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I must get a title for this! All my thanks to Edibbea, her beta work and support keeps me going. And thank you to those who waited so patiently, and who continue to write such kind words.


“I can’t help but feel there is some pattern to this… some method to the madness, so to speak."

“Well, the placement is very precise. He seems to work only with certain… um, materials and the rest are kept as souvenirs, or maybe the things he doesn’t use are the important clues. There does seem to be a sequence, a strand that, although he manipulates, still sits in a basic tied format.”

“Come on, Wes, next you will be asking Dru to bring over her dolls for a dinner party.”

“That is hardly helpful, Angel… and considering speculation that Drusilla uses the dolls as tools of communication, rather disadvantageous to your point.”



Connor smiled to himself and continued to sharpen his axe as his father left the room with a snort of derision. Wesley and Fred ignored him and continued to study the puzzle from the safe distance he and it had designated.

The news of the spark had been met with a mixture of reactions; his father's the most expressive in its lack. Connor, however, could feel the shock, anger and suspicion underneath the blank, slightly amused mask.

After some discussion, shouting and procrastination that had him rolling his eyes at their indecision, a spell had been performed confirming the occupants of the room were all imbued with the essence purported to weigh roughly less than a quarter of an ounce. Although Connor hated the black arts and resented his word being questioned, he couldn’t help the relief when his soul was counted among the others in the room. He had wondered the actuality of the core that had driven his mother to love him enough to swap her existence for his.

His father had left the room and disappeared for a day and a night before returning, covered in the leavings of several battles. The others made no mention of this and continued to attempt to find out what they could about the new additions to the vampire, which had seemingly been sent to replace the woman they had lost the night his father had been submerged.

Connor couldn’t understand the fuss. If one demon could hold a soul, why not two? Observable investigations into the origins of the spark concluded with a telephone call to Sunnydale. The result of which was his father being dragged screaming from a battered creature cowering on the floor, and it having to be restrained as it scrubbed itself raw in the shower that night.


Looking up as it began to fidget and the murmurs became slightly panicked, he saw that Wes had strayed too close to the erratic structures it had created from the bribe blocks they’d gifted to appease it after their theft. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the Englishman’s foot. When the man moved to a safer distance and the murmurs died down, he returned to his earlier task.

They had learned to follow his lead. Being who they were, they had attempted to approach it without his mediation, the results of which had been less than successful. It could be very vocal in its displeasure and silent in its distrust.
Strangely, the only other that it had little reaction towards was the mostly un-invasive presence of his father. Connor still couldn’t decide if this was a threat or a comfort. He partly suspected that, even in its madness, it was attempting to orchestrate a prodigal feast.

He had never considered that there might be more than one son to feed, and if he had he would never believe that there was more than enough to go around.

It had not shown coherency in over a week.

He told himself that once it got used to the new surroundings things would return to normal, and that so many people being around it was unsettling.

He told himself he didn’t want it to stay like this.

He told himself they would still need him when it could speak for itself.

Kiiiiilllliiiiing me soooftly...

Date: 2004-02-24 10:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] krichira.livejournal.com
Yep. Me dying from the misery. Connor's denial. Angst. I drown. Yet, I cling on. It is confirmed. I am Da Masochist.

Spike sounds even crazier. *patpat* Poor him. Bad Angel, beating on crazySpike when all the bleached blonde wanted was to 'make' another bottle blonde love him... *snerks*
I like this point of view of Connor's. It's so...him. It really is. And your last few lines always kill me.

And one free afternoon, I'll sit down and devour your prophet fics, yes I wiiiillll.....

Friended you by the way...easier to keep track of. ^_^ You invited me in to stay anyway. So I'm clinging on.

Re: Kiiiiilllliiiiing me soooftly...

Date: 2004-02-24 12:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] needfire.livejournal.com
Friend away lass, and I would love to hear what you think of Prophet, it's a bit of an odd one, not to every bodies tastes so don't fret if you don't like.
I'm glad that you like Connor, he has a very clear voice but it can be hard to pin down so you have me very happy in letting me know you like him.

Date: 2004-02-24 06:51 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] rusty_halo.livejournal.com
This is so interesting. You're doing a great job writing Connor's POV.

Date: 2004-02-24 06:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] needfire.livejournal.com
Ah lass thank you so much. I get a real buzz hearing from yourself. If I'm catching your interest I know I'm doing something right.
#grinning like a fool#

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February 2011

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