(The characters are not mine, they're Joss Whedon's. I'm just playing with them.
Xander hefted the heavy book over to his worktable and dropped it. Coughing at the wood dust that in his nose and throat, he opened it up to the page marked by a velvet ribbon. Amante allineare dell'artista
Did he dare try it? The spell that would bring an artist’s true love to life?
Every artist put his heart and soul into his work. Sometimes there was that one creation... that one thing that epitomized everything the artist thought was good and made all of his sacrifices – low pay, being called a loser, the time and effort, fears and hopes – worth it. This spell was a way for an artist to bring his work to life. If it was the right
He looked around the room filled with his carvings. Wooden statues, people, animals, and scenic wall hangings. He was starting to get a reputation for his craft, with particularly good reviews for texture work. He’d made a life sized Greek Goddess whose robes were so flowy, everyone who passed it had to touch to confirm that it was all wood, and that the draping material over her body was just an illusion.
Right, but did that mean the spell would work? Not like he was great at working them. And not like he could ask Willow for help... she’d kick his ass and tell him to find a girlfriend the old fashioned way. And look where that tactic had gotten him so far... lots of demon chicks, and a couple of encounters with guys ... luckily lots of drinks were involved so it was all cloudy in his mind.
And still... here he was... alone on a Saturday night.
Okies... he was gonna give this a try. He reread the instructions that someone had been kind enough to translate into English in pencil along the margins. It seemed simple enough.
He poured a glass of wine and placed three candles around it, symbolizing body, mind and soul. Then he slowly chanted ancient words ... words he didn’t understand and hopefully wasn’t murdering too badly. Once, twice, three times he said them. Then he lifted the glass and got up.
Which of his beauties did he want to awaken? The cowgirl? He looked at his statue, so confident, so playful with that gun twirling around her finger. Or... he walked past the ballerina... she had a ‘friend’... he was working on a male dancer for her... Hmm. He stopped in front of his Greek Goddess. Would be kinda dumb to bring to life the one piece of art that was really earning him fame.
But heh... whoever said Xander Harris always did the smart thing?
Feeling ultra foolish, he poured the wine over the statue’s perfectly formed lips, watching the liquid drip down over long locks of hair, her arms, and down her hip. He stepped back, to avoid getting the liquid on him and tripped. His arms flailed, and as he tried to regain his balance, he hit the statue behind him. The glass broke and cut his thumb, sending a rivulet of blood and wine down the back of his hand and onto the statue of his rendition of 1980’s punk style Dracula.
“Fuck,” he cursed and licked his thumb, staring resentfully at the now red stained wooden Goddess in front of him. “Course it didn’t work.”
Xander’s eyes widened as he felt strong arms circle his waist and pull him up hard against a chiseled chest. A warm breath skimmed his ear and cheek as an all male, very smug, and very un-American accented voice announced, “Wouldn’t quite say that, mate.”