Disclaimer- Godzilla: The Series is the property of Sony-Tristar and Touhou Ltd. Buffy The Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Any other characters loosely referenced are property of their respective owners and there will be a list at the end of the fic. This ficlet is rated PG by the Motion Picture Association of America for referenced violence and mild bad language. It is between "Another Cycle" and "Terrible As The Dawn" in the "Lizards, Wizards, and Demons, Oh My!" series.

Game Night

September 10, 2000

Seeing the last of the dinner crowd out the door with a wave and a smile, I flipped the sign on the door to "Closed" and locked it securely. A few whispered words and a symbol traced on the glass ensured that anyone attempting to breach the door by more forceful or esoteric means would also find themselves regretting their choice in short order.

Cleaning the diner for the night takes far less time when you can use the occasional bit of fae magic to help. It isn't so much of a sinecure these days; I actually have to work for a living, if I want to stay in the mortal world. Avalon is so bloody boring, though, I find it more than worth it. Even during tax season– mostly.

Once I had everything secured and tidied up, I headed into the back to await my guests. Not that I'd have to wait long; despite reputations, they were generally a responsible and timely lot. By our definitions of "responsible," of course.

First to arrive was Legs, as usual. (Names have power, so we generally don't use the standard ones, when it's just us. Gives us that much more privacy and insulation.) He was tall and handsome as usual, this time with a musical accent that I recognized as being from Ghana. He was also bearing a bag of something that rustled as he pushed past me into the back room.

I groaned. "Please tell me that's something reasonable for snacks, like tortilla chips or Fates forbid, pork rinds."

Setting the bag on the table, Legs pinned me with a dark-eyed stare full of mock indignation. "Roasted grasshoppers are a perfectly reasonable snack in many parts of the world," he replied. "Crunchy and full of protein!"

"You could have warned us what they were before we tried them." I shuddered at the memory.

"I could, but where would be the fun in that? But you may relax, Robin, I have brought boring pretzels and … Flaming Hot Cheetos, I believe they are called."

Good enough– I had a few bags of sour cream potato chips which could make up the slack if necessary. A knock at the back door signaled the arrival of our next attendee.

I opened the door to find a small case of beer being shoved into my arms.

"And greetings to you too, Ray," I said mildly, taking the box and stepping out of the doorway. He grinned at me.

Unlike Legs, Ray generally didn't change his appearance too much. Currently he looked much like I'd seen him last; weather-beaten face that could be anywhere between thirty and sixty, long black hair back in a simple braid, some unobtrusive shell jewelry adorning neck and ears. The black leather biker jacket was new, however.

"Hope you like that, I seem to recall you were a fan of pale ales last I checked," he commented, moving to join Legs at the table. "There's eighteen in the case– two for each of us, and then you have some extras as a host gift."

I took a look at the label as I carried the box into the kitchen. Bridgeport Brewery, located in Portland, Oregon, hmm? Setting the box on one of the counters, I grabbed three bottles and headed back out to join the others.

"Shall we give these a try, gentlemen?" I asked, twisting the cap open. All three of us politely ignored how the bottles had suddenly been chilled to perfection.

The other two opened their bottles and toasted me with them, and we drank. It was, unsurprisingly, excellent– Ray'd always had good taste in beer.

Another knock at the door, and I opened it to see our last two members standing on my back step together. Given that Jack was bearing a small cooler and a disgruntled expression, while Nicholas had a pair of plastic shopping bags, I suspected that my oldest friend had been pressed into service as a pack mule.

I took one of the bags as they entered, and peeked inside. Four large russet potatoes, along with a container of parsley, a canister of salt, and a stick of butter. Marvelous, I hadn't had Nicholas's boiled potatoes in far too long. I don't know what he did to them, but somehow when I tried to recreate the recipe, they were never quite right.

"You do not mind if I borrow your kitchen, do you?" Nicholas asked. His Slavic accent was thicker than usual, suggesting something was weighing on him, but I let it go for now.

"Of course not," I assured him. He cracked open the cooler, taking out four strip steaks, and I raised an eyebrow. "Nicholas, my friend, do tell me you haven't been stealing cattle again."

He gave me a scowl. "I resent that. I would never… repeat myself that way. No, these are from the grocery store, I assure you. The prices were advertised as a 'steal,' so I could simply not resist."

Gah. Slaves to a good joke, all of us. Grabbing a couple more beers out of the box, I handed one to the cook and headed out to give the other to Jack, as well as reclaim my own.

"So, what all have you been up to?" Legs asked. "I mean, I might have heard of some of your projects recently, Robin…"

I hid a smirk behind my beer bottle. "Really, Legs, my godson isn't that much of an attention-getter, is he?"

"I was in Lagos when the damn bat came through," he replied, pointing at me with the neck of his bottle. "Got myself on the boat crew the kid took with him after it. That boy of yours is scary. Five trank darts into the bat's face, bam-bam-bam, like he was using a pump-action shotgun. And then there's the lizard."

Legs shuddered slightly, and I couldn't blame him. I'm a gambler at heart; we all are, really, it's part of our natures. I'd looked over the possible futures, nudged a probability or two, and hoped for the best. But Godzilla, the second one, was… well. It's a good thing that unlike the Powers and the Senior Partners, I have no mania for control. Because Nick is bad enough, but even he doesn't control Godzilla. He can only reason with him. In the end, the creature will do as he sees fit. For beings as powerful as us, to be confronted with something that is so far beyond is… humbling. It's good for us, but that doesn't make it comfortable.

"I've been spending my time up in the Seattle area," Ray said, filling the silence.

"Stealing the sun again?" Legs asked innocently. "They sure as hell could use it."

Ray gave him a withering look. "Got a few things going up there I've been watching. An island out in the Sound, mainly, with the occasional trip to Cascade down the way. Always something interesting going on there."

"Don't they call it 'The Most Dangerous City in America?'" Jack asked. He'd forgone the beard this time around, and it made him look incredibly young. Which meant absolutely nothing with any of us, of course.

Ray snorted. "It's not that dangerous, it's just weird. Even by our standards."

"How so?" I inquired.

"Basketball team vs. Neo-Nazis, turning a hostage situation on its head."

Jack and I both nodded; that was fairly strange even for us.

Legs took a swallow of his beer. "Fucking Nazis. I've been watching a woman in Botswana, opened a private detective agency. She's pretty amazing."

"Since I got invited into Sunnydale on Halloween, I've had access from then on, even if the Powers don't like it," Jack announced. "So I've been doing my best to keep my eye on the kids. Especially Harris, there's a kid after my own heart. I also, down in Texas, picked up an… acolyte's not the right word, but the kid's mine in a way nobody's been for centuries."

Now that sounded interesting. "How so?"

"Ten years old, stepped into a machine that was supposed to be a gateway between the worlds of the living and the dead. Hit a loose wire, got blasted with energy, and now he's half-ghost. Not one thing or the other, you know? So I'm doing my best to actually look out for the kid, help him get what he needs and wants. Which, he's actually a pretty good kid, so that's mostly the safety of his friends and his town, and some actual damn respect once in a while."

Stopping, Jack took a swig of his beer. "I tell you guys, I'm pretty sure school was not this horrible twenty years ago."

"His school's as bad as Sunnydale High?"

"Well, no, nothing is, but it's up there, especially for an elementary school. Fewer dead students, but a little more psychological damage. It's still pretty nasty."

Leaning into the kitchen, Legs called to Nicholas. "How about you? Any interesting stuff filling your time?"

There came an interestingly textured silence, followed by a measured reply. "I shall tell you as we eat," Nicholas said heavily.

The four of us exchanged glances, but said nothing. Fortunately, it wasn't much longer before Nicholas was serving, and the five of us sat down to our meal.

"No vegetables?" Ray asked, cutting into his steak.

Nicholas snorted. "Vegetables are what food eats. If you want them, you will have to provide them yourself."

Ray shook his head. "Nope, I'm good. Just wondered."

After a few more minutes of desultory conversation, Nicholas sighed. "So. My most recent… project. The time of the Beast approaches, and the Monks of Dagon must decide what to do with the Key."

Jack winced. "Poor bastards. Didn't I hear the Powers were nudging them to send it to the Slayer?"

"Indeed, they wish them to incarnate the Key as the Slayer's sister, that she may protect it– her, rather, from the Beast. And fall in the process, restoring at least in part the timeline we have so carefully derailed to this point."

"You have a plan, though, right?" Legs said. "Otherwise you'd have been asking for input as soon as you got here."

Nicholas nodded. "I do, and I have put it into motion. It is simply… hard to wait and worry, when even success means so many deaths."

Beings like us, creatures of the native magic of this world, we depend on the existence of human beings in a way that creatures like the Powers do not. The Powers would allow the utter annihilation of humanity if it preserved their precious balance. We may not value human lives the way humans do, but we are not so cavalier as the Powers may be. Mass death is always a situation to be regretted and mourned.

"What did you tell them?" Jack asked, after a second.

Nicholas smiled slightly. "I simply pointed out, as old Brother Veles, that the spell would be far more effective at hiding the Key from the Beast, if it had to put less power into inserting a person and all that went with them from scratch. And that there were, in fact, scientific ways now to create a person, a real person, with no history whatsoever. Then I just let them realize how many powerful protectors a Key in that position would have. I believe the necessary alterations to the ritual have already been done."

Which meant all there was to do was wait, and hope. I raised my bottle.

"Gentlemen, a toast. To those poor doomed bastards, who are doing more for this world and it's people than the Powers That Be ever considered."

The others all echoed me, and we drank. After a few more minutes of eating, I looked up.

"Am I right in thinking that this campaign is Legs's turn?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Ten bucks we're fighting Lolth again."

"If we trip over Drizzt Do'urden again, I'm stabbing the overexposed jackass," Ray replied.

"Just for that, I'm making you assholes run the Tomb of Horrors," Legs replied. "Stat up some characters you feel like losing, I'm going full Gygax on your asses."

God, I reflected, as I finished my steak, may not play dice with the universe, but we do.

Your move now, Glorificus. Roll for initiative.

Owari

—

All anachronisms in this story are intentional, unlike anywhere else in the series. Fae and Trickster Gods tend to have very interesting relationships with time, after all…

Legs - Anansi, Western Africa

Jack - Janus, Rome

Ray - Raven, Pacific Northwestern tribes

Nicholas - Veles, Slavic

The Sentinel property of Pet Fly, Danny Phantom property of Nick and Butch Hartman. #1 Ladies' Detective Agency property of Alexander McCall Smith.