Switchable, Not So MuchRated:
She didn’t belong here. Everything about her life felt wrong. She couldn’t explain it, but deep down inside, she knew that she wasn’t supposed to be a Jedi. She was supposed to be…something else. Disclaimer:
I own nothing. Joss owns all things Buffy. George owns all things Star Wars. I’m just messing around with them.AN:
I have not given up on my other massive SW/Buffy x-over, but this just kind of popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. Yes, it’s weird; I know. Hopefully, not too weird though. And, yes, these characters are still giving me a bit of trouble. I'm working on them, but if they are terribly OOC, I'm sorry and please forgive.
There are lots of theories about dreams and what they really are. To most people, they’re nothing but a bunch of random images that your mind decides to throw at you because it apparently has nothing better to do during a sleep cycle.
To others, dreams were the brain’s funny little way of saying ‘wake up, stupid, and pay attention because I’m trying to tell you something important.’ Only instead of just telling you, it has to do it the complicated way by using symbols: like scenes of embarrassing public nudity actually mean that you want people to see the real you; or you kissing some random person you hardly know, and aren’t really all that attracted too, actually means you want to get to know them better as a friend or something; or that creepy butcher-knife wielding clown that’s chasing you down the hall actually represents your own fear of…butcher-knife wielding clowns. Okay, she didn’t really have one for that one. Still, point was, dreams mean something to them.
For her and her line of work, dreams were a little more complicated. Sometimes they could just be the run-of-the-mill random image that meant absolutely nothing like when she was twelve and had recurring dreams about a guy with a tray of cheese. Other times, they did that weird symbolic thing where she had to figure what it was trying to tell her. Those could be embarrassing like when she finally figured out the tunnel dreams meant.
Her dreams, however, could sometimes get that weird third option where she was actually getting a warning about something that was going to happen. Not a lot of people had those. Yeah, lucky her, right?
Some people called them visions, but she was pretty sure that you’re supposed to be awake for them to be considered that. She was always asleep when hers came, so she classified that as a dream. A prophetic dream, but a dream nonetheless.
She wasn’t really sure what kind of dream she was currently having, but the vast, opened desert around wasn’t really helping in the clue department.
It amazed her how, even in a dream, the sand still managed to burn her toes. She flexed them and let the grains gather beneath them like she was grabbing a handful of it with her feet. Just beneath the hot top layer was a cooler one, where the sand was a darker and held a little more dirt. She liked the lower layer, even if it was dirtier.
A warm, dry wind blew across the dune and fluttered the bottom of her dress. Her hands brushed against the material as she walked, and she pushed a stray bit of hair behind her ear.
She squinted at the azure sky but had trouble finding the sun. It was so bright and warm that it was hard to look out over to the horizon. Lifting her hand, she covered her eyes, but it didn’t help clear up anything.
Where was a good pair of sunglasses when you needed them?
Of course, she had barely thought that when it began to change. She watched in only mild interest as the sky began to darken quickly the further she walked, and twilight set in. Well, that was better.
Dreams were funny like that. Things happened so fast and seemed perfectly normal even when they weren’t. A good example was this place. She didn’t have a clue as to where she was, but she recognized the mountains in the distance, the trace smells of an ocean, the sound of weird chanting that sounded vaguely like someone who had forgotten the words to a song and was just making up the notes as they went along. Even the funny little shaped rock seemed familiar: short, squat, kind of resembled a troll. Yeah, she knew this place. The only problem was that she had never been…wherever this was. Not in real life, anyway.
The deep scent of smoke drifted around her, and she found herself drawn to its source. She could see the plume rising just beyond some tall rocks. There were a few sparks drifting upward that disappeared up into the darkening sky. The smoke was thick and dark and a little wider then probably what would be considered safe side.
Someone liked fire, that was for sure.
The twilight sky grew darker, but she wasn’t afraid. Nothing here could hurt her. Not really. That was one of the good things about dreams; you could always wake up from it when things got too hairy.
There was a cracking sound, but it didn’t come the fire. Off to the side, something moved in the growing shadows and through the bushes.
Squeezing through a small opening between two large boulders, she stepped into a small clearing. The bonfire burned in the center and reached high into the air. A strong wind kicked and feed it, making it sore upward. She squinted at it and sat on an abandoned log.
Something crawled down from the top of one of the rocks and snuck up behind the fire. She couldn’t see what it was clearly but caught glimpses of dirty white cloth and a chalky paint face. It stared at her from between the flames and moved like a snake. She sat still and stared back. It wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do anything, and they both knew it.
“Hello, kitty,” she said.
It tilted its head to the side, but otherwise said nothing.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
Again, its head tilted as it peered out at her but gave no response.
She frowned. Great, now even her subconscious wasn’t talking to her.
“Who are you?” she asked as she became rather agitated.
A small smile stretched its lips. “You know who I am,” it replied in a voice that was soft and feminine, yet was chillingly smooth as ice.
She drew her knees closer to her and asked, “What do you want?”
Its -- her head tilted again. She was really starting to remind her of a bird. A scary, mud-wearing bird with dreadlocks, but a bird nonetheless.
“You know what I want,” Birdie replied. “You’ve only forgotten.”
The frown continued to pull on her lips. “Forgotten what?”
Birdie leaned forward close to the flames, but they didn’t burn her. Instead, they stretched and bent as if the fire were actually jumping out of her way.
“Everything,” she hissed. “And nothing.”
The warm wind blew around her and again feed the flames. From her place on the log, she watched as piece of a dried flower floated into the way of the fire and burned quickly.
“How could I forget everything and nothing?” she asked.
“She doesn’t know. That’s why she is asking you.”
Turning her gaze away from the flames, she saw a man standing near the edge of the circle the rocks made. He was young, probably close to her own age if not maybe a year or two older, though he carried himself like someone who was older and well trained. His stance firm and sure, though he tried to give the appearance of someone who was calm and non-threatening. She didn’t buy it, though.
Behind him, the sun continued to set, which gave him an odd glow.
A frown similar to her own marred his handsome face as he stared at the person behind the flames. Birdie smiled lightly in response, though she drew back a bit.
From her place on the log, she said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
His blue gray eyes meet her green. “Should you?”
Behind the flames, Birdie moved back into the shadows. She was still watching the pair, but slipped silently into the darkness.
She didn’t know why, but her chest tightened when she saw Birdie leave. Only she wasn’t gone, and that was what worried her.
“This is wrong,” she replied as she stood. “You need to leave.”
Sadness tugged at his eyes as he glanced behind him at the low sun. “I don’t think I can. Not yet.”
Along the top of the rocks, Birdie moved in the shadows. She dipped low and tried to hide in the darkness that surrounded her, but the stark white cloth she wore tied around her body began to glow faintly in the dying light. One piece flapped down against the rock, only to be quickly pulled up like a snake twisting away for cover.
She tried to track Birdie from the corner of her eyes but kept her focus on him.
“Why not?” she asked, crossing her arms despite the warmth.
His focus shifted back to her as he shook his head.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. “Terribly, terribly wrong.”
She pressed her lips. “How do we fix it?”
“You can fix nothing,” Birdie said from her perch over them. “You are sandbags in a river. You cannot holdback a raging ocean’s tide.”
“We can try,” she replied.
“You will fail,” Birdie replied.
“Why?” he asked.
Birdie’s dark eyes shifted to him. A nervous tug pulled at her from the levelness of the gaze.
“Because it is all wrong,” Birdie said. “Like you.”
Crouching low on the rock, Birdie gripped something at her side. The firelight reflected brightly off the shiny metal she withdrew from some unseen hiding spot. The grin returned to Birdie’s lips.
“But you’ll do.”
With the knife raised, Birdie launched herself at him. One of his hands reached for a missing weapon at his side while the other lifted itself in defense against her. It did no good, however. She was on top of him before he could hardly move. The knife was lifted and ready to strike.
A scream tore itself from her lips as she watched helplessly from near the fire.
With a gasp, her eyes snapped opened. For a moment, she had trouble focusing on the dim room as the images from the dream lingered in her mind, but the details were quickly fading. The wild-haired woman sitting on top of the young man, preparing to stab him, was still pretty clear though.
With a groan, she kicked at the bedcover that had become entangled around her legs and sat up in her bed. She reached to rub her eyes and was half surprised by the light chime that rang through her room.
Choosing to push some of her long blonde hair out of her face, she said, “Come in.”
There was a light hiss as the door slid opened. The almost harsh hallway light bleed into the darkness of the room, causing her to squint at the sudden change. A tall man stood silhouetted in the doorway; his board frame blocked a majority of the disturbing light.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he stepped inside her room. “You were screaming.”
Concern that was not her own prodded gently at her mind. A smile tugged at her lips. He was always way too worried about her.
“I’m fine, Master,” she replied as she placed what she hoped was a reassuring smile on her face. Even without the bond, his frown told her that he didn’t believe her. “Really, I’m fine. It was just a bad dream.”
He stood there for a bit more at the foot of her bed. She could feel the gentle prodding continue as he made sure that she was indeed telling the truth and fine. Okay, this was endearing for like five minutes, now she was just kind of getting annoyed.
“Why are you so concerned?” she asked as she tried her best not to sound like a sullen child. “It was just a dream.”
“Most dreams don’t end with you screaming bloody murder through the bond, Padawan,” he said. The frown continued to tug at his lips. “It wasn’t a…vision, was it?”
Her eyes widened a bit. For most Masters, suggesting that something their Padawan saw in a dream was a vision wouldn’t be a very big deal. Visions that came in the form of dreams were a common enough occurrence, and most were taught from an early age how to be mindful of them, but not to put to stock into what they saw. After all, the future was always changing.
Her Master, however, believed less in visions than most. He didn’t try to deny their existence or anything like that, but he didn’t think much of them either. The few times that she had managed to actually have vision and had gone to him about them, he had told her to continue to be mindful of the here and now. That was her Master. He was very into the here and now.
For him to actually suggest that what she had dreamed was actually a vision was…odd.
She frowned as the word ‘wiggy’ popped into her head but ignored it.
“No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Unless, you know, you think we’ll be attacked by mud-covered, bird women with bad hair who liked to hunt at night and speak in riddles.”
She paused a moment.
“You don’t. Do you?”
A light laugh rumbled through his chest. “With our lives, nothing is impossible.”
Well, he kind of had her there.
“Wow, Master, you really know how to make a girl feel better,” she said dryly.
“Yes, well, I do try,” he replied. “Get some sleep, Padawan. We’ll discuss this more in the morning.”
She nodded her head as he turned to leave. “Goodnight, Qui-Gon.”
As the door slid shut behind him and the room once again became dim, she flopped back on her bed. Nearly a steady stream of light flashed across the dark ceiling as passing ships and speeders made their way across Coruscant’s night sky.
Lying there, she tried not to think about the fact that she had hardly gotten three hours of sleep, but she already felt like she had slept for the entire night.
She tried not to think about the young man she had seen or the way the crazy woman -- thing --- creature -- had attacked him.
Most of all, she tried not think about the fact that the name Lizabeth Kenobi (her name) just sounded…wrong.
His eyes widened as the woman leapt from the top of the rock at him. Out of instinct, he reached for the weapon that was supposed to be at his hip, but he found himself just grasping at air. He didn’t even have a chance to try and fight her off before she had landed on top of him and knocked him to the ground. Though she wasn’t heavy, he could feel a tremendous amount of strength as she held him down.
He could hear the girl screaming, could see the knife in the hand of the person on top of him, but there was nothing he could do. He was pinned, trapped, and abandoned in this place by the something he never thought would.
“We are alone,” the woman hissed, as if hearing his thoughts, and brought down the knife.
A loud blast of music startled him and caused him to jump. Unfortunately, his wild kick of surprised cause him to roll to far to the right. In tangle of bed sheets, he landed on the carpeted floor with a resounding thud
. Rubbing at his now sore backside, he grabbed at the offending clock radio and turned it off. Though morning light was already illuminating the bedroom, the radio itself clearly said that he had another good hour to sleep.
He knew of only one person evil enough to do this. And that person didn’t have long left to live.
“Dawn!” he yelled, untangling himself from his comforter.
He was unsurprised to find the offending party standing in his doorway with her arms crossed and a small smug smile on her lips. She was still dressed in her moons and stars pajamas that were already too short for her fast growing twelve-year-old body, and she was trying to look as innocent as she could.
Like that was going to fool him.
“Yes?” she asked sweetly.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped from his spot on the floor.
She blinked at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”
Some part of him said that he shouldn’t get made. It was just a joke, and she was a child, and he shouldn’t be too upset with her.
The big brother part of him told that part firmly to shut up.
“You are so dead!” he growled, jumping to his feet.
Her high pitch scream carried throughout the house as he ran after her. “Mom! Ben’s trying to kill me!”
He didn’t hear her response. The only thing going through Ben Summers mind at that moment was how he was going to convince Giles --- and the police -- that killed his little sister was actually a justifiable homicide.
In a little dive bar in middle of no where, a pair of demons peered down at the demon that laid flat on the floor. His hat was just off his head, while his white jacket hung loosely opened and showed off his bright, floral shirt. It wasn’t something that either of them hadn’t seen before, drunk demons were rather common, especially at this time of night. The nosebleed was a little new, though, as were a few other things.
“Oi, he supposed to be twitching like that?” the scaly demon asked from his seat at the bar.
The vampire bartender leaned over the counter to try and get a better look.
“Not sure,” he replied.
“He dead?” the first asked.
“Most dead bodies don’t twitch,” the bartender pointed out.
“You’re just a dead body, and you twitch.”
“I’m a bloody vampire,” he said irritably. “Big difference there, mate.”
The demon on the floor stilled, and his head lulled to the side. The two demons looked to one another, and then back down at him.
“You want to go through his pockets?”
Before the vampire could answer, the badly dressed demon on the floor gasped in a deep breath and sat up bolt right. The hat that had just barely been on his head in the first place came completely off as he frantically looked up at the ceiling.
With a thick accent, Whistler cried, “What the hell