TITLE: In Search Of
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Nov. 13, 2004
NOTES: Written as part of a series of snippets. For Apathy, who requested Angel and "dubious."
DISCLAIMER: Read

---

"You need me," Illyria says, a slight emphasis on the middle of the non-sequitur that she is in the room to deliver. Curious, yet still not a question; irritated, yet not excessively. While she is sure of what she says, you know, she is not sure of you, and she doesn't enjoy not knowing with the certainty that was hers by right and might.

Thrust to your feet when she once again appeared out of no-where, you tell her, "I need nothing," and leave it there. For you are determined to eventually believe your words, and the more there are the harder that becomes. "Certainly not from you," slips out, an unruly ghost sliding along your tongue, sidestepping your mind. You take a deep breath, pulling back anything else seeking to escape.

"Unless she gets the urge to use that super-speedwalking to fetch us all a drink."

You don't turn back to the table to say, as mildly as possible, "Shut up, Spike."

"You look like you could use one, mate. And I know I-- Ow!"

"Thank you, Angel," you say with a slight smirk at the sound of open hand meeting hard head. But your eyes are still locked on Illyria.

Her head tilts, examining the specimen. You refuse to squirm, you always will, even when she drives the pin in true.

"You need this shell," she states.

No longer is there any uncertainty in that perverted voice, and you do need something; you need that poisoned seed to be there. There's a cough, and you remember that you all need it.

"We've been down this path before," you decide to sneer. "I would think even you would tire of it."

Now her expression grows dubious, a small frown narrowing those eyes that are even more of a problem to you than the rest of what she's done. Then...

You don't think your own face changed, you had schooled it back into boredom, but something she sees reassures her. It's done. There's nothing for you to do, no way to take back whatever makes a satisfied smile spread as far as she ever allows an expression to go. And like that, she's walking out the door.

You take your seat again, ignoring the questioning glance from Angel, and wait, silent, for him to continue.

**

Return to my miscellaneous stories