BTVS: In League Pt. 4
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Halloween - Sunnydale, California
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If Willow was worried about conversational flow being altered by their arrival, she let it go quickly. It turned out that inter-universal geniuses and women of a certain age could always find common ground. Words bandied about might be arcane, but that wasn't so unusual around the people Willow tended to associate with anyhow. She was also reminded that Joyce was no slouch in the intellect department.
Sure, Joyce might have been in denial about reality, because it wounded her to have her daughter so endangered, but once that had been leveraged away by practicalities and once she accepted Buffy's destiny, she had always been an intelligent contributor.
Willow glanced at the matriarch and received a warm smile.
Joyce found herself thinking along similar lines, though perhaps she wasn't completely aware of it. She was still getting used to the mild empathy that seemed to come with their new circumstances. She was also tracking her natural awareness of everything occurring within her transformed and transforming home, and that sparked memories, which she associated with the beginning; including her plans to preserve her family.
After all, she was the one who had planned her daughter's rescue from the institution Hank had placed her in and then secured her children's safety by divorcing him; that he had been shagging the secretary had merely been icing on the cake. Though Buffy didn't know it at the time (though she surely knew it now), the very public arguments had been a grandly-scaled bit of playacting on her mother's part. And upon arriving at Sunnydale, Joyce had worked hard toward simplifying her life, because, really raising her smarter-than-average girls required her attention. She had, obviously, already known about her children's aptitude. Parent's received the major test results from the school system and then, again, they were her daughters, by blood and bone.
Joyce had always known that Dawn was hers and that the girl was more than a fixed memory. Dawn had, perhaps, been immaculately conceived, as Hank had no part of it and they had both known that, which was another added pressure and reason that their marriage crumbled. Joyce had been faithful and had tried to explain that she did not know how it had happened and she wasn't inclined to try and "fake" him into fatherhood, as she honestly felt she shouldn't have to. The problem had been that she only vaguely remembered an encounter, but it hadn't felt real, somehow. She thought, at the time, that she had been drugged and taken. Unfortunately, she had no proof, other than the fact she was pregnant, and no means of identifying anyone. She didn't even remember drinking that night.
Hank, despite Joyce's emotional trauma, did not believe her and had held that disbelief over her so he could justify his own behavior. She still stung over the accusations of, "It isn't even mine." His lack of support for her had been difficult and painful to accept, as she had loved him once. But the counselor Joyce had gone to had said that his reactions weren't unusual and that Joyce wasn't the only one who had to deal with spouses who "did not get it," and that ultimately, it was up to Joyce to decide what she should do.
Whatever Hank's choices, Joyce had decided to keep her child. And, despite himself, Hank had softened upon Dawn's birth and had accepted the duties of fatherhood without further accusation. He was not entirely evil, just very self-centered and hard to live with when things did not go as he wished them to. It wasn't until that situation with Buffy and the escalation of his contact with those damn lawyers, that she'd been forced to re-prioritize and make some hard survival choices.
On the other side, now she had proof in hand and those in her 'true-family' understood what she did. Dawn had always been real. It was simply Joyce's memory of the encounter, which had been false. As was the information that the girl-who-was-key was only a memory. That had been an implant of an idea designed to sow discord and distrust. The monk had, infected by Glory's torture and confused by the absolute need to keep his secrets, had unwittingly played into the original Glory's games.
As for making a living, the art gallery had been a safe means to an end, one that Joyce's ex had no interest in trying to grab. It was below him, which was fine for her; as she thought his dealings with Wolf, Ram and Hart had become dangerous.
Now that she had shared "mind," even temporarily, with her family, she knew her intuition had been very spot on and she wondered how much influence the lawyers had on him after Buffy's encounters at her original school. After all, the name of the institution had come from somewhere. Joyce dreaded to think that perhaps her whole family had been under WR&H's dire imprint once Hank took position in their firm. She could practically hear the conversation in her head. "Well, Mr. Summers, your assistance has indeed been invaluable. We would appreciate further service if you are willing. To sweeten the deal, so to speak, we have heard of the troubles with your daughter, and are willing to give you a hand in getting her remedy." Hank did like to be helpful when it payed well.
Meanwhile, at the gallery, if she had her hand in some small amount of antiquities smuggling, or in most cases, returning goods to some very interesting contacts, well, it helped ends to meet. It was not so much true smuggling on her part, though those who came to her believed it was, so much as her shop being a place where goods found her and she found where they should actually go. Not that she could stop all the possible purchases. A certain amount of veracity was important, but there had been a reason that Sunnydale, of all places, had been chosen; and it wasn't that the house prices were good.
Joyce did have her resources. Lady Croft, an old friend she'd met on travels pre-marriage days, was a very generous donor, among others. After all, Buffy's clothing budget had to come from somewhere and she had two daughters to raise.
With the mixing of realities, Joyce was even more intelligently and actively inclined; now that she could do so openly. It was something she found she was quite enjoying.
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Halloween - On the Road
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Ironically, in a way, Faith had already been on her way toward Sunnydale. The young potential had been grappling with a harsh new reality for weeks, surviving via a profound streetwise intelligence and a gutsy decision-making process that had indicated a maturity way beyond her age. Also, she stole a motorcycle.
Or maybe inherited it. The ethics of the acquirement had to do with whether one understood that one kept what had been won in battle. The creature who had tried to kill her, had died by her hand, even if it was somewhat circumstantial and a case of amazing luck. So from her perspective, his stuff had become her stuff; especially as there was no one else to give it to. At least, now she realized, he had been nice enough to discard his jacket before dying. Of course, that had been because he didn't want to, "... get your filthy human blood..." on it.
He'd also been quite chatty while he chased her all over a back alley. Faith had long ago learned not to turn her back on threats, unless you could run faster than them, and she'd also learned that bigger people had meaner punches, so she'd learned to avoid them. Her body was flexible and strong, but even she had known when the vampire had ripped out a steel bar from a fire escape, that she was facing something bigger and badder than her.
Plenty of those in life without them being blood suckers, but she'd not spent any time worrying about impossible things gone real. She was a survivor.
She also knew, based on what it told her, that she had to get the hell out of Boston, because some Greek maniac had heard from his 'seers' that she had a destiny. Faith went to school and the library was one of her favorite hangouts, and not just because the librarians kept kids who hung out in them in line. She knew the makings of a Greek mythical tragedy when she saw one and had no desire to be part of his nutball future.
Which meant leaving, fast and furious, and using the money and the keys that the dusted vampire had provided her. And my, that had been a goodly hunk of change, which also spoke to a certain amount being on her head. Faith might play ignorant, but she was a young woman of her culture. She knew what that kind of money meant when it was all cash. Bounty.
Thus she hadn't even bothered with going home. Instead she'd gone to the bolt-hole she kept for the days when being around her mother and her friends was a bad idea. That's where she kept the stuff she wanted anyhow. She packed quickly and was out of Boston faster than one could say, 'Tea Party.'
She'd been taking a winding circuitous route, feeling a vague push west that had grown stronger the more she'd followed it. At first she'd been a little afraid to, but just as much as she'd felt that push west, she'd felt a repulsion when she headed east or northeast or southeast or any way away from the direction she'd been going.
She hadn't understood the why of it, but she'd not ignored it either. Her upbringing held just enough original Irish to know when a path was a path. So, maybe that Greek destiny thing wasn't total crock, but if the guy was paying money to stop her, she had to find a way to make sure she lived through it. The one thing the vampire had been very convincing about was the idea that if she thought it was bad, she should see the other guy.
The premonitory willies had been enough to keep her on the road for hours.
When the flash of change hit, Faith was in Kansas City. She'd been lucky she had stopped for the night and found a room. It hadn't been much of one, though she could have afforded better, but she didn't want to flash cash around. She didn't know how long she'd be running and she wasn't gonna lose what she had. A fake ID had been enough to clinch the deal and then she'd had a place to shower and snooze. She'd parked the bike in front of the door. A maid wouldn't try and get around that, but something big enough to move it and Faith would wake up and be ready.
When the Slayer had awakened, and indeed it was an awakening, she'd had all the strength and knowing of her days and it had been with a full awareness of the blend of realities. It was possible she might have been able then to just turn around and go confront the great bastard Kakistos on her own and do so quite successfully, as she was no fledgling. But she had much more immediately wanted to be "home" with her family; her clan. Her pack.
Energized by the transition, Faith had made the call, to a very old, but remembered phone number and after, she cleared out and then had got back on the road. At the speed she was going, it would be less than twenty-four hours before her arrival. That suited her just fine.
Besides, Buffy knew what was coming down the pike, as did the rest of the original Scoobs. They could prepare a welcome the Master vampire would not survive. After all, the Greek's seers were right. She was going to kill him.
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Halloween - Seattle, Washington
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Kendra was a creature of duty, raised by the Watcher to be a weapon against the dark. She was also a slayer, competent in vampire killing, but not so much in polite society. Not that she had much to do with society, as she tended to work nights.
When the great tides of the world changed, she was on American soil. Seattle was indeed a big city, fraught with beauty and danger. It also had more than its fair-share of Master vampires.
She was fighting two, though at the time of the shift, it was more of a fleeing for higher ground kind of thing. Spike the Bloody and Drusilla the Seer were not easy kills, as proven by other slayers dead. From the vampires' perspective, they had a reputation to uphold and it seemed to hold with their current quest that a slayer's blood should be on the menu. After all, they would need strength for Sunnydale. They had intended to arrive there earlier, but had been led by the odd hint from one of Kakistos' seers to seek a treasure in New York first.
From Kendra's perspective, she had a service to perform. She just needed the right place. So she kept looking for that higher ground, which would give her both advantage and protection.
They all felt the shift, as it wasn't subtle at all. In an instant, Kendra knew that her Alpha and Beta had come into being and had felt instantly drawn into a desire to find or contact them. She did not need to understand the why and how, as the desire was not yet a compulsion. What she knew, however, was that if she survived the night, she would be heading west.
Meanwhile, Spike and Drusilla were struggling to come to grips with the torrent of information that had been thrust into them. It slowed them down some. However, as neither of them had their souls return, just the memories of another world and time, they weren't hindered that much. "My god, what a nightmare," Spike said as he clutched his head. "As if!" Yet at the same time, the love he felt was genuine and maddening and absurdly permanent. But it made him wild with grief and pain and need. In his feral state, it was the sort of thing that made him bite and hurt things.
"Spike, the stars have changed. They're all awhirl. Make it stop!" Drusilla demanded. She curled up, crouching on the ground. "I want Miss Edith. I need her!"
Spike wished he could just go get her, but the Doll was currently at their latest lair and the hunt was still technically on. "Still need to get a bite to eat, don't we. And slayer makes for a delicious meal. You wanted slayer, right," he growled.
Madness crawled through the vampire-seer's gaze. "Yes. Yes! Slayer's blood will make it right. Family is as family does. She comes, the great one. She knows the blood. But Daddy will fade right away. Oh, Spike. The stars scream for him."
"They always do, love." He reached down, ignoring the headache, and pulled the dark beauty upright and under the protective cover of his arm. "Let's go get our dinner." Fortunately for some, their complete focus was on the Slayer they knew was in the vicinity. It never occurred to look elsewhere. "We'll go find him after we've had a bit of dinner, yeah." He took in a deep breath and then called out a great howling, a wolf to his prey, "Oh Slayer! Time to Eat!"
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Halloween - On the Road and Sunnydale, California
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Kendra's new queens, Buffy and Faith felt it sharply as the young chosen one's life snuffed out. Not every slayer felt the loss, nor did Buffy and Faith feel every slayer go, but this time they knew it like a gut punch.
The loss of Kendra hurt not just because it was the loss of a slayer, but because they had both thought they'd have time, because the memory was, Kendra died in Sunnydale. In some ways they'd almost been blithe about knowing that. As they both knew of Kendra's death, as they both felt the sting of loss, they also felt that fluttering feel of a ghostly hunter searching, seeking.
Faith pulled over, suddenly aware that the repulsion of "east," had eased considerably. She realized then that it wasn't just Kakistos' presence and a potential's intuition that pushed her away. Another layer of direction had been on top of that. After all, couldn't have both potential and the slayer at risk. So, the second reason for her flight was that Kendra was in that direction. Then the big shift had happened and she'd not really tasted the reasons or the feeling again, had worked it into what she wanted anyway, but now she understood, it was half as likely she would have gone toward the junior slayer to collect her, if she hadn't been thoroughly caught up in running "home." Hand to chest and tears in eyes, she realized a truth. "Oh, those fucking cheating fuckers."
Buffy, who had been lacing a worthy pair of boots and readying to go hunt Ethan, stood up to find out that she wasn't alone in the room any more. "Whistler," she managed, the word sharpened and toothy by her grief and instant anger, but otherwise courteous. "What brings you my way?"
The balance demon shook his head, "You would think they'd be able to tell the difference between me and him, but..." He shrugged and took off his hat, laying it on his heart. "I guess I'm not that important." His eyes gleamed. "I am here to play messenger."
"It's the clothes. But, shit, you too Whistler?"
"On the one hand, it's nice to know a few things before they lay it out. On the other hand, it's useless if they mess around with it." He shrugged. "I've been sent to warn you to play nice."
Buffy tasted the word, "Nice." Then she picked up her stake. The one that was not Mr. Pointy. "And Kendra..."
"A warning."
Buffy laid a fingertip on the sharp end, pressing lightly, blooding the stick as a kind of ritual. "Ah. A warning. They used a sister's life to issue a warning. That's... sporting of them."
"Better one life than... Oh, who am I kidding? They don't know what you did, they don't know how you did it, but they're up in arms, kiddo. They've been hot footing around to figure out what to do and now they have all new plans and they want those plans moving forward and if they have to nudge you, they're going to."
"Well, that was mighty clear of you, Whistler. I practically don't have to figure that one out on my own at all." Buffy's expression went even grimmer. "And I'll thank you, but I won't thank them. If they think we'll forget what they just did, they are sadly, perhaps even fatally, mistaken. Is that all the message, Whistler?"
"Pretty much. Anything you want me to take back?"
"Take back. Now, interesting offer there. I guess you are new boy too. Good thing, cause 'killing the messenger' really does feel like a suitable response. Offended they didn't care?"
"How can I be offended at them being what they are?"
"Of course you are. Okay, here's a message." She flung the stake toward the balance demon. It whistled past his ear and, impossibly, plunged into the stone wall behind him. "Fuck with me and mine and I will surely fuck with them. I got loads of subtle now, but that doesn't mean I won't go hard way with them on a downbeat. They get this one time, Whistler. This one warning. And I know you're just messenger-boying it now, but I suggest you find a way to lay low when they ignore what I say out of some pompous belief that they know what the game is now."
"I take it that last bit isn't part of the message."
"Not for them, anyhow. You and I, we have an almost friendly history. I'd hate to mess that up."
"And here I thought you wanted my rib-cage as a hat."
"Not stylish enough. Oh, and, just between you and me, those fuckers aren't the only one with power. Not any more. I'm older than I look. And we both know there were reasons they kept us slayers young." The slayer's eyes took on a glow, turning amber.
"Right. I'll keep that in mind."
"Go while you can."
The balance demon tipped his hat respectfully, then, in a puff of air, disappeared.
Buffy, her eyes still glowing, stepped back a bit, growling lightly. "Try to mess with my slayers will they?"
The slayer essence moved on a plane that was above and below the mortal scene, seeking its new host. The Queen of Slayers, the Slayer-Alpha, closed her eyes and caught it in her metaphysical fingers. 'Hello. I think I know just where I'll put you.'
The slayer essence wasn't going anywhere for a little while. Let those Powers that be meddlers think on that one for awhile.
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Halloween - Sunnydale, California
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Earlier that night, a guitarist had been driving his van through the streets of Sunnydale on the way to a gig. Daniel Ozbourne, Oz to his friends, was a brilliant young man, prone to quiet individuality. He normally dyed his hair, painted his nails (all of them), wore jewelry to match his mood. He was known not because of his brain, but because of his band, Dingoes Ate My Baby, which satisfied his creative exhibitionist side. He was in high school because he wanted to graduate with his peers, not because he needed to be there.
Like all of those who had not worn a costume or were holding items originating from a certain shop, Oz felt a wave of power and potential wash through him. Fortunately for him, he'd been at a stop sign, which gave him the excuse he needed to sit back a moment and mentally regroup.
As he prepared to lay his foot to the gas again, he was startled to see a woman jay-run screaming across the road, followed by a roaring thing of claws and fur. He blinked a moment, then shook his head and his only other reaction was an exhale of, "Huh."
Then, he started again, once it seemed safe.
That lasted not even a minute, as another person, male this time, ran screaming pell-mell across the road in front of him. He was followed by a giant lizard man.
Oz began to think it might be a good idea to just head home. However, he had a work ethic, which meant he was going to that gig.
Much careful driving later, he arrived and realized that from a practical standpoint, there wasn't going to be a gig tonight.
However, he saw a couple of his band-mates standing around, watching things. He pulled up. Rolled his window down. "Hey."
"Oz."
"We playing tonight?"
"Think it's been canceled man. We were just waiting to tell you."
"Cool. Need a ride?"
Though they'd arrived separately, it was a legitimate question. There was a reason Oz had a van. It was a simple thing, white on the outside, some seats and space on the inside. It suited his needs.
Equipment was loaded and then so were the band-mates and then Oz was driving careful again.
On the way, something big whizzed by overhead, but with the weirdness of the night, the young man didn't even think about it given the oddity of the night. Everyone got home, things got unloaded. And then he was off again, heading for his own abode.
Despite everything, Oz didn't think it had been a bad night so far. The gig might have been blown, but his parents were gone for the night, having had a party invite in Los Angeles to attend. He'd have the house to himself and it had been awhile since he'd had a quality gaming session. Now he was kind of looking forward to it, which is why he had a small smile of anticipation going as he turned down his road.
That smile drifted as soon as he saw the devastation of his yard. The ground and the middle of the sidewalk that lead to the front door had been utterly torn up, as if a giant farmer with a giant fiery plow had decided, 'Let's plant here,' and parted the front yard in half, curving toward the road, only to stop just before it. Pockets of smoke and flickering light rose from the great divot in the ground. The house was fine, but the fence that separated their yard from the neighbors had been crumpled. He really hoped his parents had good insurance.
Amongst the heap of wood and wire, was a very big object and if Oz had been pressed to provide an opinion, he would have said it had to be a space ship. Though he would have to get a little closer to have a real opinion about it.
As the driveway was destroyed, Oz had no choice but to park on the road. So he did, leaving what he thought would be enough space for a truck to maneuver later to get the thing out of his yard. Of course, knowing his parents, it might be his van doing the honors, but he didn't really have a problem with that. It had been part of the original deal when they let him buy the van, that he'd help out with any lifting and carrying when necessary.
Oz got out of the van, going through the side door. He grabbed the emergency fire-suppressor, a necessity given the age of some of the equipment he and his band used, and headed to his yard to quell the small fires. He started at the driveway, spritzing the white foam in bursts, until he'd gotten closer to the cause of the catastrophe.
Then, because excellence was a thing, he finished what he'd started, spraying around the metallic item in careful shots until the fire was utterly stamped out and all that was left was misty smoke and white air.
This all happened fairly quickly and by the time the mist was disintegrating, Oz was once more alert to the fact that strange things were happening. Loud and terrible noises that weren't usual and not local to the object or his car could be heard in the neighborhood, and he once again was aware that monsters both tiny and tall were scattered about.
It was time to head indoors.
Just as he was having that thought, the sound of popping, hissing and metal clanging rang close.
A hatch had been opened.
Oz stepped back, lifting the nozzle on the fire suppressor defensively. He watched with a kind of impassivity as a womanly figure, blonde hair-do akilter, copper skin and what looked to be an officer's outfit mussed, tumbled out with a vague cry of discomfort. She maneuvered into a slumping sitting position, managing then to look at him as she pressed a hand to her head. Her other hand lay in her lap. Oz noted the badge on her chest, the belted weapon at her side, noted how she didn't appear to be making any dangerous moves and decided to see what the results would be if he spoke.
"You alright there?"
She looked at him with big blue eyes, which glimmered with tears. Then she spoke to him in gibberish.
They looked at each other for a moment longer, then when a loud bang was heard in the distance, they both startled a bit.
"It's not safe out here," Oz said, as he let go of the nozzle of the fire suppressor. He stepped forward then, offering his empty hand. "We should go inside."
She chattered at him again, looking almost hopeful. He kept his expression mostly neutral, waiting.
She grasped his hand and he was relieved that her hand felt warm in his.
After that, it was a matter of leading her into the house, getting some ice for her head, and watching as she held the icepack to her head, gazed around and took in the frontroom. He took a moment to look out the window. The chaos was expanding, though it seemed the spaceship in his yard was enough to keep the weirder things away. He wondered if he should call his parents, then decided that they'd find out soon enough.
The woman chattered at him and he turned to look at her. "I don't understand."
She pressed a hand to her chest, speaking slowly. "Mihoshi."
Oh. Right. Names.
He followed her example. "Oz."
She smiled cheerfully at him and nodded to herself, which prompted an immediate wince.
Oz smiled at her, feeling oddly reassured. She smiled even more at him.
Then there was a flash and his whole world changed.
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When Oz awakened next, he knew several things at once. It was in no particular order, other than that his senses had reawakened, yet he no longer felt that constant compelling urge that came from being were. At the same time, he knew he could shift if he wanted to. He could feel the touch of wildness under his skin and he also knew it like he knew he had pack and they were close. He also knew he was prone on the ground and that someone was with him.
He opened his eyes and discovered that, apparently, "Oh," or its variant was a universal response of surprise.
The alien woman babbled. It reminded him of Willow, the girl whose name he now knew very well. "You're awake! Thank goodness. You just fell down and then...Wait, why am I saying this. You can't understand me."
"Actually..."
She gasped and then slapped her hands together in miniature applause. "Oh, the translator is working. Hurray!"
Oz didn't have the heart to point out that it was unlikely, but he did offer another one of his quiet smiles as he sat up and took stock. He glanced at the spaceship and then at his house; his parent's house. He was aware that he now had another option, but wasn't quite ready to address it, especially since he had a guest and that needed some investigation.
"I think we ought to go inside. I need to think and maybe make some calls," he said. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Tea would be wonderful. Do you have dajer?"
"Unlikely. But there should be some green tea or earl grey."
"Ah. Well. Yes, I would love some."
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Ethan, who upon retrospect, really should have known better than to have tried such a wide reaching spell on a hellmouth, even if it was fun, had found himself a place to hide. Sunnydale had been full of empty warehouses, right until realities collided. He did not know how that one had happened and was fully prepared to counter anything Ripper might say with, "It wasn't me."
He was kind of looking forward to that part. Taunting his old friend was a delightful pastime, even if it did involve bloody lips now and then. The tall, slim man smiled to himself. Sure he was greying, but he did keep young at heart.
Thus the bust of Janus that he had been carrying with him. Though he had to set it down often, as the bursts of power that erupted were quite overwhelming. Each one led to a new, stronger and sometimes stranger change.
But in a way, that helped, as it kept the riff-raff from following him. Some creatures might be drawn to mystical energy, but most knew when to keep away. Even Ethan had considered sequestering the bust in some likely hiding spot, but then he wouldn't get to have his moment of confrontation; which was now seeming less and less likely. Usually by now Ripper would have gone all macho and tossed a door or two down.
Ethan, however, was giving a little slack, as the world had changed. After all, Sunnydale did not start out with a surrounding fortified wall with towers. It was all very medieval. It was also quite entertaining.
The Chaos wizard glanced at the bust, set upon a crate. Other than glowing, there really wasn't much to set it apart from other small statues. Too bad there weren't any extra statues in here. That might have provided some extra value. On the other hand, dawn was approaching quickly and the magic would soon be over anyhow and the effects should fade. In theory.
A distant crash and a bull-like masculine shout of, "Ethan!" brought a wide grin to the wizard's face. Ah. Finally. Ripper. The games would commence. With a skip in his step, he found himself a likely shadowy spot and waited for his playmate to appear.
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His heart about burst out of his chest when he saw his old friend. The man was transformed. Ethan couldn't help the giggle, clapping his hands to his mouth to keep the noise from escaping.
Well. Apparently there was a reason Rupert's voice had been a little deeper than normal; other than irritation, of course. Look at the size of those hands.
And my, he had gotten tall. And firm. Fair skinned, as always, but oh those muscles. The pants were shreds and there was very little hiding that size mattered there too. The jacket was long gone, as was his shirt and that magnificent chest was broad across, emphasizing those wide shoulders. And those horns, all sweeping and dangerous and magnificent. As was that the tall scythe, the kind that brought in grain or men, gripped easily in Rupert's hand. The blood, he was sure, had started off fake, but now who knew, as it dripped with the life essence of something or another. Ethan wondered who had talked Ripper into playing dress-up. He couldn't recall any horns that size in his catalog. Though he had distributed several scythes.
He watched as Rupert drew in a deep breath and then exhale a bellow of, "I can smell you, Ethan! You might as well come out now." Then the Slayer's Watcher lifted the reaper-scythe threateningly "Don't make me come looking for you."
Deciding that hiding wouldn't do him any favors now, Ethan stepped out. "You know, that's a shockingly good look on you. How did it happen?"
For a moment, Ethan thought Rupert wouldn't answer, or couldn't. The growl was terribly fearsome, as was the nearness of the blade to his forehead. But then the blade withdrew. Rupert was apparently in more control that others might have been in similar circumstances. "It was a gift from a woman. She thought I was being too uptight. I wanted to humor her. She had one of those ridiculous headbands with tiny horns on them." Rupert's gaze slid to the scythe, "And one of these. Then there was magic."
Ethan winced, suddenly feeling a slight burst of conscience. His imagination, after all, was quite active and he knew that tone. "And the woman?"
Flame seemed to leap in Rupert's eyes. "Satiated. For now." Jenny's costume had been a companion piece of sorts, a halo, another headband of horns, and a very skimpy outfit. He was only wearing pants out of a sense of decency. And the fact that his mind had been returned to him by the next event. The library would never be the same however. He doubted the destruction of the bust would return the tables to their previous condition. And if certain other events hadn't happened, he wasn't entirely sure how he might have faced Jenny afterwards. Even now he wasn't quite sure how he was going to face anyone.
"I don't know what to say."
"Where is the bust, Ethan."
"Ah, you never take time to just talk. We could have tea. It's almost morning anyhow."
Ethan didn't really even see the fist that connected with his face, but he surely felt it. He suspected that the punch was pulled just the slightest, as he was still conscious. It was a little heartwarming actually. It seemed Rupert did care, and really, that's all he wanted to know.
"Fine, if you're going to be that way," Ethan sighed as he wiped at his nose. "I'll tell you where the bust is. But only if you tell me..."
Oh yes, size made a difference.
-BTVS multi-
When the world flashed one last time and those who knew such things, breathed a sigh of relief as the whirlwinds of wild magic settled into their normal, hellmouthy parameters and the majority of survivors reclaimed their normal forms. On a certain side of town, Ethan could be seen with a blackened eye, a bloody nose, adjusting his trousers and easing into a wincing walk. Still, even though he was unhappy on one level, he couldn't help smirking. He'd definitely gotten Ripper's attention.
Rupert had promised to call him. On a regular basis. It might not be like old days, but at least now he didn't feel as if he were out in the cold any more. He might be walking funny for days, but the swats had been worth it.
-BTVS multi-