* Disclaimer, as sad as it is. I own none of the characters ('cept Blaine),
but I can make them do my biding, it's just getting James Marsters to fall
into the love but dare not speak it's name about ME. the world would be a
better place. Merry Christmas, spin the dradle. Eat, drink, be merry and
send in reviews! xo Chantelli*
He felt like an absolute moron. Any other normal person would have gone to the pharmacy and buy the most medication and keep whatever he saw rooted deep, deep in his subconscious. That, or get very, very hammered. But here he sat on an AirBritanica flying across the damn Atlantic. He hardly had time to call his work to explain how there had been a "death in his family" and he had to go the bloody colonies for God knows how long. He was insane! A flipping loony! -But the plane peanuts were good, and he could swear the gypsy-like woman beside him was checking him out. Blaine chuckled quietly. "I still got it," he thought. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be mad, and cursing the stranger who had sent him on the strangest journey he'd ever be on. His orders were as follows; once he arrives in Sunnydale California, get to the store on Main called the Magic Box. A fellow Brit there would know what he was to do. But hell, if it meant anytime away from his sad lack of a life, then so be it. And so he sat beside the brunette gypsy-lady and let his ego grow as she checked him out.
"Going back home?" the woman asked, she had a slight British accent, but one could tell she was from the States. The woman crossed her legs, and put a hand on his arm.
Blaine grinned, oh yah, she wants me . . .
"Um, no, visiting. . ." he said politely. hey, it had been some time since anyone actually hit on him. what was he supposta say? 'Nope, I'm actually here to raise some cheerleader from beyond the grave?' Well, it was a conversation starter. then again, he could always just ask her if she wanted to join the "mile-high" club.
"Oh, first time hun?"
"What?!" It's strange how some people could read his mind.
"In the States?"
Oh, he thought. never mind what he thought.
"Yeh, there's been a a a death in my family there. Gotta be there for the family, right?"
"I'm sorry, do you know how she passed away?" the woman asked.
"She died in. how did you know it was a she?" he asked. this was getting weird.
" I was just asking, incase Whistler didn't tell you what happened. He likes to be all mysterious; sometimes he forgets to tell the mission-ee what's really going on." She continued.
"Oh great, another one! Are you going to guilt trip me into another."
"Hey, quiet you! I was just reading your thoughts, first, you like being away and second, you subconsciously called me an 'airplane slut'. your lucky I only read your most resent thoughts." She scolded.
"Sorry about that . . . so, yah, fine. I like getting out of my dingy little apartment, and my life that is as pathetic as those saps that write stories about TV shows." He said with a grin. "Well you certainly are easier on the eyes than the Whistler chap . . . what's your name?"
"You'd laugh if I told you. my parents never fully released their ties to the 70's" she mimicked someone putting a joint to their lips.
'He laughed, good, they are all more willing to fight on our side if there isn't other things tempting them,' she thought.
"Autumn Flower."
"You're kidding me!"
"Nope, I swear to goddess!"
He laughed again.
"But I just tell everyone to call me by my nickname. Ayn"
"Ayn?"
"It's pronounced like Anne only spelt weird, I thought it would make me kinda unique . . . then I realized I was already . . . I get the visions just like you. And when I saw your calling, I knew I had to help. Whistler's the one who called me. I know what you're going though. You got more questions than answers to fill them with. So I'm taking you on as a personal case. This Buffy chic, she no mere mortal you know that right?"
" I know she's dead, I know she's buried in California, and I don't seem to know what the hell I am anymore, so I'll let you do the talking and the filling in part. We've got plenty of life. This chit's not going anywhere for a while."
"That's where you're wrong. We have seven days, till she can be brought back. We just want to make sure it the good guys who do it. The powers have already sent her a warrior to protect her, and wait for your arrival. You'll like him, he's a Brit like you. But if the other side clues into what we're doing, well, as many times as she's saved the world . . . well, this time she could be the one causing it."
"My life is too damn confusing."
He felt like an absolute moron. Any other normal person would have gone to the pharmacy and buy the most medication and keep whatever he saw rooted deep, deep in his subconscious. That, or get very, very hammered. But here he sat on an AirBritanica flying across the damn Atlantic. He hardly had time to call his work to explain how there had been a "death in his family" and he had to go the bloody colonies for God knows how long. He was insane! A flipping loony! -But the plane peanuts were good, and he could swear the gypsy-like woman beside him was checking him out. Blaine chuckled quietly. "I still got it," he thought. Wait, wasn't he supposed to be mad, and cursing the stranger who had sent him on the strangest journey he'd ever be on. His orders were as follows; once he arrives in Sunnydale California, get to the store on Main called the Magic Box. A fellow Brit there would know what he was to do. But hell, if it meant anytime away from his sad lack of a life, then so be it. And so he sat beside the brunette gypsy-lady and let his ego grow as she checked him out.
"Going back home?" the woman asked, she had a slight British accent, but one could tell she was from the States. The woman crossed her legs, and put a hand on his arm.
Blaine grinned, oh yah, she wants me . . .
"Um, no, visiting. . ." he said politely. hey, it had been some time since anyone actually hit on him. what was he supposta say? 'Nope, I'm actually here to raise some cheerleader from beyond the grave?' Well, it was a conversation starter. then again, he could always just ask her if she wanted to join the "mile-high" club.
"Oh, first time hun?"
"What?!" It's strange how some people could read his mind.
"In the States?"
Oh, he thought. never mind what he thought.
"Yeh, there's been a a a death in my family there. Gotta be there for the family, right?"
"I'm sorry, do you know how she passed away?" the woman asked.
"She died in. how did you know it was a she?" he asked. this was getting weird.
" I was just asking, incase Whistler didn't tell you what happened. He likes to be all mysterious; sometimes he forgets to tell the mission-ee what's really going on." She continued.
"Oh great, another one! Are you going to guilt trip me into another."
"Hey, quiet you! I was just reading your thoughts, first, you like being away and second, you subconsciously called me an 'airplane slut'. your lucky I only read your most resent thoughts." She scolded.
"Sorry about that . . . so, yah, fine. I like getting out of my dingy little apartment, and my life that is as pathetic as those saps that write stories about TV shows." He said with a grin. "Well you certainly are easier on the eyes than the Whistler chap . . . what's your name?"
"You'd laugh if I told you. my parents never fully released their ties to the 70's" she mimicked someone putting a joint to their lips.
'He laughed, good, they are all more willing to fight on our side if there isn't other things tempting them,' she thought.
"Autumn Flower."
"You're kidding me!"
"Nope, I swear to goddess!"
He laughed again.
"But I just tell everyone to call me by my nickname. Ayn"
"Ayn?"
"It's pronounced like Anne only spelt weird, I thought it would make me kinda unique . . . then I realized I was already . . . I get the visions just like you. And when I saw your calling, I knew I had to help. Whistler's the one who called me. I know what you're going though. You got more questions than answers to fill them with. So I'm taking you on as a personal case. This Buffy chic, she no mere mortal you know that right?"
" I know she's dead, I know she's buried in California, and I don't seem to know what the hell I am anymore, so I'll let you do the talking and the filling in part. We've got plenty of life. This chit's not going anywhere for a while."
"That's where you're wrong. We have seven days, till she can be brought back. We just want to make sure it the good guys who do it. The powers have already sent her a warrior to protect her, and wait for your arrival. You'll like him, he's a Brit like you. But if the other side clues into what we're doing, well, as many times as she's saved the world . . . well, this time she could be the one causing it."
"My life is too damn confusing."