Humanitas | Dawn stood in the back of the shop, amidst the training equipment. She hated the smell back here, all sweaty and gym-classy. Buffy might be the Slayer, but her sweat smelled just as bad as anyone else's. Dawn made a mental note to give her sister a hard time about that. The sound of voices drew her attention. The stranger's voice was warm and rich, deeper than Spike's. She'd only gotten an impression of him but he did look more like that creepy old Doc than she liked. She just couldn't put her finger on what it was in particular that reminded her of Doc. The curtain was pulled aside, and Dawn straightened up quickly. "Buffy, what's going on?" "Never mind. Go home." Buffy seemed nervous. Dawn was certain this wasn't Doc, even if he looked a little like Doc, and he obviously wasn't a vampire. "I don't want to go home. You never let me help. I won't get in the way, and I can do stuff. I..." "You will go home. Now. I don't want you getting hurt." "But..." "Go!" Buffy gave an exasperated sigh. "We'll talk about it later." "Fine. I didn't want to hang around here smelling your stinky old sweat, anyway." That got her a very satisfying response as she stepped out the back door. |
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The Slayer stepped back into the shop, and Marcus could hear the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the back. He remained silent as the Slayer approached him, her chin tilted upwards to stare him straight in the face. He met her stare boldly, and glanced pointedly at his belongings for a third time. "No," she said clearly. "You're not getting your stuff until you tell me what it was doing where we found it." Marcus kept his face still, but his eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly at her commanding tone. "I left it there, obviously." "On the doorstep of a boarded-up apartment." This from the dark-haired guy, who'd at least finally put Marcus' shirt back on top of the rucksack. "That's right." Marcus' gaze flickered between them, finally resting on the Slayer in front of him. "I had my own way in." "And that would be how?" The Slayer's voice was skeptical. "You never heard of windows?" A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she quickly caught it. "So you get in through the window, into a board-up abandoned apartment because what, you like the smell of mothballs?" "No, I was looking for the man who lives there." "He doesn't live there now." "It looked like he still did..." Marcus caught the witches' expressions. "Boarded-up doors don't mean it's empty," he added. I hope I sound convincing, he thought, his mind flitting through various explanations as he weighed each and promptly discarded each in turn. But if my uncle didn't want them to know he was there... "He's dead." This from the shop girl, behind him, in a clear voice as if she thought she was being helpful. Marcus could feel his face paling under the shock. That's why he's scared of her. If he had her measure, when this Slayer thought someone was dead, she expected the person to stay that way. He hoped they thought he was shocked for another reason. Now I just need to make them believe it's the truth. "That's it, then," he said, exhaling suddenly. Marcus sank down onto the nearest chair and put his head in his hands, still spinning through possible stories. Think, think, dammit, he chided himself. Willow and Tara exchanged a surprised glance, and both looked at Buffy. She met their eyes with a puzzled expression and shrugged slightly. Marcus let his hands drop, and leaned back in his chair as if completely dejected. When he spoke, his voice was the flat tones of the defeated, and he looked at nothing in particular. "I was hoping he could help me." When no one spoke, he continued softly. "That man is - was - one of the greatest linguists in the occult underworld." "You mean that demon." The vampire's voice dripped with sarcasm. Marcus ignored him. "I have... papers, that I need translated. It's a matter of far more importance to me than the racial background of whomever can translate them." "And you were where when we found your bag?" The dark-haired young man smirked. "Hiding, obviously." Marcus snorted. "I saw you through the window, and neither of you looked nearly old enough to be the man I was looking for. I didn't have time to hide my bag, too, though." Marcus stole a look at the Slayer. Her eyebrows were raised, and she glanced over his head at several of the others before she turned to look at him again. She seemed to have come to a decision. Let's hope it's one where she believes me, he thought, a touch of desperation ringing through his mind. |
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Aeralyus wandered the streets of Sunnydale, admiring the college girls and keeping one eye open for Marcus. He could sense Marcus' traces, but they were too dispersed to pinpoint a location. The frustration seeping into his mind from his sister was contagious, and he focused on the college students again to block her out. Aeralyus did not intend to get in his father's way, but they were so close.
That boy is smarter than Talia gives him credit for, he thought smugly as he tried to discern the older traces from the newer ones. I heard that. Aeralyus grinned openly at his sister's cranky response. I tried Father, he responded. He was busy, it seems. I know. She sounded a little out of breath. He left you a message. Oh? I'm cleaning it up as we speak. Aeralyus laughed out loud, startling several people near him. He grinned good-naturedly at them, and still chuckling to himself, continued walking. The town wasn't that big... eventually he'd track down his stubborn cousin. He turned a corner and inhaled, throwing his head back and nearly laughing out loud again. Talia, he commented smugly, small towns do have their benefits. |
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She studied him for a second longer, then opened her mouth to speak - and the front door of the Magic Box was simultaneously blown off its hinges. Marcus immediately grabbed his stuff and spun to face the door, dropping to a crouch. Around him, the Slayer's companions reacted, shouting to each other as books fell and tarot decks swirled in the freezing wind. "Another apocalypse already?" Xander was shouting as he scrambled from where he'd fallen. Another strong gust of cold air blasted into the store, and books were falling as the shelves shook. "It's too early for vampires," the shop girl was hollering. Something crashed to the ground behind Marcus, and he fought to remain in place while he listened to the wind. How long do I have, he thought frantically. "You can usually see vampires!" the redhead shouted back. Several books flew off the shelves and one slammed into the blonde witch. "Tara!" screamed the redhead, grabbing the witch and getting her down on the floor. Another gust of wind blasted the shop and the table was shoved across the floor. The two girls screamed behind him, and he flinched - and noticed that the Slayer had a stake out already. |
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"Quiet, Slayer, you don't know what you're up against." She recoiled from his touch. In not quite a whisper, she said: "Who the hell are you?" |
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They can't hear it, he thought, until he saw the witch's face. She'd gone as pale as the moon, her eyes large and unfocused, her pupils mere pinpricks as she listened. Her long hair had come undone and tendrils were wrapped around her face but she didn't seem to notice. He stared back, desperate, his own darkened eyes glinting silver reflections on a black surface. Her eyes met his, focused, and widened as she stared at him in horror. Embarrassed, he turned his head away from her as the keening grew louder. "Something's coming," the Slayer whispered to no one in particular. "Buffy -" the witch started to say, then stopped. Marcus glanced at the Slayer. Buffy. At least I know what name to shout when I tell her to get out of my way. The keening was growing louder. He was running out of options, and almost out of time. The wind started to build again, whipping through the shop. "Who are you," Buffy demanded a second time, her eyes never leaving the door. |
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"You might say that," she whispered harshly, "Vamps usually come through the front door or the back door. They're creative that way." Despite the situation, he couldn't help letting a brief smile cross his face. It disappeared as quickly as it came. "These aren't vampires." |
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Marcus hesitated again, caught between fleeing - just take the bag and go! - and staying. He just as quickly negated the second option, though. They aren't part of this fight, and I don't need to make allies with enemies. He glared at the Slayer from under his lowered eyebrows, and prepared to spring out of his crouch. As he began to unfold himself, he measured the distance to the door. The Slayer may have fast reflexes, but he gauged that he could match hers. As he raised his body to stand up, a blast of wind hit him with hurricane force, almost sending him sprawling but for a sudden grab from the Slayer. The crying sound inside the wind had doubled in volume. His ears were pounding. He was blinded, and didn't notice the Slayer letting go of him almost as soon as she'd pulled him back to the floor. "Your father -" Marcus winced, and forced himself to consciousness long enough to twist around to face the older man, kneeling behind them. "My what?" he hollered as the wind shoved the words back down his throat. Giles repeated his question, one hand gripping the notes and the other holding onto the edge of the table. "What was your father's name?" "Siefer!" "I'm Rupert Giles!" Marcus stared in open astonishment, quickly followed by anger. He knew all along, and he was playing me, he realized. Marcus wasn't pleased, but now he'd waited too long. He might not be able to get out - the wind was forcing them down to the ground, and seeming to pass right through the building. Panic was rising in his gut. It's a good chance, Marcus figured, the building's surrounded, or damn near close. He closed his eyes in concentration, barely holding on, and the mental effort of keeping still made his knees buckle. His hands hit the floor, his head low as he panted desperately. They were calling to him, and there was nowhere to run. The crying became overwhelming, and Marcus wanted to scream to drown it out, but his lungs were being crushed under the pressure. |
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Doc poured coffee into his favorite mug, mumbling to himself. "Getting a little too easy to relate to you guys." He set the coffee pot down and as he reached for the sugar, the mug suddenly shattered, spraying him with hot coffee. You're getting predictable, too, he noted blandly. Slowly he reached for a towel, and began mopping the coffee off himself and then off the table. His expression blank, he hummed quietly as he finished cleaning the mess before setting down the towel and turning around. A stunning brunette was standing directly behind him. She towered over him, her ebony curls draping her shoulders and hugging her curves as they poured down to her waist. Her red dress barely covered parts... well, parts that usually remain covered, Doc observed noncommittally. She smiled at Doc, a lightening display of sharp white teeth. An altogether unpleasant smile. "Good afternoon, Father." Doc eyed her, and then turned to take down another mug. He took his time pouring himself a second cup, humming tunelessly as he did so. They revel in their beautiful shells, he thought, amused. Just wait till those shells age as much as mine. While his daughter preferred a dark sleek appearance, his son was blond, and compactly muscular. They did not resemble each other in their human forms, which worked to their advantage when it was more effective to pose as lovers than brother and sister. "Hmm, yes." Doc nodded, smiling congenially at his daughter but she wasn't fooled. She smiled back, nonetheless. He pointed to a chair, and they both sat. "Have you lost your brother, or is he off making trouble elsewhere?" "I didn't lose him, Father," she replied tartly. "He's busy." I'm sure, Doc replied silently, and continued humming almost inaudibly to himself. Aeralyus, being the oldest by six minutes, was the more powerful of the two. He was capable of instant power when Talia was forced to concentrate for several minutes. It was a constant source of irritation with her, especially when he got cocky. They're a good team, Doc had to admit, although never to his children. They quibble like any siblings, but they work as a well-oiled machine. Like Doc and his own sister, the twins did not need to speak to communicate, and usually didn't unless they were among humans. And like Doc and his sister, they had worked to develop the telepathic ability between them to an especially sensitive degree. He suppressed a momentary sadness. "Father," she said, a touch of exasperation around the edge of her voice, "you should be helping us, not playing the doddering old fool." His eyes flashed in response as he sipped his coffee. When he looked at her again, his human blue eyes were wide and naive again. "I have business of my own, Talia, and I'd expect you to not make trouble where I am busy." "Busy doing what?" she said, suddenly curious. I'm sure you'd love to know, Doc thought, amused. "Nothing that concerns you," he replied out loud, "just a little of this, that. Doddering old fool kinds of things." He reached over for a spoon and stirred his coffee some more, humming as he watched the coffee swirl in the cup. Talia twitched in irritation, casting several glances at the window before turning her attention back to her father. "Do they include Marcus?" Her eyes glinted in the sun slanting through the windows. "Or can we finally finish what you started?" "Hmm," Doc began... and without warning, his eyes were pools of dark pitch as he stared at his daughter. "Talia," he began, a soft whispery sound that meant nothing but trouble, and she flinched. "I don't care what you do, as long as you take it elsewhere." Any facade of senility was again gone, and in its place was an angry demon. Talia knew her father was powerful enough, but angry, he could destroy her without a second thought. Sulky, she made a face at him, and started to speak. He brushed off her expression with coldness, refusing to let her respond. "I suggest, no, I insist that you and your brother take your argument elsewhere. I only intend to warn you once." |
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"Willow!" Buffy suddenly cried from beside him. "Bring up a wall!" "A what?" came back a distant shout. "A wall, I need a wall!" Buffy's voice echoed in Marcus' ears. He crouched on the floor, his mind entirely occupied with fighting the urge to run out into the street and embrace the moaning seductive calls. He managed a glance over at the silent witch, and her eyes acknowledged his fight. He flinched, wishing he could hide from her - and Tara put her hand over his, stilling him as the wind rushed faster over their heads. A shelf went careening across the floor and slammed into the counter. He opened his eyes long enough to see the redhead struggling to say something, then Tara reached across and clasped Willow's hand in her free one. "It's, uh, enemies, fall, no wait!" Willow was crying in frustration. "Enemies, fly and fall, uh, uh, something arms, no-" Marcus focused, and somewhere, distantly, he heard someone scream. |
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"But Father," Talia responded, her usually husky voice taking on a whining note, "Charles is dead. We've waited long enough. Aeralyus has had it figured out all this time, but Marcus wouldn't cooperate. Insisted on settling his father's estate first," she mocked. "He wouldn't listen to reason." Doc hummed for a second as he rearranged some of the books on his desk, before he appeared to remember her presence. "Perhaps, my dear girl," he finally said, "Marcus simply has a different definition of reason." "Father!" Talia sulked for a minute. "We won't be here any longer than necessary. I don't see why you wouldn't be happy to have us visit." "Because," he said, his eyes flashing again, "I don't want you in the way." "Oh, really," she mocked. "Do you honestly believe there is anything is this boring town that can harm us?" Doc's eyes narrowed and then closed. "Yes," he responded quietly, then opened his eyes. "Me." The room started to shift. The TV, which had been against the west wall, was suddenly visible on the opposite wall. Book titles changed and then disappeared. Sparks of energy flitted around Doc and Talia. "Your warning is up." For a split second, he smiled, a dangerous expression. "Father, wait - " Talia suddenly cried, her expression frightened. "That's enough!" Talia vanished. Doc slowly lowered himself back into his chair and pondered her departure. Frightened, he thought. She was frightened. Couldn't be of me, certainly, I've banished her enough in her life. He reached over for his coffee cup, and finished the last few swallows. It's practically a tradition with us. After a few minutes, though, he realized she wasn't reappearing like normal, apologies on her lips, her brother not far behind. In fact, he couldn't sense either of them anywhere nearby. Strange, he reflected. I wasn't that angry... perhaps I am losing it, forgetting my own strength. He set down the coffee cup, grasped the chair arms and pushed himself out of the chair. Groaning, he rubbed the back of his head and looked around for his shoes. No, I don't think that was just me. He stepped out of his house slippers, and slid on his street shoes. Perhaps, the thought suddenly occurred to him, Marcus was helping. This pleased him immensely, and soon he was humming happily as he stepped out onto the street. |
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