Reader 6
Date: Mon, 3 Nov 1997 20:45:50 -5000
(Workin' my way slooooowly through the fic list... :-)
Bummer... the dangers of writing fic mid-season... :-/
First Buffyfic, you mean, right??? :-)
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<snicker>
ROTFL!!!
Geez, I dunno... some GASPer should be able to help you out though...
The World was not.
The air changed again. Expectation had turned to disappointment, verging on hostility. Giles was puzzled. He knew the words by heart. John was burning the offerings in the proper order and amount. What was wrong?
I love this whole section... the description of the ritual and their reactions to it... and the world's reaction... your description is very... "tangible", I guess... I like much :)
So Giles has a history of dragging new acquaintances off to do odd rituals, huh? :-)))
"so desperate"
check the end of the line...
This is what I mean about the killer description... it's great!
Giles took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out.
"I think that's a Yes."
It cuts off a bit suddenly, but I think it works o.k. (I should talk. I always try to do endings like this and ***** beats on me and makes me write more... what can I say? I've been well-trained. :-)
Very nice story... very Giles, somehow... the whole thing. I could almost see him telling it first-person like this. Fits very nicely!
Page created August 1998. Original material © Betsy Vera (bentley@umich.edu). Page background source: Jay Boersma. This website is for information and entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by others.
Subject: Re: SLAYER: FIC: The Good Luck Song (0/5) (fwd)
(I thought I had until episode eight to post this story. Shoot!)
Anyway, it's my first fanfic, it's in second-draft form and is out being
A short, stocky man collapsed into the seat across from him. John Hiller, the next Indiana Jones, if he had anything to do with it, though he looked more like Jones' friend, the one who got lost in his own museum. He was sunburned, as he usually was after one of his expeditions, and out of breath.
Giles read--intoned--the greeting to whatever Guardians were listening. This part was in regular English and sounded rather like the opening remarks at a fund-raising banquet--thanking them for their past generosity, hoping for more of the same, et cetera, et cetera.
John threw another handful of powder into the fire as Giles launched into the chant. They'd debated about how to sing it, and Giles had settled for a combination of Gregorian chanting and something out of a movie-style secret society rite. Giles had a beautiful [baritone, tenor, what?] voice
He finished the introductory verses and took a deep breath before launching into the first main section. There were three main sections, then a very short epilogue. So far, so good. Despite the eerie feeling, Giles was pleased.
This was not exactly what Mark thought he'd hear as an answer. An ancient ritual in the woods in the middle of the night? Yet here he was, two days later, with Giles and someone he'd introduced as John, sitting around a campfire outside Little Lower Newington.
wasn't entirely sure he believed in the Guardians, but he'd been persuaded to help. Giles had seemed to desperate, how could he turn
they'd wanted to. The world was listening so hard, disappointment it
Giles finished the third stanza and began the conclusion. Impossibly, the air became thicker, harder to breathe. Giles faltered, gasping. The world relented, slightly, and Giles took a deep breath, then another. He would've welcomed more of a rest, but the song tugged at him. It wanted to be finished. It hadn't been sung in too long. It wanted to be free. Giles heard its plea and couldn't resist. He gathered strength from the air and resumed the song.
A slight breeze started to blow across the clearing. The night insects, quiet since the ritual, started their loud chirping again. The air smelled of...contentment?
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