'Pictures At An Exhibition'
by
A Gentleman Of Leisure.
'Second Movement'.
--
4.
'A Portrait of Some Conspirators'
"So your kid sister already knows about your secret identity? Are you sure that's a good idea, Buffy?" Willow said. "I mean, I always thought secret identities were supposed to be just that. You know - like, secret? Especially as in the bit about no one else knowing?"
It was morning recess the next day, and the three friends were hanging out in the school library. Giles was busy somewhere in the book stacks on the upper level, trying to make some sort of sense of his predecessor's filing system. Like the art gallery's previous owner, this individual had also apparently been the unwonted subject of the Watchers' Council's attentions, for he too had suddenly resigned from his job and vanished, or otherwise departed abruptly for pastures new, during the recent Christmas break. Which of course was how Giles had got the job.
"Hey, that's right," said Xander. "After all, where would Peter Parker be if everyone knew he was Spider Man? Or that Clark Kent really didn't need those stupid glasses, for that matter? Not much point in having a Superhero costume if everyone knows who's inside it, right?"
"Hey, Xander, let's just see you try keeping secrets from a ten year old sister. That little runt is into everything, and I do mean everything!! I mean, I even have to hide my secret diary from her, AND put a combination padlock on it!"
"So how on earth did she find out, then?" Xander asked.
Buffy looked at him doubtfully. She still felt angry and embarrassed by the way her parents had reacted to the incidents which had got her expelled from her original High School in Los Angeles, at which she had only managed one semester. It wasn't really something she wanted to talk about.
"Well, I already told you something about my first Watcher, Merrick, and the vamps I fought in LA, didn't I?" she said reluctantly.
"Yup. That was some real crazy stuff," said Willow. "Your folks must have thought you'd seriously lost the plot."
"I guess they thought you'd freaked for some reason?" Xander said. "I mean, I know I would have. Like, these first few weeks here since you arrived have been seriously weird, and yet you say that's nothing compared to what happened at your last school? Sheesh!"
"So what did they do when you tried to explain?" said Willow. "They must have thought you'd gone completely loco, or been on drugs or something!"
Buffy shrugged.
"I guess I can't blame them, not really. Nobody would believe me of course, after all who in their right minds could?" she said. "What with having had a knock-down, drag-out fight all through the school, and ending up with 'accidentally' setting fire to the gymnasium, the best way my parents could think of to keep me out of Juvenile Hall was to say I must have had a 'nervous breakdown' of some sort, and put me in the psych ward of the local hospital."
"Wow, harsh!" said Xander.
Buffy sighed.
"I suppose what they really hoped for was that the witch-doctors in there could 'make-me-see-sense-and-snap-out-of-it', as they put it. Like, admit I'd been making it all up! Ha! As if!" She shook her head. "I guess they reckoned maybe I was just attention-seeking on account of the problems they were having of their own. Apparently that's quite common.
"Unfortunately the doctors didn't agree with them. They said I'd obviously been suffering from hallucinations, caused by the emotional trauma of the rows my parents were having all the time at home. Besides which I'd just started at High School, which can be stress city just on it's own in a place like LA, believe me."
"They were splitting up?" Willow interrupted.
"Yeah, big time. Unfortunately I just kept right on insisting I'd actually seen real live vampires, so the psychiatrists were becoming convinced their diagnosis was right, and that I'd gone seriously screwy."
"Poor Buffy! Stuck b-between a rock and a hard place, I guess," said Willow.
"So how did you get yourself out of there then?" Xander asked. "'With one single bound she was free', huh?"
"Duh! I wish! No, actually it was Dawn who saved me."
"What?! The kid sister you've just been complaining about? Wow, I'm impressed!" said Willow. "Way to go, Dawnie!"
"How did she do that? Did she maybe smuggle you a file in a cake, so you could cut through the bars of your padded cell and make your getaway?" Xander said.
Buffy couldn't help laughing. Good old Xander. Always capable of saying something dumb enough to break up the atmosphere of gloom and despondency.
"No, nothing like that. My big problem was that I just couldn't play the game. I refused to tell the doctors what they wanted to hear, and 'admit' I was making it all up." she replied. "Well it just wasn't true, so how could I?"
"A bunch of other girls in the unit told me what I ought to do, because they'd already experienced the system before, and knew how it worked. A couple of them had been in there several times, and were able to play the doctors' game right back at them. Unfortunately, I was so certain all I had to do was tell the doctors the facts that I just wouldn't listen. I guess I should have remembered what my first Watcher said - 'never tell anyone', but I was just so totally convinced that all I had to do was keep telling the truth, and eventually they would see I really wasn't crazy at all. "
"Like, the truth will set you free, kind of thing?" said Willow.
"That was the idea, at any rate. Unfortunately it didn't work out like that - most people can't handle the truth, even when it's staring them right smack in the face. It very nearly did drive me crazy, but eventually Dawnie persuaded me to try playing their game instead."
She paused and shook her head - the memories were still distressingly clear.
"One afternoon she came to visit me on her own. It was just awful. Everything was really horrible at home - Mom and Dad were blaming each other, and rowing all the time. She told me how much she was missing me. She sat on my bed and begged me to please come back. She was in floods of tears - it was just dreadful. When she looked at me like that, well what is a big sister supposed to do?
"How could I not do as she asked? I only had to lie a little bit, you know - pretend I'd been making it all up - attention seeking, that sort of thing."
She shrugged again. "After that, I was out in ten days. Crazy or what? Ha, ha! Not me, ma'am! No way!"
"Them, not you!" said Willow earnestly. "I mean, Xander and I have grown up in this town, and we've always been sort of half-aware that there was something weird about the place, b-but nobody ever talked about it. We live here, and that's always just been the way things were - no one ever really questioned it. Then you come along, and B-Boom! Things really start happening, and everything goes to Hell in a handbasket. You tell us the what and the w-why and the wherefore, and Bingo - it all starts to make some s-sort of sense! Like you say, c-crazy or what?"
"And the things that have happened in just the last few weeks - I don't know why my hair hasn't turned white yet!" said Xander.
And Giles, leaning on the railing of the mezzanine floor of the library, listening unnoticed above them, couldn't help nodding to himself, and murmuring, "Give it time, Mr. Harris, give it time."
Buffy glanced up, not having realised he was there.
"I hope Dawn wasn't being a pain in the butt, last Saturday, Giles. I saw she was tagging along with you, talking nineteen to the dozen. What was that all about?"
"It looked to me rather like she was dragging you round the gallery making you look at stuff, Mr. Giles. I thought it was rather cute, really," said Willow.
"She can be so embarrassing sometimes. I'll bet she was telling you she can draw just as well as some of the artists actually in the exhibition, wasn't she?" Buffy said. "She's always scribbling away on a sketch pad, if she isn't wanting to play me or Mom at chess!"
"Hm. Interesting," said Giles. "Is she any good?"
Buffy grunted dismissively.
"Pardon?" said Giles.
Willow laughed. "She told me the other day she wants to be Junior Chess Queen. She's not bad really, for her age, that is. I had to play quite hard to beat her!"
"Actually, I meant is she any good at drawing?"
Buffy looked up again, frowning. "No. I don't think she's any better than most kids of that age. Why?"
Giles looked thoughtful.
"She's very observant for - how old - ten, eleven? Anyway, she brought something unexpected - a little odd - in the exhibition to my attention," he replied.
"Like what?" Xander said.
"Something interesting, though I don't know if it's of any real importance yet. Of course, it might just be a coincidence."
"What are you talking about, Giles? What might be just a coincidence?"
"And yet," Giles went on, apparently thinking aloud, "what good would only three parts be?"
"Mr. Giles? Three parts of what?" Willow asked.
"I must try to get another look, preferably while no-one's around to interfere or ask awkward questions," Giles continued, either ignoring or not actually hearing her.
Buffy looked at her friends and shrugged apologetically.
"I think he's gone again!"
"Is he always like this?"
"Hey, don't ask me, I don't really know him any better that you guys do. You told me he only arrived here at Sunnydale High a short while before I did. You must have actually met him first, so you two really ought to know him better than me," Buffy replied in a stage whisper.
"Wha'd'ya think he's on about, then?"
"What I'm on about is that there seems to be some sort of connection between those three paintings young Dawn got me to take a particular look at," said Giles, coming slowly downstairs and leaning on the table where they were sitting.
"Which ones were they?"
"Apparently they were the three that the gallery had received on loan from other galleries."
"Really? What have they got in common then, apart from that, Mr. Giles?"
"I couldn't say just yet, Willow, not until I've examined them properly anyway - by which I mean really thoroughly. In fact I think it might be quite a good idea if one of you three, perhaps you Buffy, came along with me to see what I'm on about."
He straightened up, and in a firm voice, sounding as if he had just made an important decision, he said, "Buffy, do you think you could get me into the gallery without your mother knowing?"
"Seriously? What, you mean like after it's closed and all locked up? I guess," she said, sounding a little doubtful. "Lemme see, now." She thought for a moment, then her expression brightened. "Yeah sure, I got it - easy peesy! She always takes the keys home with her in her purse, but of course there's a spare set. I know where she keeps those. And the burglar alarm code is simply Dawn's birth date. Why?"
"Excellent. Can you acquire them without her finding out? Tonight perhaps?"
"Nah, not tonight, Giles - no way! I know it's a Monday, but everyone's going to be at the Bronze tonight. There's a new band playing - they're called 'The Dingo's Kidneys' I think, or something like that anyway. Everyone says they're the next thing. Gotta be there. Sorry!"
"Buffy, please remember that I am your Watcher. This could be important," Giles said sternly.
"Hey, Giles, there's no need to pull rank on me! I don't know how soon I'll be able to get hold of the keys, yet. And anyway, won't you want me to patrol later? What was that you were saying just the other? Something about me and routine, wasn't it? Or did I just imagine that bit?"
Giles sighed. It was perfectly true - he had indeed stressed the importance of regular patrolling for vampires. He also hated to admit it, but it really might take a day or two before his Slayer could abstract the spare keys from their hiding place. She had a valid point.
"All right. See if you can get hold of them tonight or tomorrow, please. You have my home phone number, don't you? Call me there, or pop in here and tell me after school ends. Whichever way, let me know as soon as you've managed it, OK?"
"You got it, Giles. I'll make with the Poppin', as-soon-as." She jumped to her feet as the bell rang out in the hall to mark the end of Recess, and began to scrabble her textbooks back into a manageable armful.
"Oh, did I remember to mention the security guard?" she added over her shoulder.
Giles sighed. "No. No, you didn't. Do tell."
"There's one in the building at night, patrols from closing time through to when Mom opens up again next morning."
"Inside the gallery?"
"No, just in the hallways and stairs. We share him with the other tenants - he does the whole building. The gallery occupies the whole of the street level, and the rest of it is all offices 'n' stuff. He checks the doors and alarms and so on, 'bout every half hour. He doesn't come into the gallery, just shines his flashlight in the door, which is partly glass. We have our own guard in the gallery daytimes, while this exhibition's on."
"Night time it will be then. And please don't forget."
"As if! Hey, come on guys, isn't it Math fourth period?"
"Ooh, my favourite. Be still my heart!" Willow said as they made for the door.
"You know, you are seriously weird, Willow. How you could possibly like that stuff...?"
"I think I left my text book at home," Xander could be heard to say plaintively.
"And I think I'm guessing someone didn't do their homework this weekend either, did they, huh? Like usual? Okay, so you can copy mine - again," was the last thing Giles heard, coming from Willow as the door swung-to behind them and silence was restored.
The 'Englishman abroad' smiled to himself. Despite his extensive training as a Watcher, nothing had come anywhere near to preparing him to cope with a stroppy, teenage American High School Slayer, complete with 'civilian, non-combatant' friends in tow. Life in Sunnydale might be turning out to be pretty tricky, but it certainly wasn't going to be boring!
He nodded to himself. To use an American phrase - 'Bring it on'!
--
5.
'The Intruders - a sketch'.
"So what is it that's so strange about these three p-pictures, Giles?" Willow whispered. "They looked pretty ordinary to me the other day. B-but then, what do I know? I've never done anything more advanced than coloured crayons 101."
"My favourite has always been yellow, ever since first grade," Xander told them, a trifle too loudly. Buffy and Giles both went "Sssshhh!!" and Xander shrank into his jacket apologetically. Then he dropped his flashlight and everyone went "Sssshhh!!" again, including himself.
"Sorry, sorry! It's the excitement. I've never helped to burgle an art gallery before," he explained nervously. "In fact I've never been out burgling, period! If my friends could see me now..."
"We can," Willow pointed out, sotto voce.
"...They'd probably be laughing themselves sick while they were dialling er... oh dear, what is it? Nine something something?" Giles said.
"It's 911," hissed Buffy scathingly, "and a whole lot of use you're going to be in an emergency!"
"B-but it should be OK, Mr. Giles. Her mother runs the gallery, so it wouldn't really be a problem, even if the cops did turn up," said Willow, trying to be reassuring and look on the bright side.
"You think not? Maybe for you perhaps, but it bloody well would be for me!" said Giles in an emphatic whisper. "If her mother ever got to hear about it, Buffy might just about get away with having her pocket money - sorry, allowance - stopped for maybe a couple of hundred years or so - but what's my excuse? I'm doing it for a dare? Extra-curricular Art Studies? I don't think so! I can just see it now - me up in court, the Principal handing me my notice, my Green card being confiscated and my visa cancelled, being deported (if I'm not slung into gaol first,) and the Watchers' Council holding an investigation. Oh, yes, wonderful! And you, Buffy, you'd certainly be assigned another Watcher. Probably someone a lot less amenable to the vagaries of your social life than I am. Just you remember that!"
Buffy looked at him steadily for several heartbeats. Then she announced, "First thing before classes start tomorrow morning, I am coming in to borrow a really, really big dictionary."
Giles looked puzzled.
"I only understood about half of what you just said," she told him indignantly. "I thought they spoke English over there in your country!"
"We do!" he said, astonished. "Where on Earth do you suppose the language originally came from, then - the bloody Moon?"
"I know my social life is vague, and even disorganised," she continued, as if he'd not spoken. "You don't have to remind me! Anyway that's mostly your fault, what with all the patrolling and training and stuff you're having me do after school."
"What? No, no, I said vagaries, not vague... Oh, never mind. Tell you what - come to the library first thing tomorrow morning, before classes start, Buffy," Giles said, "And I'll dig out the school's copy of Webster's Dictionary especially for you. I'll even bring in my own Oxford Concise from home. After all, we must be sure we understand one another at all times - that's absolutely essential in our job, isn't it? I obviously need to introduce you to some of the strange and interesting facets of the 'real' English language that your school English teacher may not tell you about."
"Extra English class? Oh gosh, how super!" said Buffy in a mock British accent, sounding about as enthusiastic as someone being offered a bowl of cold porridge. Giles bravely gritted his teeth in silence.
"What's that about, Giles?" Willow asked. "We all talk English, don't we?"
"Sure we do - even me!" Xander volunteered. "I'm big with the Englishness, mainly on account of using some of it, most days anyway."
"Yes, Xander, I'm sure you do," said Giles quietly. "It's just that, since I've arrived in Sunnydale, I've found that, if I'm lucky and have the wind behind me, I can still only understand about two out of every three words spoken by the average high school student here. You know," he continued thoughtfully, "some days it feels not unlike trying to watch a foreign language film that's been subtitled by someone who cannot actually speak the language, and has only had a small tourists' phrase book to work from."
"Why's that, Giles? Isn't English your first language?" Willow asked, looking genuinely concerned. "We can all try to talk a little slower if you want, if you're having trouble keeping up, that is?"
"Hey, sure. That's why you have that weird foreign accent, isn't it, Giles?" Xander said. "That's OK. There's no need to feel ashamed - you can always take night classes in 'English as a Second Language'. Millions of merry Mexicano's do."
Giles looked at him, stony faced.
"No, Xander. But thank you for the information - and I accept it in the kind spirit in which it's obviously intended." He paused. "No, what I really meant is that there's obviously a profound difference between the English you speak, and the English I speak. Mainly owing to the fact that I come from England. Which, may I point out, is where English originally comes from. Whereas, here in America, everyone speaks American. Although for some strange reason you also call it English!"
He looked at them sternly in the half-light coming in through the blinds from the street. Willow leaned across to Buffy and whispered in her ear, "Oh dear, I think he's miffed. He sounds really miffed. He is miffed, isn't he? We've miffed him."
"I didn't do anything!" Buffy whispered back. "He's miffed himself. I didn't really want to be here anyway - I just want to be out having a social life, which is what this all started out as being about."
"Um, Giles, d'you think perhaps we should be looking for the safe so you can take a proper look at those paintings?" Willow suggested, as much to break the circular argument as to what language they were each talking, as to get the evening's expedition back on track. "If there's something weird about them we don't want to waste time arguing about what language you're talking. Or us for that matter."
"Hey, right! Weirdness first, everything else second!" Xander said. "We're wasting time. That security guard will be round again soon and we don't want him seeing our flashlights or hearing us discussing the 'whichness of what', languagewise."
"Ah! The voices of reason! Willow, Xander, you are both of course perfectly right," said Giles, "and I apologise. There was really no excuse for my little outburst, and I hope we can all forget it. By tomorrow morning, at any rate," he added, producing a clean handkerchief from the top pocket of his Harris Tweed jacket, and cleaning his glasses, a gesture the Slayer and her Slayerettes had already begun to recognise as a typical Giles gesture in times of emotional crisis.
"So, Buffy. Whereabouts does your mother keep the pictures nice and safe?"
"Oh, Giles! Nice! Safe, in the safe. Very g-good," Willow exclaimed. Buffy pointed her flashlight towards the office right at the back of the gallery.
"Lead on, MacDuff," said Xander, happy to display a generous portion of his knowledge of English Literature.
"Actually, it's 'Lay on, MacDuff', Mr. Harris. It really means 'Let's start fighting'. Perhaps 'Lead kindly light' would be more appropriate," said Giles a trifle pedantically, as they started to move cautiously away from the entrance.
"And you just quoted the Scottish Play," said Willow very quietly, meaning for only Xander to hear her. "You shouldn't have done that. It's bad luck."
"Only in the theatre, Miss Rosenberg," Giles assured her confidently. "It has no significance otherwise."
Which was a pity really, because although by theatrical tradition he was quite right, he was also at the same time very, very wrong. Luckwise.
Because unfortunately, the very next moment Xander walked backwards into one of the sculptures.
--
End of 'Second Movement'.
