Fiesta Brava
Short vignette of Spike’s
first run-in with a Slayer. COMPLETE. Set in
Angelus and Darla had decided to humor Spike by
coming to
Following omens, portents and Drusilla's
visions, they'd narrowed the search to the city of
Soon the city was rife with rumors of someone or
something cutting through the crowds at the bullring, leaving pale death in its
wake. And finally, on the eve of the Feast day of St. Isidro, the Slayer came
to slay.
Drusilla sensed her first. As the trumpets
sounded the fanfare of the Tercio de Vara to signal the arrival of the matadors and bulls
into the ring, she stilled, seeming to listen intently. A sly smile crept over
her face. "She's here," she whispered into Spike's ear. "I can
feel her, flamenço and castanets, hot blood and vino tinto."
"Her blood shall be our vino tinto, our red wine," Spike replied
with a triumphant growl.
Unerringly, Drusilla led her three companions
through the warm malodorous crowds. Standing out from the rest of the human
cattle was a girl. Rich and ripe, dark and luscious, olive skin, tumbled black
curls and flashing dark eyes, as she strode through the mob, it parted for her,
men's eyes following, but none daring to touch. Without a word the four
vampires split up to surround her.
The First Tercio - Picadores
In the arena, the first third, or tercio, of the bullfight was underway. Men in colorful costumes taunted the bull,
tempting it to come close enough to be in range of their picadors, or
long sharp spears. Working as a team
they jabbed the spears into the hulking shoulders and neck of the bull, drawing
blood and enraging it – causing it to lose all sense of caution and cunning.
In the stands another team of picadores, Darla and Drusilla, were the first to approach
the Slayer. Their job in this first tercio was similar to that of their counterparts in the ring
– to wear her out, to enrage her, to lure her. Weaving in and out of the crowd
surrounding the Slayer, they flickered their demon
faces for her alone to see. As soon as she would make a move towards one, the
other would draw her off, leaving the odd, bloodless body as a trail for her to
follow.
Stake clutched tightly in her hand, the Slayer would whirl to strike, only to find her quarry temporarily vanished and the attack coming from another direction. She felt as if she were fighting a ghost, something insubstantial, something that eluded her grasp like mercury. They drew her into the area underneath the stands where the horses and bulls were stabled, where it was dark and deserted while all human eyes were on the action taking place in the ring.
The Second Tercio - Banderilleros
Like Darla and Drusilla, the picadores
in the ring had done their work well – the bull was maddened and bleeding. As they left the field, two
horsemen, the banderilleros, each bearing a
six-foot long spear fluttering colorful ribbons called a banderilla,
cantered into the arena. They
circled the bull, tempting it to chase them, running it from one end of the
ring to the other, round and round. While the bull was focused on one, the
other would dart in and jab the banderilla
into it’s back, shoulders and neck, damaging the
muscles there, causing the bull to lose even more blood, weakening it for the faena, the kill.
Under the stands, Angelus was the banderillero. As
the Slayer searched the gloom for any signs of Darla or Drusilla, Angelus,
mounted on one of the horses reserved for that purpose, burst out of the dark
armed with the steel-tipped banderilla.
Wheeling around the stumbling Slayer, he taunted her with the pike he carried,
making short sharp jabs, a scratch here, a puncture there, until she was dizzy,
disoriented and bleeding from several small wounds. Just as suddenly, he
disappeared back into the dark, leaving the Slayer to face the matador.
The Final Tercio - Faena
As the crowds roared for the
matador, now entering the ring in his flamboyant suit of lights, Spike stepped
out to face the Slayer. In
his right hand was a sword, the estoque used to kill the bull. In his
left, the muleta,
the cape of scarlet, so emblematic of the sport. Spike circled his bull,
swirling the cape, tempting it to come for him. As the Slayer
charged, he performed a perfect veronica, the classic matador move, drawing the cape over her head
as she rushed past, all the while standing completely still. The human
observers above them cheered wildly, as if witnesses to Spike’s feat as well as
the graceful moves of the human matador out on the bloody sands of the corrida. Drusilla, standing in the shadows, cried,
"Olé!" and clapped her hands.
Smiling his thanks and bowing to her, Spike took his attention from the Slayer long enough blow Dru a kiss, saying, "You shall have the ears, my dark Goddess, as a trophy." Seeing his distraction, the Slayer aimed a high kick at his head, connecting solidly. Whirling back around, Spike found her in a fighting stance, stake in hand and ready.
Screaming a challenge, he tossed away the muleta and
charged. With lightening speed, she evaded him at the last second, thrusting a
leg to sweep his out from under him. From then on it was all a flurry of limbs
and blows, the sound of Spike's sword ringing off the stone floor as he swung
at her and missed, the crunch of the hilt smashing into her jaw on his
backstroke.
They tumbled in and out of the shadows, first
one seeming to have the advantage, then the other. Spike pierced her side with
the sword, but she kicked it away from him into some dark corner. Grappling and
flailing, the fight was neither pretty nor scientific – just two primitive
creatures out for the other’s blood. Grim and intense, they battled, neither
one giving an inch.
The fight took them to the far end of the
stables where the broken and unused picadors
and banderillas
were stored next to a glowing forge used by the farrier
for the banderilleros' horses' shoes. The Slayer broke free
long enough to grab one of the broken banderillas. The harpoon-like steel tip had broken off the
six-foot spear of jagged wood. She drove this deep into Spike's shoulder,
missing his heart by inches. The wound staggered Spike, forcing him to his
knees as she grabbed another and drove it clean through him, just missing his
heart again as he desperately twisted out of the way. Above them the crowd gasped and groaned as
the bull viciously gored the matador.
Taking an armful of the wooden spears, the
Slayer shoved them deep into the forge where they caught fire.
Seeing the danger that Spike was in, Drusilla
flew to his rescue, followed, more slowly and cautiously by Angelus and Darla.
With just a flick of her wrist, the Slayer took one of her flaming brands and
set Dru's trailing skirts on fire.
As Darla knocked Dru to the ground and rolled
her to extinguish the flames, Angelus went to defend Spike who looked like a
demonic St. Sebastian as the Slayer staked him time and time again, searching
for the elusive heart that he only had strength enough to protect. When she saw
Angelus' approach, she dropped one of the fiery spears to the straw-covered
floor and disappeared into the smoke. Angelus pulled an unconscious Spike to
safety as the fallen matador was also carried from the ring.
END