Archive | June 1, 2016

Behind the Door

That door!

It tingled when she walked by; on grey days, it shone. Garish yellow in a black wall, it stood out against bracketing brownstones. In the sunshine, it was an ugly door, but boring.

In the rain, it moved, but only when she wasn’t looking: she’d glance away and hear hinges squeak, peek back and see it cracked open, look away only to see it closed when she looked back. It tingled; it piqued the curiosity.

She waited in the rain, pretending not to watch.

The doorknob turned. The door creaked open. She held her breath, peeked sidelong.

“Curiosity,” a voice slurked out of the oily shadows. “How rare. How strange.” It tingled, ached, prickled. She turned slowly to face the shadow in the doorway.

“How delicious.” She had no time, no breath, to scream. A gulp, and she was devoured.

The yellow door tingled, sometimes, in the rain. But the house behind it shone in the sun, and the doors inside were endless.

I started a new occasional thing on Thimbleful Thursday, since I got the prompts prescheduled through next September.

Tell-Me Tuesday asks a question: this week‘s prompt was “Who’s behind the door?”

165 words, just barely in the limit.

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The Hellmouth Job, Part I (A Leverage/Buffy Fanfic)

So, has a policy that your first post has to be a crossover, Buffy/something they acknowledge as another fandom, and they’ve not decided if Addergoole is a fandom (by their lights). So: Leverage/BuffyVerse, with possibly at least two other crossovers, depending on how this goes. Timelines bent to suit.

“Awww, come on, Nate, this doesn’t seem like our kind of gig at all. And California? Do you remember what happened the last time we went to California?” Hardison slid his favorite laptop into a bag and added a stack of peripherals. “Besides, that means we have to fly, which means TSA, which means…”

“No fun toys at all,” Parker picked up. “Nothing that is illegal in any state — which is just about everything, if you really start looking. Did you know sex toys are illegal in Alabama? What?” She looked up at Eliot. “There was a job. I had to steal a thing.”

“I hate to say it, Nate, but are you sure about this?” Eliot looked ruefully at his duffle bag and pulled out three short knives. “The last time we were on an airplane…”

“Seriously, you guys, you’d think you weren’t in the same place as I was last week while we had that nice motivating discussion,” Sophie tutted. “We’re going to do a job, because someone needs us. That’s what we do, right? We do jobs.”

“We do jobs in, say, the Boston area.” Hardison frowned at his computer screen. “Not in ‘Scenic Sunnydale, California.’ Man, this place looks like it came out of a Barbie-doll catalog. Blondes with tans as far as the eye can see.”

“It’ll be good for you, Hardison.” Nate closed his briefcase with a thump. “You need more work on blending.”

“Blending? Blending? Man, do you see these pictures?”

“What’s wrong with blondes?” Parker picked up a strand of her hair and studied it. “I’m blonde. Tara’s blonde and tan. Eliot was blonde once, for that job where we—”

“We don’t talk about that job,” Eliot growled. “We never talk about that job.”

“I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with being blonde.”

“Parker, it’s—” Hardison threw up his hands. “You know, I give up. So, who’s the target?”

“Well, that’s where things get interesting.” Sophie pursed her lips. “We’re not sure. We have a nickname, more or less…”

“‘The Master.’” Nate grimaced.

“A nickname,” Sophie continued, “and a series of missing people.”

“‘The Master?’” Eliot grinned awkwardly. “Is that like, uh, like that job down in the warehouse district…” His smile slipped. “And that girl that punched me for ‘rescuing’ her?”

“That’s not the vibe we’re getting. And before you ask, Hardison, no, we can’t just let the police handle this. The police had told our client — and I quote — ‘missing people aren’t our job.’”

“So the force is in on it.” Parker leaned back in her chair and put her feet on the table. “Cops on the take, a ‘Master’, missing kids. What’s our angle?”

“All of the kids have been part of an after-school club that formed just a few months ago. Their motto is ‘fill idle hours with productivity. And it just so happens their founding coincides with this most recent spike in child disappearances.”

“…’most recent?’” Eliot frowned. “What, like, this happens a lot?”

“That’s what the client said. Flight leaves in an hour, gang. Let’s go steal us a youth group.”


“Guys, have you seen Topher anywhere?” Xander was pacing already when Buffy and Willow made it to the library. “Buffy, you didn’t stake him, did you? Did you stake my partner for the super-important half-my-final-grade project, the project that said partner just happens to be carrying most of the load on? I mean… I know you stake vampires, I’m just saying, if you could maybe not stake this one for a little while, just long enough for him to help me finish this project…”

“Topher? Tall, lanky, bad attitude, likes to argue at length?” Buffy frowned. “Nope, haven’t staked him. Haven’t seen him, either. Come to think of it, my partner’s missing too. I think.”

Part II

Available on Twisting the Hellmouth

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