TITLE: Viva Las Vegas
SPOILERS: This is an alternate take on what might have happened pre-Epiphany. I started writing it during the whole Beige Angel arc, so it differs quite a bit from the end of the season.
DISCLAIMERS: Joss owns all, I own nothing! I'm just borrowing them for a teensy bit.
There was a period of silence after my little rant, not even the Host making a comment. I stood up, startling everyone a little judging by the way they jumped. But I moved to the bathroom without pausing.
God, where had all that come from? I mean, it's not like I'm thrilled to have the visions, no, but I certainly didn't *hate* them. That's what I did. Do. I'm Vision Girl.
[Didn't stop you from getting fired.] I tried to brush the thought away. My visions hadn't been a part of that decision, but then again, neither had I. That had been Angel's deal, totally, his little walk on the dark side with his skanky blonde ho-Sire. He was over it, Wes and Gunn were over it, and I was over it, right?
Yeah, riiiight.
True, Wesley and Gunn and I were fine without him. Sure, things were a little harder without Mr. Super Vampire Strength to help handle the demon things. Sure, we'd had to work to establish our own contacts with the seamy side of LA.
Sure, it'd been hard to have visions without him there to catch me. With Wesley and Gunn, nine times out of ten I ended up on my butt when the whammy hit me. But I didn't hold that against him.
Would it be repetitive to use another 'yeah, riiiight' in this situation?
But as I stood there looking in the mirror, I knew what the real cause for my lingering resentment was.
The visions were for *him*. I'm his seer. The legacy left to me by Doyle was his little link to the PTB, and I'm nothing more than a conduit. I suffer the pain, the indignity, all the bad things so Mr. Tall Dark and Deadly can get the message, and he fired me. At that point in time, despite the visions, I was nothing more to him than Gunn and Wes were. An obstacle in his path, and one that he disposed of in the easiest way possible.
He fired me.
* * * * * *
I paid little attention to the talk swirling around the room, the murmurs of the other men, as I watched for Cordelia to return. Was something wrong with her? Those damned visions, always causing her so much pain. What if she'd had another one? Fallen and hurt herself or something?
I'd just gotten to my feet, about to follow her to wherever she'd gone, bust in on her, whatever it took to make sure she was okay, when she breezed back into the room. She cocked an eyebrow at me in that old "What the heck is up with *you*?" way, and I sat back down.
"Okay, what's the what? We got a plan here?"
"Not exactly," said Wesley, eyeing her as she sat down near him. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she said briefly, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I just needed to freshen up."
I had to be satisfied with that, even though I knew there was more to it. Something was wrong, wrong with her or wrong with us or maybe just wrong with life in general. But I could see by the set of her shoulders that she was in I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it mode, and nothing and no one could force her to do it. Maybe later I could get her alone, try to persuade her to tell me what was wrong.
Correction. I could have cursed myself again. That's what I could have done, before I made the colossal mistake of thinking that cutting her and the others out of my life was the best way to handle the situation. The only thing I could do now was watch, sitting on the outside with my nose pressed to the glass as she did the best she could to cope with what the PTB and I had handed her.
I turned back to the others as Gunn spoke. "Speakin' of plans, shouldn't we gettin' around to makin' one?"
"Why don't you tell us about the vision, Cordelia?" Wesley's voice was gentle as he spoke to her.
"Not much to tell." She winced a little, and I couldn't tell if it was from lingering pain or what she'd seen. "There is something bad at the casino. Really bad. It's a demon-y thing, and not a vampire. Green, with horns, and lots and lots of teeth. Not much else I can tell you except we really have to get this one."
"I suppose our first course of action would be to travel to this casino, begin making enquiries as to these mysterious disappearances.."
The stranger was shaking his head before Wesley could even finish the sentence. "Nope. Can't do that. If the big bosses find out someone's asking around, everyone on the Strip will clam up before you even start. Whole thing'll move underground, and people will end up hurt. As in the no-longer-living kind of hurt. Probably starting with me."
"Oh, come on, children. Isn't it obvious?" The Host was a little too jovial for my taste, his smile embracing us all. "You'll have to go undercover! I can see it all now... our little friend from overseas will be a faboo croupier, and Gunn, you just scream bouncer. Angel-kins, your role is a little more complicated. I think... high roller? Big money? And you, brown eyes," he turned to look at Cordelia, "why you'll be the pretty little cocktail waitress."
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way I'm going to be demon-bait again. I've played that role once too often. More than once, actually. Nuh-uh. *Not* gonna happen."
"Cordelia," I said, hesitant. "You're pretty much the only one that can."'
"Oh really?" She stared at me, irritation in both eyes and voice. "And why am I the only one who can, huh? Why can't one of you guys play the helpless little lamb, just waiting on the big bad to grab 'em? This is the era of equal opportunity. Let's equal opportunity the demon-bait role!"
"It's got to be a pretty girl, right?" The stranger nodded, and Gunn continued. "Not like one of us can do that. And girl, you know you got it goin' on. Once they get a gander at you, it's practically in the bag." She smiled a little at that.
I was beginning to wish I'd never hired him in the first place.
"I hesitate to mention it," said Wesley slowly, "but a venture of this magnitude is going to require a great deal of money. "
"Already taken care of." The Host waved a hand at the door. "In fact, I'd say our own personal Daddy Warbucks is about to talk through the door."
As if on cue, the door opened, and a cloaked figure walked in. How *does* he do that?
"Greetings, fellow demon hunters and slayers of all things evil," called a familiar voice, and moments later David Nabbit's head popped out as he pushed the cloak's hood down. "How can I help you?"
* * * * * *
And just that easy it was decided. Well, easy in the sense that after I argued for a good half hour I finally gave in and agreed to be the cocktail waitress. It had taken Gunn, Wesley, and The Host all three to convince me, and I still wasn't completely sure it was the only viable plan. But since it was pretty much our only plan, I agreed.
So here we are, piled into Angel's car and on our way to lovely Las Vegas. That stranger, the guy with the really good plastic surgeon, the one who originally brought the case to us, is already back at the casino, smoothing the way for us to take the assigned jobs.
Oh, and setting up a penthouse suite for Diamond Jim Angel. David agreed to stake him enough of the green stuff that no one will ever guess he's not a real high roller, so he's going to be living the high life. I *still* think I was the logical one to play the high roller. Who else knows designer labels and five star restaurants better than I do? No one, of course! But since Angel would look pretty stupid in one of those short skirts, I guess I'm going to be waiting on tables and refilling drink glasses.
Yeah, I was really looking forward to *this* case.
Oh, and Mr. Mysterious, the guy who works at the casino? He refused to tell us his name, or anything about himself. The Host vouched for him, and so far everything he said is on the up-and-up.
But I can't help thinking that there's something we missed about him, something in his background that we're going to need to know...
SPOILERS: This is an alternate take on what might have happened pre-Epiphany. I started writing it during the whole Beige Angel arc, so it differs quite a bit from the end of the season.
DISCLAIMERS: Joss owns all, I own nothing! I'm just borrowing them for a teensy bit.
There was a period of silence after my little rant, not even the Host making a comment. I stood up, startling everyone a little judging by the way they jumped. But I moved to the bathroom without pausing.
God, where had all that come from? I mean, it's not like I'm thrilled to have the visions, no, but I certainly didn't *hate* them. That's what I did. Do. I'm Vision Girl.
[Didn't stop you from getting fired.] I tried to brush the thought away. My visions hadn't been a part of that decision, but then again, neither had I. That had been Angel's deal, totally, his little walk on the dark side with his skanky blonde ho-Sire. He was over it, Wes and Gunn were over it, and I was over it, right?
Yeah, riiiight.
True, Wesley and Gunn and I were fine without him. Sure, things were a little harder without Mr. Super Vampire Strength to help handle the demon things. Sure, we'd had to work to establish our own contacts with the seamy side of LA.
Sure, it'd been hard to have visions without him there to catch me. With Wesley and Gunn, nine times out of ten I ended up on my butt when the whammy hit me. But I didn't hold that against him.
Would it be repetitive to use another 'yeah, riiiight' in this situation?
But as I stood there looking in the mirror, I knew what the real cause for my lingering resentment was.
The visions were for *him*. I'm his seer. The legacy left to me by Doyle was his little link to the PTB, and I'm nothing more than a conduit. I suffer the pain, the indignity, all the bad things so Mr. Tall Dark and Deadly can get the message, and he fired me. At that point in time, despite the visions, I was nothing more to him than Gunn and Wes were. An obstacle in his path, and one that he disposed of in the easiest way possible.
He fired me.
* * * * * *
I paid little attention to the talk swirling around the room, the murmurs of the other men, as I watched for Cordelia to return. Was something wrong with her? Those damned visions, always causing her so much pain. What if she'd had another one? Fallen and hurt herself or something?
I'd just gotten to my feet, about to follow her to wherever she'd gone, bust in on her, whatever it took to make sure she was okay, when she breezed back into the room. She cocked an eyebrow at me in that old "What the heck is up with *you*?" way, and I sat back down.
"Okay, what's the what? We got a plan here?"
"Not exactly," said Wesley, eyeing her as she sat down near him. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she said briefly, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I just needed to freshen up."
I had to be satisfied with that, even though I knew there was more to it. Something was wrong, wrong with her or wrong with us or maybe just wrong with life in general. But I could see by the set of her shoulders that she was in I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it mode, and nothing and no one could force her to do it. Maybe later I could get her alone, try to persuade her to tell me what was wrong.
Correction. I could have cursed myself again. That's what I could have done, before I made the colossal mistake of thinking that cutting her and the others out of my life was the best way to handle the situation. The only thing I could do now was watch, sitting on the outside with my nose pressed to the glass as she did the best she could to cope with what the PTB and I had handed her.
I turned back to the others as Gunn spoke. "Speakin' of plans, shouldn't we gettin' around to makin' one?"
"Why don't you tell us about the vision, Cordelia?" Wesley's voice was gentle as he spoke to her.
"Not much to tell." She winced a little, and I couldn't tell if it was from lingering pain or what she'd seen. "There is something bad at the casino. Really bad. It's a demon-y thing, and not a vampire. Green, with horns, and lots and lots of teeth. Not much else I can tell you except we really have to get this one."
"I suppose our first course of action would be to travel to this casino, begin making enquiries as to these mysterious disappearances.."
The stranger was shaking his head before Wesley could even finish the sentence. "Nope. Can't do that. If the big bosses find out someone's asking around, everyone on the Strip will clam up before you even start. Whole thing'll move underground, and people will end up hurt. As in the no-longer-living kind of hurt. Probably starting with me."
"Oh, come on, children. Isn't it obvious?" The Host was a little too jovial for my taste, his smile embracing us all. "You'll have to go undercover! I can see it all now... our little friend from overseas will be a faboo croupier, and Gunn, you just scream bouncer. Angel-kins, your role is a little more complicated. I think... high roller? Big money? And you, brown eyes," he turned to look at Cordelia, "why you'll be the pretty little cocktail waitress."
"Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way I'm going to be demon-bait again. I've played that role once too often. More than once, actually. Nuh-uh. *Not* gonna happen."
"Cordelia," I said, hesitant. "You're pretty much the only one that can."'
"Oh really?" She stared at me, irritation in both eyes and voice. "And why am I the only one who can, huh? Why can't one of you guys play the helpless little lamb, just waiting on the big bad to grab 'em? This is the era of equal opportunity. Let's equal opportunity the demon-bait role!"
"It's got to be a pretty girl, right?" The stranger nodded, and Gunn continued. "Not like one of us can do that. And girl, you know you got it goin' on. Once they get a gander at you, it's practically in the bag." She smiled a little at that.
I was beginning to wish I'd never hired him in the first place.
"I hesitate to mention it," said Wesley slowly, "but a venture of this magnitude is going to require a great deal of money. "
"Already taken care of." The Host waved a hand at the door. "In fact, I'd say our own personal Daddy Warbucks is about to talk through the door."
As if on cue, the door opened, and a cloaked figure walked in. How *does* he do that?
"Greetings, fellow demon hunters and slayers of all things evil," called a familiar voice, and moments later David Nabbit's head popped out as he pushed the cloak's hood down. "How can I help you?"
* * * * * *
And just that easy it was decided. Well, easy in the sense that after I argued for a good half hour I finally gave in and agreed to be the cocktail waitress. It had taken Gunn, Wesley, and The Host all three to convince me, and I still wasn't completely sure it was the only viable plan. But since it was pretty much our only plan, I agreed.
So here we are, piled into Angel's car and on our way to lovely Las Vegas. That stranger, the guy with the really good plastic surgeon, the one who originally brought the case to us, is already back at the casino, smoothing the way for us to take the assigned jobs.
Oh, and setting up a penthouse suite for Diamond Jim Angel. David agreed to stake him enough of the green stuff that no one will ever guess he's not a real high roller, so he's going to be living the high life. I *still* think I was the logical one to play the high roller. Who else knows designer labels and five star restaurants better than I do? No one, of course! But since Angel would look pretty stupid in one of those short skirts, I guess I'm going to be waiting on tables and refilling drink glasses.
Yeah, I was really looking forward to *this* case.
Oh, and Mr. Mysterious, the guy who works at the casino? He refused to tell us his name, or anything about himself. The Host vouched for him, and so far everything he said is on the up-and-up.
But I can't help thinking that there's something we missed about him, something in his background that we're going to need to know...
