Illyria, Alone. (2/5)
Aug. 21st, 2007 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elisi posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
gen_storytellerGoing out today, so posting this early. Hope you like. And feedback will be *hugely* appreciated!!!
Chapter 1, ratings, setting etc here.
Chapter 2
The first task Illyria set herself was to retrieve Wesley’s body. With great stealth she managed to carry it to his flat from Vail’s palace. It helped that the night’s battle had obviously unsettled the humans and no one paid much notice to her, the streets being full police officers and other official looking characters, trying to keep chaos at bay.
As she was about to wrench the door to Wesley’s apartment open with force, she stopped herself. Humans were weak, and therefore never used force if they could use wits instead. For doors, humans used keys. They carried these with them, secreted in pockets. Wesley should therefore be the carrier of the keys to his dwelling place. After a swift search, followed by a frustrating bout of trial-and-error, the door finally opened and she could carry her burden through and into the bedroom.
For a long time Illyria sat beside Wesley on the bed, thinking. In former times, she would only have had to reach out and touch him, and his wounds would have healed, his heart begun beating again. The loss of this power was as acute as the grief she felt at the man’s death. How could humans live so confined, so powerless, so utterly incapable of shaping their own future? A slave to their emotions and baser impulses, always pining for what had vanished...
No, this was not her way. She would no longer cling to the past. It was gone and her old way of ruling was obsolete. She needed to adapt - she must learn to be sneaky. She sat immobile, as still as the dead figure by her side, slowly mapping out her new plan. It would take time - a long time - but she was immortal and time had once been hers to command, she understood its flows and ebbs. Angel had cut down the large tree that was the Circle of the Black Thorn and it would take time for it to grow strong again. And she would grow alongside, slowly but surely blocking it from the light of the sun, choking it from above and strangling its roots from below. Their weapon was secrecy. Hers would be... the opposite.
When all was clear in her mind, she began inspecting Wesley’s home. Everything was neat and tidy - he had obviously put a great deal of effort into making his home as ordered as possible. But she recognised this for what it was - outward order to help his inner turmoil. Fred had been the same, attempting to arrange the universe into numbers and formulas as a way of controlling it.
Carefully she picked out all the magical and powerful items and soon she had the ingredients she needed for her gathering spell. It was not fitting for her to have to do this, but she had no choice - her depleted powers did not allow for her to reach out as she had in the past. Sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the circle she had drawn, she began.
She cast her beacon city-wide, not knowing how many devotees she had. Those committed enough to have her name or symbol marked upon their flesh would feel the pull and come to serve her.
Two hours later, seven followers had found her. The first six were useless and she sent them away. But number seven, a middle-aged man in a suit, who was obviously of some importance in society, appeared intelligent and eloquent.
She stopped her beacon and found out that his name was Jamesson. She studied him carefully, then laid her first matter before him.
“My Qua’Ha Xahn is dead. He needs to be buried. What are the customs amongst humans?”
Jamesson explained at length. She listened carefully, then asked further questions. After a pause to weigh the options, she made a decision.
“My Qua’Ha Xahn had family. I wish to contact them. Show me how.”
More explanations followed, and another search of the apartment. Telephones and address books were a curious concept, but she studied both meticulously. From the remnants of Fred within her she had memories of these things, but it was like watching a television screen with the sound turned off - the underlying understanding was missing. But as her new guide expounded, comprehension lit up the darkness and she swiftly grasped the idea.
As she looked through Wesley’s book of numbers, she saw the names of Winifred Burkle’s parents. They would make a good first test, having been fooled in the past.
She heard Jamesson gasp behind her when she replied to Trish Burkle’s “Hello?” with a cute Texan lilt: “Mom? It’s Fred!”
As she explained to Fred’s parents that there had been a battle in which all of Team Angel had probably died - except for her, since ‘the boys’ wouldn’t let her fight - she marvelled at the ease with which the words flowed past her lips. Half-truths and deceit mixed effortlessly with her own recent grief, so the emotion that imbued her tale was not feigned. This was interesting and she made a note of it.
And even as she spoke, a part of her mind recalled the first lesson that Wesley had ever taught her of this world.
There's love. There's hope... for some. There's hope that you'll find something worthy... that your life will lead you to some joy... that after everything... you can still be surprised.
She would surprise the world. She would give it something worthy - something to love and worship. And she would no longer be alone.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 1, ratings, setting etc here.
The first task Illyria set herself was to retrieve Wesley’s body. With great stealth she managed to carry it to his flat from Vail’s palace. It helped that the night’s battle had obviously unsettled the humans and no one paid much notice to her, the streets being full police officers and other official looking characters, trying to keep chaos at bay.
As she was about to wrench the door to Wesley’s apartment open with force, she stopped herself. Humans were weak, and therefore never used force if they could use wits instead. For doors, humans used keys. They carried these with them, secreted in pockets. Wesley should therefore be the carrier of the keys to his dwelling place. After a swift search, followed by a frustrating bout of trial-and-error, the door finally opened and she could carry her burden through and into the bedroom.
For a long time Illyria sat beside Wesley on the bed, thinking. In former times, she would only have had to reach out and touch him, and his wounds would have healed, his heart begun beating again. The loss of this power was as acute as the grief she felt at the man’s death. How could humans live so confined, so powerless, so utterly incapable of shaping their own future? A slave to their emotions and baser impulses, always pining for what had vanished...
No, this was not her way. She would no longer cling to the past. It was gone and her old way of ruling was obsolete. She needed to adapt - she must learn to be sneaky. She sat immobile, as still as the dead figure by her side, slowly mapping out her new plan. It would take time - a long time - but she was immortal and time had once been hers to command, she understood its flows and ebbs. Angel had cut down the large tree that was the Circle of the Black Thorn and it would take time for it to grow strong again. And she would grow alongside, slowly but surely blocking it from the light of the sun, choking it from above and strangling its roots from below. Their weapon was secrecy. Hers would be... the opposite.
When all was clear in her mind, she began inspecting Wesley’s home. Everything was neat and tidy - he had obviously put a great deal of effort into making his home as ordered as possible. But she recognised this for what it was - outward order to help his inner turmoil. Fred had been the same, attempting to arrange the universe into numbers and formulas as a way of controlling it.
Carefully she picked out all the magical and powerful items and soon she had the ingredients she needed for her gathering spell. It was not fitting for her to have to do this, but she had no choice - her depleted powers did not allow for her to reach out as she had in the past. Sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the circle she had drawn, she began.
She cast her beacon city-wide, not knowing how many devotees she had. Those committed enough to have her name or symbol marked upon their flesh would feel the pull and come to serve her.
Two hours later, seven followers had found her. The first six were useless and she sent them away. But number seven, a middle-aged man in a suit, who was obviously of some importance in society, appeared intelligent and eloquent.
She stopped her beacon and found out that his name was Jamesson. She studied him carefully, then laid her first matter before him.
“My Qua’Ha Xahn is dead. He needs to be buried. What are the customs amongst humans?”
Jamesson explained at length. She listened carefully, then asked further questions. After a pause to weigh the options, she made a decision.
“My Qua’Ha Xahn had family. I wish to contact them. Show me how.”
More explanations followed, and another search of the apartment. Telephones and address books were a curious concept, but she studied both meticulously. From the remnants of Fred within her she had memories of these things, but it was like watching a television screen with the sound turned off - the underlying understanding was missing. But as her new guide expounded, comprehension lit up the darkness and she swiftly grasped the idea.
As she looked through Wesley’s book of numbers, she saw the names of Winifred Burkle’s parents. They would make a good first test, having been fooled in the past.
She heard Jamesson gasp behind her when she replied to Trish Burkle’s “Hello?” with a cute Texan lilt: “Mom? It’s Fred!”
As she explained to Fred’s parents that there had been a battle in which all of Team Angel had probably died - except for her, since ‘the boys’ wouldn’t let her fight - she marvelled at the ease with which the words flowed past her lips. Half-truths and deceit mixed effortlessly with her own recent grief, so the emotion that imbued her tale was not feigned. This was interesting and she made a note of it.
And even as she spoke, a part of her mind recalled the first lesson that Wesley had ever taught her of this world.
There's love. There's hope... for some. There's hope that you'll find something worthy... that your life will lead you to some joy... that after everything... you can still be surprised.
She would surprise the world. She would give it something worthy - something to love and worship. And she would no longer be alone.
Chapter 3.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-21 01:27 pm (UTC)Illyria is learning to adapt. Spike must have had some effect on her after all.
(Powerplay)
ILLYRIA: You're adapting.
SPIKE: (grinning) We do that.
ILLYRIA Adaptation is compromise.
SPIKE It's called learning!
no subject
Date: 2007-08-21 01:35 pm (UTC)Yay! *is very pleased*
Especially the Fred-like logic that leads her to search for Wes' keys.
I think Illyria can be very logical when she lets herself - and she's naturally detached and analytical. Fred is a v. good vessel.
'carrier of the keys' made me smile. It's such a Tolkeinesque title.
Her mindset does seem to fit rather nicely with LotR. I love writing her, in all her pompousness.
Illyria is learning to adapt. Spike must have had some effect on her after all.
Spike and Wesley - although Wesley's affect was internal. But yes, she knows she has to adapt, even though she doesn't like it...
Oh and thank you for reading! :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-21 07:32 pm (UTC)Illyria still has minions? Well . . . that can't be good! And here Knox thought he was all special.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-21 07:45 pm (UTC)Yay! :)
I've always found Illyria fascinating, and watching her cope without her Qua’Ha Xahn, sparring partner and "leader" is very interesting.
It's fun throwing characters in at the deep end. Illyria especially since she's so unpredicatable.
Illyria still has minions? Well . . . that can't be good! And here Knox thought he was all special.
Well the Doctor was obviously also a follower, so I figured there had to be more out there. (The first six were in the Knox mold. Illyria wasn't interested in more of that.)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-22 09:37 pm (UTC)Love how Illyria is coping-learning-adapting-plannning to the changes.
She lost her old world now 'she would surprise the world'.
An intelligent look at the workings of Ilyria's mind.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 05:34 am (UTC)Of course just the idea that she *can* change is in itself quite a step for her. Following it, by actively *seeking* to adapt, is *huge*!
She lost her old world now 'she would surprise the world'.
Which is of course what the whole story hinges on.
An intelligent look at the workings of Ilyria's mind.
Thank you! Character development is definitely my thing when it comes to writing, and trying to work out how someone as alien as Illyria functions and how she might react is fascinating.
Thank you SO much for reading! :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-23 06:51 pm (UTC)She would surprise the world. She would give it something worthy - something to love and worship. And she would no longer be alone.
Before, she probably would've just flattened the world. "Surprise!" and started over rebuilding her kingdom. I love how you're showing her growth and adaptation in the PostNFA world.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-24 07:22 am (UTC)*beams* I also think that Fred, with her very scientific mind and her way of analysing everything, was pretty much the perfect vessel for Illyria. (Not good for Fred of course...)
Before, she probably would've just flattened the world. "Surprise!" and started over rebuilding her kingdom.
Bwah! So true!
I love how you're showing her growth and adaptation in the PostNFA world.
She has understood that the only way forward is through change. The way she is, she'll never rule anything.