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jedibuttercupPG-13; B:tVS/Chronicles of Riddick; 1000 words. Part of the Primitive Side 'verse, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts.
Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put Riddick at Buffy's side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
Title: Inimical
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very post-series for B:tVS; canon divergence for The Chronicles of Riddick (2004)
Notes: Part of the Primitive Side 'verse. I keep forgetting how dark this universe is under all the shiny; but then the characters remind me. :)
Summary: Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put Riddick at Buffy's side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
For most of my life, the sum total of what I owned could be carried on my back. Not much room for personal belongings in the orphanage; even less after I joined the military. And after I was betrayed and sent to my first slam? I was lucky to have a spare set of clothes to stand up in, most days. Got so I liked it that way. The life of a fugitive don't lend itself to luxury.
But then I found her. First clear chance I'd had of dropping off the grid in years, Richard B. Riddick's death record writ by the crash on M-344/G, and I tripped across an ancient transpo holding one living, incandescent soul. Buffy just so happens to have a fetish for pretty things to go with the predatory glint in her eye and the grace with which she moves, and who am I to say no to the pleading gaze of a deadly woman? It's a small price to pay for a partner I can turn my back on.
At least it all fits in our ship. If we had to leave any part of her shoe collection behind for this, I'd never hear the end of it.
"Look. I know it isn't what you wanted to hear," she says, arms crossed under her breasts as she stares at the Imam. Some folk might take that as a self-protective gesture; me, I know it has a lot more to do with keeping her hands tucked where she won't be tempted to use them.
"Your breezy friend there said a lot about capital-B Balance, and how a man born on Furya is supposed to cause their leader's downfall," she continues, all the freight of long experience sharpening her tone. "Notice how she didn't say anything about the rest of the Necromonger army. And even if she had-- we're just two people. It's not like we can keep the fleet from landing by ourselves. If you want your family to still be alive when it's all over? Take your wife, your kid, and any other noncombatants you can gather, and get the hell off Helion Prime before that comet gets any closer."
"We do not have that many transports," the Imam replies, shaking his head. "But we have defenses and shelters, and we are prepared to use them. We did not ask you here to pluck the fleet from the sky; we asked you here to save worlds, Allah willing."
"Thought I told you before to leave your god out of it," I reply, sourly.
Buffy hasn't spoken of her reasons for being where I found her any more than she had to, but the gist was pretty clear: whatever Purpose put her there was no kinder than the one who'd laid out my fate. The last few years of contentment have been in spite of, not because of, those prophecies.
"You believe what you believe; and I will believe what I believe," the Imam replies, chin up in defiance. "But I will pray for you both. What you go to do-- there will not be thanks enough, if it saves my people."
Buffy sets a hand on my arm, offering a kinder reply than I would have given. "We can't stop you from doing what you feel is right. But do something else for us? Get word to Jack. You know she'll worry."
The Imam's mouth goes tight, but he inclines his head, acknowledging the implication: that he put himself in a position to do so. "I will not say 'go in peace'; but may your steps be sure on the path placed before you."
"And if you stumble, make it part of the dance, yeah, yeah, I know," Buffy replies, rolling her eyes. But she steps forward to fold the Imam into a stiff hug anyway, then nods to Lajjun and Ziza standing behind him.
The other councilors had left already; it was just us, the al-Walid family, and the Air Elemental remaining. "You coming with?" Buffy asks Aereon, next.
Aereon shakes her head, hands folded gravely in front of her. She's garbed all in flowing white, from scarf to robe to the hair on her head; which says a lot more about her people's idea of balance than I think she intended. "It is not for me to act; I am only here to calculate."
Buffy's expression gives that remark exactly the weight it deserves. "If you say so," she says. Then she sets her hand in mine: palms clasped, not fingers, so it won't slow us if we need to act.
If bright light isn't the opposite of the Necromongers' shadow.... Buffy told me once that Death was supposed to be her gift. Enough to make a man wonder what'll happen when she comes face-to-face with a whole people who venerate it. Think that might be the one kind of worship that could make even me a convert.
No wonder the Elementals predicted me instead. Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put me at her side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
I grin at the thought, and the unsettled look on Aereon's face as we turn to leave makes it all the sweeter.
*
Aereon isn't there when the ships finally land, after obliterating Helion's defenders. Nor is the Imam, who took that shuttle after all. But the Lord Marshal is, along with what looks like the elite of his court, there to witness the conversions. And when one of Helion's politicos interrupts the join-or-die speech with a unilateral rejection....
Buffy steps in the Lord Marshal's way, and lets him grip her soul instead.
She isn't the one who drops to their knees, in the aftermath.
*
Think I'm going to like this future a lot better than the one all those Powers had in mind.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
twistedshorts.Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put Riddick at Buffy's side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
Title: Inimical
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very post-series for B:tVS; canon divergence for The Chronicles of Riddick (2004)
Notes: Part of the Primitive Side 'verse. I keep forgetting how dark this universe is under all the shiny; but then the characters remind me. :)
Summary: Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put Riddick at Buffy's side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
For most of my life, the sum total of what I owned could be carried on my back. Not much room for personal belongings in the orphanage; even less after I joined the military. And after I was betrayed and sent to my first slam? I was lucky to have a spare set of clothes to stand up in, most days. Got so I liked it that way. The life of a fugitive don't lend itself to luxury.
But then I found her. First clear chance I'd had of dropping off the grid in years, Richard B. Riddick's death record writ by the crash on M-344/G, and I tripped across an ancient transpo holding one living, incandescent soul. Buffy just so happens to have a fetish for pretty things to go with the predatory glint in her eye and the grace with which she moves, and who am I to say no to the pleading gaze of a deadly woman? It's a small price to pay for a partner I can turn my back on.
At least it all fits in our ship. If we had to leave any part of her shoe collection behind for this, I'd never hear the end of it.
"Look. I know it isn't what you wanted to hear," she says, arms crossed under her breasts as she stares at the Imam. Some folk might take that as a self-protective gesture; me, I know it has a lot more to do with keeping her hands tucked where she won't be tempted to use them.
"Your breezy friend there said a lot about capital-B Balance, and how a man born on Furya is supposed to cause their leader's downfall," she continues, all the freight of long experience sharpening her tone. "Notice how she didn't say anything about the rest of the Necromonger army. And even if she had-- we're just two people. It's not like we can keep the fleet from landing by ourselves. If you want your family to still be alive when it's all over? Take your wife, your kid, and any other noncombatants you can gather, and get the hell off Helion Prime before that comet gets any closer."
"We do not have that many transports," the Imam replies, shaking his head. "But we have defenses and shelters, and we are prepared to use them. We did not ask you here to pluck the fleet from the sky; we asked you here to save worlds, Allah willing."
"Thought I told you before to leave your god out of it," I reply, sourly.
Buffy hasn't spoken of her reasons for being where I found her any more than she had to, but the gist was pretty clear: whatever Purpose put her there was no kinder than the one who'd laid out my fate. The last few years of contentment have been in spite of, not because of, those prophecies.
"You believe what you believe; and I will believe what I believe," the Imam replies, chin up in defiance. "But I will pray for you both. What you go to do-- there will not be thanks enough, if it saves my people."
Buffy sets a hand on my arm, offering a kinder reply than I would have given. "We can't stop you from doing what you feel is right. But do something else for us? Get word to Jack. You know she'll worry."
The Imam's mouth goes tight, but he inclines his head, acknowledging the implication: that he put himself in a position to do so. "I will not say 'go in peace'; but may your steps be sure on the path placed before you."
"And if you stumble, make it part of the dance, yeah, yeah, I know," Buffy replies, rolling her eyes. But she steps forward to fold the Imam into a stiff hug anyway, then nods to Lajjun and Ziza standing behind him.
The other councilors had left already; it was just us, the al-Walid family, and the Air Elemental remaining. "You coming with?" Buffy asks Aereon, next.
Aereon shakes her head, hands folded gravely in front of her. She's garbed all in flowing white, from scarf to robe to the hair on her head; which says a lot more about her people's idea of balance than I think she intended. "It is not for me to act; I am only here to calculate."
Buffy's expression gives that remark exactly the weight it deserves. "If you say so," she says. Then she sets her hand in mine: palms clasped, not fingers, so it won't slow us if we need to act.
If bright light isn't the opposite of the Necromongers' shadow.... Buffy told me once that Death was supposed to be her gift. Enough to make a man wonder what'll happen when she comes face-to-face with a whole people who venerate it. Think that might be the one kind of worship that could make even me a convert.
No wonder the Elementals predicted me instead. Pit a man who won't be conquered against an armada that either slaughters or converts, no middle ground? No matter which side wins, it's a net gain for the observers. But put me at her side, and it's a different axis of confrontation entirely.
I grin at the thought, and the unsettled look on Aereon's face as we turn to leave makes it all the sweeter.
*
Aereon isn't there when the ships finally land, after obliterating Helion's defenders. Nor is the Imam, who took that shuttle after all. But the Lord Marshal is, along with what looks like the elite of his court, there to witness the conversions. And when one of Helion's politicos interrupts the join-or-die speech with a unilateral rejection....
Buffy steps in the Lord Marshal's way, and lets him grip her soul instead.
She isn't the one who drops to their knees, in the aftermath.
*
Think I'm going to like this future a lot better than the one all those Powers had in mind.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
