bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
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Carnivale Mystique

Title: Carnivale Mystique
10/42
Author: BmblBee
Rating: NC17
Paring: S/X
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or products named in this
story and make no profit from it.

Summary: A mysterious carnival appears on the outskirts of Sunnydale.
Despite the sudden disappearance of townspeople and pets, Xander is
intrigued and wants a closer look. What he gets is more than he could
have imagined.

This story is based on a suggested story idea from the lovely Mystic Oblivion.




As always, thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the banners that put the perfect
visual to my words.


Buffy positively vibrated from head to toe. Ever since moving to Sunnydale
and accepting her fate as The Slayer, The One Girl In The World, she had
trained relentlessly with her Watcher, Rupert Giles.

In the beginning, she hated him. He had taken over and controlled her
life in a way she had never allowed any one, including her parents to do.
In time she became more accepting. He had drilled it into her head that
she must be ready. She must be prepared for the trials that will come.

She never fully understood what he was talking about until tonight.

Of course Giles had taken her on outings to the various graveyards and
she had dusted a fair amount of vampires, mostly fledges, but this felt
different. This was all consuming. This was a total mental, as well as
physical comprehension of who and what she was.

All around her she could feel them. The demons, the vampires, the other
worldly that sent her very nerve endings into hyperdrive and fired the itch
to kill and rend. She knew she had promised to do nothing. Her
instructions had been clear. Scope out the area, make a mental note of
the types and numbers of demons they were dealing with and report back
to the Watcher.

But it was hard. It went against everything inside her that screamed at
her to reach into her shoulder bag and fish out the stakes and the small
vials of holy water and just let loose.

Patience was NOT something that could be taught in a back room with
weights and punching bags. Nor could it be translated through dusty old
books of prophesy or history.

Buffy wanted to go now! She wanted to make a beeline back to Giles
cozy little cottage and spill the beans. She wanted to tell him everything
she had seen, heard and felt and she wanted him to tell her what to do
about it. But she would wait. She would do as she was told and she
would wait.

Tilting her head to the side, Buffy looked over two of her new friends and
wondered how they could not feel it. Surrounded by all this evil and they
were totally oblivious. Still, she loved them. They had accepted her in a
way no one at any of her old schools ever had.

Willow was wonderful. Faithful, honest, and true blue. Buffy knew she
could tell her anything. Well, almost anything. Nothing Slayery of course.
Then there was Xander. He was great. Almost like a girlfriend, he respected
her enough not to ruin their friendship by making passes, or acting hormonal.
Speaking of which, Buffy glanced over at Jesse and scowled.
He was really starting to chafe.

She had tried to be polite. She had been clear and firm. She was nearly
ready to consider breaking a bone. Just a small one, maybe a finger or toe.
Nothing serious, but enough to let him know she meant business.

"Where the hell is he?"

Willow had been staring off into the milling crowd of people that still
packed the grounds of Kutters' Field trying to locate the familiar red
checkered shirt.

"I don't know, but Xander has intestinal issues and it may take him a
while. Maybe one of us should go......oh, hey, here he comes. Xan!
Xander! Over here!"

Willow waved both hands high in the air as Xander rushed through the
crowd toward them. His hair was disheveled and his shirt, that had been
neatly tucked, in now hung out, the tail covering the front of his still damp
trousers.

Jesse snickered. It looked to him like his friend had done a bit more in
the portable shithouse than shit. He thought about embarrassing him by
pointing it out but decided, what the fuck, he just may follow suit later
himself.

"About fucking time. So, what do we do next? I'm voting freaks and geeks."

Willow stomped her foot and crossed her arms.
"Jesse! Shame on you! We should not entertain ourselves on the misfortune
of others. Oh, I know, I saw some vender booths over there. We could go
find some cute necklaces or rings."

Jesse immediately jumped up and down clapping his hands and squealing.
"Oh, goody goody gumdrops. That would be just fab-u-loso!"

With a firm swat to her friends chest, Willow snooted.
"Smart Ass! Fine, then you two go see the handicapped and Buffy and I
will go look at trinkets. You have 30 minutes and that's it! Don't forget,
Buffy and I have to be home before midnight."

Jesse scowled at both the time limit and the nearing end of what had not
developed into the physical evening he had hoped for.
"Fine. Come on, Xan. Looks like it's you and me. Xander? XANDER!
What the fuck are you looking at?"

At the sharp sound of his name, Xander whirled around. He had been
staring off in the direction of the game booths, half expecting a blond,
blue eyed carny to come charging through the crowd and rip his throat out.

His brain scampered, searching for logic in an illogical situation.
'It was dark.' He told himself. 'I couldn't have seen what I thought I saw.'
His eyes scanned heads for slicked back, white hair.
'It was a trick. It was a joke. It was that fucking Larry playing a joke
and trying to make me look like a fool.'

"XANDER! Geesh, Buddy, you in there?"

"What? Yeah, sorry. Hey, where did the girls go?"

Jesse laughed and threw his arm around Xander's shoulder leading him
toward the huge tent that promised God's mistakes and Mother Nature's
rejects.

"Do yourself a favor, Xan. Next time you jack off, try not to shoot your
brains out your dick with your jizz. Come on, let's see if they got some
pickled punks in there with the two headed goats and a fat lady."

Xander's heartbeat had finally slowed to near normal and he had all but
convinced himself that it was nothing but an overactive imagination.
With one last glance off into the night, he turned his attention back to
the present and forced himself to smile.
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