Chapter Twenty: Not Quite the Gorilla of Her Dreams…
Friday, October 31, 1997: Meandering Way near Revello, Sunnydale, Evening 7:45pm –
All of them watched with open mouths as Willow, uh, Lady Willow, drifted majestically and rather ominously out across the porch and down into the yard. Leaves and trash began to swirl as the winds picked up. Danny saw a rime of frost begin to appear on the lawn, and the grass under Willow's feet wither as she walked over it.
A trashcan full of leaves by the edge of the driveway lifted and sailed across the yard at an angle, trailing leaves behind it and smacked into the cat girl as she was getting to her feet and looking around in bewilderment. Another lifted from the curb and smashed into a pirate wench. The one that had been beside it took off and took down the demon girl as she got up onto her feet in the yard across the street.
The apparent leader of the pirates, the most elaborately dressed one, raised a pistol in his non hooked hand, snarled something, and fired it at her.
Willow just cocked her head, looking at him. "Bored now. You can go away. We don't want you here any more."
Trash blew across yards and down the street, and more garbage cans lifted from curbs.
They got.
The ones at the back of the straggling skirmish line broke and ran first, followed by the cat girl and the demon girl. Then the Captain and the others gave up and ran, holding onto hats or chasing after them.
Slowly, the winds began to drop back down and the temperature began to stop falling.
Inside, everyone looked at each other wide eyed.
"I didn't know she could do that," Aura said.
"Nor did I," Kendra said.
Danny looked at Aura, raising his eyebrows and smiling. "You'll never take us alive, copper? Come get some?"
Aura slowly turned red from the neckline up. "Oh, shut up."
"Hey," Angel said, looking back into the room. He went over to where he'd knocked Princess Buffy off her feet when the shooting had started. Picking up the other sword, Angel looked around for the girl and the sword she'd been carrying. "Where's Buffy?"
"She must have run off when de shooting and fighting started," Kendra said.
"Great," Angel said. "We have to find her. If she went out, she'll be helpless out there as she is now."
"Another concern," Danny said, "What should we do with Viking Girl?"
"Feed her to Angel," Aura said. Everyone stared at her with outraged expressions, especially Kendra and Angel. "What?" She glared back. "Oh, jeeze. I was just kidding. Mostly."
Viking Girl solved the problem for them while they were deeper in the room and discussing it. She groaned, sat up, and looked around bewildered at the room, and then grabbed her weapons, got up and jumped out through the broken window.
"Well, that takes care of that," Aura said, nodding.
"Not real happy with having her run around where she might hurt herself or others," Danny said, looking out the window after her.
"Feel free to chase her, then."
"No thanks," Danny said, making a face. "More important things to worry about right now." He gave Aura a sharp look.
"What?"
"Are all of the girls in your little group of friends like you?" Danny asked.
"No. Well, except for Cordelia and maybe Tamara, the new girl," Aura said, grinning at him. "The others? Most of them are too vacuous to be able to tell real Gucci from a knock off without a label. And they're a backstabbing, vicious little clique that thinks that anyone who's not rich, attractive, or popular is a lower life form."
"Den why are you friends with them all?" Kendra asked, sounding curious.
"Because it's what Cordelia does now, and it's important to her," Aura said. "And, I like being one of the most popular girls in school."
"But why – "
Aura put her hands on her hips, at least the one not holding a machinegun. "Look, Vampire Girl, I've known Cordelia Chase since we were both three, before her real mom died. And she hasn't always been like this. I figure sooner or later she's gonna get over what all her step mom brainwashed into her and go back to being the girl I started out being friends with. I'd like to see that when it happens. Problem?"
"No." Kendra said, holding her hands out, palms out. "I was merely curious. I believe dat loyalty is an admirable trait."
"Good."
"Well, we still need to find Buffy," Angel said.
"And I still need to find de Watcher," Kendra said. "But I cannot leave you with dese people alone, vumpire."
"Wait," Danny said. "Angel seems to know this Rupert Giles and is at least acquainted with him. Why doesn't he go to speak to him and explain what is going on while we look for Cinderella. Err, Buffy?"
"Well," Angel stuck his hands in his pants pocket, looking uncomfortable. "Could, but I'm not sure you'll find Buffy without me if she has any sort of a head start and distance. Or if anything has happened to her."
"Oh? And why is dat, vumpire?" Kendra said, looking at him suspiciously.
"Because," Angel managed to look even more uncomfortable. "Vampire senses. I can find her, believe me."
"Oh? Now I'm curious," Aura said. Danny nodded.
"Fine. Because of my sense of smell, right? I can track her," Angel said, glaring. "I'd know Buffy's scent anywhere."
"Ah. It does make sense," Kendra said, reluctantly. "But my objection still stands."
"Just for the record?" Aura said. "Sniffing girls, so very eww."
"You'd have the best chance of getting through to the High School, Kendra," Angel said, while ignoring Aura, "Through all of this mess."
"Hey!" Everyone turned to look at Aura, and she said. "I have an idea. Why doesn't Willow go to the library, while we look for Buffy?" Everyone looked at her, still. "What? She can walk right through things. Nothing can harm her. And she can certainly at least tell him what is going on, and remember things to tell him, even if she doesn't know who she is right now. And then when we find Buffy, we can join them."
Everyone turned to look at Willow, who had just walked back into the den through the outer wall.
"What?" Willow said, looking back at them. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"
Friday, October 31, 1997: Highway 150, outskirts of Sunnydale, Evening 7:45pm –
They hit a line of brake lights and slowing cars before they fully reached the outskirts of Sunnydale. The line slowed to a crawl, and then eventually came to a stop. Up ahead, Carl Kolchak could see what looked like flashers, a double line of road flares, and a barricade of some sort.
"Hrrm. What's up?" His colleague, Perry White, stirred in her seat where she'd been dozing off and on, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "We're stopping?"
"Looks like something up ahead," Carl said. "Wreck." He looked harder toward the front of the line as they crawled to the top of a low rise, and added, "Or maybe a road block. Wonder what's up?"
"Hmm. No idea," White said. The radio in Perry's GMC SUV Carl was driving suddenly dissolved into a crackle of static and weird noises. "Huh." Perry began flipping through the dial, giving up after several minutes and switching it off when no station, FM or AM, proved to have anything else but static.
"I brought some cassettes and stuck them in the console," Carl said. Perry gave him a sharp look, but opened the center console and began rummaging.
"God," she said, after a minute. "Whitesnake. Queen. Zeppelin. Steely Dan, Good Rats. Blackmore's Night... you are so hopelessly retro, Carl, you should have a warning label."
"Hey, now," Carl said, "Steely Dan and the Good Rats are perfectly fine jazz rock and R&B rock and roll. And everyone likes Queen."
"And Blackmore," Perry nodded. "At least if they're still living in the Renaissance." Nonetheless, she picked out a tape and stuck it in the player. After a moment, the strains of Ritchie Blackmore's guitar and a female voice singing 'Locked within the Crystal Ball' began to issue from the speakers. Perry turned it down to a low, background and conversational level.
"Huh." Carl said, as they eased forwards some more. "Those are CHP cars up there."
"And that looks like the glow of a fire on the horizon up there," Perry said, pointing through the windshield. She frowned. "Several of them, in fact."
"Uh, yeah. And that one glow there is coming from the direction of so-called Sunnydale International Airport," Carl said, scowling. "Now I'm really curious."
"Uh oh," Jain McManus' voice came from the back seat where he'd been asleep for the past hour.
"Yeah," Perry said. "Greer will skin us if we don't get the story on those hooker kidnappings in Santa Barbara."
"Oh, come on," Carl said, lightly. "Perry White, Ace Reporter. Aren't you the one that's always saying you want us to cover more real news?"
"What, and disappearing prostitutes aren't real enough?" Perry said, looking at him sharply. "I'm sure that'll be news to them."
"You know what I mean."
"Besides, aren't you the one that was all excited and raring to get expense vouchers for Santa Barbara because you were certain that there were," Perry made air quote gestures around the next words, "'Supernatural factors' involved the disappearances?"
"True," Carl said. "But I suddenly have a feeling about this. CHiPs road blocking the ways into – and out of – a small city on the coast before Santa Barbara that's noted from some really strange rumors? My instincts are suddenly screaming at me."
"Uh oh," McManus said again.
"Stop that."
"Sure it's not just gas?" Perry said, arching her eyebrows at him.
They were now close enough to see that the roadblock – for that was indeed what it was – had at least six CHP cruisers, one of which was a canine unit, and one a large SUV. On the lanes coming out of Sunnydale, they could see armed officers carefully examining each of the outgoing vehicles in pairs, one in each pair holding a shotgun casually at port arms while the other looked inside with a light.
"Ok, now I'm getting curious," Perry admitted.
It took them almost ten minutes to crawl up to the blockade and the officers manning it. The line of outbound vehicles was moving even slower, because of the searches.
Carl rolled down his window at the head of the line. "Officer."
"Sir." The CHP officer shined her flashlight into the SUV, front and back. "Just the three of you?"
"Yes, Officer."
She nodded. "Hope you're not going into Sunnydale itself," she said, "Sirs, ma'am."
"No. Headed straight through to Santa Barbara on business," Perry said. "Why? And what seems to be the problem here?" She gestured at the other line of vehicles and the searches.
The female CHP officer gave her a flat, bland look. "Escaped prisoners, ma'am. Nothing to worry about."
"Seems to be an awful lot of fires in town," Carl said. "And sirens."
"One of the prisoners is a serial arsonist," she said. She nodded to them, "I'd stay on 150 all the way to where it joins and merges with 101, and head straight through without stopping. It's not safe in town tonight."
"The prisoners are dangerous?" McManus asked from the back seat.
He got that flat, expressionless look also. "Yes sir. Ya'll have a good evening."
She waved them through, and Carl drove on past. They all looked at each other.
"Oh-kay," Perry said after a long moment.
"I agree."
Not far beyond, a few long blocks past the road block, brake lights flared ahead of them as a small group of costumed kids went running across 101, headed out of the UCS campus and toward Downtown Sunnydale. Or possibly not kids... and maybe not costumes. Those had looked and moved awfully strangely.
Almost like they weren't really human.
Carl and Perry exchanged looks again, before he put his foot slowly down on the gas. "Oh-kay," Perry said, slowly. "Exactly what kind of rumors are we talking about?"
"Are you sure you really want to know?"
"No. But since I have the distinct feeling that you're about to hit this next exit and drive right up, uh, Eighth Street and into the middle of all that, I'd better."
"You know me so very well," Carl said, smirking.
"It's a knack," she said, dryly. "Oh well. I've always said we need to cover more real news."
Over his shoulder into the backseat, Carl said, "Jain, got all your equipment and plenty of tape?"
"Do I ever not?" came the slightly outraged reply.
"Just checking." Carl put on his blinker and slid over into the right hand lane for the exit.
He'd always wanted to visit Sunnydale.
Friday, October 31, 1997: Rendoval Road, Chase Estate, Sunnydale, Evening 7:50pm –
"All right, here we are," Tech-sergeant Dwayne Hicks eased the SUV hybrid to a stop at the gates leading to the Chase residence. The electronic gates were open. Not a good sign... "Remember: stay close to me. Whatever happens, don't get separated from me unless... unless, well. If we encounter the Terminator, do not hesitate. Don't try to fight it. Just turn and run and keep running. Get in the vehicle and drive away. I'll do my best to occupy it and slow it down."
"Until it kills you, you mean," Cordelia said, giving him a sharp look.
"I'll do my best to not let it get to that, ma'am," Hick said, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile. Judging by her expression, it didn't work.
Cordelia set her lips in a thin line. "Right. Got it. I'll turn and run while it's killing you while you're wearing the body of my... of Xander. No problem."
Hicks gave her a suspicious look. That hadn't exactly sounded like a complete agreement. He opened his mouth to say so, and she flashed him an irritated glance. "Yes yes. I know your damned words. I'll do it, Sergeant. Now drive."
Shaking his head, Hicks put the Cadillac into gear and eased it slowly up the driveway. Well, on the at least partially upside, if the Terminator had come here to get Cordelia's location earlier, before the Bronze, it wouldn't be here now. And it wouldn't come back. Being a thing of remorseless logic, it wouldn't expect a human on the run to come to a place of known danger...
Hicks studied Cordelia from the corner of his eye while he drove.
Ever since he'd first seen her, he'd been trying to puzzle her out. At first – and second – glance, she bore no resemblance to her future self. God's teeth, but this girl was so young. Young in ways that had almost nothing to do with her being only sixteen, going on seventeen, but that as well. She was... she wasn't a hardened veteran, or a leader, or a soldier, or any of the things she would become. Not yet. She was a vain, sarcastic, abrupt, shallow teen focused on dates and status and, to Hicks, completely frivolous concerns.
She wasn't even the warrior girl and part time demon fighter of this time period that his briefing had led him to expect.
He kept watching her intently, trying to see some seeds of what would grow into the woman he'd known, it seemed, all too briefly in the future. The woman whose death, and the death of Alexander Harris, had propelled a twenty-five year old Morgan Chase-Harris, a still relatively young Beverly Sheridan, Morgan's half brother, and a forty year old Slayer into the command structure of the Resistance.
And then there would be flashes of that woman, or the girl who would become her. Such as when she'd slapped him to bring him out of his sudden funk and self deprecation fit. Or when she'd set her mind, suddenly determined that nothing was going to stop her from checking on her home...
Hicks pulled the car into and around the parking circle before the front of the house, aiming it back up the driveway. He sighed and opened his door, stepping out and leaving the keys inside. On her side, Cordelia did the same, holding the other Benelli shotgun in a hunter's stance across her chest, muzzle aimed upward at a slant.
Hicks thought about trading his weapon for the AR-10 patrol rifle, but as he'd not yet had a chance to convert it to full auto, decided against it.
"All right," Cordelia said, taking a deep breath and eying the house warily. "Let's go." She led the way to the partially open front door.
They found the maid, Consuela, in the foyer. There was a splash of drying blood and brains on the foyer wall, and a black rimmed hole in her forehead showing how she died.
Hicks expected a sudden breakdown from his charge, and didn't get it. Cordelia merely took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, then set her jaw with her lips forming an even grimmer line, and her hazel eyes went cold and flat as her knuckles whitened on the pistol grip and fore-end of the Benelli. She shot him a sidelong glance.
"What, you were expecting hysterics?" she asked, her tone acidic.
"Well... "
"Forget it. I've seen way too many dead bodies since Buffy Summers came to town last year. Way too many of them were people I knew, or even cared about. Let's go on."
He heard her mutter quietly under her breath as they went forward, "I'll do hysterics later."
They found Randall Chase in the hallway leading to the den, still clutching a twelve gauge shotgun.
Cordelia knelt by the body, putting out a hand with her fingers spread, not quite touching it. "Daddy's Weatherby," she said. "He never was much for depending on the police to handle small things like home invaders. If he'd heard the shot that killed Consuela, he so would have grabbed it to go look... " Cordelia closed her eyes, briefly. They were wet when she opened them again. "Daddy was a marine, you know? Back when he was young. He and Xander's dad served four years together... "
Hicks eased past her into the den. Shaking his head, he looked up, and back at Cordelia. "You don't want to come in here, ma'am," he said.
Cordelia took another, deeper and more ragged breath, and rose from beside the body of her father. "I'm sure I don't."
A few moments later she was standing next to him and looking down on her mother's body, sprawled with a portable phone lying next to one out flung hand.
"Damn. Mother could be a real gold plated bitch, sometimes, you know?" Cordelia said, softly. "And a hypochondriac, and she took too many pills, and she was a real Betty Davis of a stage mother. But she really did have chronic fatigue syndrome, not just hypochondria. And she stayed with us even after Daddy's second wife only lasted a year." Cordelia took another deep and ragged sounding breath, let it out slowly, and said, "I didn't particularly like her, but I didn't want to see her shot to death by some... thing."
Picking up the portable phone receiver, she pushed a button and held it to her ear. "Dead. Not even a dial tone."
"The Terminator would have disabled the land line leading in before entering," Hicks said.
Shaking her head, she wiped at her eyes with sharp, almost angry motions. Then she crossed the room over to the big, glass fronted, partially open gun cabinet. Hicks kept watch as she safed and set the Benelli down beside it, and then took out a long barreled shotgun with a silvered, engraved receiver. Hicks started to say something about the awkward length, but before he could, she knelt and, reaching under the cabinet, took out a key and opened the lower doors.
Once open, she took out some small tools and a shorter, twenty-one inch barrel with a dial-able choke, and began to swap them out with quick, practiced fingers. "Beretta SuperSport semi-auto. This one was mine, and it fits me better than that one, and I can use it," she stated. Once the barrels were swapped, she took out a box of shells and began to load it. "Brenneke slugs, you said? These are Winchester Sabot slugs. Will they do?"
"They should," Hicks said, both bemused and impressed by the girl. "As well as anything."
Nodding, once the twelve gauge was loaded, she took out a hunter's ammo bandolier and another box of shells and tossed them to him. He caught the shells, but had to kneel to pick up the shell belt. "Make yourself useful and load that up," she said. Hick worried a bit about the too too calm voice and the white lips and set expression, but didn't say anything. He started loading the ammo belt, a bit awkwardly as he was still watching for the Terminator as well.
But the house seemed quiet, and felt empty...
Next, Cordelia took out a pistol belt with a crossdraw holster, and buckled it around her hips after adjusting it a bit. She took out a large single action revolver and a cartridge box and started loading it. At Hick's raised eyebrows, she glanced at him and said, "Daddy's. A .454 Cashull magnum. Real wrist breaker to fire, but it should make an impact on that thing, wouldn't you think?" She spun the cylinder along an arm to check the loads, flipped the loading gate shut, and holstered it while he answered.
"Possibly. Can you use it?"
"At any range it's close enough that a pistol would be useful, probably," Cordelia said, standing. "And if not? If it's that close, it won't matter soon after, right?"
"Right."
Cordelia loaded additional slug rounds into the sling and butt-stock carrier, and the side-saddle carrier she'd added to the shotgun, and slung the weapon. She looked at him. "I'm going upstairs to change and pack an overnight bag. You... check around downstairs or whatever. Don't follow me." When Hicks opened his mouth to object, she waved it closed again. "Don't worry. If that thing's up there, I'll scream and run. I'll jump out a window or something. Just... " she shook her head. "There's more slug loads in the gun safe. I'll open it before I leave."
She did so and stalked out without another word.
She was gone long enough that Hicks started to worry, and then she came down the stairs as he was about to ignore her orders and go up looking anyway. She had on a pair of tailored, narrow cuffed, black leather jeans that were tight enough to show off her figure, but looked loose enough to run and move in. Good choice. And a long sleeved black t-shirt with a white crepe blouse worn open over it with the sleeves rolled up and the tails tied off under her breasts and above her midriff.
"That blouse will show up in the dark," was all Hicks could manage to say, a bit inanely.
"What. The robot can't see in the dark?" Cordelia asked, arching her eyebrows at him.
"Uh... " Hicks shook his head to reboot it. She looked... damn. "It has infrared and ultraviolet ocular sensors, yes."
"Then it doesn't matter what I wear," Cordelia said, nodding. Reaching the foot of the stairs, she set the Beretta against the bannister, muzzle up, and took a lightweight, hip length, gray suede jacket from over her arm that Hicks had seen but not really registered. She put it on and snapped the bottom of it closed, hiding the pistol and gunbelt. "Better?" Cordelia reached for and accepted the ammo belt, and picked up the shotgun again.
"It'll do, ma'am," Hicks said. Totally inadequate comment, but it sufficed.
"So very glad you approve," Cordelia said. She glanced at the shooting bag he was carrying along with the other Benelli, and added, "Fill up on ammo?" When he nodded, she did as well and said, "I don't suppose it would do any good to check on our housekeeper, Rosala, and the gardener, Emmanuel? They live back of the pool house... "
Hicks shook his head, and said, in a regretful tone, "No. It would have made a fast sweep of the grounds and eliminated any security guards or others it found before entering."
Cordelia nodded, biting at her lower lip. "Let's go, then. Where?"
"I'd like to stop and fill up on gas, first, and then maybe find a place to plan," Hicks said, slowly. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," Cordelia said, looking surprised. "And I so shouldn't be, after... " she waved a hand around aimlessly, "After."
"Shock and adrenaline will do that to you," Hicks said. "They take a toll, and when they wear off... " he shrugged, "They leave a void."
Cordelia nodded. "Let's go, then."
Hicks nodded. "Then I'd like to get out of here and find some place to lose ourselves, where it'll have a harder time tracking us. L.A., maybe. Or even Santa Barbara."
Nodding, Cordelia said, "I'd like to warn Buffy and Giles and the others, but I can do that by phone if they ever come up again." She didn't even glance down at the maid's body as they left, only kept her eyes resolutely fixed forward.
True to her word, she didn't break down until they were settled back into the car, and even then she did so quietly. And no actual hysterics that Hicks noticed.
Friday, October 31, 1997: Archer Street south of Radcliff Park, Sunnydale, Evening 7:50pm –
Not Quite Yet Princess Cinderella of Buffonia, Township of Sun Vale, stopped running finally. Her feet hurt. She'd lost the ridiculous glass slippers at some point on the way to Lady Willow's, and hadn't had a chance to look through Willow's clothing for something more suitable as that Aura girl had suggested, before...
Cinderella shook her head. She wasn't even certain why she had run, exactly. She had been doing so well at attempting to assimilate all of the strangeness surrounding her, before. And then that Aura girl had shown them their reflections in that... it just had to be an enchanted mirror, of course. She had heard of such things. One queen in another kingdom was supposed to have one that talked, even. Because that was not her face, not the face that Cinderella had woken up with.
Judging from the expressions and reactions of the Warrior Rand, and ghostly Lady Willow, not their faces either.
Cinderella didn't know what was going on, nor why Aura would play such a dark joke on them. She had seemed to be such a nice, if somewhat odd (and oddly dressed) young woman. But, she supposed that was the way of things. The Tales and Chronicles were filled with stories of encounters with odd young women who proved to be horrible witches or dark enchantresses...
And it had just all gotten to be too much, when the musket fire had erupted, and then those... horrible creature things had burst through the shattered windows and began attacking them. Warrior Rand, the Swordswoman Kendra, and even the Handsome and Enchanted Vampire Angel (as his story had proved him to be) had seemed hard pressed and unlikely to prevail. And that pirate had suggested keeping her for ransom...
Cinderella had heard of what happened to Princesses and Noblewomen who fell into the hands of brigands and buccaneers. She wasn't either, yet, but she'd never be able to convince them there was no wealthy father to ransom her. So she had run. And kept running.
And now she had no idea where she was.
She had had the presence of mind to keep the sword, though. As she had said, Cinderella was tired of being and feeling completely helpless, even if she was completely out of her depth. And, fortunately, she was no pampered and useless Royal or Noblewoman who would quail at the idea of defending herself, even if she didn't know how to use a sword, exactly.
"Arrgh. And what have we here, maties?" a harsh, growling voice called out, in laughing tones. "A proper Princess, it looks like."
Oh, Blessed Mary, Cinderella thought, more pirates. Is this township simply infested with them? She counted almost a dozen of the brigands, both men and women. Probably not the ones that had assaulted the dwelling, for these didn't seem to recognize her as the Princess they'd been seeking.
"Stay back," Cinderella said, raising the sword awkwardly. "Or I shall make you mostly dead."
"Arr, and is that right, Missy?" the lead pirate, or who she took to be the leader, said. He sounded – and looked – amused. "Then we'd best beware, hadn't we lads and lassies? It's a dangerous woman we have here, and no mistaking it."
"Yeah, and sure it is," one of the female pirates said, smirking. "Why, with spirit like that, we should make her one of us."
"Surely," said another, a male buccaneer, laughing. "After she's been properly broken in and then trained." All of them laughed at that, slapping each others shoulders and backs – or bottoms, for the women.
Cinderella's ears perked up slightly at that. Surely they looked like ruffians, but being invited to join them didn't sound nearly as bad as capture and ransoming, along with all that went with it. Cinderella had always dreamed of running away to the high seas, and seeing marvelous adventures and exotic places. She didn't quite like the sound of 'properly broken in', though. That sounded unpleasant...
The five scantily dressed female captives the pirates had with them certainly suggested what being broken in might entail. But perhaps if she was with the gang, she could arrange their escape somehow?
The group of brigands started forward toward her, and Cinderella was saved the effort of making a solid decision by the appearance of a very strange sight bursting through the shrubbery and bushes at the edge of the park bordering Archer street.
A very strange sight indeed. A large gorilla wearing khaki pants and an odd, khaki helmet of some type, and walking on his knuckled hands.
He stopped, stood erect, and threw back his head and roared, beating on his chest. The pirates yelled in alarm, drew and aimed their pistols, and let off a (no doubt from the effect, or lack thereof) badly aimed and ragged volley of shots.
The gorilla dropped to all fours again, roared, and charged the line of pirates, bowling them over like nine pins, knocking them all about and over – except for the two holding the captives who were standing back away from the rest.
Then he backed away from the pirates growling, and beat his chest again.
Cinderella stood where she was, her mouth hanging open and her sword hanging loose and forgotten in her hand, quite transfixed. She had never, ever, seen such an odd, ridiculous, and frankly awe inspiring sight in all of her years in the Enchanted Kingdom.
The leader of the pirates yelled and raised his pistol again, triggering off a shot that was no more well aimed than the others. The gorilla growled again, and suddenly swelled and grew to more than twelve feet of height, bursting out of its pants and tossing the helmet aside in the process.
Turning about, it took one long, knuckled stride over, picked up Cinderella in one massive hand, and then half turned and swiftly ambled down the side street in the direction from which Cinderella and the others had come.
She lost her sword in the process, this time.
Friday, October 31, 1997: shadows of Archer Street south of Radcliff Park, Sunnydale, Evening 7:55pm –
"Well, that was certainly interesting," a female voice said from the darkness behind him.
Count Blahd, once and formerly Freddy Iverson of Sunnydale High School, but no longer, turned to see the speaker.
My word. She certainly matched the voice, yes indeed. The speaker had black hair that was piled high and knotted on top, with a long tail that swept down her back. She wore an abbreviated black and red short, puffy skirted dress with voluminous half sleeves, that had a ruffled, layered, outer skirt coming barely down to the tops of her thighs, and was low cut in front in the shape of a bat's upper wings. The dress had red trim and a line of red ruffles interleaved with the black ruffles and lace, and was topped with a black corset that raised and lifted the full breasts and enhanced her exposed cleavage. Short, folded topped, high heeled black boots capped the other end of her, below the long shapely legs. A long, high collared, black lined red cloak with a hood completed the outfit, as did full lips that were either naturally blood red, or done so with cosmetics... he couldn't quite tell from here. A bit ostentatious of an outfit, but he had worn similarly baroque ones in his time, so no lessening of style points for her on that.
She gave him a similar appraisal, and he resisted the urge to preen. He knew what she was seeing: a not unhandsome male figure with blond hair, of deceptive slenderness, and wearing a black evening suit with broad crimson lapels and long crimson cuffs over a ruffled white shirt and embroidered burgundy waistcoat. A long, high collared black opera cloak with a crimson lining completed his ensemble.
Deceptively slender. For Savros Blahd was an ancient vampire of an ancient lineage, and he was quite powerful by this point in his lengthy unlife. Especially on Samhain, when the borders between the spirit realms and this one were thin indeed.
"It most certainly was, my dear," Count Blahd said. "And, please, madame, allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Savros Hieronymus Blahdivastri, late of Romania. And yourself?"
"Baroness Veronique, Mistress of the Night," she said. "And I was stalking the delightful looking Princess, before all of this. However... I believe that I do not wish to compete for her with yon large beast."
"Nor I," Count Blahd admitted. "Myself, I had my eye upon the delightful looking pirate lass in the brocaded coat and lacy black skirts, before all of this."
"The curvaceous blonde?" Veronique asked. When he nodded, she said, "Well, then, shall we hunt us some pirates?"
"Certainly, my dear. Male or female for your tastes?"
"I have been known to swing both directions," Veronique said, licking her lips. "But the Captain in the red trimmed coat with the eye patch did look tasty. We can always take catch as catch can for sport and dessert."
"Of course," Blahd said. "And afterward... perhaps, if you're so inclined, we can retire to my estate here for some further disport of another type?"
Veronique looked him up and down again, and smiled lasciviously. "Why, I do believe that that sounds quite delightful. Shall we hunt, then?"
"We shall indeed."
The former Freddy Iverson, editor of the Sunnydale High Courier, and Veronica Daley, former drill team member, swept off into the night after the band of pirates, in search of prey.
.