Burning Down and Reconstruction by Roseveare (R)

[viola-dreamwalk.livejournal.com]

I'm Viola, and I'll be your November reccer for Angel.

Fandom: Angel the Series
Pairing: Fred/Lilah
Author on LJ: roseveare
Author Website: Freaky Alternate Universe
Warnings: Violence, rape, torture and more than a little gore.
Why this must be read:

Because. Damn. Strong chicks at the end of the world.

Femmeslash isn't my main thing, but I've found myself reading more of it recently because it's one of the rare subgenres in fanfiction where the female characters can (often) enjoy signficant character development without being overshadowed by the schmoopy romance and beautiful men. These pieces are a perfect example of that. Roseveare gives us Fred and Lilah suddenly on their own, reluctant allies trying to figure how they fit into a world that's been radically altered. The slash is admittedly subtle, but these two stories feel like just the beginning of what could be a longer series. The fic is very cool, with big style and a slight subversion of common post-Apocalypse plot devices.


Burning Down and Reconstruction

Summary: Fred, Lilah, Angelus, and the apocalypse.



Neither she nor Lilah spoke. Their course was clear. With Lilah all silent venom and torn pride sobering up in ill grace in the passenger seat beside her, Fred joined the tail of exodus blocking the interstate, and the traffic queue took them sluggishly out through the night.

Anarchy ruled in the ownership of vehicles and petrol alike. The gun Fred carried on the dashboard saved them more than once from being relegated to the bottom of the food chain. She had to watch helplessly, though, as their harassers merely moved on to easier prey.

Humans, she thought. No demons or monsters, these. She wanted to weep for humanity.

Then Lilah sarcastically remarked, "I always did wonder at times why my people were even needed," and Fred wanted to knock the smirk off her face, shove her out of the door and leave her in the road like those other poor unfortunates.

The queue slowly drifted into less and less congestion, like gas released into vacuum expanding and dispersing, as they progressed further from the city. Cars peeled off and away at exits or were left behind, out of fuel, jamming the ever-dwindling space of passage, increasing the disaster in their wake.

And still too there were the occasional tremors. On one occasion, cracks split the pavement like a jigsaw directly behind them. Lilah, who could afford the attention to crane back and watch, did so, relaying that the cracks increased as two further vehicles achieved passage, then swallowed up the third without a trace. The abrupt braking of the fourth resulted in a pile-up even as the scene disappeared into distance and dark. Further on, past San Fernando, cars swerved to avoid a larger rift, the traffic stream bottle-necking down to one lane on the wrong side which an ever-widening tributary of the rift crept slowly across.

A while after they had exited the city and departed for open country, where the other traffic thinned almost to nonexistent, Fred eased the truck off the tarmac and over the dust. Took them far enough out that they would not be spotted from the road and targeted by anyone in need of gas, and finally killed the engine.

Back the way they had come, she could see an orangish smudge on the horizon. Not the dawn, though that couldn't be far distant now either.

Los Angeles. Burning.

"Well, fuck," said Lilah, her eyes fixed on the blemish, her croak of a voice giving lie to the flippancy. "I kinda liked Tinseltown."



Burning Down and Reconstruction