3000
"Buf. . . y." My name echoes through my mind, fading in and out like bad reception on one of those old television sets. "uf. . .y."
I place my tongue between my lips and concentrate on the miniature needle and thread in my hand. Just have to get the thread through the tiny opening. Then, I can finish the job.
"BUFFY!"
The sound overwhelms my eardrums, and I jerk, stabbing the needle into my finger. "Ouch! Dammit!" I make sure I transmit my exclamation with my mind.
"Bloody hell!" I giggle because this time the voice is outside my head and about thirty feet away.
Spike peeks around the corner of the cabin porch to glare at me. "That hurt, woman!"
"Serves you right for shouting at me and making me stick myself!" I retort playfully. My ears catch more grumbling from Spike's direction. "Come on; keep practicing."
"I don't want to." Even after hundreds of years, Spike has an uncanny knack for sounding like a little kid sometimes, which is one of the many reasons I love him.
"You're doing good; you just need to practice." I'm trying to teach Spike to transmit messages to me with his mind. The technology is new and not easily accessible, but as usual, the Watcher's Council has us testing things out.
Silence. Then, . . . "Buffy. How. . . the sew. . . ?"
"Hush. Like to see you do it," I signal back. I'm trying to sew up a hole in one of Reyni's shirts. "That was better; I could almost hear everything you were trying to say."
"Threaded the needle, yet?"
"Spike, that was perfect!"
I can picture the wide smile on his face. "Thanks, pet!" he returns.
"And no."
"No, what, love?"
"I haven't threaded the needle."
The thread is unraveling against my fingers from repeated moistening and attempts to poke it through the needle hole. Frustrated, I throw the shirt, the needle, and the thread across the porch with an exasperated moan and stomp over to Spike, plunking myself down beside him.
I speak aloud, "I hate sewing!"
Spike is trying hard not to smile too big, and he pats my bare knee. "Why are you doing that again?"
"Because we're on this darned retreat with Reyni, and we're supposed to teach her survival skills."
Reyni is the slayer, and at nineteen, the Council decided that she should have what they termed "survival skills." Several Council members believed that the slayer should train for any situation, so they commissioned a few acres of land to be transformed into an artificial "field" training ground. Only problem is, the type of training ground they created doesn't exist anymore. Trees, grass, wild animals, and cabins do not exist except in fantasy rooms or vids or museums.
"Since when has a slayer ever had to worry about clothes or sewing?" Spike wonders with a smirk.
"That's what I'd like to know. You'd think 'field training' would be more realistic."
"Maybe they're trying to teach me what it used to be like," Reyni speculates as she exits the cabin. Petite and shorter than me, the current slayer has shoulder-length dark hair with natural curls that float about her shoulders when she moves or talks.
Unlike Ayledan, Reyni comes from a two-parent home and went to the learning institute to become a musician. She and Spike both play the piano and have spent many an hour challenging each other musically. In the past, the amount of time they spend together might have made me jealous, but since Spike and I have been training slayers and acting as their guardians, they have been like our daughters. Watchers still play a role in training but are actually more specialized in research now.
"Trust me; Buffy never sewed," Spike notes, squeezing my thigh.
I slap his hand in false horror. "Hey! How many wounds of yours did I stitch up?"
"Hmm. Quite a few, I suppose, but you never mended clothing," he insists. He grins and adds, "You just bought new outfits."
"Hey!" I protest again; then, I pause. "That's true."
Crossing her arms, Reyni laughs and leans against a support pole on the porch. "You guys are goofy."
Spike peers up at her solemnly. "We try."
I pat my lover on the head, enjoying the feel of his now honey-blond curls against my fingers. "*Spike* does quite well at it. Me, I'm not very good, yet."
Spike twists his head and nudges my hand down from atop his head, planting a kiss on my palm and nibbling the tip of one of my fingers. I almost lose track of where I am when his eyes meet mine.
Disrupting my reverie, Reyni quietly clears her throat, and I glance up blushing. Spike is grinning. . . cocky boy.
"So, where are we going this evening?"
The sun disappeared below the horizon only an hour ago. Sunrises and sunsets are about the only thing that hasn't changed about Earth's environment. With new technology that was invented by demons, Spike and I can watch a sunrise or sunset behind a specially designed window built into a wall. The new windows are terribly expensive, so we're lucky to have one in our city home. I, for one, have enjoyed the amenity greatly.
Spike glances at me. Actually, he's never stopped looking at me. Sometimes he watches me as if he's never seen me before. . . even after centuries. "Where are we going, oh fearless leader?"
I punch him softly on the upper arm as a signal to stop teasing and tell Reyni, "Back to the woods. . . third quadrant for some live practice."
Reyni's energy is pouring off her in the uncontrollable fashion of youth. "Oooo. What kind of demon?"
"Doig'ash," Spike inserts.
"Weird name. What the heck are they?" Like me, Reyni has never been good about studying the books although her Watcher, Vincent, would like her to be.
In this area, Spike is the expert, so I let him take over. "Doig'ash are forest green, about six and a half feet tall, and covered in scales. They tend to live in marshy areas and feed off wildlife that lives there."
"Hence, why we're going to quadrant three," I interject. "Although they don't live there out in the real world because there aren't marshes. But they do live in other damp places. . . like the underground."
"So," Reyni asks, "how do we kill them? And why? They don't sound so dangerous."
Spike nods as if he knew Reyni was going to ask that very question. "Well, in the past, we wouldn't have bothered, but since there's a shortage of wildlife for food, they've a tendency to feed on humans."
"Ah, that would be of the bad."
* * *
3000, about thirty minutes later
"How many are there?" I ask Reyni. She is to use her senses to determine where and how many demons there are.
Spike has not gone out with us tonight; he's staying at the cabin, making the necessary communications with the Council. Dressed in black and with our hair pulled back, Reyni and I are crouched in the marsh near the location of the Doig'ash demons.
She reaches outward with her heightened slayer powers. After a few seconds, she whispers back, "Three. . . one near the trees over there." She points to the left. "And two in the cave to the right."
"Very good. And how do you kill them?"
"With these." She lifts up two foot-long, silver-plated knives between us almost directly in my face. "Because silver is like poison in their bloodstream. . . goes straight to their hearts and stops them beating."
"Right." I push her hand and the knives down. "Be careful. Doig'ash have long arms and are quite fast even though they're big. And you have to go for the major arteries. And where are they?"
Reyni moves her feet to redistribute her weight. "Umm. In the neck and upper thigh."
"Right. Any weaknesses?"
"Problems hearing. So, they're easy to sneak up on." She bites her lip. "Okay."
"All yours." I nod toward the demon on the left.
"Right." Reyni stares at the nearby demon.
Paying careful attention to her every move, I record her fight with the first Doig'ash demon. Reyni, Spike, and I will analyze her moves and strategy later. I'm simply here to make sure Reyni doesn't get badly hurt. She takes the first demon in record time and manages the other two with ease. Within a few minutes of her exiting the hiding place, I follow and join her in standing over the corpse of one of the demons.
"Buffy, where does the Council get these demons?"
"What do you mean?"
She squats next to the demon and lifts his arm. "Look."
Oddly, the dead demon has a vid messenger attached to his wrist. Curious, I push the button on the tiny machine, and Reyni and I step back to watch.
A young woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and cloak appears before us. Her long red hair is blowing around her, and her face transforms into ridges, fangs, and yellow eyes. She does not open her mouth, but her voice echoes eerily in the silent marsh. "Come, slayer. Come and discover your destiny." Her body folds inwardly until she is an ebony ball that disappears to reveal a set of location coordinates, which I quickly memorize. The vid ends and shuts off.
Reyni shivers and looks at me with questions written in her eyes. I frown.
"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly. "Do you know what this is about?"
"I know who the vamp is."
"Y-you do?"
"Come on. We need to go tell Spike about this."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes, Reyni, I do believe it is."
TBC. . . okay! Next up. . . we find out who the vamp is! Still the year 3000! Hope you're still enjoying this! ;o)
"Buf. . . y." My name echoes through my mind, fading in and out like bad reception on one of those old television sets. "uf. . .y."
I place my tongue between my lips and concentrate on the miniature needle and thread in my hand. Just have to get the thread through the tiny opening. Then, I can finish the job.
"BUFFY!"
The sound overwhelms my eardrums, and I jerk, stabbing the needle into my finger. "Ouch! Dammit!" I make sure I transmit my exclamation with my mind.
"Bloody hell!" I giggle because this time the voice is outside my head and about thirty feet away.
Spike peeks around the corner of the cabin porch to glare at me. "That hurt, woman!"
"Serves you right for shouting at me and making me stick myself!" I retort playfully. My ears catch more grumbling from Spike's direction. "Come on; keep practicing."
"I don't want to." Even after hundreds of years, Spike has an uncanny knack for sounding like a little kid sometimes, which is one of the many reasons I love him.
"You're doing good; you just need to practice." I'm trying to teach Spike to transmit messages to me with his mind. The technology is new and not easily accessible, but as usual, the Watcher's Council has us testing things out.
Silence. Then, . . . "Buffy. How. . . the sew. . . ?"
"Hush. Like to see you do it," I signal back. I'm trying to sew up a hole in one of Reyni's shirts. "That was better; I could almost hear everything you were trying to say."
"Threaded the needle, yet?"
"Spike, that was perfect!"
I can picture the wide smile on his face. "Thanks, pet!" he returns.
"And no."
"No, what, love?"
"I haven't threaded the needle."
The thread is unraveling against my fingers from repeated moistening and attempts to poke it through the needle hole. Frustrated, I throw the shirt, the needle, and the thread across the porch with an exasperated moan and stomp over to Spike, plunking myself down beside him.
I speak aloud, "I hate sewing!"
Spike is trying hard not to smile too big, and he pats my bare knee. "Why are you doing that again?"
"Because we're on this darned retreat with Reyni, and we're supposed to teach her survival skills."
Reyni is the slayer, and at nineteen, the Council decided that she should have what they termed "survival skills." Several Council members believed that the slayer should train for any situation, so they commissioned a few acres of land to be transformed into an artificial "field" training ground. Only problem is, the type of training ground they created doesn't exist anymore. Trees, grass, wild animals, and cabins do not exist except in fantasy rooms or vids or museums.
"Since when has a slayer ever had to worry about clothes or sewing?" Spike wonders with a smirk.
"That's what I'd like to know. You'd think 'field training' would be more realistic."
"Maybe they're trying to teach me what it used to be like," Reyni speculates as she exits the cabin. Petite and shorter than me, the current slayer has shoulder-length dark hair with natural curls that float about her shoulders when she moves or talks.
Unlike Ayledan, Reyni comes from a two-parent home and went to the learning institute to become a musician. She and Spike both play the piano and have spent many an hour challenging each other musically. In the past, the amount of time they spend together might have made me jealous, but since Spike and I have been training slayers and acting as their guardians, they have been like our daughters. Watchers still play a role in training but are actually more specialized in research now.
"Trust me; Buffy never sewed," Spike notes, squeezing my thigh.
I slap his hand in false horror. "Hey! How many wounds of yours did I stitch up?"
"Hmm. Quite a few, I suppose, but you never mended clothing," he insists. He grins and adds, "You just bought new outfits."
"Hey!" I protest again; then, I pause. "That's true."
Crossing her arms, Reyni laughs and leans against a support pole on the porch. "You guys are goofy."
Spike peers up at her solemnly. "We try."
I pat my lover on the head, enjoying the feel of his now honey-blond curls against my fingers. "*Spike* does quite well at it. Me, I'm not very good, yet."
Spike twists his head and nudges my hand down from atop his head, planting a kiss on my palm and nibbling the tip of one of my fingers. I almost lose track of where I am when his eyes meet mine.
Disrupting my reverie, Reyni quietly clears her throat, and I glance up blushing. Spike is grinning. . . cocky boy.
"So, where are we going this evening?"
The sun disappeared below the horizon only an hour ago. Sunrises and sunsets are about the only thing that hasn't changed about Earth's environment. With new technology that was invented by demons, Spike and I can watch a sunrise or sunset behind a specially designed window built into a wall. The new windows are terribly expensive, so we're lucky to have one in our city home. I, for one, have enjoyed the amenity greatly.
Spike glances at me. Actually, he's never stopped looking at me. Sometimes he watches me as if he's never seen me before. . . even after centuries. "Where are we going, oh fearless leader?"
I punch him softly on the upper arm as a signal to stop teasing and tell Reyni, "Back to the woods. . . third quadrant for some live practice."
Reyni's energy is pouring off her in the uncontrollable fashion of youth. "Oooo. What kind of demon?"
"Doig'ash," Spike inserts.
"Weird name. What the heck are they?" Like me, Reyni has never been good about studying the books although her Watcher, Vincent, would like her to be.
In this area, Spike is the expert, so I let him take over. "Doig'ash are forest green, about six and a half feet tall, and covered in scales. They tend to live in marshy areas and feed off wildlife that lives there."
"Hence, why we're going to quadrant three," I interject. "Although they don't live there out in the real world because there aren't marshes. But they do live in other damp places. . . like the underground."
"So," Reyni asks, "how do we kill them? And why? They don't sound so dangerous."
Spike nods as if he knew Reyni was going to ask that very question. "Well, in the past, we wouldn't have bothered, but since there's a shortage of wildlife for food, they've a tendency to feed on humans."
"Ah, that would be of the bad."
* * *
3000, about thirty minutes later
"How many are there?" I ask Reyni. She is to use her senses to determine where and how many demons there are.
Spike has not gone out with us tonight; he's staying at the cabin, making the necessary communications with the Council. Dressed in black and with our hair pulled back, Reyni and I are crouched in the marsh near the location of the Doig'ash demons.
She reaches outward with her heightened slayer powers. After a few seconds, she whispers back, "Three. . . one near the trees over there." She points to the left. "And two in the cave to the right."
"Very good. And how do you kill them?"
"With these." She lifts up two foot-long, silver-plated knives between us almost directly in my face. "Because silver is like poison in their bloodstream. . . goes straight to their hearts and stops them beating."
"Right." I push her hand and the knives down. "Be careful. Doig'ash have long arms and are quite fast even though they're big. And you have to go for the major arteries. And where are they?"
Reyni moves her feet to redistribute her weight. "Umm. In the neck and upper thigh."
"Right. Any weaknesses?"
"Problems hearing. So, they're easy to sneak up on." She bites her lip. "Okay."
"All yours." I nod toward the demon on the left.
"Right." Reyni stares at the nearby demon.
Paying careful attention to her every move, I record her fight with the first Doig'ash demon. Reyni, Spike, and I will analyze her moves and strategy later. I'm simply here to make sure Reyni doesn't get badly hurt. She takes the first demon in record time and manages the other two with ease. Within a few minutes of her exiting the hiding place, I follow and join her in standing over the corpse of one of the demons.
"Buffy, where does the Council get these demons?"
"What do you mean?"
She squats next to the demon and lifts his arm. "Look."
Oddly, the dead demon has a vid messenger attached to his wrist. Curious, I push the button on the tiny machine, and Reyni and I step back to watch.
A young woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and cloak appears before us. Her long red hair is blowing around her, and her face transforms into ridges, fangs, and yellow eyes. She does not open her mouth, but her voice echoes eerily in the silent marsh. "Come, slayer. Come and discover your destiny." Her body folds inwardly until she is an ebony ball that disappears to reveal a set of location coordinates, which I quickly memorize. The vid ends and shuts off.
Reyni shivers and looks at me with questions written in her eyes. I frown.
"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly. "Do you know what this is about?"
"I know who the vamp is."
"Y-you do?"
"Come on. We need to go tell Spike about this."
"Is it bad?"
"Yes, Reyni, I do believe it is."
TBC. . . okay! Next up. . . we find out who the vamp is! Still the year 3000! Hope you're still enjoying this! ;o)