Fic: High (1/5)
Feb. 25th, 2007 09:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlpireTitle: High
Author: girlpire
Rating: E for everyone?
Pairing: I'd probably call it gen, but there are lots of Spangel references.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Post-NFA. What's left of Team Angel is fighting the good fight in Chicago, and a vision leads Spike and Angel down into the sewers to rescue a young English man called Jacob.
Warnings: Language, some frightening images, mild drug use, nudity. Also, this part has a lot of exposition, but I promise it gets better.
Author's Notes: This story is a prequel to [Like Drowning], the graphic Angel/Kate story I wrote last summer. Since this comes chronologically before that one, you don't need to have read it to understand this one. It's based on these prompts from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frimfram: Spike saving Angel, a ghost train, and a reference to St. Petersburg. shapinglight was kind enough to look over my British English in this part, but some of it has been rewritten, so any mistakes are entirely my fault. (What can I say? I tweak.)
*The story has been broken intofour five parts. I'll post the second one tomorrow night.
High, Part 1 of 5
*
Being higher, as cool as it sounds at first, really isn’t that great. There’s a lot of floating involved, which can be nice, but there’s also very little shopping or laughing or meeting people or dancing or having sex, or anything else that falls under the header of ‘A Good Time.’ It’s actually pretty boring. Really the only thing you, as a higher being, can do to break up the monotony is to look Down. And even then, if you care enough to take an interest, all you can do is watch your old friends go about their lives and hope for the best. Which is what this particular higher being does all day.
They really ought to have a Higher Mall, she decided after the first few weeks of floatiness. She could create one, if she wanted to. But then she would have to create all the clothes and shoes and accessories to go inside it, and the sales clerks to sell her the things, and a fountain with those tacky little fake trees all around it, and what’s even the fun of shopping in an entire mall that already belongs to you anyway?
The only thing here that she hasn’t completely gotten tired of yet is the watching. Of course, she’d rather be doing – rather be living - but barring that, watching is the closest she can come to feeling like she’s still a part of the world. And the neat thing about watching as a higher being is that you can fast forward or rewind the bits you want to see, or you can cue your view to far in the future or even rewatch Creation if you want to. (She’s seen Creation quite a few times, from different points of view, and has decided it’s a lot like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, only larger and a bit louder. She doesn’t think she’ll ever watch it after having eaten a big lunch, but then again, higher beings hardly ever have the opportunity to eat a big lunch.)
Mostly, she watches him. And the others, of course, every now and then. She watches the ones who care for him and the ones he cares for too even though they don’t know it, or don’t think about it very often. She watches his son from time to time, but only for a few seconds to make sure he’s alright - because anything beyond that isn’t her business. But with the one she’s always watching, every small thing is her business.
It is now, anyway.
Sometimes she feels a little guilty, spying on him. She watches his everyday life and she’s seen his most private moments. She doesn’t look away when she knows he’d want her to. She’s seen many things he’s done that she’s sure he wouldn’t be proud of - and things he certainly wouldn’t want her to know about. She’s seen his tender moments and the moments he’s made himself not care just so he can do what he does. She’s watched his entire life many times over, and some of it made her laugh and some of it scared her and sometimes she couldn't stop crying, but she can bear it all because she still loves him. She watches the moments they spent together over and over.
She likes watching him in the shower. A lot.
She skips forward in the timeline pretty often. She makes sure he’s going to be okay. She sometimes sees things – things like his friends dying – and knows that those things will make him hurt terribly and that she could warn him... but always, if she looks forward far enough, she sees him eventually being alright, and so she lets the things happen. She's not supposed to interfere very often.
He would probably hate her for it if he knew.
Today she looks Down like always. He’s asleep. She watches for a while, and then, on a whim, looks forward a few hours and glances through the city. The demons stand out like bright red lights to her higher eyes, but tonight there’s not all that much going on. Then, for no particular reason, a tallish, thinnish, dark-haired man in his late twenties catches her eye. He’s walking down the street and she follows him for a while, interested in where he’s going. Oddly enough, he’s going down into the sewer.
She sighs, because honestly, what kind of idiot goes down into the sewer for no apparent reason in the middle of the night? Or ever, for that matter? She’s been in enough sewers to know how icky they can get, and in a big city like this, there’s no telling what’s lurking down there to devour him. She almost gives him up for a lost cause, but there’s something about him that draws her, something vaguely familiar and at the same time new and different enough to be intriguing. She watches.
When she’s seen enough of the future, she rewinds the man’s timeline to find out more about him, to see if he’s worth the effort. What she sees makes her smile. Yes, he’s definitely worth it. This will be fun to watch.
The prospect of entertainment is an exciting one.
The higher being goes back to the present, checks in once again on the sleeping figure. He’s not sleeping anymore, just lying there with his eyes open, thinking. The other figures in the building are still asleep. She pushes up her metaphorical sleeves and rubs her metaphorical manicured hands together, mentally choosing the most important scenes for him to see.
Okay, big guy, she finally decides with a grin. Let’s see if you remember how this works.
Down in the bed, the man suddenly winces and grabs his head in pain.
*
Jacob is sitting in an abandoned subway tunnel smoking a joint. The weed isn't very good, tastes like it's been cut with cheap herbal cigarettes or perhaps some kind of spinach, but he got it rolled and ready off a jittery homeless man for less than the equivalent of six quid, and he's still managing a buzz, so he's not going to complain. Not that there's anyone to complain to.
He's been in Chicago for about two months doing field research for a book he's writing about the medicinal effects of certain kinds of spider venom, which seemed like an excellent idea for a book about two months ago. He had no real reason for choosing Chicago as the field for his research, except a vague interest in seeing the Sears Tower and an even vaguer idea that American girls would like his accent. He visited the Skydeck during his first week here, and so far he's had two one-nighters with women he met at the Red Lion, but he still feels something is missing - as if he were drawn to Chicago for a very good reason, only he hasn't yet figured out what it is.
The book isn't going well, but that's probably due to the fact he stopped working on it four weeks ago. Which was about the time he found this tunnel.
When he looked it up at the public library, he learned that the construction of this part of the Blue Line was nearly completed in 1941, but shortages during WWII kept the track from being opened. Ten years later, when the nearby underground station was officially opened, it served only as a transfer point between the "L" and the Milwaukee-Dearborn subway, leaving the unfinished tunnel abandoned. A History of Chicago's Trains didn't explain why city officials had decided to leave the tunnel unfinished, but by 2006, the original line which began at Lake Transfer Station had been almost completely forgotten; in fact, most people never even knew about it, since it had never been used.
Jacob had discovered the abandoned tunnel under interesting circumstances. He'd struck up a conversation with an arachnid enthusiast he'd met at the nature museum, who told him a rumour slash urban legend slash horror story about a gigantic spider that had been living in the sewers beneath downtown Chicago for the past sixty or seventy years. The man obviously didn't believe a word of the tale, but he seemed quite content to regale a tourist with gruesome stories about half-digested bodies found wrapped in thick ropes of sticky spider silk. Feeling a bit queasy, Jacob had thanked the man and promptly developed a habit of shutting the bathroom door in his motel room before going to sleep at night.
Not long afterwards, while writing notes for his book with absolutely no energy or excitement whatsoever, Jacob decided he was in dire need of inspiration, which led to a bout of adventuresome-ness the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was 13. A few hours later, the 28-year-old found himself exploring the downtown Chicago sewers in the middle of the night with only a heavy torch and one of those little disposable cameras, brought along on the off chance that he'd come across some evidence of a larger-than-average spider, which he was quite sure wouldn't happen, but one always needs to be prepared.
The sewer smelled horrible. The old brick tunnels were dank and slimy, and he wouldn’t have been able to see a thing without his torch. He'd never been in a sewer before, but for some reason he had pictured it being better lit. He'd been down there for less than half an hour and was entirely ready to leave when his flashlight illuminated an irregular cavity in the tunnel wall some fifty feet ahead, and he was curious enough to investigate before giving up on his little quest.
The cavity was a ragged tunnel sloping upwards from the sewer, about three feet wide and obviously not part of the original construction. Broken pieces of brick lay around the entrance, as well as traces of dirt, although most of the dirt from this small tunnel had probably been washed away many years ago. He directed his light into the tunnel and could see where it opened into a larger room, a few feet above his head but easily accessible by crawling up through the small entrance. The dirt walls were packed smooth, and there was a small patch of white about halfway up. When he ducked and crawled inside, he discovered the white patch to be some kind of soft, silky material stuck to the dirt, and he assumed it came from the clothing of whoever else had climbed the tunnel before him.
The room at the top wasn't a room at all but the large abandoned subway tunnel. Off to the right, he could see where the tunnel had been bricked up (he later found out that the Lake Transfer station was on the other side of that wall), but the tunnel extended so far in the opposite direction that he couldn't see where it ended, and the light from his torch faded off into blackness. He briefly explored the closed-off end, discovering a few more patches of the soft white stuff stuck to the tunnel walls, but didn't find any other evidence of people having been there since the bricking-up of it, or in fact, any other animals or insects being there. He expected to encounter rats at the very least, but the tunnel was eerily quiet. It made him a little uneasy, but a part of him liked the dark peacefulness the abandoned tunnel offered, and he decided that he would come back here whenever he wanted to get away from the busy city or his less-than-exciting spider research. Or when he wanted to get high without being reported by the motel staff.
Which is what he is doing here now. He's found a sewer access quite near to the mysterious dirt tunnel that leads to the deserted tracks, and he's been using this entrance for the past four weeks whenever he visits the tunnel. He's even brought a comfortable blanket, which he stretches out on when he smokes, lying on his back and contemplating the curved ceiling above the tracks while his heavy torch casts a circle of light around him. It's all very zen.
Tonight the tunnel seems even quieter than usual, if that's possible. The last train at Lake Transfer was three hours ago, and the city-at-night sounds of Chicago are too far away to penetrate the perfect underground silence. Jacob has that eerie feeling that he sometimes gets down here, but he blames it on the bad weed and doesn't bother getting up. The quiet is so complete that he hears the two voices arguing in the sewer below him long before they come near the secret tunnel. He freezes.
"We came too far. Should've taken the last left under Randolph."
"No, my vision clearly said LaSalle to Lake and turn right."
"These vision things come with actual explicit directions?"
"Well... no. But I have a Chicago road map. I looked it up."
"Tell me this isn’t the same road map you used to take us to the Field Museum last week. Because as far as I can tell, we’re still not there."
“I know what I’m doing, alright? Just shut up and follow me.”
The voices are coming closer, although they still sound a long way off. Jacob silently reaches over and flicks off his torch. He's plunged into near-complete darkness, the tiny burning tip of his spliff the only light left in the huge empty space. He almost puts it out, but he doesn't like the idea of having nothing to focus on, and anyway the light is so small that he's sure it isn't reaching all the way down the dirt tunnel where it could be seen in the sewer. He has no clue why there would be two men down there at this hour, but he's fairly sure they aren't the kind of men he'd like to run into alone and unarmed in a place where no one would find him and he wouldn't be missed.
"It's the wrong way, I'm telling you."
"Shhh! Listen."
A pause.
"To what? I don't hear anything."
"Exactly."
"Exactly! Not a bleeding thing down this way; we should have gone --"
"No, listen, there's nothing - not even rats."
"What, you hungry all of a sudden?"
"Just think about it: no sewer rats underneath downtown Chicago?"
"So?"
"So that's weird, right? Something must be scaring them away."
"Maybe they heard you were coming."
"You know, that whole Angel-used-to-eat-rats thing really lost its charm about eight years ago."
"I still think it's funny."
Jacob listens to the strange conversation, growing more and more anxious the closer it gets. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, he moves to the edge of the hole in the wall and gazes down the sloping dirt tunnel into the sewer. Everything is completely black, and it's puzzling to him that the men seem to have brought no light with them, yet they are moving quickly, judging by the echo of their footsteps, and talking back and forth as if they're just walking down the street in broad daylight. He can't distinguish anything down the dark tunnel, even when he holds up the tiny orange flame of his joint, so he turns away from the hole again, and when he does, he bumps into something thin and solid that wasn't there before.
A cold chill runs through his body.
"Listen - hear that?"
"Heartbeat."
"Someone's scared.”
*
Jacob isn’t screaming. He knows, logically, that this would be a good time to scream, not just because he’s being dragged down an abandoned subway tunnel in the dark by something large that he can’t see but whose feet make soft clicking noises against the metal train tracks, but also because there are people nearby who would hear him and perhaps come to his rescue, or at least send someone to rescue him. But when he opens his mouth to scream, nothing comes out.
The thing is using two thick, hairy appendages to drag him by both ankles, and he can hear the quiet cadence of at least four – possibly six – additional limbs tapping against the tracks as it moves. The movement is strange, a rapid, jerking glide developed by the kind of creature who has too many legs and knows exactly where it’s going. The back of Jacob’s head keeps hitting the ground, and it feels like it is bleeding, so he strains to hold it up as the thing tows him in its strong grip. He kicks his legs to try to dislodge the creature’s hold on him, but it hardly notices his struggling. He finally finds his voice, but his scream only echoes down the long empty tunnel and seems rather pointless by this time.
The dragging goes on and on. His shirt is scrunched up beneath his armpits and his back is scratched and raw from the constant scraping against his skin. When they finally come to a stop, he feels as though he’s been dragged for miles. He tries to remember how far the tunnel was supposed to go, but he doesn’t recall that information in A History of Chicago’s Trains, and it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s in an abandoned underground tunnel in the middle of the night, and even if he were only 30 feet from Millennium Park no one would ever think to look for him here. In fact, no one would think to look for him anywhere because he doesn’t have any friends in Chicago who would miss him, and he hasn’t tried to call anyone back home since he arrived in America in the first place.
The thing lets go of his legs, but before he can scramble away it has hold of his arms, pinning him to the ground on his back. Two of its legs start running swiftly over his body, exploring him and poking at his exposed belly, and he gets the distinct impression that the creature’s face is very close to his face, considering him, and he is supremely glad that it is too dark to see anything. The creature’s hairy feet on his stomach tickle, but he’s too terrified to laugh. Any moment now he’s going to piss himself.
Suddenly, the two rough appendages start stripping away his clothes like paper. The thing turns him on his side and tears his clothes, turns him onto his stomach and tears his clothes again, turns him onto his other side… Dear lord, he’s being peeled like a banana! He struggles wildly, batting at the long legs with his arms, but the creature steadily ignores him and continues to spin and strip him, one piece at a time until he is naked and dizzy. He manages to land one solid kick to what is probably the side of the thing’s head before two long, barbed fangs sink deep into his shoulder, and he passes out.
*
Jacob wakes to shouting. It takes him a few moments to realize that the shouting is shouting. Why would anyone be shouting right now? There is no reason to shout. Everything is fine. He feels really good.
"Behind you!"
"Watch out!"
"I see it, I see it!"
He's warm. He's surrounded by something very soft that's cuddling his body like a silk sling, holding him up in the air. It feels like floating. He's curled in a ball, and the softness clings to him all over; the softness is loving him. Yes, he's sure of it - he is being loved by the softness. He can't tell which way is up, but that doesn't matter because he's perfectly happy right where he is. He smiles to himself. He likes it here.
The shouting goes on, but he's not paying attention. He distantly hears a loud thud and the sound of something skidding across the ground.
"Spike! Spike, are you --"
Then there is another thud and the ringing clatter of something thin and metal landing on concrete, followed by a muffled, agonized scream.
Afterwards, everything is quiet. Jacob smiles to himself again. He feels really good. He's going to have a nap.
*
Jacob dreams vividly about beautiful, soft things. When he does finally wake again, it is to a quiet ripping sound right above his face. He slowly opens his eyes and looks upward, but he can't see anything except black. He has this idea that he should feel scared or at least nervous, but he's just feeling too bloody fantastic to be bothered.
"Hey. You alright?" a voice asks him.
"Yes," he answers it after a moment. He smiles. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm... wonderful, in fact."
"Right... must've hit your head."
Jacob nods agreeably. "Many times," he says. "But I feel marvellous."
"Bit cheerful for a bloke in a giant sack, aren't you?"
"Yes," Jacob says again. "That is rather odd, isn't it?"
"In my world? Not really." There is a pause. "Well, come on then. Can you walk?"
"I think so." Jacob pushes out against the silky cocoon around him and feels it rip a little more. "I suppose I should get out of this."
"Good idea, mate. I'm thinking it wouldn't really count as saving you if you decided to settle in."
Jacob blinks against the dark. "Saving me?" he repeats. He finds the wide tear with his fingers and carefully resumes ripping open his soft nest.
"Yeah. You know, from the eight-legged Volkswagen that invited you home for dinner."
"Oh, that. Right." He pauses for a moment, remembering. "It bit me."
"Figured that. But don't worry, we'll get you all fixed up. Hospital's not too far away; just need to find the ponce that came with me and we can go."
Jacob gets one leg free and feels around for the ground with his foot. "I don't think I need medical attention," he says. "I feel better now than I ever have before."
"Probably in shock or something."
"No, I don't think so. I'm just... happy." Jacob finds the ground with both feet and stands, his knees weak. "It's strange. I know I should be scared, or in pain... but I feel amazing. Euphoric, even. Did you say eight legs?"
"Yeah. Big spider-looking thing. Nasty bugger. Hard to kill, too, what with the body armour and all."
A giant spider! So the man at the nature museum had been right. Jacob smiles wistfully. "I wish I could have seen --"
"It's right there."
"Really? Where? I can't see anything." He takes a few steps forward and bumps into the stranger. "Sorry." He wonders briefly if he's gone blind.
A beam of light suddenly cuts across the tunnel in front of Jacob. He puts one hand up to shield his eyes, then slowly lowers it as he becomes accustomed to the light. The stranger (who looks nothing like he had imagined) is holding his torch and looking slightly amused. "Oh," says Jacob. "That's better." He folds his hands discreetly over his crotch and looks around.
It doesn't even look like they're in the same tunnel. The walls are completely covered in thick, zigzagging threads, woven together into a dense white cloth. Soft sacks hang in clusters against the wall, secured by more clearish-white threads. Jacob approaches the hanging sacks slowly and reaches out to touch one of them. It feels like sticky silk. "Amazing!" he breathes.
The stranger shifts the flashlight beam a few feet away, and Jacob turns to follow it, suddenly finding the giant blue carcass of the thing that attacked him. A large chunk is missing from its head. He stares at the humongous spider, its milky eyes seeming to stare right back at him. Its many legs are folded up beneath its body, although one of them is sticking out at an odd angle. He would probably be terrified of it, even knowing it's dead, if it weren't for the fact he's still feeling incredibly peaceful and good. He can see its two long fangs even this far away.
"She put up one hell of a fight," comments the stranger. "Thumped me in the head and then dragged the poof somewhere while I was out."
While the short man talks, Jacob walks slowly closer to the creature's body. He can see traces of purplish venom still glistening on its fangs. He thinks about his book and huffs a delighted chuckle as it dawns on him why he feels so amazing.
"I figure he's in one of these here sack thingies like you were," says the man, gesturing with the torch toward the clusters on the wall. "Shouldn't be too hard to find. Just look for the one that hates itself."
"Oh, he won't be hating himself right now," Jacob says happily. "Not if he's been bitten by this thing."
"Course he will," the man immediately responds. "Probably hate himself even more, knowing that I saved his arse while he was off impersonating the candy in a demon piñata."
Jacob smiles pleasantly. "I just meant, if the spider bit your friend, then he's probably feeling the effects of its venom the same way I am right now. That is, he's probably very happy."
"He's not my f..." The stranger pauses. His face goes completely blank.
Jacob is suddenly struck by how young the man looks, and figures he is probably slightly older than his rescuer, which would maybe be embarrassing if he could possibly feel embarrassed right now, which he can't, even though he is naked. It's really quite an interesting feeling, not being able to feel any sort of bad thing at all. Even while he's thinking about this, he feels a new burst of joy just from realizing he can't not feel great. It's bloody wonderful!
"Did you say happy?" asks the stranger. He is frowning now, the light from the torch casting deep shadows on his face.
"Yes," says Jacob cheerfully. "He's probably feeling better than he has in years. So don't worry about him. Even if he's hurt, I'm sure he's not in any pain."
The man takes an anxious step forward. "Exactly how happy would you say he is?" he demands.
"Completely," Jacob reassures him. "Perfectly happy."
"Like the sort of happy you would be if, say, a beautiful young girl that you're in love with, who represents everything you want and everything you want to be, decided to shag your brains out on the night of her seventeenth birthday even though you're a stupid lunk with bad hair? That sort of happy?"
Jacob considers this. "Yes," he says finally. "Exactly that happy! So there's no need to be concerned." He offers the man an encouraging smile.
The man exhales deeply. "Bugger," he says.
*
Continued [here].
*
Author: girlpire
Rating: E for everyone?
Pairing: I'd probably call it gen, but there are lots of Spangel references.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Post-NFA. What's left of Team Angel is fighting the good fight in Chicago, and a vision leads Spike and Angel down into the sewers to rescue a young English man called Jacob.
Warnings: Language, some frightening images, mild drug use, nudity. Also, this part has a lot of exposition, but I promise it gets better.
Author's Notes: This story is a prequel to [Like Drowning], the graphic Angel/Kate story I wrote last summer. Since this comes chronologically before that one, you don't need to have read it to understand this one. It's based on these prompts from
frimfram: Spike saving Angel, a ghost train, and a reference to St. Petersburg. shapinglight was kind enough to look over my British English in this part, but some of it has been rewritten, so any mistakes are entirely my fault. (What can I say? I tweak.) *The story has been broken into
High, Part 1 of 5
*
Being higher, as cool as it sounds at first, really isn’t that great. There’s a lot of floating involved, which can be nice, but there’s also very little shopping or laughing or meeting people or dancing or having sex, or anything else that falls under the header of ‘A Good Time.’ It’s actually pretty boring. Really the only thing you, as a higher being, can do to break up the monotony is to look Down. And even then, if you care enough to take an interest, all you can do is watch your old friends go about their lives and hope for the best. Which is what this particular higher being does all day.
They really ought to have a Higher Mall, she decided after the first few weeks of floatiness. She could create one, if she wanted to. But then she would have to create all the clothes and shoes and accessories to go inside it, and the sales clerks to sell her the things, and a fountain with those tacky little fake trees all around it, and what’s even the fun of shopping in an entire mall that already belongs to you anyway?
The only thing here that she hasn’t completely gotten tired of yet is the watching. Of course, she’d rather be doing – rather be living - but barring that, watching is the closest she can come to feeling like she’s still a part of the world. And the neat thing about watching as a higher being is that you can fast forward or rewind the bits you want to see, or you can cue your view to far in the future or even rewatch Creation if you want to. (She’s seen Creation quite a few times, from different points of view, and has decided it’s a lot like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, only larger and a bit louder. She doesn’t think she’ll ever watch it after having eaten a big lunch, but then again, higher beings hardly ever have the opportunity to eat a big lunch.)
Mostly, she watches him. And the others, of course, every now and then. She watches the ones who care for him and the ones he cares for too even though they don’t know it, or don’t think about it very often. She watches his son from time to time, but only for a few seconds to make sure he’s alright - because anything beyond that isn’t her business. But with the one she’s always watching, every small thing is her business.
It is now, anyway.
Sometimes she feels a little guilty, spying on him. She watches his everyday life and she’s seen his most private moments. She doesn’t look away when she knows he’d want her to. She’s seen many things he’s done that she’s sure he wouldn’t be proud of - and things he certainly wouldn’t want her to know about. She’s seen his tender moments and the moments he’s made himself not care just so he can do what he does. She’s watched his entire life many times over, and some of it made her laugh and some of it scared her and sometimes she couldn't stop crying, but she can bear it all because she still loves him. She watches the moments they spent together over and over.
She likes watching him in the shower. A lot.
She skips forward in the timeline pretty often. She makes sure he’s going to be okay. She sometimes sees things – things like his friends dying – and knows that those things will make him hurt terribly and that she could warn him... but always, if she looks forward far enough, she sees him eventually being alright, and so she lets the things happen. She's not supposed to interfere very often.
He would probably hate her for it if he knew.
Today she looks Down like always. He’s asleep. She watches for a while, and then, on a whim, looks forward a few hours and glances through the city. The demons stand out like bright red lights to her higher eyes, but tonight there’s not all that much going on. Then, for no particular reason, a tallish, thinnish, dark-haired man in his late twenties catches her eye. He’s walking down the street and she follows him for a while, interested in where he’s going. Oddly enough, he’s going down into the sewer.
She sighs, because honestly, what kind of idiot goes down into the sewer for no apparent reason in the middle of the night? Or ever, for that matter? She’s been in enough sewers to know how icky they can get, and in a big city like this, there’s no telling what’s lurking down there to devour him. She almost gives him up for a lost cause, but there’s something about him that draws her, something vaguely familiar and at the same time new and different enough to be intriguing. She watches.
When she’s seen enough of the future, she rewinds the man’s timeline to find out more about him, to see if he’s worth the effort. What she sees makes her smile. Yes, he’s definitely worth it. This will be fun to watch.
The prospect of entertainment is an exciting one.
The higher being goes back to the present, checks in once again on the sleeping figure. He’s not sleeping anymore, just lying there with his eyes open, thinking. The other figures in the building are still asleep. She pushes up her metaphorical sleeves and rubs her metaphorical manicured hands together, mentally choosing the most important scenes for him to see.
Okay, big guy, she finally decides with a grin. Let’s see if you remember how this works.
Down in the bed, the man suddenly winces and grabs his head in pain.
*
Jacob is sitting in an abandoned subway tunnel smoking a joint. The weed isn't very good, tastes like it's been cut with cheap herbal cigarettes or perhaps some kind of spinach, but he got it rolled and ready off a jittery homeless man for less than the equivalent of six quid, and he's still managing a buzz, so he's not going to complain. Not that there's anyone to complain to.
He's been in Chicago for about two months doing field research for a book he's writing about the medicinal effects of certain kinds of spider venom, which seemed like an excellent idea for a book about two months ago. He had no real reason for choosing Chicago as the field for his research, except a vague interest in seeing the Sears Tower and an even vaguer idea that American girls would like his accent. He visited the Skydeck during his first week here, and so far he's had two one-nighters with women he met at the Red Lion, but he still feels something is missing - as if he were drawn to Chicago for a very good reason, only he hasn't yet figured out what it is.
The book isn't going well, but that's probably due to the fact he stopped working on it four weeks ago. Which was about the time he found this tunnel.
When he looked it up at the public library, he learned that the construction of this part of the Blue Line was nearly completed in 1941, but shortages during WWII kept the track from being opened. Ten years later, when the nearby underground station was officially opened, it served only as a transfer point between the "L" and the Milwaukee-Dearborn subway, leaving the unfinished tunnel abandoned. A History of Chicago's Trains didn't explain why city officials had decided to leave the tunnel unfinished, but by 2006, the original line which began at Lake Transfer Station had been almost completely forgotten; in fact, most people never even knew about it, since it had never been used.
Jacob had discovered the abandoned tunnel under interesting circumstances. He'd struck up a conversation with an arachnid enthusiast he'd met at the nature museum, who told him a rumour slash urban legend slash horror story about a gigantic spider that had been living in the sewers beneath downtown Chicago for the past sixty or seventy years. The man obviously didn't believe a word of the tale, but he seemed quite content to regale a tourist with gruesome stories about half-digested bodies found wrapped in thick ropes of sticky spider silk. Feeling a bit queasy, Jacob had thanked the man and promptly developed a habit of shutting the bathroom door in his motel room before going to sleep at night.
Not long afterwards, while writing notes for his book with absolutely no energy or excitement whatsoever, Jacob decided he was in dire need of inspiration, which led to a bout of adventuresome-ness the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was 13. A few hours later, the 28-year-old found himself exploring the downtown Chicago sewers in the middle of the night with only a heavy torch and one of those little disposable cameras, brought along on the off chance that he'd come across some evidence of a larger-than-average spider, which he was quite sure wouldn't happen, but one always needs to be prepared.
The sewer smelled horrible. The old brick tunnels were dank and slimy, and he wouldn’t have been able to see a thing without his torch. He'd never been in a sewer before, but for some reason he had pictured it being better lit. He'd been down there for less than half an hour and was entirely ready to leave when his flashlight illuminated an irregular cavity in the tunnel wall some fifty feet ahead, and he was curious enough to investigate before giving up on his little quest.
The cavity was a ragged tunnel sloping upwards from the sewer, about three feet wide and obviously not part of the original construction. Broken pieces of brick lay around the entrance, as well as traces of dirt, although most of the dirt from this small tunnel had probably been washed away many years ago. He directed his light into the tunnel and could see where it opened into a larger room, a few feet above his head but easily accessible by crawling up through the small entrance. The dirt walls were packed smooth, and there was a small patch of white about halfway up. When he ducked and crawled inside, he discovered the white patch to be some kind of soft, silky material stuck to the dirt, and he assumed it came from the clothing of whoever else had climbed the tunnel before him.
The room at the top wasn't a room at all but the large abandoned subway tunnel. Off to the right, he could see where the tunnel had been bricked up (he later found out that the Lake Transfer station was on the other side of that wall), but the tunnel extended so far in the opposite direction that he couldn't see where it ended, and the light from his torch faded off into blackness. He briefly explored the closed-off end, discovering a few more patches of the soft white stuff stuck to the tunnel walls, but didn't find any other evidence of people having been there since the bricking-up of it, or in fact, any other animals or insects being there. He expected to encounter rats at the very least, but the tunnel was eerily quiet. It made him a little uneasy, but a part of him liked the dark peacefulness the abandoned tunnel offered, and he decided that he would come back here whenever he wanted to get away from the busy city or his less-than-exciting spider research. Or when he wanted to get high without being reported by the motel staff.
Which is what he is doing here now. He's found a sewer access quite near to the mysterious dirt tunnel that leads to the deserted tracks, and he's been using this entrance for the past four weeks whenever he visits the tunnel. He's even brought a comfortable blanket, which he stretches out on when he smokes, lying on his back and contemplating the curved ceiling above the tracks while his heavy torch casts a circle of light around him. It's all very zen.
Tonight the tunnel seems even quieter than usual, if that's possible. The last train at Lake Transfer was three hours ago, and the city-at-night sounds of Chicago are too far away to penetrate the perfect underground silence. Jacob has that eerie feeling that he sometimes gets down here, but he blames it on the bad weed and doesn't bother getting up. The quiet is so complete that he hears the two voices arguing in the sewer below him long before they come near the secret tunnel. He freezes.
"We came too far. Should've taken the last left under Randolph."
"No, my vision clearly said LaSalle to Lake and turn right."
"These vision things come with actual explicit directions?"
"Well... no. But I have a Chicago road map. I looked it up."
"Tell me this isn’t the same road map you used to take us to the Field Museum last week. Because as far as I can tell, we’re still not there."
“I know what I’m doing, alright? Just shut up and follow me.”
The voices are coming closer, although they still sound a long way off. Jacob silently reaches over and flicks off his torch. He's plunged into near-complete darkness, the tiny burning tip of his spliff the only light left in the huge empty space. He almost puts it out, but he doesn't like the idea of having nothing to focus on, and anyway the light is so small that he's sure it isn't reaching all the way down the dirt tunnel where it could be seen in the sewer. He has no clue why there would be two men down there at this hour, but he's fairly sure they aren't the kind of men he'd like to run into alone and unarmed in a place where no one would find him and he wouldn't be missed.
"It's the wrong way, I'm telling you."
"Shhh! Listen."
A pause.
"To what? I don't hear anything."
"Exactly."
"Exactly! Not a bleeding thing down this way; we should have gone --"
"No, listen, there's nothing - not even rats."
"What, you hungry all of a sudden?"
"Just think about it: no sewer rats underneath downtown Chicago?"
"So?"
"So that's weird, right? Something must be scaring them away."
"Maybe they heard you were coming."
"You know, that whole Angel-used-to-eat-rats thing really lost its charm about eight years ago."
"I still think it's funny."
Jacob listens to the strange conversation, growing more and more anxious the closer it gets. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, he moves to the edge of the hole in the wall and gazes down the sloping dirt tunnel into the sewer. Everything is completely black, and it's puzzling to him that the men seem to have brought no light with them, yet they are moving quickly, judging by the echo of their footsteps, and talking back and forth as if they're just walking down the street in broad daylight. He can't distinguish anything down the dark tunnel, even when he holds up the tiny orange flame of his joint, so he turns away from the hole again, and when he does, he bumps into something thin and solid that wasn't there before.
A cold chill runs through his body.
"Listen - hear that?"
"Heartbeat."
"Someone's scared.”
*
Jacob isn’t screaming. He knows, logically, that this would be a good time to scream, not just because he’s being dragged down an abandoned subway tunnel in the dark by something large that he can’t see but whose feet make soft clicking noises against the metal train tracks, but also because there are people nearby who would hear him and perhaps come to his rescue, or at least send someone to rescue him. But when he opens his mouth to scream, nothing comes out.
The thing is using two thick, hairy appendages to drag him by both ankles, and he can hear the quiet cadence of at least four – possibly six – additional limbs tapping against the tracks as it moves. The movement is strange, a rapid, jerking glide developed by the kind of creature who has too many legs and knows exactly where it’s going. The back of Jacob’s head keeps hitting the ground, and it feels like it is bleeding, so he strains to hold it up as the thing tows him in its strong grip. He kicks his legs to try to dislodge the creature’s hold on him, but it hardly notices his struggling. He finally finds his voice, but his scream only echoes down the long empty tunnel and seems rather pointless by this time.
The dragging goes on and on. His shirt is scrunched up beneath his armpits and his back is scratched and raw from the constant scraping against his skin. When they finally come to a stop, he feels as though he’s been dragged for miles. He tries to remember how far the tunnel was supposed to go, but he doesn’t recall that information in A History of Chicago’s Trains, and it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s in an abandoned underground tunnel in the middle of the night, and even if he were only 30 feet from Millennium Park no one would ever think to look for him here. In fact, no one would think to look for him anywhere because he doesn’t have any friends in Chicago who would miss him, and he hasn’t tried to call anyone back home since he arrived in America in the first place.
The thing lets go of his legs, but before he can scramble away it has hold of his arms, pinning him to the ground on his back. Two of its legs start running swiftly over his body, exploring him and poking at his exposed belly, and he gets the distinct impression that the creature’s face is very close to his face, considering him, and he is supremely glad that it is too dark to see anything. The creature’s hairy feet on his stomach tickle, but he’s too terrified to laugh. Any moment now he’s going to piss himself.
Suddenly, the two rough appendages start stripping away his clothes like paper. The thing turns him on his side and tears his clothes, turns him onto his stomach and tears his clothes again, turns him onto his other side… Dear lord, he’s being peeled like a banana! He struggles wildly, batting at the long legs with his arms, but the creature steadily ignores him and continues to spin and strip him, one piece at a time until he is naked and dizzy. He manages to land one solid kick to what is probably the side of the thing’s head before two long, barbed fangs sink deep into his shoulder, and he passes out.
*
Jacob wakes to shouting. It takes him a few moments to realize that the shouting is shouting. Why would anyone be shouting right now? There is no reason to shout. Everything is fine. He feels really good.
"Behind you!"
"Watch out!"
"I see it, I see it!"
He's warm. He's surrounded by something very soft that's cuddling his body like a silk sling, holding him up in the air. It feels like floating. He's curled in a ball, and the softness clings to him all over; the softness is loving him. Yes, he's sure of it - he is being loved by the softness. He can't tell which way is up, but that doesn't matter because he's perfectly happy right where he is. He smiles to himself. He likes it here.
The shouting goes on, but he's not paying attention. He distantly hears a loud thud and the sound of something skidding across the ground.
"Spike! Spike, are you --"
Then there is another thud and the ringing clatter of something thin and metal landing on concrete, followed by a muffled, agonized scream.
Afterwards, everything is quiet. Jacob smiles to himself again. He feels really good. He's going to have a nap.
*
Jacob dreams vividly about beautiful, soft things. When he does finally wake again, it is to a quiet ripping sound right above his face. He slowly opens his eyes and looks upward, but he can't see anything except black. He has this idea that he should feel scared or at least nervous, but he's just feeling too bloody fantastic to be bothered.
"Hey. You alright?" a voice asks him.
"Yes," he answers it after a moment. He smiles. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm... wonderful, in fact."
"Right... must've hit your head."
Jacob nods agreeably. "Many times," he says. "But I feel marvellous."
"Bit cheerful for a bloke in a giant sack, aren't you?"
"Yes," Jacob says again. "That is rather odd, isn't it?"
"In my world? Not really." There is a pause. "Well, come on then. Can you walk?"
"I think so." Jacob pushes out against the silky cocoon around him and feels it rip a little more. "I suppose I should get out of this."
"Good idea, mate. I'm thinking it wouldn't really count as saving you if you decided to settle in."
Jacob blinks against the dark. "Saving me?" he repeats. He finds the wide tear with his fingers and carefully resumes ripping open his soft nest.
"Yeah. You know, from the eight-legged Volkswagen that invited you home for dinner."
"Oh, that. Right." He pauses for a moment, remembering. "It bit me."
"Figured that. But don't worry, we'll get you all fixed up. Hospital's not too far away; just need to find the ponce that came with me and we can go."
Jacob gets one leg free and feels around for the ground with his foot. "I don't think I need medical attention," he says. "I feel better now than I ever have before."
"Probably in shock or something."
"No, I don't think so. I'm just... happy." Jacob finds the ground with both feet and stands, his knees weak. "It's strange. I know I should be scared, or in pain... but I feel amazing. Euphoric, even. Did you say eight legs?"
"Yeah. Big spider-looking thing. Nasty bugger. Hard to kill, too, what with the body armour and all."
A giant spider! So the man at the nature museum had been right. Jacob smiles wistfully. "I wish I could have seen --"
"It's right there."
"Really? Where? I can't see anything." He takes a few steps forward and bumps into the stranger. "Sorry." He wonders briefly if he's gone blind.
A beam of light suddenly cuts across the tunnel in front of Jacob. He puts one hand up to shield his eyes, then slowly lowers it as he becomes accustomed to the light. The stranger (who looks nothing like he had imagined) is holding his torch and looking slightly amused. "Oh," says Jacob. "That's better." He folds his hands discreetly over his crotch and looks around.
It doesn't even look like they're in the same tunnel. The walls are completely covered in thick, zigzagging threads, woven together into a dense white cloth. Soft sacks hang in clusters against the wall, secured by more clearish-white threads. Jacob approaches the hanging sacks slowly and reaches out to touch one of them. It feels like sticky silk. "Amazing!" he breathes.
The stranger shifts the flashlight beam a few feet away, and Jacob turns to follow it, suddenly finding the giant blue carcass of the thing that attacked him. A large chunk is missing from its head. He stares at the humongous spider, its milky eyes seeming to stare right back at him. Its many legs are folded up beneath its body, although one of them is sticking out at an odd angle. He would probably be terrified of it, even knowing it's dead, if it weren't for the fact he's still feeling incredibly peaceful and good. He can see its two long fangs even this far away.
"She put up one hell of a fight," comments the stranger. "Thumped me in the head and then dragged the poof somewhere while I was out."
While the short man talks, Jacob walks slowly closer to the creature's body. He can see traces of purplish venom still glistening on its fangs. He thinks about his book and huffs a delighted chuckle as it dawns on him why he feels so amazing.
"I figure he's in one of these here sack thingies like you were," says the man, gesturing with the torch toward the clusters on the wall. "Shouldn't be too hard to find. Just look for the one that hates itself."
"Oh, he won't be hating himself right now," Jacob says happily. "Not if he's been bitten by this thing."
"Course he will," the man immediately responds. "Probably hate himself even more, knowing that I saved his arse while he was off impersonating the candy in a demon piñata."
Jacob smiles pleasantly. "I just meant, if the spider bit your friend, then he's probably feeling the effects of its venom the same way I am right now. That is, he's probably very happy."
"He's not my f..." The stranger pauses. His face goes completely blank.
Jacob is suddenly struck by how young the man looks, and figures he is probably slightly older than his rescuer, which would maybe be embarrassing if he could possibly feel embarrassed right now, which he can't, even though he is naked. It's really quite an interesting feeling, not being able to feel any sort of bad thing at all. Even while he's thinking about this, he feels a new burst of joy just from realizing he can't not feel great. It's bloody wonderful!
"Did you say happy?" asks the stranger. He is frowning now, the light from the torch casting deep shadows on his face.
"Yes," says Jacob cheerfully. "He's probably feeling better than he has in years. So don't worry about him. Even if he's hurt, I'm sure he's not in any pain."
The man takes an anxious step forward. "Exactly how happy would you say he is?" he demands.
"Completely," Jacob reassures him. "Perfectly happy."
"Like the sort of happy you would be if, say, a beautiful young girl that you're in love with, who represents everything you want and everything you want to be, decided to shag your brains out on the night of her seventeenth birthday even though you're a stupid lunk with bad hair? That sort of happy?"
Jacob considers this. "Yes," he says finally. "Exactly that happy! So there's no need to be concerned." He offers the man an encouraging smile.
The man exhales deeply. "Bugger," he says.
*
Continued [here].
*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 03:56 am (UTC)"Shouldn't be too hard to find. Just look for the one that hates itself."
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
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Date: 2007-02-26 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 05:00 am (UTC)Only Spike could describe that event so perfectly...
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Date: 2007-02-26 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 05:25 am (UTC)The man takes an anxious step forward. "Exactly how happy would you say he is?" he demands. **
Bugger indeed! Well, I'm glad there's more to come soon. Angelus is always fun...not. Wonder what Cordy thinks about all this.
Sami
no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 07:36 am (UTC)that last line? a killer and a great joke, at the same time.
seat belt buckled, ready for the ride!
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 07:49 am (UTC)Can't wait to see more
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 10:06 am (UTC)What a fantastic start, I can't wait to see where this story is going. Great setup! Love that you brought Cordy into this as well.
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:12 pm (UTC)the funny thing about bringing cordy in is that it was a last-minute thing. i had the whole fic almost finished before i went back and added her. but she's pretty much my favorite part. :D
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Date: 2007-02-26 11:09 am (UTC)And Jacob - still love him too. Also, didn't see any mistakes with Spike's dialogue (except maybe calling sweets 'candy' but I suppose he's been in America long enough to pick that up).
Looking forward to reading the rest and seeing how it's changed (and how it ends).
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:19 pm (UTC)y'all don't call candy candy? *blinks* what do you call candy canes?
i wanted to ask you to look over the last part for americanisms, but i also want you to be surprised, so i decided i'm just going to do my best and hope it doesn't turn out too badly. if i flub something big, you can just let me know in the comments and i'll correct it afterwards. :D
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Date: 2007-02-26 10:01 pm (UTC)I don't think Laura's back yet. I'm sure she'll love it when she reads it, though.
I think we call candy canes 'sugar canes.' The only thing over here that I can think of that's called candy anything is candy floss - which I think you call cotton candy.
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:19 pm (UTC)This is awesome. And I need to upgrade my English vocabulary with more complimentary terms while waiting for the next parts and regretting the fact I refrained from voting for posting all at once when you asked for opinions.
Angel, Spike, Cordy - wonderful voices. More on Jacob, please? And The God-King will appear, right? I'm trying to picture Jacob's first reation, but am failing at it.
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Date: 2007-02-26 05:51 pm (UTC)there will be more on jacob (it's more or less from his point of view, mostly) and yep, illyria will put in an appearance. i sort of love her, so i couldn't not write her in. :) more tonight!
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Date: 2007-02-26 10:40 pm (UTC)Seriously, great start to the story. All of the character voices were spot on. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next.
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Date: 2007-02-27 12:27 am (UTC)i just posted the next part if you're interested: http://girlpire.livejournal.com/108205.html
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Date: 2007-02-26 10:44 pm (UTC)"Shouldn't be too hard to find. Just look for the one that hates itself."
...and...
"He's not my f..." The stranger pauses. His face goes completely blank.
... so funny :)
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Date: 2007-02-27 12:29 am (UTC)thanks for the comment. :D
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Date: 2007-03-05 01:03 am (UTC)spangel snarkage...golden.
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Date: 2007-03-05 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-08 10:08 pm (UTC)I've just made a start - I have a pile more work to do this evening so it'll be tomorrow before I can continue, and full Chicago report will have to wait too, but suffice it to say I am very glad that I didn't read this before landing at O'Hare, because my lack of fear of spiders is based on the fact that our local ones can't do you any harm, and the prospect of giant demonic ones emerging from the bathroom sink could have seriously damaged my cool.
So don't write any stories where England is beset by demonic fauna, m'kay?
no subject
Date: 2007-03-09 05:13 am (UTC)The self-hating cocoon line is priceless
i can honestly say, this is a compliment i don't get very often. thank you. :)
And Jacob comes off as frightfully British.
what a relief! you'd think since i'm so incredibly self-conscious of my spike voice that i wouldn't create another english character because i'm just making it harder on myself. but what i've learned while writing this story is that english people? are a lot like regular people. who'da thunk it?
So don't write any stories where England is beset by demonic fauna, m'kay?
my word is my bond. :) *plots a demonic flora invasion of england*
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Date: 2007-03-13 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-28 12:17 pm (UTC)