Willow drabbles
Sep. 9th, 2009 09:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deird1Here are eight different Willow drabbles. Written for many different occasions.
The Blue (Joyce liked it so)
Three days later, the sweater is put half on… then placed back in the drawer. Willow grabs the red instead, and heads to class.
It almost gets worn two weeks later, when Willow goes out for coffee.
It’s nearly the sweater Willow picks to wrap tenderly around her bewildered-and-blank lover. But she hesitates, then chooses another.
It sits in the drawer until, later, Willow empties everything onto the floor, and starts packing them into boxes. The red is packed, and the purple, the fuzzy yellow, the stripey yellow-and-orange.
But the blue is laid aside, left there, and never worn again.
Teacher
Willow gritted her teeth. “Look. Do you want to learn how to do this?”
There was a chorus of mumbled agreement that yes, they probably did.
“Then stop bickering, and form the damn Circle of Sucellus!”
The girls arranged themselves.
“Uh... Miss Rosenburg? Is this okay?”
“That's a square. If I wanted the Square of Sucellus, I would have said so.”
“How about this?”
“That's a triangle.”
“How about the… Rhombus of Sucellus?”
Willow just glared.
After much discussion, some hair-pulling, and two girls leaving the room in tears, it was agreed that the Oval of Sucellus would probably do.
Force Is Okay
It’s not like it was actually wrong.
She grabbed the supplies, and hurried downstairs.
Tara didn’t understand, that was all.
She knelt by the fireplace, and deposited one piece of bramble in the grate.
She was just going to stop them fighting.
And eventually, everything would be exactly the way it was supposed to be.
The flames flickered reassuringly at her, promising a fresh start, without any more silly disputes over such trivial stuff.
What could be wrong with that?
Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa
After all, if it was wrong, then she wouldn’t be doing it, would she?
The End
Death is so very final.
She dies triumphant, and they all cry about it.
They carry her body back to the house and tenderly place it on the bed.
They sit around drinking, looking at photos, laughing, weeping, and remembering together.
They think up a gravestone and hope she would have liked it.
They bury her in the woods, and leave flowers on the grave. Lots of flowers.
They stand there silent for almost forever, wishing that they knew what to say.
And then they go home.
End of the story, folks, with no more to come.
But Willow wonders.
Pet Store
The phone rang.
“Hello?"
“Tara! Do you have Fermetum's Grimoire in your dorm?”
It was Willow. Tara blushed, and was very glad Willow couldn't see.
“Um… I'll check. Why do you need it?”
“I accidentally ate four of Buffy's muffins, and there's only one left.”
“And…”
“And I didn't want her to come back and be all ‘Hey! One muffin!’ so I tried a multiplication spell, but it went kinda freaky, and I forgot to check the whole room first.”
“Hmm. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't see it anywhere.”
“Well… do you know anyone who wants twenty pet rats?”
Stole My Barbie
“Xander!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Xander, give it!”
“Come and get it, silly!”
“Stop running away!”
“Then you run faster!”
“Stop it, Xander, it isn’t fair!”
“Is so!”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“Meany!”
“Crybaby!”
“Bad speller!”
“Oww!”
“Hey! Oww!”
“Ahh! That hurt!”
“That did too!”
“You hit me first!”
“You’re not my boyfriend anymore, Xander Harris!”
“Fine! Then you’re not my girlfriend either!”
“Fine! Stupid head!”
“Dumb face!”
She kicked herself about that for years. But it had seemed so important at the time.
“Here you go. Friends again?”
“Friends. Doofus pants.”
“Dork person.”
“Xander?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s her head?”
Connected
Tara gave her violets, once.
After class, they met in Tara’s room – just to hang out (or that’s what she told herself).
And she couldn’t stay very long, because they were all meeting at Giles’ house, but they sat on the floor and talked about magic and homework and computers and magic some more, and suddenly Tara was holding a bunch of violets.
She was late to the Scooby meeting, but no-one seemed to notice.
Willow can make flowers grow: daisies, tulips, and something that comes all the way from Paraguay.
But she never grows violets. She’s not ready yet.
Sticks and Stones
The thing is, Cordelia’s opinion doesn’t matter. Not really.
Cordelia might be queen of fashion and talking to boys, but Willow can hack into any website she wants.
Cordelia might have lots of cool friends, but Willow can program in C++.
Cordelia might be so much cooler than everyone ever, but Willow’s way more intelligent, and fun, and interesting, and… better.
(Willow’s way better at everything that matters.
The stuff Cordelia likes doesn’t really matter.
So Cordelia doesn’t really matter.
So what Cordelia thinks of Willow – that doesn’t matter either.)
Willow keeps typing, and tries to ignore what Cordelia’s saying.
The Blue (Joyce liked it so)
Three days later, the sweater is put half on… then placed back in the drawer. Willow grabs the red instead, and heads to class.
It almost gets worn two weeks later, when Willow goes out for coffee.
It’s nearly the sweater Willow picks to wrap tenderly around her bewildered-and-blank lover. But she hesitates, then chooses another.
It sits in the drawer until, later, Willow empties everything onto the floor, and starts packing them into boxes. The red is packed, and the purple, the fuzzy yellow, the stripey yellow-and-orange.
But the blue is laid aside, left there, and never worn again.
Teacher
Willow gritted her teeth. “Look. Do you want to learn how to do this?”
There was a chorus of mumbled agreement that yes, they probably did.
“Then stop bickering, and form the damn Circle of Sucellus!”
The girls arranged themselves.
“Uh... Miss Rosenburg? Is this okay?”
“That's a square. If I wanted the Square of Sucellus, I would have said so.”
“How about this?”
“That's a triangle.”
“How about the… Rhombus of Sucellus?”
Willow just glared.
After much discussion, some hair-pulling, and two girls leaving the room in tears, it was agreed that the Oval of Sucellus would probably do.
Force Is Okay
It’s not like it was actually wrong.
She grabbed the supplies, and hurried downstairs.
Tara didn’t understand, that was all.
She knelt by the fireplace, and deposited one piece of bramble in the grate.
She was just going to stop them fighting.
And eventually, everything would be exactly the way it was supposed to be.
The flames flickered reassuringly at her, promising a fresh start, without any more silly disputes over such trivial stuff.
What could be wrong with that?
Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa
After all, if it was wrong, then she wouldn’t be doing it, would she?
The End
Death is so very final.
She dies triumphant, and they all cry about it.
They carry her body back to the house and tenderly place it on the bed.
They sit around drinking, looking at photos, laughing, weeping, and remembering together.
They think up a gravestone and hope she would have liked it.
They bury her in the woods, and leave flowers on the grave. Lots of flowers.
They stand there silent for almost forever, wishing that they knew what to say.
And then they go home.
End of the story, folks, with no more to come.
But Willow wonders.
Pet Store
The phone rang.
“Hello?"
“Tara! Do you have Fermetum's Grimoire in your dorm?”
It was Willow. Tara blushed, and was very glad Willow couldn't see.
“Um… I'll check. Why do you need it?”
“I accidentally ate four of Buffy's muffins, and there's only one left.”
“And…”
“And I didn't want her to come back and be all ‘Hey! One muffin!’ so I tried a multiplication spell, but it went kinda freaky, and I forgot to check the whole room first.”
“Hmm. Well, I'm sorry, but I can't see it anywhere.”
“Well… do you know anyone who wants twenty pet rats?”
Stole My Barbie
“Xander!”
“Ha-ha!”
“Xander, give it!”
“Come and get it, silly!”
“Stop running away!”
“Then you run faster!”
“Stop it, Xander, it isn’t fair!”
“Is so!”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“Meany!”
“Crybaby!”
“Bad speller!”
“Oww!”
“Hey! Oww!”
“Ahh! That hurt!”
“That did too!”
“You hit me first!”
“You’re not my boyfriend anymore, Xander Harris!”
“Fine! Then you’re not my girlfriend either!”
“Fine! Stupid head!”
“Dumb face!”
She kicked herself about that for years. But it had seemed so important at the time.
“Here you go. Friends again?”
“Friends. Doofus pants.”
“Dork person.”
“Xander?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s her head?”
Connected
Tara gave her violets, once.
After class, they met in Tara’s room – just to hang out (or that’s what she told herself).
And she couldn’t stay very long, because they were all meeting at Giles’ house, but they sat on the floor and talked about magic and homework and computers and magic some more, and suddenly Tara was holding a bunch of violets.
She was late to the Scooby meeting, but no-one seemed to notice.
Willow can make flowers grow: daisies, tulips, and something that comes all the way from Paraguay.
But she never grows violets. She’s not ready yet.
Sticks and Stones
The thing is, Cordelia’s opinion doesn’t matter. Not really.
Cordelia might be queen of fashion and talking to boys, but Willow can hack into any website she wants.
Cordelia might have lots of cool friends, but Willow can program in C++.
Cordelia might be so much cooler than everyone ever, but Willow’s way more intelligent, and fun, and interesting, and… better.
(Willow’s way better at everything that matters.
The stuff Cordelia likes doesn’t really matter.
So Cordelia doesn’t really matter.
So what Cordelia thinks of Willow – that doesn’t matter either.)
Willow keeps typing, and tries to ignore what Cordelia’s saying.