Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with any of the following. BtVS, and the character Rupert Giles belong to Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox and Mutant Enemy, and Harry Potter, and the character Sybil Trelawney belong to J.K Rowling.
FFA Pairing: Rupert Giles and Sybil Trelawney.
“You do know, Rupert, that telling the future is a very imprecise art, even to an expert?”
The young man rolled his eyes, and tugged his leather jacket tighter across his shoulders, more amused by the thick-glassed, curly-haired dunce, then he was frustrated. He’d picked her up at a bar a couple of nights ago, and, much to Ethan’s amusement he hadn’t been able to get rid of her again.
As if she knew anything about real
magick, or about the true horrors that lurked on street corners and in the sewers waiting to devour the unwary.
“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.”
He’d tolerated her in his and Ethan’s flat because she was bloody brilliant with her mouth. This morning, though, she’d insisted on telling his future, which was as sure a sign as any that she wasn’t going to be welcome for much longer.
He was well past the stage where childish play could hold any interest for him.
Paused, picked up the crystal ball from where it was sitting on the edge of the table, and tossed it casually from hand to hand, until she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Could you please put that back down?”
“Whatever you say, Sybil,” he coincided, putting it unnecessarily close to the edge of the table.
She reached for the ball to stop it from rolling off the edge and froze, standing up straight, as though lightning had struck her.
The casual disinterest vanished from Rupert’s gaze as he peered at her. He’d never witnessed anyone making a genuine prophecy, but he’d learned all about it, and about the signs through his study.
Genuine prophecy was exceedingly rare.“Pain comes on the blackest of nights
Friendships and friends torn apart
Torn asunder by crimson claw and gloated over by yellowed fang
By the one you acknowledge as Master
You may try to fight but you will fail
You may try to flee but he will find
You might hide but he will seek
Those held most precious will be lost to you
Those you hold most precious will be lost to themselves
As it will be
As it will be again
And when your life comes full cycle
And you face the darkest night again
You will find yourself alone.”
Everything happened all at once.
The crystal ball that had been teetering precariously on the edge of the table finally rolled off the edge, and shattered on the tacky bare wood floor, and the resulting sound seemed to be enough to snap Sybil out of her trance.
At the same moment, preluded by a snarl of thunder outside, the door opened to admit a soaked, hung-over, very sorry looking Ethan Rayne.
Sybil blinked at him, and shook her head.
“Sorry, I’m not entirely sure what happened there,” she shook her head again, and looked from him, to his flat-mate, “I think I should take my leave.”
“Yeah. Might be an idea,” Rupert replied, a shiver, which had nothing to do with the cold wind howling in through the door and the gaps in the window pane, running through him.
As she drew her over-sized coat around her, she paused at the threshold and glanced back towards him.
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” again, he shivered. If that had really been a genuine prophecy, then it seemed as though no-one else would be.
She closed the door, and he lit up a joint and took a slow drag on it, rubbing at the itching skin over his new tattoo.
There would be time enough to worry about what she’d said after the weekend. In the mean time, however, there was a ritual to begin getting set up. This weekend he and his coven would be doing the biggest piece of magick that they’d done yet.
They would be summoning Eyghon.