BUFFY
Well, here's a dream I'd forgotten about until I dug through my
Highlander stuff. It's a Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Highlander
Crossover Dream
Buffy (of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" fame) was scaling a very steep
cliff face. She was not using any ropes or safety harness. She had
an army surplus back pack full of slender and very sharp stakes slung
across her shoulders. As she climbed, she muttered angrily to herself
about what she was going to do to ***(some k'immie) when she found
him.
Duncan was crouched at the top of the cliff, talking down to her from
the edge. He patiently explained to her that immortals could not be
killed like vampires. "The stakes will only p*ss them off," he said.
Buffy gave him the stare usually given to him by Richie (disbelieving
and stubborn) with a touch of hostility thrown in. She replied
distainfully, "We'll see about that!"
I was standing behind Duncan, peering over his shoulder. "Don't be an
idiot, Buffy," I urged, "Trust Duncan!"
She just gave me one of those bull-headed looks and kept on climbing.
Duncan gave me his "what's-a-mother-to-do" look, raising his eyebrows
and shrugging.
I said, "Duncan, we can't let her go! She'll get killed!"
He snorted, gave me a look of utter disgust, and asked, "And how do
you suggest we stop her?"
There I was stymied. I didn't have a single idea. Buffy is little,
but she's pretty mean.
The dream didn't continue long enough for me to get to see the fight,
but I did have the idea that Buffy was an immortal. I think that the
k'immie she was after was Paul Kinman, that foppish jerk from
"Reluctant Heroes."
DREAM 2
Real Highlander Nightmare involving the Four Horsemen!!!
In the dream, I am attending college at a campus I have never seen
before. I have just arrived to begin work on my master's degree. As
I go from office to office, registering for classes, filling out
forms, and such, I hear people talking about a group of men in weird
garb and mounted on horses. Apparently these guys periodically sweep
through the campus mounted on horses and snatch girls off the
sidewalks. They ride off and the girls are never seen again.
I find this mildly disturbing, but I don't really believe it. I think
it's one of those campus rumor things--like the serial killer rumor
that periodically swept my college campus.
I decide to get a cup of tea at the campus coffee house. A tall, thin
young man wearing a blue cable-knit sweater comes over to sit with me.
He introduces himself as Adam Pierson--I should know him, but in the
dream, I've never seen him before and he is not familiar to me at all.
I ask him about this group of sociopaths that everyone is buzzing
about. He gives me a sharp, calculating look--and I think he's
thinking I'm a dork for listening to these rumors. He says, "You mean
the four Horsemen?"
Snickering nastily, I say, "They sound more like the Four Horses'
Arses to me!"
He looks vaguely offended and doesn't laugh. I feel a little silly
for having said it, since I'd just met him and all. I figure he found
the word "arse" offensive. He does look just a bit prudish. He
sticks around, however, and even goes to buy me a second cup of tea.
I'm feeling happy that I've already made a friend on campus.
He walks out of the coffee house with me, and we stroll along a tree
lined sidewalk. It seems to grow strangely dark, and I feel a bit
strange and dizzy. When I stumble, he takes my arm supportively. I
have never felt so odd, and it is a little scary. He stares at me
intensely, his eyes dark and serious. Then I pass out cold.
When I wake up, I'm sprawled across the bare mattress of a narrow cot
in an otherwise empty dormitory room. Kronos is kneeling beside my
cot, sort of leaning over me. When he sees my eyelids flicker, he
smiles his *evil* smile into my face. In a sly voice dripping with
malevalence, he asks, "Are you awake?"
I know who he is right away, and my stomach tightens and my lungs seem
to squeeze shut, but I still ask, "WHO ARE YOU?"
He leans closer to me, and I can feel his hot breath on my face as he
says, "I'm one of the four horses' arses, my dear." Then he licked my
face. I could feel the roughness of his beard stubble scrape against
my face as his tongue traveled from my chin to my eyebrow.
I realized that Adam had betrayed me. He had drugged my tea. I was filled with absolute horror and terror--my only rational thought
was, "I'm screwed! What's this guy going to do to me????" The
answering thought was even more horrifying.."He can do whatever he
wants to me--there's nothing I can do about it!"
I woke up before he did anything else to me, with my heart pounding
rapidly. Oooh! Shiver, shiver, shiver!!!!!
MYSTERY MAN
Darkness encompasses me. A dark body of water is at my back; it is
very placid, but black as ink. A high fence which looks like snow
fencing is at my back, but it is very high. Tall weeds, vines and
shrubbery have grown up around it and died, creating a tangled massive
of dead vegetation about five feet thick. It is late at night,
perhaps 2 or 3 a.m.
There are immortals all around me--perhaps twenty or thirty of them.
I can sense them. The buzz is not at all what I thought it would be
like. It's more of an intense anxiety than an actual "buzz."
Emotionally, I feel nervous and afraid. Physically, I feel weak and
tired. It seems that I have been immortal for only a very short time,
and that these immortals are the first *others* I have ever come into
contact with. Certainly, this is my first battle. I feel uncertain
and unprepared, but I do know what it is the be an immortal, and I
understand about "the game."
I am carrying a sword which is cold and heavy in my hand. The
*knowledge* that this is some sort of small-scale gathering fills me
with dread. Many heads will roll tonight, and I am certain that mine
will be one of them.
There is so little light! People look like wraiths--there are a few
female immortals, but most are males. I glimpse Xavier St.Clair and
am amazed because I thought he was dead.
I hear some talking--not much. No one speaks to me. The words which
are said do not actually register on me because I am eyeing each
figure as it moves around me, wondering which one will approach
me--and kill me. For I am certain I will die, and the dry sand at my
feet will drink my life's blood.
Suddenly, I hear the clash of metal against metal. There is some
yelling and cursing, but it seems distant--closer to the edge of the
water. The sounds of battle are not as loud as I thought they would
be. People are panting and grunting with the effort of battle.
I shrink back against the thick brush at my back, thankful, at least,
that no one will be able to surprise me from behind. It is cold
comfort.
Before I even finish my thought, a figure looms up before me--a tall
man with a sword held ready. The darkness is too intense--I can
discern no facial features at all--but I do get an impression of wide
shoulders and long, lean arms. Other than the buzz that tells me he
is immortal, I know nothing about him. The dryness of terror fills my
mouth, and I grip my sword tightly. However, I don't bring it up.
For a long moment, he gazes at me. Then, he raises his hand--the one
without the sword in it--and shoves me backwards into the bracken
behind me. As I topple over backwards, I screech in surprise and pain
as the sharp twigs snap all around me, digging into my face and hands,
ripping through my clothes and scoring my body.
He stands over me briefly, kicking at my feet which are the only parts
of me protruding from the mess. His voice is low and fierce, but not
threatening, really. "Stay down," he orders me. "Don't me. Don't
make a noise. Don't even blink!" Then he whirls away--I get a brief
impression of a long, dark coat swirling, and he disappears into the
fray.
Even though this encounter has terrified me, I'm also a little p*ssed.
Who is *he* to be ordering me around? I struggle a bit in my nest of
broken sticks and dead, dry shrubbery, but every time I twitch, it
*hurts*! And the shrubbery seems almost to grasp me and hold me
tighter with each movement. The more I struggle, the more it hurts,
and the more entwined I seem to become. So, I resign myself to my
fate and try to move as little as possible. I lie there, hearing the
shrill squeals and curses of lacerated immies and the bell like clang
of metal on metal. After a while, it becomes surreal. I am aware of
nothing except the cool ground under my back and the dozens of small
wooden stilettoes doing their best to work their way through my
clothing to impale me. I stare at the stars barely visible in the
black sky above me.
Gradually the noise of battle is less and less audible. Being in one
position for so long has left me numb.
All at once, the dark figure is back, seeming to rise up out of the
ground before me. I still can't make out what he looks like--I just
have an impression of a tall, lean body in tattered and bloody
clothes. His jaw is firm and his shoulders are broad. He reaches
into the thicket of dried vegetation, grabs my right arm near the
elbow and yanks me effortlessly out of my entanglement. Again, I
squeal. The twigs snap and scratch and claw at me. Dozens of new
wounds sting and burn--none deep or threatening. Just painful.
Once I am on my feet, I realize that he is a *lot* bigger than me--in
fact, I suddenly realize (with some dismay, I might add) that I am a
*child*! At most I am eleven. I shrink away from him a bit, gazing
at his gory sword, with is hanging from his other hand. He does not
release my arm, but holds me out from him a bit, as if to look me
over. I still cannot make out his face. It is just too dark. My
knees are weak and my legs are trembling--partly from fear and partly
from having been immobile in the bushes for so long.
He doesn't tell me, but I know he and I are the only survivors of this
night's business. I wonder if he is going to kill me, but he makes no
hostile move.
Finally, I ask him simply, "Why?"
Though he doesn't answer, I feel that he is suddenly impatient and
irritated with me. As if I should just *know* the answer.
"This is so pointless," I say, and I can hear my voice sounding
childish and whiny--it was not my intention to sound like that. "I'll
last about 36 hours as an immortal."
He gives me an irritated shake--his grip has shifted and he's holding
me by the scruff of my neck. I'm p*ssed again because he is treating
me like a child! I feel the strong urge to behave like a child and
give him a good hard kick in the ankle, but I am just too intimidated
to do it.
"Don't sell yourself short," he says gruffly. Then he begins to tow
me off in the direction of the ink black sea. With no further
conversation or explanation, he begins to tow me off in the direction
of the ink black sea. Like a stubborn child, I drag my feet and throw
my weight backwards to try to slow him up, but it doesn't work. He
tows me along effortlessly and indifferently. I feel a bit
embarrassed and very powerless--and really quite annoyed--by the way
he is manhandling me. I want him to stop long enough to tell me who
he is and what his intentions are. What I want seems to matter little
to him.
I feel "safe" with him--I feel that he has no intention of hurting
me--or at least of killing me. He doesn't even seem to be aware of
the fact that he has inflicted several minor hurts upon me already.
There are no *evil* vibes coming from him.
I do have a slight notion that he is dragging me to a boat moored on
that black sea, but the dream ends before we reach it. I do not know
what would have happened next.
I keep waiting to dream the sequel of this dream which has fascinated
me. The older immortal was neither Duncan nor Methos. He was very
tall and very lean. In fact, his body type was that of a young and
strong Chuck Connors.
But I had the impression that his coloring was very dark.
Hmmm.
Galatea
CORI'S DREAM
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