TITLE: Herding CoW (1/1)
SERIES: The Watchers
AUTHOR: Diurnal Lee
EMAIL: diurnal@diurnalsbeacon.ca
MY SITE: Three Little Wiggins (www.diurnalsbeacon.ca/btvs/)
FEEDBACK: The good, the bad, and the ugly, please.
RATING: PG
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first, please.
TIMELINE: Prologue to Season 1
SPOILERS: none
CONTENT: Original characters
SUMMARY: The Council of Watchers deals with some staffing problems.
DISCLAIMER: The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and a lot of other parties that aren't me. I don't own the puddle; I just can't resist playing in Joss' mud.
"Wallace, what word on the Slayer?"
The stout, bewhiskered man stood, tugging at the hem of his vest. "None so far, I'm afraid. The mother has been waffling over the move, and we thought it best to wait until she'd established a new base before reacquiring the girl."
"I say, man; this is intolerable! If we have to wait until they've moved before sending someone out, we'll be set back months, or even more."
Deirdre Collins listened calmly as the people around her argued over the disposition of "their" Slayer, so recently cut adrift by the death of her Watcher. The Council seemed to feel they were hampered by the presence of the girl's mother, and the same tired old plans for separating the two were briefly bandied about.
The eldest Watcher present, Deirdre had outlived more Slayers than she cared to remember, and almost as many incarnations of the Council. She knew this lot very well. There would be no kidnappings, no accidental deaths. She waited until the silliness died down, then gave the nod to Greg Hastings to play out the first portion of her script.
Hastings stood, clearing his throat in a way that was awkward only for the listener. "Surely, there must be some way we can anticipate the decision. Do we have any idea where the woman is planning to go?"
Reluctantly, Wallace nodded. "She seems to be concentrating on cities in California, though she has looked into places near her sister's family." He gestured to the map of the western United States. "Likely she'll stay near the coast."
Hastings nodded gravely, and allowed a dramatic, pensive frown to crease his brow. "Well, then, the obvious solution is to temporarily saturate the area with Watchers, and wait for the gel to arrive. We can withdraw the excess people once the Slayer has been reaquired."
He seated himself amidst the howls of outrage his suggestion engendered.
". . . justify the expense!"
". . . disruption, moving that many people to one area . . ."
". . . untrained girl, who probably won't last the year . . ."
". . . waste of personnel . . ."
Deirdre waited again, catching them just as the loudest voices stilled. "Gentlemen, for shame! Do we not exist to provide the Slayer with every available support and resource?" She stared coolly into the eyes of the most vociferous objectors; all but Quentin Travers looked away guiltily. "Mr. Hastings' suggestion has merit. We'll send our best available people, at once. Most of them will be able to return to their current tasks in a few weeks or months, taking up where they left off."
She paused, waited for the first hesitant objection, interrupting before it left Wallace's mouth. "Need I remind you all that her deplorable lack of training is due directly to our laxity in recruitment?" A few nods answered her from around the table. "Well then, I see it as no less than our duty to ensure that her reeducation begins immediately she arrives at her new home."
They talked themselves into it, of course. Deirdre listened, amused, while they chose a committee to oversee the project. She didn't envy Greg when they settled on him as treasurer, but really, the man's mind was better suited to administrative tasks, anyway. Affecting a pre-senile snooze, she braced herself for her final role in the afternoon's machinations.
A brief report on current training candidates in eastern Europe was followed by an extensive rehash of the problems that the recent upheaval was causing for their people in the Middle-East. The elderly Watcher was sufficiently bored by that nonsense that she found herself drifting off in truth.
"Then, there is the matter of Rupert Giles."
Instantly alert at the sound of that name, Deirdre surged to her feet. "That is enough! I have had it up to here with that man! I want him out of my hair as soon as possible." She looked wildly around the room, until her gaze fell on the outspread map. A manic gleam entered her eye, and her peers shifted uneasily in their seats, exchanging nervous glances.
"There!" She jabbed her finger down near the west coast. "We'll send him to California with the others. To --" She slid the map toward her and tilted her head to peer at it through her bifocals. "-- Sunnydale. Yes, send him there. When the Slayer is reacquired, and the others withdrawn, our Mr. Giles will be left behind." She chuckled in satisfaction. "Yes, that will do very well, indeed. We'll leave him to rot in a backwoods colonial town, where he can cause me no more trouble."
She stood still while they turned it over in their minds: some clearly embarrassed by her outburst, others thrilled by the scandal. From the corner of her eye, she could seen Travers fighting an urge to grin.
Once over their shock, they agreed all too quickly to her outrageous suggestion. Deirdre subsided into her chair, satisfaction at the success of her ploy warring with disappointment over their willingness to abandon one colleague at the whim of another. Although expected, their collective inability to see the potential in young Rupert was worrisome in the extreme.
Of course, she did have a small advantage -- while not as far-reaching as true prophecy, the Sight was usually more immediately applicable.
"And for the sake of all that that's holy," she muttered. "See that he isn't placed in a museum this time. California has enough natural disasters to contend with."
End
SERIES: The Watchers
AUTHOR: Diurnal Lee
EMAIL: diurnal@diurnalsbeacon.ca
MY SITE: Three Little Wiggins (www.diurnalsbeacon.ca/btvs/)
FEEDBACK: The good, the bad, and the ugly, please.
RATING: PG
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first, please.
TIMELINE: Prologue to Season 1
SPOILERS: none
CONTENT: Original characters
SUMMARY: The Council of Watchers deals with some staffing problems.
DISCLAIMER: The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and a lot of other parties that aren't me. I don't own the puddle; I just can't resist playing in Joss' mud.
"Wallace, what word on the Slayer?"
The stout, bewhiskered man stood, tugging at the hem of his vest. "None so far, I'm afraid. The mother has been waffling over the move, and we thought it best to wait until she'd established a new base before reacquiring the girl."
"I say, man; this is intolerable! If we have to wait until they've moved before sending someone out, we'll be set back months, or even more."
Deirdre Collins listened calmly as the people around her argued over the disposition of "their" Slayer, so recently cut adrift by the death of her Watcher. The Council seemed to feel they were hampered by the presence of the girl's mother, and the same tired old plans for separating the two were briefly bandied about.
The eldest Watcher present, Deirdre had outlived more Slayers than she cared to remember, and almost as many incarnations of the Council. She knew this lot very well. There would be no kidnappings, no accidental deaths. She waited until the silliness died down, then gave the nod to Greg Hastings to play out the first portion of her script.
Hastings stood, clearing his throat in a way that was awkward only for the listener. "Surely, there must be some way we can anticipate the decision. Do we have any idea where the woman is planning to go?"
Reluctantly, Wallace nodded. "She seems to be concentrating on cities in California, though she has looked into places near her sister's family." He gestured to the map of the western United States. "Likely she'll stay near the coast."
Hastings nodded gravely, and allowed a dramatic, pensive frown to crease his brow. "Well, then, the obvious solution is to temporarily saturate the area with Watchers, and wait for the gel to arrive. We can withdraw the excess people once the Slayer has been reaquired."
He seated himself amidst the howls of outrage his suggestion engendered.
". . . justify the expense!"
". . . disruption, moving that many people to one area . . ."
". . . untrained girl, who probably won't last the year . . ."
". . . waste of personnel . . ."
Deirdre waited again, catching them just as the loudest voices stilled. "Gentlemen, for shame! Do we not exist to provide the Slayer with every available support and resource?" She stared coolly into the eyes of the most vociferous objectors; all but Quentin Travers looked away guiltily. "Mr. Hastings' suggestion has merit. We'll send our best available people, at once. Most of them will be able to return to their current tasks in a few weeks or months, taking up where they left off."
She paused, waited for the first hesitant objection, interrupting before it left Wallace's mouth. "Need I remind you all that her deplorable lack of training is due directly to our laxity in recruitment?" A few nods answered her from around the table. "Well then, I see it as no less than our duty to ensure that her reeducation begins immediately she arrives at her new home."
They talked themselves into it, of course. Deirdre listened, amused, while they chose a committee to oversee the project. She didn't envy Greg when they settled on him as treasurer, but really, the man's mind was better suited to administrative tasks, anyway. Affecting a pre-senile snooze, she braced herself for her final role in the afternoon's machinations.
A brief report on current training candidates in eastern Europe was followed by an extensive rehash of the problems that the recent upheaval was causing for their people in the Middle-East. The elderly Watcher was sufficiently bored by that nonsense that she found herself drifting off in truth.
"Then, there is the matter of Rupert Giles."
Instantly alert at the sound of that name, Deirdre surged to her feet. "That is enough! I have had it up to here with that man! I want him out of my hair as soon as possible." She looked wildly around the room, until her gaze fell on the outspread map. A manic gleam entered her eye, and her peers shifted uneasily in their seats, exchanging nervous glances.
"There!" She jabbed her finger down near the west coast. "We'll send him to California with the others. To --" She slid the map toward her and tilted her head to peer at it through her bifocals. "-- Sunnydale. Yes, send him there. When the Slayer is reacquired, and the others withdrawn, our Mr. Giles will be left behind." She chuckled in satisfaction. "Yes, that will do very well, indeed. We'll leave him to rot in a backwoods colonial town, where he can cause me no more trouble."
She stood still while they turned it over in their minds: some clearly embarrassed by her outburst, others thrilled by the scandal. From the corner of her eye, she could seen Travers fighting an urge to grin.
Once over their shock, they agreed all too quickly to her outrageous suggestion. Deirdre subsided into her chair, satisfaction at the success of her ploy warring with disappointment over their willingness to abandon one colleague at the whim of another. Although expected, their collective inability to see the potential in young Rupert was worrisome in the extreme.
Of course, she did have a small advantage -- while not as far-reaching as true prophecy, the Sight was usually more immediately applicable.
"And for the sake of all that that's holy," she muttered. "See that he isn't placed in a museum this time. California has enough natural disasters to contend with."
End