AN: Thanks to all who reviewed. I'm glad you all have
such strong opinions about this peice. I like getting
reviews, good or bad. They give me a chance to make
things more clear. I realize that the prologue was
unclear. It was that way for a purpose. Caden is
that way for a purpose, and so is her mind, opinions,
and situation. This next chapter is going to begin to
explain it better, but you probably won't understand
this character until the end of the story. Which
isn't for a while. About Buffy dying, the slit of the
throat wasn't just the first part of the fight. It
was the AFTERMATH. And Rashid, review the defenition
of AU. I said in the summary Buffy was gonna die, and
that Angelus was gonna kill her. I never said that's
how it actually happened, realism be damned. Thank
you for your opinion, though. I hope I can make it
change.
AN2: There is some darker stuff in this chapter.
Caden contradicts herself a lot, but that's part of
how her mind works. So deal with it. And don't say
that's not real. Because I know for a fact that
people's minds contradict themselves, and they do
stupid things because of it. From experience. So
shut the fuck up. --emily
CHAPTER ONE: WHAT IT REALLY IS
Caden and Wesley got out of the car that Wesley had just bought less than an hour ago in Sunnydale Motors and looked at a crummy looking apartment building. Caden raised one thin, dark eyebrow at the Watcher.
"Thought a watcher would want better digs than this."
"I do." Wesley said crisply, pulling Caden's duffel out of the backseat and tossing it to her. She caught it and put the strap over her shoulder. "This is your apartment," he continued, throwing her a set of keys and pulling out another black duffel Caden hadn't seen before.
"I'm living by myself in a town I've never even heard of before?" Caden asked unsurely. Her watcher smiled.
"That a problem?" Caden grinned.
"Not at all. I just wanted to make sure. This rocks!"
"The council will pay for it, of course." Wesley said, as they headed into the building and for the stairs. "And the rest of your possessions have been shipped. They'll arrive in about a week."
"That's fine. I can get a job or whatever during the day to pay for food, train after, and slay at night. It'll work out fine."
"Don't forget your main goal."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. The arrogant and almighty Angelus. I'll kick his ass." She smiled at him as she stopped at her door.
"Oh, and you have school first thing tomorrow." Wesley smiled cheerily.
"What?" Caden asked angrily. "I thought I didn't have to go through all that shit!"
"Well, Caden, a, erm, semi-normal life is a good thing for you to lead. It's healthy. Oh, don't forget, secret identity comes into play."
"Secrets secrets are no fun, Wes."
"As you so eloquently phrase things so often: screw it." He smiled at her. "You'll be allright?"
"Yeah." Caden said. Wes handed her the other black duffel bag.
"Weapons. Consider it a housewarming. I'd like you to check in with me tomorrow at my place, this address." He said, handing her a slip of paper from his coat pocket.
"Want me to patrol?" She asked. She'd done a lot of it back in Seattle, but never with any superstrength. She wanted to take it for a test drive.
"I'd rather you didn't. Get a good night's rest, and go to school in the morning. Sunnydale High School. You'll find it, we passed by it today on the way in."
"Fine. Am I enrolled?"
"Mr. Travers made the call himself just as we got on the plane."
"Good. So, after school, this address?"
"Yes. Have a good night." Wesley said in his sharp british accent, and left as Caden stuck her key in the lock.
She entered her apartment and looked around. A small refrigerator was in a corner, and there was a soft-looking double bed in the opposite corner. There was a small tv in a corner on a table, and a desk on the same wall. A bathroom led off from the main room, with a shower, toilet and sink. The lighting was dim, and there was a closet next to the bathroom, where Caden threw her black duffel full of weapons. She put the blue duffel with her things by the bedside table, and rummaged through it, looking to see what they had packed for her. Not much. Just some clothes, a toothbrush, a stake, her books, cds, but, what? A lot of important stuff was missing. Drugstore stuff. Guess I'll have to go out and get some, Caden thought, pulling out the wallet from its chain in her pocket. She looked to see how much money she had left. Luckily, it was the beginning of the week, so she had a lot. She decided to go out, get some food, and some of the stuff she needed. It would give her a good chance to take a look at the hellmouth. ~*~
Later, Caden walked down the streets of downtown Sunnydale. There wasn't even an uptown. Just a down. How screwy was that? She thought to herself. She glanced around at the remaining open shops. She had already gotten the stuff she'd needed. She was bored, though, and wanted something to do. So she headed over to an art gallery, whose lights were on. However, the closed sign was on, too.
Caden spotted a blonde, curly haired woman in the gallery, sitting at her desk, looking upset. She tried the door. It was open. She stepped inside. The alarm went off, making the woman jump.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The woman demanded.
"I-I'm not trying to steal anything." Caden shouted over the alarm.
"What?" The other woman asked.
"I said I'm not stealing anything! I just wanted to look at that painting over there!" She shouted louder. The woman snapped off the alarm and came over to her, looking at the girl.
Joyce looked at her. The girl was about five five, with long, thick dark hair that hung loose. Her bright blue eyes were outlined with black mascara and eyeliner, and she wore baggy, faded jeans that looked about ten years old. They were written and doodled all over in permanent marker, just random things. She wore beat up, old Converse sneakers and a black tank top. She looked like a troublemaker, with her surplus of silver necklaces and rings. Something in her eyes, though, spoke to Joyce. She could tell there was something about this girl... something she had inside of her. Something that strangely reminded her of her dead daughter.
Joyce broke down into tears.
Caden didn't know what to do. She looked around. Why in the world was this woman crying? What did she do? Was it the hellmouth? God, she could tell she was gonna hate this place.
~*~
About twenty minutes of tears shed later, Joyce and Caden sat awkwardly on the carpeted floor of the gallery. Caden looked at the woman.
"Wanna tell me what the saltwater was all 'bout?"
"Excuse me?" Joyce asked.
"Crying? Tears? Weeping?" Caden tried. Joyce looked down.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just... I saw something in your eyes. It reminded me of my...of my daughter." Joyce struggled with her words.
"Oh. Well I can see where that would be, erm, upsetting." Caden said softly.
"She died a week ago." Joyce stated.
"Oh." Caden fell silent for a few minutes. "Wanna talk?" She offered. She wasn't usually much for listening, or talking, but this woman needed it.
"H-her name was Buffy. She was seventeen... just a normal girl."
"Let me guess. Just another murder?" Caden asked. "God, this place..."
"Have you been around here long?" Joyce asked. "I've never seen you come into my gallery."
"Got here today, to tell ya the truth. Heard enough stories bout this town, though." And that slayer, Caden thought.
"Where did you move from?"
"Oh, it's not a move. I'm just here till I get some business taken care of." Caden wished.
"Business? But you're so young!" Joyce said, surprised.
"Well, the children are the future, and the future is now."
"Where are you staying?" Joyce asked.
"My friend's apartment." Seeing the look on the woman's face, she assured her, "I'll be fine."
She just hoped she would be.
~*~
Walking back that night, Caden passed by a graveyard. She glanced over at it, and willed her legs to keep moving. Something was compelling her to the graveyard, some force inside of her that wanted her to enter.
She gave in to the urge, and walked steadily through the black cast iron gate. She walked by the rows of tombstones. All of these people had died. They were just... gone. Their bodies just empty shells of the people they had been. Their souls had gone to another plane, some other reality, where they were no longer in contact with the bodies. That, or they had evaporated, just become nothing, a part of the air, clouds or sky. How many souls had done this? Just... gone somewhere else against their will. All of these stones, landmarking the tally of how many had evaporated or left their previous owners.
She saw two graves, fresh and new. Those were the wrong words, Caden decided. The people buried there, they weren't new. Just new to the soulless, dead community. Not new to the world. They'd been there for enough time to know of it. But not to know it. God, she was talking crazy now.
Nevertheless, Caden dropped her bag, and sat down parallel from the first stone. Her eyes squinted, trying to read in the dim light of the street lamps what the engraved lettering said. She gave up, it was useless. What did it matter who lay underneath the ground, so long as they were there. And not up, pissing her off and distracting her from...
From nothing. That's all life really was, right? Just a bunch of meaningless, routine things to do until you evaporated, or until someone made you evaporate.
So what was the point if you were just going to die? To leave everything and everyone behind, left with... nothing. Sure, they might have your stuff, but they don't have what mattered. Which was you. But then again, they never had you in the first place, now did they? They only had themselves, and sometimes they would lose themselves. In music, in pain, in happiness, in total destruction of their own souls. Everyone lost themself at one point or another before they died, and usually it was the cause of their death, where they just lost.
That's not all there is to life and death, Caden guessed, but it was all she knew of it. Seeing that woman cry about her daughter being lost forever, being dead, made Caden wish that someone would cry like that for her after she died. Her parents wouldn't. Wesley wasn't the crying type, and he sure as hell didn't care enough. Then again, wanting someone to cry about you after you died was a selfish wish. Especially if it wouldn't happen, anyway. Not the death, that would happen to her, but the tears.
The death. Her death. It would come so soon... the last two Slayers were still young, also. The daughter, only seventeen. Caden was only sixteen. She wished that other girl, that other slayer hadn't died so soon. She obviously had people who cared about her and loved her. The people who didn't should be the ones to die, because it wouldn't affect anybody, it wouldn't instigate any pain in the world. And all that would be left would be people who were loved, and people who could love.
Caden furiously grabbed her bag, and dug through it harshly, looking for her new razor. She pulled it out, breathing heavily. She started to rip open the package, and pulled out the razor, its blade shining, even when there was no light. Caden pushed the sleeve of her crewneck long sleeve shirt up, exposing her pale forearm. She looked down at the soft skin there, amidst which were cuts from before. Weeks before, days before, last night, even, from rusty and clean razor blades. The longest and deepest from a knife, that was four days ago.
Using her new strength, Caden dug the razor deep right into her wrist's veins. She didn't even have to flinch at the pain anymore, she had grown so used to it. That didn't mean she didn't want to do something more destructive, this was enough for now. She closed her eyes, running the sharp blade up and down the bare part of her arm. Feeling the crisp, cool washing over of blood and metal, she opened her eyes again, only about a minute later.
The rush was gone, and all that was left was her forearm covered in blood and dead bodies surrounding her underneath the ground. The bodies slowly were rotting away, just as their souls had rotted and evacuated their vicinity. Caden ran her left hand over her right forearm, trying to get rid of some of the mess. Then again, who would care if she walked down the streets with a bloody arm?
Maybe somebody here. A complete stranger had pretended to care that very evening. Caden pushed the black sleeve back over her forearm, temporarily concealing the shallow, clean gashes. She put the bloody razor back in the bag, and stood up, taking the bag with her as she headed for the exit of the graveyard.
She didn't even know what it meant to be what she was. All she knew of it was pain, and death, and solitude. What more was there, even if someone did love you? And if somebody did, would that really make your life any better?
AN: There it is. If you don't like it, tell me what. Doesn't mean it's gonna change though. Doesn't mean this character's gonna change.
CHAPTER TWO PREVIEW:
Angelus could smell the fresh blood on the girl's slender, pale arm. It had been released from a razor's kiss. It wouldn't be the only kiss to release blood that night.
CHAPTER ONE: WHAT IT REALLY IS
Caden and Wesley got out of the car that Wesley had just bought less than an hour ago in Sunnydale Motors and looked at a crummy looking apartment building. Caden raised one thin, dark eyebrow at the Watcher.
"Thought a watcher would want better digs than this."
"I do." Wesley said crisply, pulling Caden's duffel out of the backseat and tossing it to her. She caught it and put the strap over her shoulder. "This is your apartment," he continued, throwing her a set of keys and pulling out another black duffel Caden hadn't seen before.
"I'm living by myself in a town I've never even heard of before?" Caden asked unsurely. Her watcher smiled.
"That a problem?" Caden grinned.
"Not at all. I just wanted to make sure. This rocks!"
"The council will pay for it, of course." Wesley said, as they headed into the building and for the stairs. "And the rest of your possessions have been shipped. They'll arrive in about a week."
"That's fine. I can get a job or whatever during the day to pay for food, train after, and slay at night. It'll work out fine."
"Don't forget your main goal."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. The arrogant and almighty Angelus. I'll kick his ass." She smiled at him as she stopped at her door.
"Oh, and you have school first thing tomorrow." Wesley smiled cheerily.
"What?" Caden asked angrily. "I thought I didn't have to go through all that shit!"
"Well, Caden, a, erm, semi-normal life is a good thing for you to lead. It's healthy. Oh, don't forget, secret identity comes into play."
"Secrets secrets are no fun, Wes."
"As you so eloquently phrase things so often: screw it." He smiled at her. "You'll be allright?"
"Yeah." Caden said. Wes handed her the other black duffel bag.
"Weapons. Consider it a housewarming. I'd like you to check in with me tomorrow at my place, this address." He said, handing her a slip of paper from his coat pocket.
"Want me to patrol?" She asked. She'd done a lot of it back in Seattle, but never with any superstrength. She wanted to take it for a test drive.
"I'd rather you didn't. Get a good night's rest, and go to school in the morning. Sunnydale High School. You'll find it, we passed by it today on the way in."
"Fine. Am I enrolled?"
"Mr. Travers made the call himself just as we got on the plane."
"Good. So, after school, this address?"
"Yes. Have a good night." Wesley said in his sharp british accent, and left as Caden stuck her key in the lock.
She entered her apartment and looked around. A small refrigerator was in a corner, and there was a soft-looking double bed in the opposite corner. There was a small tv in a corner on a table, and a desk on the same wall. A bathroom led off from the main room, with a shower, toilet and sink. The lighting was dim, and there was a closet next to the bathroom, where Caden threw her black duffel full of weapons. She put the blue duffel with her things by the bedside table, and rummaged through it, looking to see what they had packed for her. Not much. Just some clothes, a toothbrush, a stake, her books, cds, but, what? A lot of important stuff was missing. Drugstore stuff. Guess I'll have to go out and get some, Caden thought, pulling out the wallet from its chain in her pocket. She looked to see how much money she had left. Luckily, it was the beginning of the week, so she had a lot. She decided to go out, get some food, and some of the stuff she needed. It would give her a good chance to take a look at the hellmouth. ~*~
Later, Caden walked down the streets of downtown Sunnydale. There wasn't even an uptown. Just a down. How screwy was that? She thought to herself. She glanced around at the remaining open shops. She had already gotten the stuff she'd needed. She was bored, though, and wanted something to do. So she headed over to an art gallery, whose lights were on. However, the closed sign was on, too.
Caden spotted a blonde, curly haired woman in the gallery, sitting at her desk, looking upset. She tried the door. It was open. She stepped inside. The alarm went off, making the woman jump.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The woman demanded.
"I-I'm not trying to steal anything." Caden shouted over the alarm.
"What?" The other woman asked.
"I said I'm not stealing anything! I just wanted to look at that painting over there!" She shouted louder. The woman snapped off the alarm and came over to her, looking at the girl.
Joyce looked at her. The girl was about five five, with long, thick dark hair that hung loose. Her bright blue eyes were outlined with black mascara and eyeliner, and she wore baggy, faded jeans that looked about ten years old. They were written and doodled all over in permanent marker, just random things. She wore beat up, old Converse sneakers and a black tank top. She looked like a troublemaker, with her surplus of silver necklaces and rings. Something in her eyes, though, spoke to Joyce. She could tell there was something about this girl... something she had inside of her. Something that strangely reminded her of her dead daughter.
Joyce broke down into tears.
Caden didn't know what to do. She looked around. Why in the world was this woman crying? What did she do? Was it the hellmouth? God, she could tell she was gonna hate this place.
~*~
About twenty minutes of tears shed later, Joyce and Caden sat awkwardly on the carpeted floor of the gallery. Caden looked at the woman.
"Wanna tell me what the saltwater was all 'bout?"
"Excuse me?" Joyce asked.
"Crying? Tears? Weeping?" Caden tried. Joyce looked down.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just... I saw something in your eyes. It reminded me of my...of my daughter." Joyce struggled with her words.
"Oh. Well I can see where that would be, erm, upsetting." Caden said softly.
"She died a week ago." Joyce stated.
"Oh." Caden fell silent for a few minutes. "Wanna talk?" She offered. She wasn't usually much for listening, or talking, but this woman needed it.
"H-her name was Buffy. She was seventeen... just a normal girl."
"Let me guess. Just another murder?" Caden asked. "God, this place..."
"Have you been around here long?" Joyce asked. "I've never seen you come into my gallery."
"Got here today, to tell ya the truth. Heard enough stories bout this town, though." And that slayer, Caden thought.
"Where did you move from?"
"Oh, it's not a move. I'm just here till I get some business taken care of." Caden wished.
"Business? But you're so young!" Joyce said, surprised.
"Well, the children are the future, and the future is now."
"Where are you staying?" Joyce asked.
"My friend's apartment." Seeing the look on the woman's face, she assured her, "I'll be fine."
She just hoped she would be.
~*~
Walking back that night, Caden passed by a graveyard. She glanced over at it, and willed her legs to keep moving. Something was compelling her to the graveyard, some force inside of her that wanted her to enter.
She gave in to the urge, and walked steadily through the black cast iron gate. She walked by the rows of tombstones. All of these people had died. They were just... gone. Their bodies just empty shells of the people they had been. Their souls had gone to another plane, some other reality, where they were no longer in contact with the bodies. That, or they had evaporated, just become nothing, a part of the air, clouds or sky. How many souls had done this? Just... gone somewhere else against their will. All of these stones, landmarking the tally of how many had evaporated or left their previous owners.
She saw two graves, fresh and new. Those were the wrong words, Caden decided. The people buried there, they weren't new. Just new to the soulless, dead community. Not new to the world. They'd been there for enough time to know of it. But not to know it. God, she was talking crazy now.
Nevertheless, Caden dropped her bag, and sat down parallel from the first stone. Her eyes squinted, trying to read in the dim light of the street lamps what the engraved lettering said. She gave up, it was useless. What did it matter who lay underneath the ground, so long as they were there. And not up, pissing her off and distracting her from...
From nothing. That's all life really was, right? Just a bunch of meaningless, routine things to do until you evaporated, or until someone made you evaporate.
So what was the point if you were just going to die? To leave everything and everyone behind, left with... nothing. Sure, they might have your stuff, but they don't have what mattered. Which was you. But then again, they never had you in the first place, now did they? They only had themselves, and sometimes they would lose themselves. In music, in pain, in happiness, in total destruction of their own souls. Everyone lost themself at one point or another before they died, and usually it was the cause of their death, where they just lost.
That's not all there is to life and death, Caden guessed, but it was all she knew of it. Seeing that woman cry about her daughter being lost forever, being dead, made Caden wish that someone would cry like that for her after she died. Her parents wouldn't. Wesley wasn't the crying type, and he sure as hell didn't care enough. Then again, wanting someone to cry about you after you died was a selfish wish. Especially if it wouldn't happen, anyway. Not the death, that would happen to her, but the tears.
The death. Her death. It would come so soon... the last two Slayers were still young, also. The daughter, only seventeen. Caden was only sixteen. She wished that other girl, that other slayer hadn't died so soon. She obviously had people who cared about her and loved her. The people who didn't should be the ones to die, because it wouldn't affect anybody, it wouldn't instigate any pain in the world. And all that would be left would be people who were loved, and people who could love.
Caden furiously grabbed her bag, and dug through it harshly, looking for her new razor. She pulled it out, breathing heavily. She started to rip open the package, and pulled out the razor, its blade shining, even when there was no light. Caden pushed the sleeve of her crewneck long sleeve shirt up, exposing her pale forearm. She looked down at the soft skin there, amidst which were cuts from before. Weeks before, days before, last night, even, from rusty and clean razor blades. The longest and deepest from a knife, that was four days ago.
Using her new strength, Caden dug the razor deep right into her wrist's veins. She didn't even have to flinch at the pain anymore, she had grown so used to it. That didn't mean she didn't want to do something more destructive, this was enough for now. She closed her eyes, running the sharp blade up and down the bare part of her arm. Feeling the crisp, cool washing over of blood and metal, she opened her eyes again, only about a minute later.
The rush was gone, and all that was left was her forearm covered in blood and dead bodies surrounding her underneath the ground. The bodies slowly were rotting away, just as their souls had rotted and evacuated their vicinity. Caden ran her left hand over her right forearm, trying to get rid of some of the mess. Then again, who would care if she walked down the streets with a bloody arm?
Maybe somebody here. A complete stranger had pretended to care that very evening. Caden pushed the black sleeve back over her forearm, temporarily concealing the shallow, clean gashes. She put the bloody razor back in the bag, and stood up, taking the bag with her as she headed for the exit of the graveyard.
She didn't even know what it meant to be what she was. All she knew of it was pain, and death, and solitude. What more was there, even if someone did love you? And if somebody did, would that really make your life any better?
AN: There it is. If you don't like it, tell me what. Doesn't mean it's gonna change though. Doesn't mean this character's gonna change.
CHAPTER TWO PREVIEW:
Angelus could smell the fresh blood on the girl's slender, pale arm. It had been released from a razor's kiss. It wouldn't be the only kiss to release blood that night.