The Amulet, The Ring, And The Shunned
By: Kim Ekberg
Time Line: The story is set during the fourth season of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and during the first season of Angel. Doyle is still the seer of visions, and Riley is still injured from when Adam kicked his ass. Cordelia is the old Cordy, the Sunnydale Cordy.
Authors Note: I hope that the dialog format doesn't bother anybody entirely too much.
Santa Monica, California
The rain was pouring down as the young vampire anxiously checked his watch for the fortieth time in the last five minutes. Randy had been turned into a vampire not even three years ago. His sire was one of the few who believed that vampires could still run the earth if they were populated enough. Randy barely even remembered his sire, all he remembered was waking up one night, weak and very thirsty. Randy died around the age of twenty-five, about 6'1", and good looks. He had definitely been made in his prime.
Randy glanced behind him as one of his friends approached, looking equally as nervous. His friend's name was Brock. Brock and Randy became friends when Brock explained to Randy what he was, and the power that he had at his fingertips…actually his fangs. He became the sire that Randy never had. Brock was unlike Randy in many ways, in fact he was almost the opposite. Brock was around 5'5" in height, and was sired much later in life, when he was nearing his forties. He had a balding head of hair.
Randy: (Nervously pacing back and forth.) Where is he?!
Brock: (Glancing at his watch.) Don't worry, he'll show.
Randy: But what if he doesn't? We need this guy, we are going to get noticed. That dream of vampires and demons actually running the night will come true!
Brock: (Puts his hands up.) Calm down, okay? (He puts his hands back down and searches his pockets for a pack of cigarettes.) Why don't you do us both a favor, and go get us a drink.
Randy: (Takes a deep breath and thinks about that, and nods approvingly.) Okay. What would you like?
Brock: (Thinking.) Hmm…wine I think…something red. It doesn't matter what kind.
Randy: (Starts to walk off, but turns back almost hesitant to go.) You sure you can handle him alone?
Brock: (Using a calming technique he had picked up a long time ago.) Don't worry. He's not that tough. (He pauses and looks back at Randy.) Just hurry back…alright?
Randy: (Nods.) Yeah, sure Brock.
Randy disappears into the rainy night, the streetlight no longer showing him. Brock pulls the collar up on his leather jacket, and continues to search his pockets for that pack of cigarettes he knew that he had. He finally found them in his back jeans pockets, along with a book of matches with one match left. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, and struck the last match against the building that he was leaning against. He discarded the empty book by his feet. Just when he was lifting the lit match up to his cigarette he felt another presence. He dropped the match on the cement, it going out on the way down. Then he accidentally let the cigarette fall from his lips. He quickly stamped it out before looking up to meet the newcomer's cold, gray, dead eyes.
Brock: Algrae! There you are.
Algrae: Lets skip the formal greeting and cut right to the chase, agreed?
Algrae looked like your every-day run of the mill Sunnydale demon. He was big, (About seven feet tall) and strong, (thick muscles bulged under the cape-like clothes he wore) and his face was ugly and disoriented. He looked like some creepy offspring of The Judge that Buffy faced before.
Brock: (Nervously nods.) Yeah, sure Algrae, no problem.
Algrae: Good…then you have it?
Brock: (Reluctant to give up his prize.) Yeah…but…
Algrae: (Stepping in front of Brock, towering over him.) But what, Brock?
Brock: (Nervously.) Uh…but nothing. (He reaches into the right-hand side of his leather jacket, and pulls out the amulet the long thin chain slowly coming out. The amulet looked like a diamond, and had a soft sheen to it.) The amulet of Festaria. This will give you every possible advantage over your enemies.
Algrae: (Snatching the amulet carefully from the vampire's hands.) I know what it does.
Brock: (Didn't even realize that he was slowly backing away from the demon, while the demon looked over the amulet.) Yeah…just making sure.
Algrae: (Not looking at Brock.) You were right in coming to me. With amulet of Festaria and the ring of Festeria, I will be completely invincible and the slayer will be no more!
Los Angeles, California
Cordelia: I have had it with helping the poor! (She waits for a response from one of the two guys she works with. The vampire with the soul, or the half-demon, she receives neither.) Aren't you going to ask me why?
Angel boredly looked up at her from the thick dusty book he had his nose buried in. Angel is the one and only vampire that you'd never ever run across again. One in a kind. Once a long time ago, he was an ordinary vampire all 'grr' and evil. When he killed the wrong person, he had a spell cast upon him to have his human soul returned, that he had lost when he had turned into a vampire. He now has a conscience, and fights for the human race, and not the vampire race. Good if your human, bad if your not.
Doyle had a bottle of whiskey, and looks over toward her. Doyle also wasn't your ordinary drunk. Okay…so he's not a drunk all the time. (Yes, I love Doyle too) A couple years past, Doyle was 'cursed' with visions. These visions allow him to see fear, danger, somebody that needs help etc. The Powers That Be gave him this gift, and sent him to Angel, so Angel could do the whole 'saving the humans' thing a little easier. Besides being different for having the head-numbing visions, Doyle is also half-demon (or half-human however you want to put it) He's only half, because his father was demon, and his mother was human. He's entirely human on his mother's side. (Did I lose you yet?)
Doyle: (Pouring himself another shot of whiskey, he was almost half-drunk the way it was.) And why is that Cordelia?
Cordelia: We have been working in this town chock full of opportunity, and we get stuck helping the un-rich. I mean, I'm never going to become an actress on these non wages that I'm receiving!
Angel: (Sighs, this wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.) The whole purpose of our job is to help the people who need helping. Not to beg money off of the rich. Besides…we had a case…the uh…Redneck lady.
Doyle: Yeah, I hadn't done a vanishing spell in a long time. (He looks deep in thought.) Never have they actually made themselves disappear before…that was a bit strange.
Angel: Yeah…but you have to admit, she paid us.
Cordelia: In meatballs!
Doyle: She does have a point there, Angel
He takes another swig of whiskey.
Angel: Okay, whatever. Cordelia, don't you have some filing to do?
Cordelia: (Picks up one folder, and puts it in the filing cabinet, almost slamming the door.) Done.
Angel decided to ignore her prattling, knowing that it will pass sooner or later…judging by the headache forming in his head it would probably be later. Doyle continued with his whiskey, rolling the bottle back and forth in his hands.
Doyle: Anyway, what brought on this sudden range of emotion?
Cordelia: (Closing the magazine she was pretending to read.) You know my friend Aphrodesia? (Not waiting for a response.) She came to LA, and after one interview she's going to be the star of a new movie co-starring David Duchovny! I mean…can you believe her?!
Doyle: (Shrugs.) Maybe she's got talent.
Cordelia: (Snorts.) Yeah, sleeping with the director.
Doyle chuckles, and raised yet again the shot glass up to his lips.
Doyle: Well, you know what they say—
Suddenly his head jerked back, causing his shot glass to fly forward, and empty its contents on Cordelia. Doyle's head came back, and would have slammed into the table if his hands wouldn't have caught it.
Cordelia: Doyle! Can you spill your drink on yourself just once?!
She stood up, and grabbed the nearest cloth (Doyle's extra t-shirt) and started wiping her skirt off.
Angel: Cordelia, he's having a vision!
Cordelia: (Vigorously trying to get the stain out.) Oh like that's tough.
Angel had been at Doyle's side the second he had started to have his vision.
Angel: (Kneeling next to Doyle, he grabs Doyle's shoulders to try and steady him so he would stop convulsing.) Doyle…buddy…what do you see?
Doyle: (One hand against his forehead, he was cringing from the pain of the vision. He had his eyes tightly shut.) A demon…big guy, (he grunts loudly) disoriented face, and—
He stops, as the vision stopped abruptly. Angel let Doyle go has Doyle collapsed in his chair exhausted. Angel stands up, looking down at Doyle.
Angel: A big demon…with a disoriented face…
Doyle: (Slowly nodding.) Yeah.
Angel: (Almost frowns) Is that all you got?
Doyle: (Getting angry.) Well I'm sorry if I didn't have time to stop and smell the flowers, okay? (He stops.) His face was blue, two horns sprouting from the top of his head, big guy, maybe seven feet tall.
Angel: (Looks in thought.) He almost sounds like an offspring of the judge.
(Corny I know, but this is Angel we're talking)
Doyle: (Squints at him.) The Judge?
Angel: Yeah…I'd have to look it up to make sure, but I think it may be Algrae.
Doyle: What, you know the guy or something?
Angel: (Nods, as he starts looking through one of his books, already distracted.) Yeah, I've kicked his ass a few times. He's not as tough as he looks, he likes to pretend though.
Cordelia: Hello?! Doesn't anybody care about my emergency here?! This is a silk skirt! This is never going to come out.
Angel: (Ignoring her.) Here it is. (Reading aloud.) Algrae the Destroyer, is this the guy that you saw?
Doyle: (As Angel holds the book down to his eye-level, he nods and winces at the pain that still surfaced.) Yeah…that's the guy.
Angel: (As he puts down the book, he looks Doyle in the eye.) Oh…hey…was there more to your vision?
Doyle: (Over the pain of his vision, suddenly looks uncomfortable.) Uh…why do you ask?
Angel: (Glances over at Cordelia and back at Doyle, shrugging innocently. Cordy was still working with the stain.) You said 'and' then you stopped. Is there more?
Doyle: (Suddenly finding a great interest in the whiskey bottle again, he takes it in his hands, and wont look at Angel.) That basically sums it up.
Angel: (Gets a questioning look on his face.) What aren't you telling me, Doyle? What are you hiding?
Doyle: (Lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips, not bothering for the glass, he was about to take a drink, but Angel grabs the bottle. Doyle looks up at him a little guiltily.) Okay…there is a bit more.
Angel: (Shrugs, and looks at ease.) So, why don't you just tell me?
Doyle: (Now very hesitant watching Angel's face very carefully.) He…was in Sunnydale.
Angel: (His attention fully on what Doyle was saying, Cordy even looked up.) What else?
Doyle: (Stands up so that Angel didn't tower over him so much sitting down. Angel sometimes did intimidate Doyle, this was one of those times.) He was fighting…Buffy…and he was winning.
Angel: (Starting to get more then a little annoyed.) And what, you decided that this wasn't important?
Doyle: No…it's—
Angel: This is Buffy, Doyle. You know what she means to me. You were so selfish, that you couldn't even tell me she was in danger.
Doyle: See, what I thought was—
Angel: (Interrupting.) No, you know what? Save it. It doesn't matter, okay? (Still pissed off, he turns to both of them.) Pack a bag if you have time, we're leaving in thirty minutes.
He starts to walk toward the freight elevator, but stops and looks at Doyle. They stare at each other for a few seconds, neither breaking the eye contact, before Angel turned and walked toward the elevator.
Doyle sighed as he stared after him, and turned back to Cordelia. He hated it when Angel and him fought. He knew it had been wrong to not tell him about the whole vision, he would have eventually. Doyle just didn't want his friend to suffer anymore, knowing the vampire's past that The Powers had told him.
Doyle: (Picks up the basically empty bottle of whiskey off the table where Angel had left it, looked longingly at it for a second, then through it in the garbage. He turns to Cordy who was still using his shirt as a rag. He spoke so quietly that Cordelia could barely hear him.) Let's go pack, Cordy.
He walks past her, and out into the night.
Cordelia: (Yelling after him.) You think Angel has some club soda?
She throws down Doyle's shirt and ran after him.
Well…that's the first part…hope that you guys like it. This is the first Angel fanfic that I have posted on the net before. Don't be too harsh on me, okay? In the next part, we meet up with Buffy and the rest of the gang…just as soon as I get it typed.