thewatcherlives
04-26-2004, 10:59 AM
Over the past two years, I have been working on a dream of mine. That dream was to see a new Buffy/Angel spinoff that would take the Buffyverse into the future. What I developed was a new story in a new place (outside California) with a new set of characters that is still connected to Buffy and Angel. But not connected in obvious ways. It is connected in ways that only a true fan could recognize. They give the story the kind of depth that I have come to know and love in this universe that Joss Whedon has created. As of now, I have seven seasons of this new story planned out in a sort of episode guide. I am currently working on character profiles and the like. What follows is the teaser (the opening scene before the opening credits) to the first episode. After reading it, you will notice some differences between it and Buffy. Those differences are what make it a new story. It is what (I think) this universe needs. Please feel free to give your opinions on this opening. If you would like to know more or read more, just e-mail me. Enjoy the future.
The Hellmouth:
Episode 1
The early August air was warm that night but the figure walking through Oxford Cemetery wasn’t dressed for it. Only a silhouette against the mist rising from the lower parts of the graveyard, it wore a long coat that concealed the face. The figure seemed to wander aimlessly among the tombstones. Only after awhile did it finally stop in front of a fresh grave with FRANKLIN on the headstone. The figure stood like a statue in the silence. A passerby might have mistaken it for one of the many cement angels that dotted the cemetery, but this figure was very much alive. Minutes past and the mist grew thicker. Now the area was completely shrouded and could not be seen by prying eyes in nearby houses. Suddenly from the center of the newly shoveled dirt emerged a dirty hand. Pale and white the hand groped around in the fresh air looking for something to grab hold of. Then, beside the hand emerged another hand also searching for a hold. When they had found their desired hold, a body slowly rose from the soil wearing what appeared to be a fine suit, a suit like one might see in a store window just up the road on The Square. However, the body in the suit was far from fine. Its skin was a dirty, pale white like one would expect to see on the body of a dead man. The figure that had made its way to this spot did not budge at the site of the body ascending from the ground. Instead, it remained almost stone-like. When the risen body was fully uncovered, it was clear that this would be something extraordinary to your average person, but not the silent figure. In the moonlight, one could see horribly distorted facial features and ghastly fangs protruding from the mouth. When it saw the figure, the fiend let out a terrible hiss and bore its fangs. Still the figure did not budge. Instead, from beneath the coat, a hand emerged holding a long wooden stake. The figure raised the stake high in the air and made to stab the fanged creature in the chest. However, sensing perhaps that it was in danger, the fiend swatted the stake away and stared back at the hooded figure.
“What are you trying to do, you idiot,” said the fiend. “I’ve just climbed up from a grave that I was put into a few days ago and you want to try and kill me with a splinter?”
The mysterious figure did not speak but instead a rustling could be heard inside the coat again. This time instead of a stake, the figure drew out a glimmering handgun with what appeared to be chrome plating on the barrel. The figure placed the gun right over the fiend’s heart and cocked it.
“You are an idiot aren’t you? I’m immortal. What do you think a gun is going to do to me? If you shoot me I’ll just get right back up and this time, I’m going to…”
But he didn’t finish. The shot rang in the figure’s ear and for a second in that of the fiend. In the same moment, the fiend’s body became fragile and burst into a scattered pile of dust, which floated down to the ground from which he had just risen. Still holding the gun outstretched, the moonlight now reflected off the figure’s face reveling a young man wearing glasses and having a nice growth of facial hair on his chin and upper lip. His hair was unkempt and it hung close to the tops of the rims of his glasses. He placed the gun back into his coat and looked down at what was left of the fiend.
“Who’s the idiot now?” he said and turned back into the mist.
© 2003 Full Moon Films, Inc.
The Hellmouth:
Episode 1
The early August air was warm that night but the figure walking through Oxford Cemetery wasn’t dressed for it. Only a silhouette against the mist rising from the lower parts of the graveyard, it wore a long coat that concealed the face. The figure seemed to wander aimlessly among the tombstones. Only after awhile did it finally stop in front of a fresh grave with FRANKLIN on the headstone. The figure stood like a statue in the silence. A passerby might have mistaken it for one of the many cement angels that dotted the cemetery, but this figure was very much alive. Minutes past and the mist grew thicker. Now the area was completely shrouded and could not be seen by prying eyes in nearby houses. Suddenly from the center of the newly shoveled dirt emerged a dirty hand. Pale and white the hand groped around in the fresh air looking for something to grab hold of. Then, beside the hand emerged another hand also searching for a hold. When they had found their desired hold, a body slowly rose from the soil wearing what appeared to be a fine suit, a suit like one might see in a store window just up the road on The Square. However, the body in the suit was far from fine. Its skin was a dirty, pale white like one would expect to see on the body of a dead man. The figure that had made its way to this spot did not budge at the site of the body ascending from the ground. Instead, it remained almost stone-like. When the risen body was fully uncovered, it was clear that this would be something extraordinary to your average person, but not the silent figure. In the moonlight, one could see horribly distorted facial features and ghastly fangs protruding from the mouth. When it saw the figure, the fiend let out a terrible hiss and bore its fangs. Still the figure did not budge. Instead, from beneath the coat, a hand emerged holding a long wooden stake. The figure raised the stake high in the air and made to stab the fanged creature in the chest. However, sensing perhaps that it was in danger, the fiend swatted the stake away and stared back at the hooded figure.
“What are you trying to do, you idiot,” said the fiend. “I’ve just climbed up from a grave that I was put into a few days ago and you want to try and kill me with a splinter?”
The mysterious figure did not speak but instead a rustling could be heard inside the coat again. This time instead of a stake, the figure drew out a glimmering handgun with what appeared to be chrome plating on the barrel. The figure placed the gun right over the fiend’s heart and cocked it.
“You are an idiot aren’t you? I’m immortal. What do you think a gun is going to do to me? If you shoot me I’ll just get right back up and this time, I’m going to…”
But he didn’t finish. The shot rang in the figure’s ear and for a second in that of the fiend. In the same moment, the fiend’s body became fragile and burst into a scattered pile of dust, which floated down to the ground from which he had just risen. Still holding the gun outstretched, the moonlight now reflected off the figure’s face reveling a young man wearing glasses and having a nice growth of facial hair on his chin and upper lip. His hair was unkempt and it hung close to the tops of the rims of his glasses. He placed the gun back into his coat and looked down at what was left of the fiend.
“Who’s the idiot now?” he said and turned back into the mist.
© 2003 Full Moon Films, Inc.