Slayers - Dusk

Dusk.

The sky was in the last throes of sunset—orange only remained in faint traces and close to the ground. Day was all but dead and the eventide was only just flowing in. For the moment the world was at a point in between. What it was exactly at that point had been a matter of heated discussion between the dragon and the demon as they walked the lantern lit path through the park. Filia had called it twilight, but Xellos seemed to think that it couldn't be proper twilight until the first stars showed up. Filia had never heard of such a thing and demanded to know what he'd call it. Xellos suggested gloaming which Filia instantly shot down because she felt it sounded 'stupid.' Xellos actually seemed a little offended on behalf of the word. In the end, they'd decided to call it dusk and leave it at that. Dusk was all about happy mediums anyway.

Filia was grumbling—not really saying anything, but general displeasure radiated off of her. All she'd wanted was a little fresh air, a little time in the cool almost-night, and at least, at least a little time away from Xellos. But of course she couldn't even have that. Xellos knows when he's not wanted, and his reaction is always to invite himself in anyway.

She stopped walking abruptly and took a seat on one of the park benches, not bothering to ask him if he'd like a rest or not. He'd sat down next to her with a: "You're not out of breath already, are you, Filia?"

Filia sniffed. "Hardly. I only wanted to just… enjoy the park for a little while. Though I'd enjoy it a lot more," she'd added aggressively, "if you'd sit on one of the other benches."

"Ah, but then I wouldn't have this view," he said, pointing with his staff upwards.

Filia followed his gesture with her eyes toward the lantern pole where one end of a large spider web was attached, stretching like a net over to a tree. The flickering candlelight from the lantern made the strands visible against the sky, so it appeared to rise like a wispy, mildly fly-blackened moon. In the middle of it glittered spider. It may have been red or it may have only looked red in the firelight.

Filia wrinkled her nose. "Disgusting," she said, crossing her legs irritably.

Xellos looked at her curiously. "Don't tell me that you're one of those people who are more afraid of spiders than death."

"I'm not afraid of spiders," Filia countered harshly. "I just hate them—both the eight-legged and the two-legged kind," she lobbed in his direction.

Xellos carefully ignored the barb on that statement and instead just gestured vaguely at the bug. "Are you telling me that you have no admiration for the spider? Its laudable economy of effort? The beauty of the silken traps it weaves? Its acrobatic grace and its force of design?"

"Absolutely not," Filia said certainly.

Xellos gave the web a thoughtful look and then shrugged. "I thought it was a pretty looking web—especially with the light shining on it like that."

"It's used to trap things," Filia said vehemently, mad, but not particularly focused on actual spiders at this point.

"Pretty things usually are," Xellos observed. "How could you trap someone with something they didn't want?"

"You'd know all about that," Filia said darkly.

He gave her a grim smile. "You think I'm a spider?"

"Well if all eight shoes fit!" Filia said back.

"You were calling me a cockroach only this morning," Xellos pointed out. "You need to get your bug-based comparisons straight."

"You're both," Filia said sulkily.

"Fine then," Xellos said, moving on, "if you have no admiration for the spider, then what about pity? Spiders are territorial and live solitary lives. Surely that's cause for some sympathy."

"They live solitary lives because if they're too close together they eat each other," Filia pointed out. "I'm not going to pity cannibals because they lose friends every time they get a snack attack! And they don't hunt honestly. They use cheap tricks."

"But Filia," Xellos said, clucking his tongue. "Spiders are only being spiders. You can't blame them for the lifestyle they were made to live."

Filia was annoyed, partly at Xellos, partly because she wasn't sure if he was making an excuse for spiders or for himself. If the latter was the case then he was fooling himself and deserved a punch in the face. "People have a choice," she said.

Xellos chuckled darkly. "People like to think they have choices."

That sentence fell like a heavy stone into the pool of their conversation. It was impossible to speak again until the ripples had faded.

"So why don't you tell me about your choice, Filia," Xellos went on. "Which would you rather be: the spider or the fly?"

Filia glared at him. She didn't like either of her choices. She tilted her glare huffily away. "Neither," she said. "I'd be a butterfly."

"Oh?" Xellos answered, with barely contained amusement. "So you'd be a pretty fly? I'm afraid you'd only make a more attractive meal," he said as a moth, the butterfly's less gaudy cousin, flew into the spider's web and flapped its glued wings pointlessly.

"Yes, but butterfly wings are toxic," Filia answered in a know-it-all tone that she loved to use on Xellos and hated when he used it on her. "If you ate me you'd suffer for it."

Xellos grimaced. "You know," he said after awhile, "I believe you might well be a butterfly."

"Fine by me," Filia said smugly.

"Of course," Xellos finally added thoughtfully, "I think that most of what butterflies do is flutter around and have sex. So either you're not much of a Lepidopterist or I don't know you as well as I'd like to."

Filia made a profoundly displeased sound. She crossed her arms. "I'm changing my bug," she announced.

"Fine then, go ahead," Xellos said, smirking as he readied to attack her next option.

"I'll be…" Filia began, but the answer was so simple, "a bee."

Xellos opened his mouth to make some sort of smart comment, but then closed it, nodding slowly. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I could see that. A flying, oversized, golden zealot. That works."

Filia scoffed. "What makes a bee a zealot?" she demanded, not even touching the 'oversized' part.

"Well, they're entirely focused on the hive—not themselves as individuals—and they'll make any sacrifice in the name of the hive," Xellos explained.

"But… but bees are also hard workers," Filia pointed out, not willing to go into the tangled, bloody issue of sacrifices for the many.

"True," Xellos agreed. "They work themselves to death. And as for your complaint about butterflies," he added, somewhat gently, "while the queens are promiscuous, and the drones… well, that's their entire purpose, at least you can take solace in the fact that the workers are chaste."

"And bees are not defenseless," Xellos added thoughtfully. "But using their last, best weapon means death…"

"You're just bringing us farther and farther away from the point!" Filia cut through his thoughts. "This isn't about insect comparisons—this is about spiders—it's not even about real spiders," she corrected herself. "It's about deceivers, trap-builders, web-weavers," she added venomously.

Xellos curled his gloved fingers around the armrest of the bench. The lantern lights seemed to grow brighter as the sky grew darker. "I don't see why you can't at least appreciate a good trap. And in any case, you needn't worry. I'm not spinning any webs tonight to catch you."

"You wouldn't know what to do with me if you caught me," Filia said haughtily.

She could hear Xellos gritting his teeth from next to her. "I'm sure I'd manage to figure something out," he said edgily.

"Hmmph."

The spider had finished mummifying its catch and had returned to the center of the web to let its dinner decay into a gooey liquid.

"What about you, Filia?" Xellos asked speculatively. "Have you ever spun a web and set it out in the gl—dusk to wait for your quarry?"

"Of course not," Filia answered, offended. "I don't manipulate people like you do."

He looked at her carefully as though searching for a tell. "You believe that, don't you?" he asked softly.

"It's the truth!"

Xellos shook his head. "You don't spin with malice and forethought, but whether mindful or not you're quite adept at wrapping your gossamer strands around your victims. I know."

"What are you talking about?" Filia demanded, taken aback.

"Yes," Xellos said, almost to himself, "I think you wouldn't be nearly as good at it if you were actually trying. That's the real charm of it."

Filia stood up irritably. "Are you just going to sit there and mutter about bugs all night?"

"I suppose not," Xellos said, rising and trailing after her. "We ought to be getting home so that you can wrap me up and eat me."

"I am not a spider!" Filia shrieked.

"I've seen you with fangs," Xellos said disbelievingly.

"You scum! If anyone's a murderous night creature, it's you!"

Xellos pointed at her mouth, not considering that under the circumstances he was putting his finger in great peril. "There they are. The fangs are out."

"YOU!"