Gahh...

[jo_anne_storm]

Posted an entry, then tried to go back and edit it to fix a few problems...  Came away with gobbitygook.  So, take two...

I wrote a ficlet!  Yay!  Just a little Willow/Ash meeting piece.

 

 

Title: Trees

Author: Jo-Anne Storm

FFA # 1092: Willow/Acheron (from Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Dark-Hunter series)

Summary: Willow goes to Sanctuary

Spoilers: No obvious ones for either the DH books or Buffy.

Disclaimer:  Don’t own them.  Wish I did.

Author’s Notes:  Technically Kenyon doesn’t like for us to play with her main characters, but I can’t help but feel that she’d be amused by the idea of a Buffy/DH crossover.  I promise that Ash was not hurt in my fanta – er… in the making of this fic.  I’ll put him back right where I found him, none the worse for wear.

 

 

 

 

Sanctuary wasn’t the kind of place Willow usually went, what with the pounding music and the packed crowd.  In fact, she didn’t think she had ever been in a biker bar before, but it was one of the “places to be” in New Orleans and came highly recommended by several members of the local branch of the Council.  Belle, the newly called slayer who had spent the sum total of her seventeen years in the French Quarter, promised her it was the one bar in the city where she could drink her troubles away and not worry about becoming a midnight snack.

 

Belle had refused to reveal why that was true.

 

Not that Willow really wanted to drink her troubles away.  She knew it wouldn’t help, after all.  She had first turned to alcohol when Oz had left and had been disappointed by the decided lack of pain numbing involved.  Magic had provided even less release and added to the pain of love lost, first Oz, then Tara.  She knew that neither would free her from the pain of Kennedy’s sudden – yet inevitable – betrayal; only time would.

 

Which didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the pleasant tingles a few drinks would provide and admire the “other fish” her friends kept reminding her of.

 

She settled onto a bar stool and waited for the bartender to notice her, taking in the eye candy at the same time – and there was plenty of that.  It seemed like everyone in the bar was beautiful in one way or another, from the bus boy who shielded his face with his hair to the vision in black leather that winked at the red head over the shoulder of the man she was practically wrapped around. 

 

An hour later Willow had relaxed enough to subtly flirt with the petite blonde that bore a striking resemblance to several of the bar’s staff, including the massive bouncer who seemed to be everywhere at once -- or had a pack of identical brothers – both seemed unlikely.  It was harmless flirting, since Aimee didn’t set off her lesbidar – gaydar, she reminded herself – and was obviously enamored of the man playing pool with a few others.

 

All in all, much to her surprise, she was having a good time.  The bar, though loud, had a homey feel to it.  Most of the patrons seemed to be regulars, judging by their easy familiarity with the menu and wait staff.  It was a great place to people watch.

 

The band – she giggled over their name, remembering Oz – was taking a break when the bar suddenly stilled.  The silence made the sound of the jukebox playing Lynard Skynard even louder, but she could see no reason for the disruption.  After a moment, the noise level picked back up, and she watched curiously as several of the customers slipped out, looking for all the world as if the bar had suddenly become the last place they wanted to be.

 

She was pulled out of her musings by the feel of a body settling in beside her at the bar.  She could feel the heat and maleness radiate off of him, but the thing that drew her eyes away from Aimee, who was now talking to a woman with red horns, was the power. 

 

“Take a guess,” the man said to the bartender as she took him in.  Amazingly, he was even more gorgeous than the rest of the model-esque clientele.  Tall, trim, and with long black, green-streaked hair, he was built for sex.  Even she, with her preferences firmly in the women category, could appreciate it. 

 

The bartender yelled the word “simi” back to the kitchen area, where the cook waved a hand and replied that he had heard. 

 

Despite his physical beauty, there was nothing about the man that indicated the power she felt, and she felt enough leaking off him to light up the entire city of New Orleans, if not the state.  How much power could he hold to leak that much?

 

“More than you want to know,” he said, turning to her, and abruptly the power was gone.  She could feel his gaze through the dark glasses he wore, and it caused her to shiver.

 

“Huh?” she asked, confused, only to realize that he had answered the question she hadn’t given voice to.  She felt immediately embarrassed and started building mental walls the way the Coven had taught her to.  If he had picked up the question, how much else had he gleaned?

 

“I try not to pry,” he answered once again, then gave a deep-throated chuckle when she blushed.  “I wasn’t picking up on your thoughts that time.  It just seemed like the obvious question.  The name’s Ash.”

“Willow.” 

 

They talked long into the night, neither one noticing the jealous green eyes that watched them.

 

 

So, yeah, I couldn't remember which Skynard song they play at Sanctuary when Ash walks in.  It's either Free Bird or Sweet Home Alabama.

I'm going to snag the Willow/Artie pairing as well, kinda a follow up to this ficlet.  And the Buffy/Nick pairing that I posted to FFA.  That one's going to be a bit silly.

I learned a new skill today: how to make soap.  It's really not all that interesting.  It's also easier to go to the store and buy a bar of Ivory.  But, found out that lye reacts badly with aluminum, which was really cool.  We spent several minutes watching the black smoke and bubbles rise out of the pot.

WOT book 11 did come yesterday.  I had to hunt it down.  Apparently we have a new, lazy UPS man.  He put it in the mailbox instead of coming to the door.  So then the tracking said it had been delivered while I was home, I was a bit concerned and confused.  I ended up walking around the house -- twice -- to check to see if it had been left at any of the doors, and then hiking the quarter mile to the mailbox looking for the darn thing.  He's really not supposed to do that.  Yes, I know our particular box is big enough to house most small packages, but that's not the point.

I'm about 40 pages into the prologue at the moment.  DH and I always joke that the prologue is 100 pages...  Chapter one of Knife of Dreams starts on page 101!