Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's notes: I'm going with shortish chapters for this one, and frequent updates. I trust you all approve.
Imzadi asked whether there would be a Lindsey sighting in this one - I don't know. I wasn't planning on it, but stranger things have happened and he may turn up unexpectedly.
Death Awaits: chapter 5 - The Bronze
The Slayer and her friends have told me that the Bronze, this warehouse in front of us now, is the only place to go in Sunnydale. I'm glad I didn't grow up here. There is music coming from inside - something indie, possibly live - and lots of young people. Younger than me, though not much, really. We smile at the bouncer, a big, burly man with a moustache, and file inside.
The Bronze inside is actually nicer than the outside. There are lots of comfortable seats, a bar, and a dance floor in front of the stage. The band playing seem to be enjoying themselves, and the atmosphere is lively. We find ourselves a space to sit and settle down.
"Mochas?" says Willow, and for a moment there is silence.
"Mochas," Xander replies. "Make mine a skinny one."
"You like cream on yours," the redhead points out, and Xander nods.
"But Cordy liked skinnies. And . well, I just want a skinny mocha, for Cordy."
"Make that two," Buffy says, putting her hand up.
"Three," Anya adds, and then says to Xander, "I don't see why you're still hung up about that girl."
Xander pats the demon's - no, she's not a demon - the girl's arm, and murmurs, "Ahn, she was a friend, all right. A friend who was an enemy."
"I can't believe we're talking about Cordy in the past tense," Willow says, her brow creased. "Mike, what do you want?"
"Beer?" I suggest, and Willow assents.
"Drinks coming up!" she says, and disappears towards the bar. Buffy leans in closer to me.
"This is major-league vamp hunting ground," she says.
"Lots of young people having fun?" I return. "I can see why it would be."
The Slayer lowers her eyes. "And An . Angel knows, and I think he'll come here at some point."
"So lots of time here?"
She smiles. "Probably."
Willow comes back with our drinks on a tray. "Beer for Mike, mochas for us." She serves out the drinks and sits down next to Buffy.
"To Cordelia," Xander says, lifting his mug, and we clink drinking vessels.
"To Cordelia," I echo, and drink. Good cold American lager. I take another long gulp - I need it after today - and say, "what was Cordelia like?"
Instantly, the Slayer, Willow and Xander launch into a list of attributes, few of them positive, and a number of anecdotes, most of which portray this Cordelia as a vacuous cheerleader. But finally, they run out of amusing stories, and fall silent for a moment. Then Buffy says, "she'd changed, last time I saw her. She cared about stuff. She cared about Angel."
"I guess I was happy with her," Xander muses aloud, and ducks Anya's blow. "Ahn!"
"I liked writing to her," Willow says. "She wrote fun emails. She did change."
"I want her to call us," Buffy continues, staring into her coffee. "Tomorrow, and say that it's all been a horrible mistake, and that their computer was broken or something. Or that they were on a case, and . and that Angel's Angel."
They all look at each other, and I feel isolated. I swallow down the last centimetre of beer, and raise my glass. "Anyone for another?"
Anya nods. "Get me a beer too. If they're going to be depressing, I want to get drunk."
I suppress a smile, and repeat her order. "Miss Summers - Buffy, I mean? Sorry. Habit."
"I'm good," she says.
"Can I have a soda?" Willow asks.
"I'll go with the beer thing," Xander says. I nod, and stand to leave them.
I weave my way across the club, through groups of teenagers in their best clothes, flirting, bickering, gossiping. I feel old, suddenly, and jaded with my experiences in the underworld these children know nothing about; and then I glance back to the group I have left and reflect that those young people know more than I do, and they are five years younger than I.
I reach the bar, and order the drinks, and pay, slipping my wallet back into my hip pocket before picking the glasses up and starting to make my way back towards the sofa. But I stumble on a carpet edge and trip, sending beer and soda flying. Most of it hits the velvet-covered back of a young man close to me, who turns around with raised eyebrows.
"God!" I say. "Sorry about that . this carpet ." I bend from picking up a glass and look into the young man's face, and freeze. I know that face. I've spent most of the last few days studying it, learning it. I swallow, and manage a grin. "Is your jacket okay?"
"It'll clean," Luc Tarpeau says, shrugging. He has a light French accent and a soft voice, and there's something glinting in his grey eyes. He hands me another glass. "You'd better get new drinks."
"Thanks. Can I get you something?" I ask.
The Breton smiles, and it is an utterly charming smile. I know that if I were female, I'd be bowled over by it - it looks disarmingly open. He brushes a loose tendril of dark hair back over an ear. "I don't think I'm thirsty, at present. But thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it if we bump into each other again."
"I shall make very certain not to!" I laugh, my stomach twisting inside. "Are you sure that jacket'll clean up all right?"
"I'm sure. Absolutely."
"Good." I lean across the bar and place the order again. "Well. Have a good evening."
"You too." The Breton nods at me, and then turns and blends away into the crowds. I get the new drinks, and more carefully this time, carry them across the club.
"They're here," I say, putting the drinks down and sitting. My legs have suddenly turned to jelly. "They're here."
Buffy is instantly on the alert, glancing around. "Where?"
"I don't know. I only saw the Frenchman. I think he was alone. I split beer on him."
Xander chokes back a laugh, though his face is as pale as I think mine must be. "What was he like?" Buffy asks.
"Polite. Charming. Young. Good-looking. Wearing a green velvet coat, hair tied back."
"So vampish," Buffy says. "So out of date."
"Nineteenth century out of date," I point out. "He looked good. But surely, if he's here, then ."
"Then Angel's here," the Slayer agrees. Xander downs his beer in two gulps. "Right. Mike, can you call Giles, let him know? Xander, Will, Anya, you go home and stay there. We'll go patrolling."
"Are we okay letting them know I'm with you?" I ask, concerned about this point. It has been bothering me all day.
"Let's let them know that it's not just me they have to deal with," Buffy says determinedly. "I hope you're up to it."
I nod, and try to look up to it. Inside, I am wondering again whether I am. That glint in Luc Tarpeau's eyes is still shining into my own. I want to run, for the thousandth time since arriving at the Hellmouth. Instead I pull out my mobile and dial Giles's number, and try to prepare myself for patrolling with the Slayer.
Author's notes: I'm going with shortish chapters for this one, and frequent updates. I trust you all approve.
Imzadi asked whether there would be a Lindsey sighting in this one - I don't know. I wasn't planning on it, but stranger things have happened and he may turn up unexpectedly.
Death Awaits: chapter 5 - The Bronze
The Slayer and her friends have told me that the Bronze, this warehouse in front of us now, is the only place to go in Sunnydale. I'm glad I didn't grow up here. There is music coming from inside - something indie, possibly live - and lots of young people. Younger than me, though not much, really. We smile at the bouncer, a big, burly man with a moustache, and file inside.
The Bronze inside is actually nicer than the outside. There are lots of comfortable seats, a bar, and a dance floor in front of the stage. The band playing seem to be enjoying themselves, and the atmosphere is lively. We find ourselves a space to sit and settle down.
"Mochas?" says Willow, and for a moment there is silence.
"Mochas," Xander replies. "Make mine a skinny one."
"You like cream on yours," the redhead points out, and Xander nods.
"But Cordy liked skinnies. And . well, I just want a skinny mocha, for Cordy."
"Make that two," Buffy says, putting her hand up.
"Three," Anya adds, and then says to Xander, "I don't see why you're still hung up about that girl."
Xander pats the demon's - no, she's not a demon - the girl's arm, and murmurs, "Ahn, she was a friend, all right. A friend who was an enemy."
"I can't believe we're talking about Cordy in the past tense," Willow says, her brow creased. "Mike, what do you want?"
"Beer?" I suggest, and Willow assents.
"Drinks coming up!" she says, and disappears towards the bar. Buffy leans in closer to me.
"This is major-league vamp hunting ground," she says.
"Lots of young people having fun?" I return. "I can see why it would be."
The Slayer lowers her eyes. "And An . Angel knows, and I think he'll come here at some point."
"So lots of time here?"
She smiles. "Probably."
Willow comes back with our drinks on a tray. "Beer for Mike, mochas for us." She serves out the drinks and sits down next to Buffy.
"To Cordelia," Xander says, lifting his mug, and we clink drinking vessels.
"To Cordelia," I echo, and drink. Good cold American lager. I take another long gulp - I need it after today - and say, "what was Cordelia like?"
Instantly, the Slayer, Willow and Xander launch into a list of attributes, few of them positive, and a number of anecdotes, most of which portray this Cordelia as a vacuous cheerleader. But finally, they run out of amusing stories, and fall silent for a moment. Then Buffy says, "she'd changed, last time I saw her. She cared about stuff. She cared about Angel."
"I guess I was happy with her," Xander muses aloud, and ducks Anya's blow. "Ahn!"
"I liked writing to her," Willow says. "She wrote fun emails. She did change."
"I want her to call us," Buffy continues, staring into her coffee. "Tomorrow, and say that it's all been a horrible mistake, and that their computer was broken or something. Or that they were on a case, and . and that Angel's Angel."
They all look at each other, and I feel isolated. I swallow down the last centimetre of beer, and raise my glass. "Anyone for another?"
Anya nods. "Get me a beer too. If they're going to be depressing, I want to get drunk."
I suppress a smile, and repeat her order. "Miss Summers - Buffy, I mean? Sorry. Habit."
"I'm good," she says.
"Can I have a soda?" Willow asks.
"I'll go with the beer thing," Xander says. I nod, and stand to leave them.
I weave my way across the club, through groups of teenagers in their best clothes, flirting, bickering, gossiping. I feel old, suddenly, and jaded with my experiences in the underworld these children know nothing about; and then I glance back to the group I have left and reflect that those young people know more than I do, and they are five years younger than I.
I reach the bar, and order the drinks, and pay, slipping my wallet back into my hip pocket before picking the glasses up and starting to make my way back towards the sofa. But I stumble on a carpet edge and trip, sending beer and soda flying. Most of it hits the velvet-covered back of a young man close to me, who turns around with raised eyebrows.
"God!" I say. "Sorry about that . this carpet ." I bend from picking up a glass and look into the young man's face, and freeze. I know that face. I've spent most of the last few days studying it, learning it. I swallow, and manage a grin. "Is your jacket okay?"
"It'll clean," Luc Tarpeau says, shrugging. He has a light French accent and a soft voice, and there's something glinting in his grey eyes. He hands me another glass. "You'd better get new drinks."
"Thanks. Can I get you something?" I ask.
The Breton smiles, and it is an utterly charming smile. I know that if I were female, I'd be bowled over by it - it looks disarmingly open. He brushes a loose tendril of dark hair back over an ear. "I don't think I'm thirsty, at present. But thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it if we bump into each other again."
"I shall make very certain not to!" I laugh, my stomach twisting inside. "Are you sure that jacket'll clean up all right?"
"I'm sure. Absolutely."
"Good." I lean across the bar and place the order again. "Well. Have a good evening."
"You too." The Breton nods at me, and then turns and blends away into the crowds. I get the new drinks, and more carefully this time, carry them across the club.
"They're here," I say, putting the drinks down and sitting. My legs have suddenly turned to jelly. "They're here."
Buffy is instantly on the alert, glancing around. "Where?"
"I don't know. I only saw the Frenchman. I think he was alone. I split beer on him."
Xander chokes back a laugh, though his face is as pale as I think mine must be. "What was he like?" Buffy asks.
"Polite. Charming. Young. Good-looking. Wearing a green velvet coat, hair tied back."
"So vampish," Buffy says. "So out of date."
"Nineteenth century out of date," I point out. "He looked good. But surely, if he's here, then ."
"Then Angel's here," the Slayer agrees. Xander downs his beer in two gulps. "Right. Mike, can you call Giles, let him know? Xander, Will, Anya, you go home and stay there. We'll go patrolling."
"Are we okay letting them know I'm with you?" I ask, concerned about this point. It has been bothering me all day.
"Let's let them know that it's not just me they have to deal with," Buffy says determinedly. "I hope you're up to it."
I nod, and try to look up to it. Inside, I am wondering again whether I am. That glint in Luc Tarpeau's eyes is still shining into my own. I want to run, for the thousandth time since arriving at the Hellmouth. Instead I pull out my mobile and dial Giles's number, and try to prepare myself for patrolling with the Slayer.