s’pose.”

“Oh, well, whatever you like,” said Posy, petulantly. “But I want her dress. It’s just perfect for the second act of Giselle.”


(I briefly stole xanantha's ballet icon for the purpose...)

Buffy
::as requested by allygatorkin::

Faith could never quite imagine dying, which was sorta odd when you thought about the time she had spent good-as-dead in a coma. She knew that she would die, probably sooner rather than later, but she had never quite considered the circumstances. She’d vaguely assumed it would be in battle, and that was that. Not for her the Andrew-like postulating of possible futures.

And now, here it was. The moment of her death. Or should it be The Moment Of Her Death? Was this the kind of thing that deserved capital letters and hushed tones? The last of the original slayers would be gone. Not that anyone would notice. Particularly.

In her dying breath, Faith realised that her life had been wasted on one giant inferiority complex. She wasn’t the one. She would never be the one. And then the potentials were made slayers, and she became even less important. Nothing. Pointless. A waste of everyone’s time. Christ, she was fucked up.

And then she died. And people mourned. But not as many as might had she not been so determined to be only, always, the second best.

Dawn
::as requested by athersgeo::

Dawn had never really decided whether she was real or not. Most of the time, she didn’t even think about it. She just led her life, the same as every other eighteen year old girl (well, not exactly the same), and the fact that she was really a ball of ages old green energy faded from her mind.

She never quite shook it, though. It’s not the sort of thing you can. Maybe it’s not the sort of thing you should. So sometimes, at night, she would lie awake and wonder.

Then, when she was nineteen and at college, Dawn decided to take Philosophy 101. She wasn’t quite sure why, though yes, as her friends pointed out, the professor was a total hottie. But anyway, philosophy. It wasn’t too bad, actually, and she quite enjoyed it.

She read Descartes. At first, she thought it was kinda weird. Then she wondered if Descartes had known more about the whole supernatural underworld thing than he had probably let on, because malicious demons? So her kind of thing. But the thing about philosophy is that it makes you think. And Dawn thought. And she realised that it didn’t matter how she had been made. It didn’t matter what she had been made for. All that mattered was that she was.

Title: Mary-Lou... Vampire Slayer?
Author: Liss
Fandom: Buffy/Chalet School
Character(s): Mary-Lou, other
Warnings/Notes: None; 100 words exactly
Status: Complete



( She would laugh in the face of danger, she would have no problems fitting in saving the world between French Dictée and a Prefects’ meeting. )

This was apparently intended as a Jossverse/CS crossover.


---
Felicity Richardson was in the process of scoring a much-needed hockey goal for the First XI when she felt it. One second, there she was, just normal old Felicity, rather enjoying the hockey game, despite it generally being rather tragic results-wise, as the Lycée Niçoise team was beating the pants off them, and the next, she had hit the hockey ball right through the back of the net and made a sizeable dent in the board beyond it. But the change was in her. She felt different. She felt stronger, faster, more alive.

For the rest of the game, Felicity half-suspected that Miss Benton, the PE mistress, had slipped something strictly verboten into the half-time oranges, but in the changing room later, nobody else seemed to be feeling the same. Most of them were in fact lying about on benches, looking extremely dejected, declaring that they’d rather die than play hockey ever again, and wondering what sort of mug had invented the game in the first place. All in all, just about what you’d expect from losing a rather crucial hockey match by 6 goals to 14.

But the feeling didn’t go away, and Felicity really couldn’t account for it. Plus, she had managed to somehow chuck her plumeau completely out of the window, rather than just airing it, and this, on top of accidentally pulling the door handle off one of the practice room doors, and breaking the drop down white screen when she went to pull the little toggle, had made her rather persona non grata with the staff of the Chalet School.

“You’re a bit of a disaster area at the moment,” pointed out her best friend, Emily. Felicity just groaned, and fell into a chair in the common room. Emily patted her on the shoulder. “That’s OK, let it out. How wild was Matey?”

“Steaming. Possibly literally. Something’s happened, Em.” Emily looked interested.

“Really? What? Don’t tell me whatshername whatshername in Lower IVA has been excluded? I thought she was a shoo-in for it when she set fire to…”

“Not in the school, you idiot! I meant to me. I’ve Changed.” Felicity’s tones were full of foreboding.

Well, this is a bit weird. Crossover. Two worlds. One's the Chalet School. It's weird. Probably won't make sense to most people. But hey, I enjoyed writing it.

Same Time, Same Place

Sometimes the fabric of reality gets a little wrinkled, like it needs a good ironing. And then people talk who really shouldn't be able to.

( Conversation #1 )

( Conversation #2 )