Triptych Ficlet: Prodigal Son
Mar. 16th, 2016 10:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenix.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
giles_shortsTitle: Prodigal Son
Summary: Three encounters after Randall's funeral
Word Count: 257, 297, 228
Note: I was inspired by last lines but did not follow the last-line-first-line format. So, lines:
“Playing the penitent, Ripper? All that drab tweed standing in for sackcloth and ashes? I could do you one better. Whip your sins away.” Rupert shut his eyes but then thought better of it. Ethan, shimmying his hips in a victory dance, stopped when he caught Rupert’s gaze. “Don’t give me that look, Ripper. I’m just as bereaved as you, but life goes on.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “At least for the living.”
“Go away, Ethan.”
“No whips? No chains? How terribly disappointing. What if I promised to take handkerchiefs and dip them in your blood? We could sell them as holy relics. St. Rupert, the mortified, the contrite.” He gave the final phrase a salacious purr. “The chastened.”
Rupert struck out. Ethan’s leer gave way to shock as he hit the ground. “Must we play this game again, Ripper? You know you’ll be back.”
“Not this time.”
Ethan, even fallen on his ass in the dirt, didn’t know when to quit. Eyes locked on Rupert’s, he licked his lips as he spread his legs. “Do you remember taking me in that cemetery outside of St. Peter’s? Gods, what a night that was.”
Rupert turned and ran.
“You’ll come back. You always come back.” Ethan’s laughter chased him out of the cemetery.
* * *
Rupert stood by the door until he spotted his father sitting alone at the back of the pub. He wished himself away but knew he couldn’t leave. They - his father, the Council, everyone except himself apparently - had been correct. The demons were darker than he’d imagined. It was both right and proper that he sacrifice all he’d wanted to atone for the evil he’d unleashed.
Still, it was with mixed feelings that he joined his father. The words, I’ve ordered for us both, only emphasized the awkwardness between them.
“Fatted calf, father? And what if the prodigal doesn’t care to return to the fold?”
He expected to hear recriminations, to hear that the Council didn’t want him, to hear that he’d been disowned. He didn’t expect to hear an apology. “I’m sorry.”
He felt as if the floor had opened beneath him. “You’re what?”
“You look like hell, like you’ve been through a war.” His father fumbled with his glasses. “I didn’t expect you to return so … damaged.”
Damaged. After the funeral, Rupert had felt lost, like a child overwhelmed by woods dark and deep. As one might bury an ancient artifact - dangerous but indestructible - in a chest to hide it away, he’d taken his pain and locked it down. Damaged. The word kicked like a mule to his heart, smashing that chest open. He heard a cry, short and sharp, realized it was his own, and then father’s arms were around him. “I’ve got you, boy. I’ve got you. Anything you need. Anything at all.”
He didn’t cry long. When Rupert remembered they weren’t alone, father pulled away and returned to his seat. Rupert wiped his face and carefully didn’t look at the other patrons.
“Anything you need,” father repeated.
“Home. I want to go home.”
* * *
“The Slayer is a tool. Our sacred duty is to wield that tool. Any one of us may be called upon to control her wayward nature, and so we must prepare. We must give our all. We must work both day and night. Our sacred calling demands no less.” Professor Tuffnell’s gaze searched the room as if he hadn’t already chosen his victim. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Giles?”
Rupert felt every eye on him. They all knew. Watchers were worse than old women when it came to gossip. He could almost see what they were all thinking.Two semesters earlier, driven by the outrage of idealistic youth, a young idiot had risen to his feet. “Bloody hell,” he’d cried out. “Don’t you ever listen to yourself? Even a Watcher needs a night off, now and then. Even a Watcher deserves a life. What else’re we doing this for?”
He wanted to rise to his feet once again and with one cutting remark so clearly demonstrate the professor’s malice that the cruelty of it could never be in doubt. But they all knew why the professor had called on him. Besides it had cost father, not in money but worse, in personal favors, to get Rupert accepted back into the Council. He’d promised he’d behave.
Wiping any trace of resentment from his face, Rupert answered. “Yes, professor. Absolutely correct.”
Summary: Three encounters after Randall's funeral
Word Count: 257, 297, 228
Note: I was inspired by last lines but did not follow the last-line-first-line format. So, lines:
- But when Spike was gone, when he was alone again, he might indulge in a little victory dance. (part 1)
- Goodbye. (part 1)
- A Slayer deserves a night off now and then. (part 3)
- "I promise." (part 3)
“Playing the penitent, Ripper? All that drab tweed standing in for sackcloth and ashes? I could do you one better. Whip your sins away.” Rupert shut his eyes but then thought better of it. Ethan, shimmying his hips in a victory dance, stopped when he caught Rupert’s gaze. “Don’t give me that look, Ripper. I’m just as bereaved as you, but life goes on.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “At least for the living.”
“Go away, Ethan.”
“No whips? No chains? How terribly disappointing. What if I promised to take handkerchiefs and dip them in your blood? We could sell them as holy relics. St. Rupert, the mortified, the contrite.” He gave the final phrase a salacious purr. “The chastened.”
Rupert struck out. Ethan’s leer gave way to shock as he hit the ground. “Must we play this game again, Ripper? You know you’ll be back.”
“Not this time.”
Ethan, even fallen on his ass in the dirt, didn’t know when to quit. Eyes locked on Rupert’s, he licked his lips as he spread his legs. “Do you remember taking me in that cemetery outside of St. Peter’s? Gods, what a night that was.”
Rupert turned and ran.
“You’ll come back. You always come back.” Ethan’s laughter chased him out of the cemetery.
* * *
Rupert stood by the door until he spotted his father sitting alone at the back of the pub. He wished himself away but knew he couldn’t leave. They - his father, the Council, everyone except himself apparently - had been correct. The demons were darker than he’d imagined. It was both right and proper that he sacrifice all he’d wanted to atone for the evil he’d unleashed.
Still, it was with mixed feelings that he joined his father. The words, I’ve ordered for us both, only emphasized the awkwardness between them.
“Fatted calf, father? And what if the prodigal doesn’t care to return to the fold?”
He expected to hear recriminations, to hear that the Council didn’t want him, to hear that he’d been disowned. He didn’t expect to hear an apology. “I’m sorry.”
He felt as if the floor had opened beneath him. “You’re what?”
“You look like hell, like you’ve been through a war.” His father fumbled with his glasses. “I didn’t expect you to return so … damaged.”
Damaged. After the funeral, Rupert had felt lost, like a child overwhelmed by woods dark and deep. As one might bury an ancient artifact - dangerous but indestructible - in a chest to hide it away, he’d taken his pain and locked it down. Damaged. The word kicked like a mule to his heart, smashing that chest open. He heard a cry, short and sharp, realized it was his own, and then father’s arms were around him. “I’ve got you, boy. I’ve got you. Anything you need. Anything at all.”
He didn’t cry long. When Rupert remembered they weren’t alone, father pulled away and returned to his seat. Rupert wiped his face and carefully didn’t look at the other patrons.
“Anything you need,” father repeated.
“Home. I want to go home.”
* * *
“The Slayer is a tool. Our sacred duty is to wield that tool. Any one of us may be called upon to control her wayward nature, and so we must prepare. We must give our all. We must work both day and night. Our sacred calling demands no less.” Professor Tuffnell’s gaze searched the room as if he hadn’t already chosen his victim. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Giles?”
Rupert felt every eye on him. They all knew. Watchers were worse than old women when it came to gossip. He could almost see what they were all thinking.Two semesters earlier, driven by the outrage of idealistic youth, a young idiot had risen to his feet. “Bloody hell,” he’d cried out. “Don’t you ever listen to yourself? Even a Watcher needs a night off, now and then. Even a Watcher deserves a life. What else’re we doing this for?”
He wanted to rise to his feet once again and with one cutting remark so clearly demonstrate the professor’s malice that the cruelty of it could never be in doubt. But they all knew why the professor had called on him. Besides it had cost father, not in money but worse, in personal favors, to get Rupert accepted back into the Council. He’d promised he’d behave.
Wiping any trace of resentment from his face, Rupert answered. “Yes, professor. Absolutely correct.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-03-17 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-18 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-04 04:47 pm (UTC)I can't even decide which one is my favorite, because they all are perfect.
no subject
Date: 2017-01-04 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-05 02:13 am (UTC)Terrific.
no subject
Date: 2017-01-06 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-05 07:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-01-06 06:49 pm (UTC)Here from buffyversetop5
Date: 2017-01-05 06:11 pm (UTC)Re: Here from buffyversetop5
Date: 2017-01-06 06:48 pm (UTC)