More Anya/Andrew
May. 25th, 2003 03:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaRemember the Andrew/Anya fic I posted a month ago? It broke off in mid-flight. So, here's how the story continues. Not a large chunk by all means, but better than nothing. I hope to wrap this one up soon.
TITLE: Flight of Fancy
PAIRING: Anya/Andrew (UST and friendship), Anya/Xander (latent)
SPOILERS: Set shortly before S7 “Storyteller”
RATING: R (language)
GENRE: comedy
SUMMARY: Anya and Andrew bond over mishap and latte - whackiness ensues
Part 1
Part 2
“What are those things?” Andrew yelled over the high-pitched whine of the overloaded vehicle.
“Delvarian bloodroaches,” Anya shouted back. “They’re trackers, like blood-hounds. Normally, they’re used to hunt and kill escaped slaves in the Demesnes of Delvar. But anyone can hire a handler and his pack. Anyone rich enough, that is.”
Andrew tried to cast a backward glance, causing the vehicle to swerve dangerously. There were no pursuers, at least none that he could see, which meant he could focus on the frightening fact that Anya was sitting on his *cough, cough* lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, still stubbornly holding on to their purchases. The carrier bags were flapping violently in the slipstream, the sharp corners of the boxes therein stabbing unpleasantly into his back. But Anya was warm and she smelled very nice. Andrew’s heart did funny little flip flops. Other parts of his anatomy did… other things. “Do you think we’ve lost them?”
“Oh no, they don’t track by scent,” Anya said. “They’re prescient, so they can predict where we’ll be at a given time, even if we ourselves don’t know where we’re going.”
“But it’s possible to trick them, right?” Andrew asked. “To throw them off our scent, er… track?”
“If there is such a trick, then I’ve never heard of it,” Anya said with a frown. “That’s why a bloodroach handler can pretty much name his price.”
“Oh.” He took his foot off the gas pedal and the lawnmower slowed to more reasonable speed. As long as they didn’t know where to go…
“Where are we going?” Anya asked.
It was awesome, as if she’d read his thoughts. Which he so hoped she couldn’t. He swallowed. “Maybe we should head back to HQ? Buffy will know how to take out these things.”
“Yes, let’s lure a pack of demonic roaches to Revello Drive to massacre Buffy’s precious potentials,” Anya said, liberal with the sarcasm. “I’m sure it will make her day: coming home from work and having the bathroom all to herself again – once she gets past the fact that her home looks like that terraforming plant in Aliens - full of eggs and friends in cocoons.”
“They do that? Spin people into cocoons?” Andrew asked, slack-jawed. “Cool. Also icky and scary.” A distant part of his brain, one that was not two inches from screaming and sobbing in mortal fear, registered her reference to the best movie of all times and upped his admiration of her by at least two notches.
“You didn’t think that Giger guy came up with the design for the aliens all on his own, did you?” Anya said in her best duh-voice.
Pearls of knowledge! Andrew’s adoration knew no bounds.
“Go that way, head for the docks,” Anya suddenly said and pointed to the right. “I have friends there. Maybe they can help me...us.”
There was a strange smile on her face.
TBC
TITLE: Flight of Fancy
PAIRING: Anya/Andrew (UST and friendship), Anya/Xander (latent)
SPOILERS: Set shortly before S7 “Storyteller”
RATING: R (language)
GENRE: comedy
SUMMARY: Anya and Andrew bond over mishap and latte - whackiness ensues
Part 1
Part 2
“What are those things?” Andrew yelled over the high-pitched whine of the overloaded vehicle.
“Delvarian bloodroaches,” Anya shouted back. “They’re trackers, like blood-hounds. Normally, they’re used to hunt and kill escaped slaves in the Demesnes of Delvar. But anyone can hire a handler and his pack. Anyone rich enough, that is.”
Andrew tried to cast a backward glance, causing the vehicle to swerve dangerously. There were no pursuers, at least none that he could see, which meant he could focus on the frightening fact that Anya was sitting on his *cough, cough* lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, still stubbornly holding on to their purchases. The carrier bags were flapping violently in the slipstream, the sharp corners of the boxes therein stabbing unpleasantly into his back. But Anya was warm and she smelled very nice. Andrew’s heart did funny little flip flops. Other parts of his anatomy did… other things. “Do you think we’ve lost them?”
“Oh no, they don’t track by scent,” Anya said. “They’re prescient, so they can predict where we’ll be at a given time, even if we ourselves don’t know where we’re going.”
“But it’s possible to trick them, right?” Andrew asked. “To throw them off our scent, er… track?”
“If there is such a trick, then I’ve never heard of it,” Anya said with a frown. “That’s why a bloodroach handler can pretty much name his price.”
“Oh.” He took his foot off the gas pedal and the lawnmower slowed to more reasonable speed. As long as they didn’t know where to go…
“Where are we going?” Anya asked.
It was awesome, as if she’d read his thoughts. Which he so hoped she couldn’t. He swallowed. “Maybe we should head back to HQ? Buffy will know how to take out these things.”
“Yes, let’s lure a pack of demonic roaches to Revello Drive to massacre Buffy’s precious potentials,” Anya said, liberal with the sarcasm. “I’m sure it will make her day: coming home from work and having the bathroom all to herself again – once she gets past the fact that her home looks like that terraforming plant in Aliens - full of eggs and friends in cocoons.”
“They do that? Spin people into cocoons?” Andrew asked, slack-jawed. “Cool. Also icky and scary.” A distant part of his brain, one that was not two inches from screaming and sobbing in mortal fear, registered her reference to the best movie of all times and upped his admiration of her by at least two notches.
“You didn’t think that Giger guy came up with the design for the aliens all on his own, did you?” Anya said in her best duh-voice.
Pearls of knowledge! Andrew’s adoration knew no bounds.
“Go that way, head for the docks,” Anya suddenly said and pointed to the right. “I have friends there. Maybe they can help me...us.”
There was a strange smile on her face.
TBC
