Interlude the Third: Those Whom the Gods Wouldst Destroy (They First Invite Over for Brunch)
"This is the Earth. And this is Pinky. You can tell the difference quite easily. One is a lump of inert matter hurtling blindly through the void. The other... is the Earth." ― The Brain
An indeterminate time and place in the Never Never:
"Have to be handing it to you, now," the dark haired one said, looking down. He was of a bit better than medium height, black haired, and with brilliant blue eyes that were currently sparkling with amusement. He had on a rumpled sports shirt, brown chinos, and a leather jacket, and a rolled up racing form was stuck in his back pocket.
He laughed softly, continuing, "Man. Having that last seminar filled to standing room only so that Harris had to decide to head out early, passing through the Palazzo to use that free pass to the Lamborghini Las Vegas auto show he was given, that was – "
"A master stroke," said the blonde woman, nodding. "Definitely." She was wearing a stylish and elegant looking Edwardian dress and over jacket, with a matching hat and parasol over one shoulder in her hands, and had blue green eyes and a definite sensual look to her.
"I'm telling you," said the rumpled one with the porkpie hat. "It's all in how you handle the finer details when yer doin' this stuff." He shoved his hands in his pockets and fell into an expression that was halfway between smug and chagrined. "I messed up on the earlier go with Rat Boy, when I introduced him to his project and didn't think he'd be doin' all his thinking with the smaller head – "
"– Male," The blonde woman said. "Should have seen that one coming, Whistler. I mean, really."
"Fer chrissakes, Darla," the rumpled looking Whistler hunched his shoulders and shook his head. "She was barely fifteen for cryin' out loud."
"And Liam grew up in an era when gentlemen from good families in their late twenties often married young ladies in their mid to late teens. Really." She looked exasperated. "Doyle, you tell him."
"Yeah, well, it was bein' a right cockup, whatever caused it," said the dark haired one, his eyes twinkling at her.
"Yeah, well, I had to do some hasty and not really well executed scrambling to pull that one out when he screwed out his soul and went for the big end of the world ploy, sheesh," Whistler looked sour. "Lurker Boy was supposed to stop Acathla, not use him."
"It's thinkin' Buffy wasn't supposed to be around to get in the way by then, I am, right?"
"Yah. Never saw that freaking Harris kid comin' back then, neither," Whistler said, giving Doyle a sour grin. "Blondie was supposed to be dead in the Master's cave and Kendra was supposed to be the active Slayer at that point."
"So... " Darla said, frowning, "You decided this time to make use of Alexander's propensity for cutting the skeins of fate, monkeywrenching, and unraveling destiny."
"By aiming him at the Chase girl deliberately when she was in a confused and off balance emotional state between Angel and the Groosalug, and still reeling from Skip's little birthday party favor. Yup." Whistler smirked and took of his hat, running a hand across his hair and looking smug. "Like lobbing the Unholy Hand-grenade of Antioch in the works."
"Once ye've pulled the pin, Mr. Grenade is no longer bein' your friend," Doyle said, snickering.
"And here I was under the impression that was the Holy Handgrenade of Antioch," Darla mused. "At least in that bizarre movie."
"Not in this case, kiddo." Whistler settled his hat back on firmly. "Ain't nuthin' holy about Xander LaVelle Harris's freaking tendency to throw the Fates outta kilter."
"Well, lemme see, if it's having this right I am," Doyle said, "Great great great descendent of Saynday – one of the sons of Coyote – and born on the Winter Solstice... touched by Chaos and Janus via that ill-begotten spell of Rayne's, and carrying a remnant of a greater totem... I'm not seein' as how the boy could be anything except an avatar of Chaos."
"And he's a LaVelle on one side, don't forget," Darla added. "And Rayne really shouldn't have invoked Janus in that fashion. Irking the god of transformation and doorways isn't well met."
Whistler shrugged. "That schmuck Rayne was looking at the Beginning and Endings, Gates and Doorways and transformational aspects, and forgetting that Janus was also a protector and a household guardian deity. Not a god of Chaos and death."
"So, but how'd you know that Cordelia wouldn't just slap him and storm off? Looking to be a near thing to me," Doyle said.
"Subtlety. You need to master that if you're gonna be a good 'balance demon'," Whistler said, "Ta steal an assumption from the Summers gal, anyway."
"Oh, please. The boy is a LaVelle." Darla rolled her eyes.
Doyle gave her a sharply curious look, and she snorted.
"While Jean Lafitte was making a reputation as a pirate, a scoundrel, and a lover along the Barbary Coast, Alexander's ancestor Jacques LaVelle was privateering and romancing, wenching, and breaking hearts all though the Caribbean and the East Indies. And leaving by blows wherever he went." Darla smirked. "The poor girl never had a chance."
Doyle grinned at her and she threw him a saucy wink.
"You don't seem awfully perturbed by this turn of events, Doyle," Whistler observed.
"It's being happy I want for my Princess," Doyle said. "Harris makes her happy, even if he does keep her off balance and drive her insane. And I hated that Groo for her."
"And Angel?" Darla hooked her hand through Doyle's arm and looked up at him. Not too far up – he wasn't that much taller.
"Would have been in the way of an unmitigated disaster for Cordy, an' vice versa," Doyle said. "Which is why that Skip and this Jasmine were tryin' to maneuver them together." He snorted, "And, me, I'm a bit in the way of bein' dead."
"Only mostly dead, dear," Darla said and Doyle laughed, patting her hand.
"Still didn't answer the question, Whistler," Doyle remarked.
Whistler shrugged. "Unfinished business between the two of them. He kept her heart when he broke it, and she took his with her. Only luck of the draw kept him from showing up in L.A. before and capturing her back."
"Luck, and Skip's machinations," Darla said. "Aiming Anya back at Sunnydale instead of her going to that Hollywood party where Cordelia and Angel met back up was brilliant on his part."
"Lesson the second," Whistler said, nodding, "Never forget the opposition is as smart and as good as you are, even when they ain't."
Darla snorted, arching her eyebrows at him. "Not so much with the 'ain't', apparently."
"Well, yeah," Whistler took on a disgusted expression. "Gotta admit, causing that engine breakdown at the edge of Oxnard when Carpenter Boy was seriously thinking about turning and heading south to L.A. was a stroke of genius. Having that wanna be actress get an invite to that party so you and Soul Boy ended up bumping into the Cheerleader there and knocking her off course wasn't exactly sloppy work neither."
"Wait," Doyle blinked at him. "You mean that me and Angel were aimed at Cordelia?"
"Oh, hell yes," Whistler said, disgustedly. "Tina would have hit Margo up for her money elsewhere if she hadn't gotten the party invitation. And if she hadn't been diverted by bumping into you two clowns, Chase would have met that director, whassiname, Will Stone, and gotten an invite to do a reading for the reboot of 'The Further Adventures of the Star Wanderer'." He sighed, shaking his head. "What a frigging cockup. She never would have ended up at Russell Winter's place."
"Well... crap," Doyle said, looking pole axed.
"Well phrased, darling," Darla said, smirking at him.
"Oh... piss off," Doyle said. "Pardon my French and all, milady."
"I do believe that's an Anglo-saxonism, dear boy."
Doyle sighed, giving her a fondly exasperated look. He looked back to Whistler.
"And then she'd have bumped into Sorbo, who was bein' considered for a role in that reboot," Whistler said, scowling. "Woulda been a hell of a lot better than that Kull flop, or that Andromeda abortion, lemme tellya. Bit part for the Prom Queen, but it would've gotten her started and noticed."
"So, you're implyin' you knew that once Harris discovered the story on the visions and the demon aspect thing, that he'd go balls out to try an' figure out what was up and wreck it," Doyle said. "And that he'd integrate and take Skip's plans apart, an' be instrumental in taking down Jasmine's assassin demon – or rather, enabling him, Cordy, his Wizard Self, and that Faith gal to take her down."
"Knew he'd turn the world inside out for the cheerleader, yup," Whistler said. "Figured there was about a fifty-five percent chance on the other."
"Save the cheerleader, save the world?" Doyle asked.
"Nah. He's saving the cheerleader and letting the world look out for its ownself."
"What I'm not understanding," Darla said, "Is, if Alexander is such pure poison to fate and destiny, how you were able to manipulate him into doing your bidding for the Fates."
Whistler grinned. "Because I didn't, and I'm not, that's just it. I just tossed Harris in the middle and gave him his head. Everything else follows naturally."
"Ah," Darla said, nodding. "Subtlety. I'm getting the distinct impression that it's a miracle that things aren't screwed up even worse," Darla added, fixing Whistler with a critical gaze. "If this is such a critical plane and situation for our Lords and Masters," the scorn with which she loaded that phrase could corrode acid, "Then one might think they would have, oh, someone monitoring it more frequently."
Whistler glared at her. She met his eyes evenly, gazing back steadily, unperturbed. After a time, he hunched uncomfortably and glanced away. Darla smiled slowly.
"Yeah, well," Whistler said, still looking anywhere except at her eyes. "Gotta understand, it's not like the Green Lantern universe where there's one Lantern per sector. More like one of us per hundred sectors or more. The Bosses keep me moving more than a one armed paper hanger. And for a long time, I was elsewhere, showing first Demon Boy here, and then him and you the ropes."
"Which does nothing to mitigate the fact that this Skip character apparently influenced Alexander and that Rosenberg girl directly under your nose while you were watching this dimension actively and carefully," Darla said, her smiling broadening and growing slightly malicious.
"Hey!" Whistler growled, "Watch it, Toots."
"It's Cordy, man," Doyle said, his own expression a bit dark. "And it's Darla here's son we're discussing."
"Sigh. What can I say?" Whistler asked, deflating a bit. "Not like I'm exactly overburdened with staff to catch the stuff I miss. The only reason I was finally given the OK to recruit assistants is due to over two centuries of pissing and moaning and passing memos up the chain about just that sort of thing." He shrugged, adding, "And I doubt even then that they'd have acted on the memos if it hadn't been for Vocah slipping past to kill the then current Oracles."
Darla's gaze continued to be steady upon his, and unrelenting. "It would be simpler, perhaps, and less convoluted, to simply remove this Skip character from the playing field directly," she said, her tone speculative.
"Not allowed, kiddo," Whistler said, shrugging. "We're constrained from direct action against our counterparts. Any of them."
"Why of course," Darla said, nodding. "Heaven forbid that we do anything... effective."
"Or we could simply tell them directly what's going on, or who's acting against them," Doyle said, cutting his gaze to Darla and nodding thoughtfully.
"Again, we're constrained against that sort of thing," Whistler said, looking away. "They have to figure this stuff out on their own."
"Of course," Darla said, nodding. "Perfectly understandable."
"Hey," Whistler said, spreading his hands and meeting her gaze finally, "Neither of you had to agree to my recruitment pitch. There were and are other options."
"And other players, 'tis true," Doyle said, nodding thoughtfully.
"No. If our... employers are going to be taking an active interest in meddling in these lives, with little to no understanding of the costs and consequences of their machinations," Darla said, "Then it is required that they have someone involved in the meddling who has a... benevolent interest to counterbalance and mitigate the damage they are doing."
"Or to at least be attempting to do so, yeah," Doyle said.
"Of course, the fact does remain that there are interested parties who apparently do not have such constraints," Darla said, musingly. "And whom, based upon some of the world lines we've seen, such as that Western world and that Cyborg realm, seem to be more... effective at their meddlings."
"Hey," Whistler said, with deceptive mildness of tone and expression, "The option is always open to seek other employment."
"Nonsense, dear boy," Darla said, smiling sweetly. She patted his arm. "I find myself quite overcome with affection for you and your methodology. Do, please, however, at least try to not make it necessary for us to seek elsewhere. I suspect that you would not like losing your assistants so early in their careers."
"True, that," Whistler said. He gave her a glance that was sharp with suspicion and sharper with speculation. "And I'd really hate having a reason to need to find other recruits, you know?" he added, loading his voice with foreboding.
Darla laughed, her eyes dancing with merriment. "And you would truly dislike finding yourself upon the opposite side of a gaming board from me, I assure you."
"Got a pretty high opinion of yerself there, toots, for someone who first maneuvered herself into getting staked by her own get," Whistler said, smirking malevolently, "And then used as an unliving incubator by our opposite numbers here."
Darla's smile froze, and then became a thing more of sharp edges and teeth than amusement.
"Of course," Doyle said, smoothly stepping in in an attempt to defuse incipient mayhem, "That was being before Darla here was aware of the fact of there bein' larger pictures and outsider influences arrayed against her."
"Quite," Darla murmured, giving him a nod and a somewhat grateful look. She inclined her head to Whistler, her expression rueful. "Pax, for now. No need to do our opposite numbers' work for them."
"I'd say there's been more than enough of that," Doyle said.
"Heh. I'd agree, except that said agreement would cast derogatory connotations upon my abilities," Whistler said, grinning toothily at them. "Ya wanna sharpen your claws on a gaming board, toots, do it on this one against the other players. I promise I'll be suitably impressed."
"I would be quite pleased to say that I live to impress you," Darla said, laughing, "Were it not for the fact that I am a) quite dead, and b) rather more interested in the welfare of my child and the people I do actually care for."
"Which really doesn't make you much different from a certain Glorified Bricklayer of our acquaintance," Whistler said.
"Not that either of us actually ever claimed to be such," Darla said, "But, no. I find myself increasingly enamoured of young Alexander for that particular quirk."
"Neither of us are being much in the way of larger picture types," Doyle said, nodding.
"Especially considering that all of the big pictures are composed of smaller pictures," Darla said. "Something that the Powers seem remiss in considering."
"Just remember that those Powers you're sneering at are concerned with the larger pictures," Whistler said, cupping his head to light a stub of a cigar. He streamed smoke from both nostrils, adding, "They employ beings like us to concern ourselves with the small ones."
"I sneer not. I scoff, in matter of fact." Frowning slightly, Darla asked, "Speaking of smaller pictures, Alexander's Wizard counterpart from the alternate universe? I am to take it that you arranged for him to be waiting in between the Ghost Roads and the Dreamways for Harris, and then for Chase?"
"Ahhh... " Whistler hunched his shoulders and looked away. "As much as I'd love to claim credit fer that one – no. Had nuthin' to do with that. Summers' mother neither. Pure serendipity, I guess."
"Gee, it's a good thing that serendipity seems to be a liking you, isn't it?" Doyle said, smirking slightly. Darla gave him a sharp glance.
"Or possibly yet another player or players taking a hand," Darla said, still eying Doyle speculatively.
"Heh. Always a possibility," Whistler said, shrugging. "Frigging Janus has taken an interest in enough iterations of Harris and Chase in other world lines. Wouldn't put it past old Two-face to be dipping his wick into this one as well."
"So, what's being next?" Doyle asked.
"Well," Whistler pushed his hat back on his head and pursed his lips. "You and the naughty school girl here are off to the Dreamlands to do your next parts in the plan here, and make sure they come off okay." He chuckled, "Me? I'm headed over to take care of a few things while keeping my eye on Rat Boy and kicking him in the ass if he doesn't keep his nose outta the Harris-Chase marriage once he starts brooding on his freaking 'feelings' for her again."
"Poor, dear boy," Darla sighed.
"Poor boy nuthin'," Whistler growled. "Stink Boy damned near let his dick talk him into enabling a freaking apocalypse again. He obviously can't be trusted around a female Guide. Or a female anything."
"At least poor Connor isn't fated to end up with his throat cut by his father's hand," Darla said, smiling. "That was heading for disaster."
"Yet. And so far," Doyle said.
Darla scowled at him. "At all, dear. That is simply not going to happen."
"Hey, we're not done yet, darlin'," Doyle said, glancing down at her. "Remember what the boss here said about the enemy: they're probably gonna get their licks in before we're done."
"Damned straight. A freaking Power's Champion working for Wolfram and Hart." Whistler shuddered. "Well, off with you. And break a leg, kids."
With a wave of his hand, Whistler opened a Way through the fabric of the Never Never, and motioned them through.
Elsewhere: an indeterminate place and time within a pocket realm in the Etherium, somewhere between the Outer Realms and the Never After -
Wow. It was freaking gorgeous here, wherever here was. Peaceful, too.
Cordelia looked around at the pastoral looking countryside, studded about with bits of Grecian looking architecture here and there. Somewhat like the ornate balustrade at the edge of the ornately – and expensively – tiled patio and pool area she found herself standing upon. No, not Grecian, exactly. Romanesque, maybe?
Heh. Cordelia could spot clothing and jewelry fashions at a hundred yards, detect a knockoff, and identify the designer, but despite her Mother's best efforts, she always had been a bit fuzzy on the architecture and antique thing.
"Lovely, isn't it?" a rich, deep male voice with a refined British accent said from behind her. "It's one of the places that the Master of the premises truly loves, even now."
Gasping in startlement, Cordelia whirled to face the speaker, one hand rising to her throat, the other going out instinctively in a warding motion.
"Please don't be alarmed," the speaker said, smiling at her with his hands held up and palms outward before him. "No harm will come to you here, Madame."
"Who, uh, who are you?" Cordelia said, wincing internally at the hesitant and almost frightened way that the words came out. Never show fear. Never.
At first glance, the speaker really wasn't all that fearsome looking. And at second glance, and third even...
He was a tall, rather severe looking elderly man with white hair, and a stiff, almost military bearing. There was nothing in his demeanor that suggested a cause for fear, however. In fact, the twinkle in those faded blue eyes gave lie to even the thought that he might be fearsome...
In fact, he looked like nothing other than a-
"Wow. Uh, Michael Caine?!" Cordelia blinked, examining him more closely. Yup. He looked a lot like an elderly Michael Caine, if you squinted a bit. Or possibly what Michael Caine's father might look like at an extremely well preserved late late eighty plus...
"Hardly, Madame," the man said, wincing slightly. There was that to his expression suggest that he was mightily tempted to roll his eyes, but was far too well bred to actually do so. "Alfred, at your service, Madame."
"Al- wait, I died in my sleep and God is Batman's butler?" Cordelia blinked again, scowling. "No, wait, I know this one," she said, holding up a hand. "Sleeping, place in between the Dreamways and the Never-wherever, not dead... yata yata yata. Been here, done that."
"As you say, Madame," the man, uh, Alfred said. He bowed, extending an arm, "And if you would, please?"
"Okay, wait up here, Jeeves," Cordelia said, frowning. "I so thought we were done with all this Dreamways and Dream Walking stuff after last night. Yesterday. Today. Whenever. So, where exactly are we and where are you wanting to take me, exactly?"
Alfred sighed. "Please Madame. I can assure you that all will be explained. Possibly not to your satisfaction, precisely, but there will be an explanation, none the less. However, for that to occur, you must accompany me to an interview with someone whom I can assure you is far more capable of the explanations you require than I myself am."
Sigh. "Fine." Shaking her head, Cordelia gestured with a shooing motion. "Lead on, by all means. Let's get this over with – I've had a long day and I want to get back to sleep."
"As you wish." Alfred bowed slightly to her again, and gestured toward the large French doors at one end of the patio. "This way, please."
Beyond the doors lay an elegantly appointed and furnished room, large, and yet set up and laid out in such a way that it gave a suggestion of warmth and intimacy, rather than the yawning emptiness that one might expect from such a vast and vaulted space. The construction and appointments had a great deal to do with that: it was made of rough hewn stone with rich, natural wood paneling along the walls, and hardwood beams crisscrossed beneath the vaulted ceiling. A huge, mantled fireplace took up a decent sized chunk of one end of the room, wherein flames crackled merrily away, casting a cheery light over that end of the room and the furnishings.
Definitely not what Cordelia had been expecting in the decor, going by the outdoor scene beyond the doors and patio...
The dark paneled walls were lined with tall bookcases that were lined with volumes from floor to nearly the ceiling beams, with rolling ladders set about to provide access to the highest shelves. Interspersed between them were displays of mounted weaponry, both archaic and modern. Not strictly utilitarian tools, these, none of them. All that hung upon the display racks and within the glass fronted cases showcased the very finest of the art of the custom blade maker and gunsmith, richly figured walnuts, ivories, ebony, and polished and gleaming sculpted steel.
Game heads lined the walls above the weapon displays, between the bookshelves. Many of them would be familiar to any hunter of any Earth.
Some were of creatures found only in the realms of fantasy and mythology, though, or from the deepest realms of nightmare...
Areas of wall that were not taken up by weaponry held paintings, or shelves with sculptures of bronze and marble. Vallejo hung opposed to Clevenger, and Frazetta met and matched and complimented Remington.
Near to the fireplace and the comfortably furnished sitting area, sat a mahogany coffee table filled with every imaginable delicacy that a human or humanoid being might enjoy, as well as baskets of fresh breads and rolls, and platters of fresh and sliced fruits. An L-shaped bar stood in the corner just beyond the fireplace, equally well stocked with beverages both alcoholic and non.
To one side of the room were several gaming tables, including a high quality and regulation sized billiards table.
Near to and slightly away from the fireplace, a man stood facing toward the flames, his hands clasped at the small of his broad back. As they approached, he turned toward them, smiling slightly, and bowed from the shoulders to Cordelia and her escort.
"Mrs. Chase-Harris, sir," Alfred said, returning the slight bow. He motioned graciously to Cordelia and stepped back slightly.
"Excellent, Alfred. And thank you," the man said, nodding an acknowledgment.
"Shall there be anything else, sir?"
"Not at present, Alfred."
"Very good, sir," the Michael Caine near look alike said as Cordelia studied her... host, she guessed. When she glanced back toward the butler, he had apparently vanished.
She turned back to studying the man. Being. Whatever.
"Okay, so, let's start with who, uh, who are you?" Cordelia said, wincing internally at the hesitant and almost frightened way that the words came out. Never show fear. Never. There was just something about the sense of... presence about the man that was disconcerting. "And hey! Where the hell am I? And who the hell are you? Last I remember, I was back in my bed at Xander's apartment after that freaky dreamwalk thing and – "
"Whoa whoa," the man, uh, being maybe? said, making a stop gesture. "One question at a time, please. I promise you that I'll answer them all. Or at least the ones that I can."
"Okay, let's start with the 'who the hell are you' one, Mister," Cordelia said.
As she asked it, she continued to study the man. Being. Whatever. Huh. Wow. And damned near made of salty goodness there. Tall, muscular but not in a hyperthyroid body builder muscle freak way. Just... extremely well built. Light brown eyes, and a long, curly, and sculpted beard, matching the long head of hair falling in curly ringlets down to the broad shoulders. He appeared to be in his mid to late forties. The mien and the face might have appeared more at home in a Greco-Romanesque tunic and over robe with lace up the calf sandals, to match the patio and the countryside, but instead he was wearing black jeans and polished harness boots with a black leather vest over a dark blue, Western cut shirt. A broad black gunbelt with a holstered revolver and a scabbarded short sword balancing it completed the ensemble.
And something about the face, or the head. Some... wrongness...
Jumping in place, Cordelia let out a small shriek, her right hand clapping over her mouth. She backed away, registering finally that the wrongness was the fact that he had two faces, not one. Front and back of the head. The older, handsome and forty-ish bearded face on the front, and a younger clean shaven face on the back -
"Ah. Sorry, I forget sometimes," the being said. "Even still. Let me assume a seeming that's more comfortable for you, and a bit less disconcerting, as clichéd as that might sound."
After a moment, he turned a three sixty in place to show her a normal back to the head, with falling ringlets of hair and everything.
"Better?"
"Well, yeah, some," Cordelia said, nodding. "And, hey, no! You're a demon! I know about demons – you can't fool me no matter what you look like, Buster!"
"I wasn't attempting to, actually. And no, not a demon. You have entirely the wrong level and category of personage there," he said, smiling at her. "As to who I am... I'm afraid that I thought that you would recognize me. After all, earlier in the night, you were observing a number of events that a certain Chaos mage invoked through my Aspect."
"Well, no. I mean, do I look like a Watcher or some freak Slayer girl? Duh!" Cordelia said, scowling at him. "So, no, I'm not up on every creepy crawly and tentacled horror in existence and – hey! Waitaminnit! You're Janus? You mean, you're a freaking God?"
The being, Janus, whatever, threw back his head, laughing richly. "Good grief, girl. When you get going you rattle on almost like your little red-headed friend. And yes," he said, bowing from the waist. "Janus, Greater God of Gates, Doors, and Paths, at your service. So to speak."
"Hey! I so do not babble!" Cordelia said, her eyes flashing, "Well, except for the part where I so was just now. And you! Where's my damned sword... I have a serious bone to pick with you, Mister."
"Moi?" the man, uh, Janus gave her an inquisitive look with the brown eyes twinkling at her. "What have I done to deserve your ire?"
"You – " Cordelia jabbed a forefinger at him, searching for words momentarily. "You? Oh, gee, I dunno. How about screwing up my idiot husband almost beyond recognition with that idiotic spell and that conglomeration soldier thing?"
"Actually, the majority of that was Rayne's doing. And your young paramour did a large part of it to himself," Janus said. Cordelia's eyes flashed, and he held up his hands in surrender. "However, yes, I do share some responsibility for it, in that I am the one who answered the invocation for that spell."
"Damn straight," Cordelia said, grumbling. Folding her arms across her chest, she glared up at him. "So. Why am I here? And why did you power that idiotic spell, anyway?"
"As to the former.. " Janus began, and then scowled slightly. "But I am being remiss. Please, have a seat. I fear this will turn out to be a lengthy and convoluted conversation. Refreshments?"
"Uh... " Cordelia glanced around, then shrugged and chose a comfortable seat in an overstuffed leather armchair. "Well... no. Wait – Oh no. I've read about this sort of thing. You feed me and then I'm stuck here forever, wherever here is. Or I wake up in a field twenty years from now and everyone's like, ancient. Including my husband that I just fought an Eldritch Horror to get back. No thanks."
"Ah, no. This is not Faerie, and you are not Rip van Winkle," Janus said, chuckling. "Just food and drink – mortal food and drink, I assure you. I swear to you that I won't trick you with ambrosia and nectar into becoming one of us. It would defeat the purpose, after all."
"Well... "
"Besides, we simply don't do that sort of thing any longer," Janus said. "It very seldom ends well."
"Well, all right. As long as it's just food and drink," Cordelia said, a bit hesitantly. She fell in beside him as he began to walk toward the set and laden table. "Some coffee would be nice."
"Jamaican Blue Mountain, freshly brewed," Janus said, pulling up a similar chair for himself. He picked up and slid over a serving tray and carafe as she seated herself, and taking his seat across from her. "With real, fresh cream."
Cordelia nodded, serving herself a cup in one of the thick, stoneware looking mugs, and taking a cautious sip. Ok, yum. It so was.
"Ok, so, we've established who you are," Cordelia said. "Or who you say you are. Where are we? Other than 'not Faerie' or wherever."
"Just a facsimile of a place I happen to have loved once," Janus said. "Long gone now, but I enjoy revisiting on occasion."
"Ah. Wait – am I dead? I can't be dead! I mean, your butler said, and all of that was rough but I just – "
"No, you are not dead. Greater Titans, girl," Janus said, "Will you please quit going into panic mode every few minutes?"
"I so am not – " Cordelia broke off as Janus gave her a stern and knowing look, and sighed. "Okay, so, maybe small panic attacks. But hey, you try this from my end! It's been a rough week so far, okay?"
"Agreed, it has," Janus said, looking at her understandingly. "And I'm afraid that it will get rougher."
"Rougher than this? Crap. Boy that's something to look forward to," Cordelia said.
"Yes. And, unfortunately, it is what it is. Those idiotic Powers and their adversaries have set a rather large number of powerful effects in motion that cannot be but ridden out now," Janus said, nodding.
"Wait, but you're a God, you said," Cordelia said, her eyes narrowing again. "Can't you just – "
"Wave my hand and make it all go away? Fix everything, up to this point or even reset it all?"
"Well, yeah!"
"No. I'm afraid not. It's outside of the scope of my position and power to do that," Janus said.
"Well... phooey." Cordelia scowled at him. "Okay, so why am I here? And why are we having this little chat?" she asked, sipping her – truly excellent – coffee.
"Simply put: give all of the portents and machinations swirling about you and your paramour, excuse me – husband now – I felt that it was time for someone to at least speak with you directly and... how should I put this... " Janus frowned, steepling his fingers and looking at her across the peak, "Ah. Yes. Let you know at least that while there are a vast number of forces arrayed against you in this, that you are not completely without allies in your corner."
"Great. Which, since you apparently can't just wave your hand and fix anything, means what? Squat?" Cordelia glared at him over her coffee mug.
Janus shrugged. "My apologies. But there are – "
"I know. Constraints." Cordelia shook her head. "God, I am getting so tired of that word."
Spreading his hands, Janus gave her a sympathetic look and said, "Can't say that I blame you. But it is the way of things. Even gods and Powers are constrained, even if only by the rules and accords that we set up for ourselves and agreed to. Or – would you prefer to have things the way that they once were, in the time of Troy, when a handful of beings with immense power, and the egos and temperaments of spoiled six year olds made playthings of humanity?"
"Well... " Cordelia shook her head, sighing. "No. When you put it that way. I guess not."
"Again, it is the way of things at this point. Set up this way when the large part of my brethren and similar beings withdrew our attention and active involvement from this plane of reality, in order to curtail the kind of excesses that my brethren used to indulge in at mortal expense."
"So basically... " Cordelia frowned, pouring herself another cup of coffee while trying to figure out how best to phrase her questions in order to get at least some semblance of a straight answer.
"We cannot directly tell mortals of the machinations of other deities and Powers, nor of the exact natures of those beings. We cannot act directly against each other, nor against each other's designs," Janus said, narrowing his eyes. "We cannot act directly against each other's agents and operatives, nor against those of the various powers that were set into place to fill the vacuum left by our withdrawal."
Cordelia glanced up sharply from where she was adding a dollop of cream to her Jamaican Blue Mountain, her own eyes narrowing. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips.
"So... " she began, her voice and expression thoughtful, "You can only act indirectly against those agents and operatives. And those powers and other, uh, gods." Janus watched her intently, apparently following the play of thoughts and emotions across her face.
Or reading her freaking mind, for all she knew. Hey, a god.
Nodding to herself, Cordelia leaned back into her seat, eying him again across the rim of her mug. Cocking her head, she gave him a shrewd look and said, casually, "Only through using people like, uh, me and Xander, and others, as to act. Which makes you different from The Powers that be Dickheads how, exactly?'
"I didn't say that it did, essentially," Janus said, inclining his head towards her. "I, at least, do make a point of not using people as... disposable tools to be discarded on a fire and forget basis, and to not use my Champions to destruction."
"Champions. There's that word again," Cordelia said, still eying him carefully. "So. I'm one of your Champions now? And Xander?"
"Alexander, definitely. Albeit that it's not quite as formal a relationship as the one your 'Powers that Be' affect to have with Angelus."
"Whoa. Back the hell up. Not my Powers. Not any more," Cordelia said, heatedly.
"Pax," Janus said, holding up a hand, palm out. "Point taken, and I sit corrected. And as for yourself? You have been, on any number of occasions. You could have been one of them, at one point, and could be again."
"Ah, so... huh?" Cordelia blinked at him. "Okay, back up. You're going to have to explain that. Preferably using small and easy to understand words, and sentences with verbs and nouns."
Smiling, Janus said, "Think back to the end of the mystical mind tour you and young Faith took within your consort's head."
Cordelia frowned at him, thinking furiously. What the... and then, suddenly as if with a veil clearing away from parts of her mind's eye, she had it. "Oh! Crap. That, uh, Hall of Alternities thing? And Hall of Ages? You mean... ?"
Janus nodded. "In any number of realities, you have been numbered among my most effective agents and my friends and compatriots. In your reality, you might have been, once, had things gone differently."
"Hrmm," Cordelia said, tapping her chin with a fingernail while studying him. She took a moment to phrase her next question carefully. This was almost, well... not quite fun, exactly, but challenging. "Might have been, once. Meaning that something happened to make that a non-issue... okay. But Xander is, or was. So... Going back to the whole Ethan Rayne thing."
"Yes?" Janus drawled out the word, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
"According to Giles, and, well, you, Rayne called on you to power that spell. Or something like. Which has something to do with Xander being uh... one of yours, right?"
"Marked by virtue of being touched by my Aspect, yes," Janus said, leaning forward slightly, "Placing him within my purview along with that locus and all within who were touched or affected by those magics."
"And I wasn't, because I didn't wear a costume," Cordelia said, frowning.
"To some extent, yes. Unmarked by my aspect, at least," Janus said, nodding. "Further," he added, "By virtue of your removing yourself from my active demesne." He leaned back, steepling his fingers again and studying her across the tips with undisguised curiosity.
"Removed myself from... " Cordelia said, frowning. Her mind racing, in her mind's eye she went over all of the events of that time period through high school, and everything that she'd seen and experienced in her husband's mind's eye. Events passed, connected with snippets glimpsed within the frames of alternate lives, reformed, and knitted themselves into new configurations. "I broke up with Xander because of that stupid kiss. And I left for L.A. and didn't come back."
Nodding, Janus said, "And by virtue of a not quite completely implausible chain of events, you then hooked up with the souled vampire and then became nearly irretrievably intertwined with him and his purpose."
"Nearly... " Cordelia trailed off, cocking her head to study him anew. "Until Idiot Boy ran smack dab over me out of the blue, picked me up and kissed me stupider, and somehow convinced me to go and have a quick drink with him and talk. Which somehow turned into multiple drinks, and then drunken debauchery, and then marriage." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Your doing?"
"Partially, yes, and yet, no. Recall that I said that there are a vast array of forces set against you?" Janus asked, and she nodded. He nodded back and said, "We took advantage of your paramour's ability to turn askew the strands of Fate, and the possibilities for redressing an old imbalance. And an old injustice. Problem?"
"I don't like being manipulated," Cordelia said, slowly and almost absently, still studying him with her mind racing furiously, "Even for my own good. But... no. It... gave us a chance to set something right that I didn't even realize was wrong. So, no."
"Good."
"We?"
"Ah." Janus cocked his head, studying her back. "As there are forces arrayed against you, know that there are more than one of us standing behind you."
"Hrrm. And I suppose you won't, or can't, tell me who," Cordelia said, huffing slightly. "So." She blinked, as even more bits and pieces clicked into place. "Freaking Skip. And the Powers. They broke us up... manipulated that whole situation somehow."
"How does the phrase go?" Janus spread his hands, looking inscrutable. "I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicion."
"You don't have to. And I am going to kill that armor plated bastard," Cordelia said. "Thanks, but I have an idea who's against us. Freaking Skip, and those Powers he says he works for. Why? No – don't bother. To get me out of Sunnydale, and away from Xander, and maybe even Buffy. Okay, why?"
Janus nodded, giving her a not unsympathetic look. "And further, to lead you to Los Angeles, and potentially to cause you to be placed into a position to ally yourself with the Power's Champion, and to be awakened early."
"You seem to be stretching the whole 'cannot directly tell mortals of the machinations' thing," Cordelia said, "More than a bit."
Janus' gaze went hard, and more than slightly cold, and Cordelia shivered despite herself. For a brief moment, he seemed to grow and swell, somehow becoming more without changing in the least bit. "You dislike being manipulated. I dislike having mine own interfered with, especiallywhen I have specifically exercised my will to declare a demesne and a purview as is my right and my option when I am invoked upon the scale that that idiotic Chaos disciple did with his enchantment."
"Well, then, why? Or why not? I mean: you did all of that!" Cordelia said, exasperated. "Giles said so! He said that that Ethan guy used a ritual of some sort to- to, well, you! And that spell nearly destroyed my idiot husband in the long run, along with all of that other crap! If you declared Sunnydale and everyone touched by that as your demesne, then why not ever even help?"
"You are assuming that I did not, and have not," Janus said. "Check your assumptions, and assume again."
"But... " Cordelia scowled at him.
"As to the one, it suited my purposes, and yours, I might add, to have your then paramour retain some semblance of the residue of that spell. The Judge? The Mayor's little graduation party? However, that foolish Watcher was supposed to have followed through and checked for after effects."
"We never were much on follow through, us Scoobies," Cordelia said, frowning thoughtfully.
"Indeed. And had I looked more closely at the aftermath of that incident with the totemic entity, I might have realized this. I did not, and for that, you have my apologies," Janus said. "As to the others... who precisely do you think influenced that Toth fellow to go to the Hellmouth rather than seeking out the true Slayer to destroy? Or took efforts to make certain that that item containing Anyanka's former husband-now-troll ended up at the shop so that the Troll Hammer might be later available? Or nudged that chipped idiot to have Mears make his robotic sex toy such a close match for the Slayer? Or influenced your gift to give you warning, however belated, of that misogynistic little man's plans and the outcome and fallout thereof?"
"You mean you... but... " Cordelia stared at him. "But those things nearly killed Xander and the others! That Glory chick did kill Buffy! And - "
Janus shrugged slightly. "Free will and freedom of choice. We cannot and will not face these challenges for you, nor resolve them for you, nor lead you by hand through them. Were we to do so, then we might as well simply manipulate you like marionettes, eliminating the entire purpose of freedom of will."
"Grrf." Cordelia glared while pouring herself some more coffee. "Sometimes, a bit less freedom of choice and a bit more advice might help."
Sighing, Janus said, "All of them, your Alexander and the others, were more than capable of defeating Toth and Anya's former consort, Olaf. And had they given things more thought, and put the pieces together a bit better, things should never have come down to the wire. Glorificus should never have slain Summers, had that been done. As it were, Anyanka had to point out all of the items that could be useful, that had been acquired over the course of a year or more. They had all of the pieces, and your former paramour had, or should have had, the tactical knowledge and insight needed to put them to appropriate use that night."
"Huh. But Xander was starting to unravel badly by that point, and his insights weren't as sharp as they once were," Cordelia said. "So apparently gods aren't all that omniscient, either."
"I never stated that we were, actually," Janus said, mildly.
"True." Cordelia's eyes narrowed, and she said, "Wait. Misogynistic little... the vision about Warren? You sent that?"
"Where do your visions come from?" Janus said, eying her intently.
"From the Powers... " Cordelia began, then trailed off, scowling again.
"Oh, please. Think back, to your conversation with the Watcher," Janus said, waving his hand dismissively. "What was it that he told you?"
"Wait." Cordelia held up a hand. "It's been a rough week and I've slept since then. And had my husband shot and a whole bunch of things. Giles said... that Seers are born, not made, and that, uh, something about the Sybils and divine blood?"
"Yes?"
"Wait, okay, you mean I really am descended from a god? I'm a demi-goddess now?" Cordelia blinked at him, her eyes going wide.
"No. Well, yes and no. Not quite a demi-goddess, there's not that much divine blood in your veins," Janus said, chuckling. "But the Watcher was close to the heart of the matter."
"Huh. Which one? No, wait," Cordelia said, holding her hand up, palm out. "Okay, back up. Demesne, purview... a purview is like an area of influence, right?"
"In this context, yes," Janus said, watching her intently again.
"And your purview is what, exactly?"
"Excellent," Janus said, nodding. "In short, I was and am the God of Doorways and Transformations, Life, Death, and Rebirth, Beginnings and Endings, and the Past and Future. Chaos' devotee, Rayne, irritated me by not taking into account that I am not a deity of Chaos, merely because he required my aspect as God of Doorways and Transformations and Rebirth in order to effect his changes."
"Ah." Cordelia blinked at him again, her mind racing once more. "So, I'm your, uh... " she made a 'help me out here I'm floundering' gesture.
Janus grinned at her, shrugging. "Too many millenia, too many generations, and far too many 'greats' for even me to keep track of. Call me... a distant ancestor, if you will and you must." He frowned, looking thoughtful. "Your husband has possibly an even stronger claim on potential demi-godhood, as a matter of fact."
"Xander?" Cordelia looked at him, boggling. "But- Xander?"
"His... as I recall, maternal great great great grandmother was a descendent of Saynday, one of the children of Kunula – Coyote. Making him roughly a thirty-second or so of the blood of Coyote." Janus grinned at her again, adding, "Hence his inborn knack for upsetting the apple cart of Fate and Destiny. Alexander LaVelle Harris was the very last person in this life that that Rayne idiot should have hit with a concentrated burst of chaos magics."
"Oh, great. And that... really explains a lot," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. She made a face, her nose scrunching up, and sighed heavily. "I don't have to tell him about this, do I? He'll be completely insufferable. Bad enough that I'm gonna have to listen to that 'but I've got balls now' joke for the rest of our lives," she groused.
"As you wish," Janus said, smiling and shaking his head.
"What I wish," Cordelia said, fiercely, "Is for Skip and whoever this mysterious Power is to vanish in a puff of evil smelling smoke and go away forever and leave me alone." She glanced around expectantly for a few moments, and then slumped. "Drat. Never a vengeance demon around when you actually want one."
"Sorry," Janus said, his tone not unsympathetic, "Apparently, it doesn't work that way."
"Again, drat." Cordelia tossed her head, flipping hair away from her eyes, and looked at him. "Okay. So... these, uh, demon powers are an aspect of me being descended from you?"
"No. Not that simple," Janus said, sounding regretful. "The talent your heritage includes, on that side of the family at least, apparently is for clairvoyance and foresight. Precognition. An extension of my demesne over past and future."
"And according to Giles, I should have, uh, awakened on my own around now if left alone, roughly," Cordelia said.
"Yes," Janus said, nodding, "At some point between your twentieth and twenty-fifth years, your gift possibly would have awakened – it's not a given that it would have at all. I have seen it occur earlier and later in life, albeit rarely."
"And the demon stuff? The bright white light shows, the energy bolts, the healing and demon frying?" Cordelia raised her eyebrows, looking at him. "If not from you, then where?"
Janus spread his hands slightly, giving her an enigmatic – and infuriating – look. "Possibly from a different part of your heritage? Or elsewhere, even? That is something that you now have all of the resources you require to discover and determine, between the Watcher, your witch, and the young demon woman."
"A lot of help you are," Cordelia said, and then frowned slightly. She made a gesture, as if waving away the remark. "No, that's not entirely fair, I guess. You have helped, a bit." She poured some more coffee, this time splashing it liberally with a dollop of Irish Whiskey. "So... the doofus was wrong. I was destined to become a Seer."
Frowning, Janus said, "Like your young consort, I truly dislike the term and even the concept of Destiny, capital-D, almost as much as I dislike the Norns, the Fates, and the Weird and all of those who choose to attempt to weave the strands of reality into some sort of cohesive tapestry." Holding up a hand, he warded off her burgeoning attempt to say something, and she leaned back again, huffing. "However, there are those who ever seem to be placed, by either the universe, or by their own natural inclination and strengths of character, at the heart of great events. And then who are given the choice of rising to the challenge, or falling away from it."
"So, you're seriously trying to tell me that, uh," Cordelia blinked at him, and said, "Me and Xander freaking Harris..."
"Alexander," Janus said, leaning back and studying her. "It means, at its heart: Protector of Man. Although in Alexander's case, he takes it to mean the protector of his friends and those that he cares for the most."
"Well, yeah. The sun rising the next morning is just a happy bonus," Cordelia said, nodding. "Duh. So?"
"So?" Janus folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Hrmm." Cordelia thought for long minutes, leaning back likewise and sipping at her coffee. The Hall of Alternities in Xander's mind's eye. Hall of Ages, as Lexx had called them. All of those lives, all of those pasts... always intertwined somehow, and always, always at the cusp or the heart of events. Not always shaping them, and not always even the main players, but always an influence. And always together, or nearly always...
"Supposing that I buy that for a dollar. And you can't or won't help, directly," Cordelia said, finally. "Can't tell me exactly what Power or Powers has it in for me. Or us... "
"Again, we have helped, by bringing you together with all of the various resources that you need to overcome and triumph, if used intelligently and wisely," Janus said, shrugging slightly. "And no. Suffice it to say... Various. It actually doesn't really matter at this point, as far as pointing a finger at any particular set," Janus said, laughing. "They're all in an uproar and doing the run in circles, scream and shout thing at the moment."
"Hrmm." Cordelia tilted her head, studying him. Tapping a fingernail against her chin, she said, "And you're enjoying every moment of it, aren't you."
"Of course," Janus said, grinning widely at her. "I haven't had this much fun since... well, since the last time that a pair of your and Alexander's incarnations kicked the Powers in the teeth and the Fate's weavings into wreckage."
Shaking her head, Cordelia snickered and said, "Gods. Even gods are mischievous little boys at heart, aren't they? Jeeze... "
"Yup," Janus said, looking wholly unrepentant. "Just be glad that we're not as bad as we used to be. Most of us have grown up a bit by this point. Although we have some doubts about Coyote and Loki... and Eshu has an entertaining tendency to kick over a hornet's nest whenever he gets bored, just for shits and giggles."
Sighing, Cordelia shook her head. "Good, well, you. We're in the hands of infinite power and infinite childishness."
"Yeah. Ain't it grand?"
They exchanged long looks, and then both burst out into a fit of snickering. Cordelia followed as Janus turned and went back to the table, pouring herself some more coffee. Hrmm. Fantastic strawberries, she thought, sampling some of the food now...
"It's really so not funny," Cordelia said, finally. "All the deaths... and all the destruction. All of the missteps and the things that could have worked out better."
"I know," Janus said, sobering. "Truly, I know. Of course, not all of those deaths and the rest can be laid at the feet of Powers manipulating you all, nor even at your own missteps. But I do realize that that doesn't help. My empathies."
"It helps. Not much, you understand, but... " Cordelia said, nodding. "Not good enough, but it helps."
"Anyway, take your pick. They're practically all gnashing their teeth and muttering vile imprecations at their machinations being blown to Hades on this plane by all of this," Janus said, snickering again. "Bad enough when your young man kicked things over by shaming and forcing that brooding vampire to lead him down to the Master's Lair, and then gave Summers the breath of life, but that was considered more or less manageable, I suppose. Doing it again now, with you, is driving various entities insane trying to figure out and contain the ramifications."
"Which are... ?" Cordelia asked. She frowned again, and held up a hand. "No, don't tell me, let me guess. Angel. It's all about Angel. Jeeze, Dorksome had it right: we're all just bit players in the Buffy and Angel drama."
"To an extent," Janus said, nodding. "You have to understand, the various Powers see themselves as engaged in a vast conflict, the heart of which is the survival of the multi-verse. Or the control of it, anyway, in the battle against those with... malevolent intentions. Individuals pale in their minds to the scope of that overarching reality. What you know of as the Powers that Be are concerned primarily with their Champions – selecting, shaping, forging, and tempering them to fulfill a crucial role in some major event in the grand design."
"And everyone else: me, Connor, Wesley, Buffy, all of us, are only really important to them as we affect that... forging process," Cordelia said, her eyes narrowed. "That... seriously annoys me."
"It should."
But not to you?" Cordelia asked, her eyes searching his.
Janus shrugged. "Individuals are the design. Without you, the design doesn't matter. Those of us who elected to not withdraw completely from our involvement in the mortal realms have never forgotten that."
"And your goals?" Cordelia asked. "I'm figuring that you have to have some, or you wouldn't bother with all of this."
"A fair question and simple enough," Janus said. "We wish to see you – humanity as a whole – reach a point where you can grasp and take control of your own destiny, completely free from the machinations and guidance of gods, demons, and powers. Nothing more, nothing less."
Cordelia bit at her lower lip, nodding, her gaze gone distant. "So," she said, finally, "Will I remember all of this? Or will it vanish as if it never happened?"
"Oh please," Janus said. "As I said, unlike a number of my ilk, I at least attempt to not be an unmitigated asshole. I didn't go to the trouble of bringing your dreaming self here to my private retreat for a talk just to have you lose all memory of it upon waking." He smiled at Cordelia, shrugging, "However, unlike a Slayer dream or other mystical dream, you'll probably have it fade a bit, and have bits and pieces come back to you as you recall them. Similar to a normal dream – if you don't grasp it immediately upon waking and write it down, it begins to fade from your conscious mind. But rest assured: all of it is still there ready to be retrieved."
"Oh, good," Cordelia said, nodding, "'Cause the other thing? That would be made of suck."
"The Watcher should know techniques for dream retrieval," Janus suggested. "Ask him if you need to, to recall the finer details."
"Including the whole Hall of Ages and Alternities thing?"
"Ah. That will probably fade," Janus said. He shrugged, adding, "As the analytical portion of your husband's mind stated, the human conscious waking mind isn't geared toward encompassing non-linear time and the full extent of the structure of the multiverse. It deliberately blanks out that awareness to keep from going mad, even though the awareness lives within the subconscious."
"And comes out in the shape of deja vu," Cordelia said, nodding.
"And the odd hunch, sometimes," Janus said. "A number of which are just that: hunches – the mind reaching a conclusion from subconsciously assembling bits and pieces of information. Others... brief and disconnected glimpses of realities where one has already solved that or a similar problem." He paused, adding, "As a seer – a precognitive – you have a higher level of access to that, as in being able to catch glimpses of non-linear time, and a bit more of a tolerance, but only so much. Only the minds of deity-level beings and similar can grasp the totality of reality safely, and even we have our limitations in that."
"Hrrm. Well, every little bit helps," Cordelia said.
Dreamlands, the Fantastic Realms, some hundred leagues east of Dylath-Leen -
"Fix it."
The words hung in the air long after the amorphous, formless speaker had faded from view.
'Fix it,' he thought, snorting derisively. Jeezus crap, why don't you fix it, Boss? It's your complicated half assed 'plan' that got this so gods be damned hosed up to begin with.
Of course, the mercenary demon hadn't said that, or even thought anything along those lines so long as his patron was present. One just didn't make comments like that to one's employer.
Especially not when said employer was decidedly not a demon, in fact was as far beyond the category of mere 'demon' as he himself was beyond the scum and riffraff that claimed that status in the physical realms. Not quite a god, and a long way from being a true Power yet... but his patron vastly outweighed him in the power playoffs.
That, of course, was a massive part and parcel of his payoff for this gig.
Once his patron's machinations paid off down the line, and it was able to fully manifest and achieve both meta-awareness and ascend to full fledged Power status, it would have power to burn.
Power enough to immediately outclass and take its place above the so-called Powers that Be and the Senior Partners as well.
Power enough to challenge the old gods. Possibly enough to even challenge the Great Old Ones.
Power enough to remake a large slice of the World's Dream in its own scintillating image.
And power enough that a dollop of hits puissance invested in its contract employee would catapult him to the status and stature of a full blown Lord of the Underdark.
Maybe he'd set up in some pocket realm between the Etherium and the Never After like so many of the old gods and the various ascended beings had done. Get him a bevy of demon babe concubines and minions like that putz D'Hoffryn had. Style himself a 'Justice Demon' the way he'd heard that so many of D'Hoffyrn's bimbos were doing these days. Heh, or better yet: an Injustice Demon.
He grinned. That had a nice ring to it.
He, if indeed 'he' was an appropriate appellation, stood well over six foot and was massive in bulk and musculature, covered all over in steel colored armor plating. A pair of curving, branching horns rose in arcs from the sides of his head, and long metallic spikes curved up from his shoulders and various other places. One curling branched horn was shorter than the other, by nearly a third, and jagged at the end – as if broken off in some long ago fight and not ever quite grown back. Which indeed was the case.
These days he answered only to 'Skip'. It had been so long since he'd used his True Name, much less heard or answered to it, that he barely remembered what it was, even.
"Goddamned porkpie hatted munchkin," Skip growled, his voice sounding like the movement of a rusty grate. "The hell that friggin' pimp managed to pull that set up with the Boy Wizard and the Eldest Slayer Bitch outta his ass, I'll never know."
Skip gave another steam kettle, derisive snort. "Friggin'," he made an indescribable noise deep in his throat that sounded like a Klingon gargling with barbed wire, "~*~!~# should have torn that damned carpenter's soul – souls, whoda figured he had multiples? – apart like rice paper confetti. 'Stead, that damned supposed to be dead witch and that frigging vengeance demon managed to send him and the brain dead cheerleader to the last freaking place they needed to wind up. And the gods be rotted ~*~!~#'s are freaking expensive, too. Shit."
He threw his hands up, pacing back and forth across the vaulted stone chamber. "And the Boss thinks it's all my freaking fault. Had the damned Seer almost primed, too – a little bit more, and a nudge, and she'd have been all ready to make with the sparklies and the rising up into the 'heavens' crap."
Skip growled deep in his chest. "But noooo. Goddamned Whistler had to somehow put that damned punk human across her path in Vegas. Shit. I shoulda simply broken that little twerp's neck way back when, 'steada getting fancy."
Snarling again under his breath, Skip threw himself into a large wrought and metallic chair, and dug into a carved stone chest near his feet. Pulling out a large earthenware bottle that was dripping with condensation, he twisted off the cap and upended it, taking a deep draught.
Damned shame, he thought, that he couldn't just pull the heads off of the badly dressed pimp wanna be and his two cohorts. But nah – part of the Accords that bound all of the various Powers when the old gods withdrew constrained any of the Agents of those various Powers from acting directly against each other. Physically or otherwise, and Skip knew better than to try. Just as those same Accords constrained the Powers themselves and the old – and newer – gods from direct conflict with each other.
Probably a good thing, Skip thought, grudgingly. The old days when Herakles, Ares, Wotan, and their ilk used to beat on each other directly got pretty wild and hairy at times. And destructive.
Not that them acting through their various Champions and mortal representatives had been much better, at least for humanity and the various related species. Just ask the Trojans about that one...
Skip took another long draught from his bottle, and then smiled slowly.
Of course, no Accords protected the mortal representatives themselves.
Heh. That's what Champions were for. Dying. That's why the Powers were always needing, forging, and grooming replacements.
Champions died, and that was the way of things.
That was their freaking job.
Integrated and beefed up or not, the human construction worker was man most mortal. As was Angel's bimbo Seer. As were the Slayers.
Wouldn't do to be overt about it, or to act against the mortal directly. He wanted to cut the frail off from her support and seduce her, not set her dead against everything and off on some vengeance kick.
Needs be, he could always Ascend the bitch directly without her consent. Harder to do, but doable. Nice to have a last resort option.
Save the cheerleader, save the world. Kill the carpenter, damn the cheerleader, and damn the world. Worlds.
Skip grinned malevolently, and made a sound that was reminiscent of the noise a dying dolphin makes while mating.
"S'all right, Whistler," he said. "You wanna get cute? Two can play that crap."
Knight of Ghosts and Shadows my shiny metallic ass.
The thought cued another, and the metallic demon scowled briefly. Have to also make sure to not leave fingerprints that any higher beings can detect. Really wouldn't do to attract the attention – or the ire – of old Two Faced.
At least not to himself...
Ever since that idiot Chaos Mage, Ethan Rayne had invoked the old bastard for that bit of Samhain fun of his, the God of Gates and Doorways had declared that damned and damnable township, the active Hellmouth, and its environs to be a part of his own demesne and purview. And all within it that had been touched by that wave of chaos magic to be under his dominion.
It was only by virtue of having been able to manage to separate the damned cheerleader bitch from her asshole boyfriend in the first place, and get her out of frigging Sunnydale and to L.A. – out of the area of Intellectus of the old bearded god – that Skip had been able to pull off his patron's machinations with the future Mother. If she'd stayed there under the old bastard's purview, then no one and nothing outside of the normal range of supernatural menaces would have dared to lay claw or scheme upon her. She'd have been hands off to both his employer and to the likes of him.
Oh well. Soon enough, they'd be out of that pestilent burg and back into the greater world. Fair game again.
Tossing away the empty, Skip dug another bottle from the cold chest, and leaned back to contemplate things. Specifically, he began to contemplate the possibilities inherent in Wolfram and Hart.
Specifically, one Lilah Morgan and her awakened interest in a certain carpenter turned chaos dispenser...
Hey. Always nice if you can kill two players with one idiot ball.
That didn't work, well, then... he'd just have to accelerate the program without all of the preliminaries. Clumsy, but that had its advantages also.
.