Disclaimer: I own everything. EVERYTHING. And I think Joss Whedon's a pansy-
ass coward without the GUTS to sue me. In fact, I dare him to. Hear that,
Wesleyan-boy? I DARE YOU. My name is Cordelia Chase, Los Angeles, CA. Call
me and sue, if you're a MAN.
Notes: Don't worry, I'm not really Cordelia. Were you wondering who that trio of intruders was? Did you even read Commonplaces? Ah, well. Check out those notes if you haven't already. And if you're still too lazy to go read them, you must be an A/C shipper. How quaint. Get out.
Distribution: All I ask is that YOU ask.
1 Inheritance
By Myopic
1.1 Part II: Oddities
"Long time, no see, Peaches," slurred the ratty old blanket that balanced on the arms of a pair of middle-aged, bespectacled men who were hovering in the doorway.
"Wesley, Giles," Angel said blankly. The two visible guests hauled their burden into the dimly lit lobby and threw it not-so-gently onto a low red couch.
The blanket grew an arm, which pulled it slowly down, revealing an impossibly white blond head and the blurred features of a very pale, and obviously intoxicated man.
"Spike."
"Nice place, G-ranpa," Spike spat in his sarcastic British accent at Angel. He reached down to snap his leg to a less sickening angle. "Broke it," he explained without looking up. "Or had it broken for me, rather." Neither Wesley nor Giles looked sorry at the glance he shot them.
"We, erm, ran into him out front," Wesley said, with a hint of a smile.
"Heh, sure they did. With a Buick. Who drives a bloody Buick anymore?" Spike muttered. "Got any whiskey, mate? I wouldn't say no to something redder…"
"What brings you back to L.A.?" Angel turned to Wesley, with raised eyebrows. "I thought you needed time away, after…"
The wedding.
Wesley's cheek twitched.
"Yes. I did—" He sighed. " I do. But something came up in England." He looked at Giles, who was hanging back, looking uncomfortable. "Something concerning The Council."
Spike looked up. "What was that?"
Giles cleared his throat. On closer inspection, Angel was shocked to see how old he looked. He couldn't be older than 60, which was nothing to a vampire, but the lines of suffering were deep around his eyes. That should be my face, Angel thought, out of nowhere.
The Watcher spoke. "I think … this calls for tea."
"Arghhh. I have SO MUCH HOMEWORK!" Dale shouted, scattering pigeons left and right.
"Me, too," Conner and Pete chorused, dejectedly.
"It's gonna be a long, looonely night," Conner said, shaking his head and shifting his bookbag onto his other shoulder.
"Long, yes," Peter interjected. "Lonely, not necessarily."
Dale rolled her eyes at the rising grin on Conner's face. "You don't mean…" she began.
"Ohhhhh, yeeeeeah!" Conner yelled, turning to Peter and bashing fists. "It's that time again…"
"Once in every semester," Peter continued in a deep voice. "There is a week so long…"
"A course-load so unreasonable…"
"And a boredom so profound that drastic steps must be taken."
"This is that week."
"PSYCHO SLEEPOVER!" they sang.
Dale gave a long-suffering sigh. "You guys are so lame. We're not ten anymore, you know."
"Then stay home," Conner breezed, walking away.
"Whose house is it this time?" Dale sped up.
"Well, not mine. My Mom still won't let Conner on the property," Peter joked.
"Not MINE," Dale said quickly. "It was mine last time."
Peter stared at her. He could've sworn that last time they'd stayed at—
"My place." Conner shrugged easily. "That's cool. Ten to one my Dad never even notices we're there."
Pete and Dale exchanged a glance, but decided to let it go. Conner had been their best friend from time immemorial, but there were some things he just didn't like to talk about. And if Conner Donovan didn't want to talk about something, no power on earth was gonna make him. He was stubborn that way.
"That's impossible." That was all that Angel could say. He ignored the images that flashed into his mind. Golden hair, soft lips, warm breath— It was just a dream. Just a dream. "How could that be possible?"
"Obviously," Spike interjected, downing his third cup of tea. "The nancy boys of the Wankers Council have screwed up, made a clerical error or something."
"I don't think they would have contacted me for a … clerical error," Wesley insisted. "It's not as if we parted on the best of terms."
"He's right," Giles asserted. "The Watcher's Council is by NO means infallible, but as far as identifying and tracking Slayers, they've never been wrong."
"What about Buffy?" asked a calm voice from the doorway. Cordelia Chase sauntered into the lobby, placing a brown shopping bag with a couple of celery stalks sticking out of it onto the marble counter before she hopped up next to it. "She wasn't Called till like years after most Slayers are in full on training mode."
"Cordelia," Wesley said, walking over to take her hands. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
"I know," she smiled. "What's the Council done now?"
"They've Called the next Slayer, it seems," Giles replied.
"Wow, cause they've never done THAT before." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "So who's our next contestant?"
"NOT who they think it is. Spike's right, it must be a mistake." Angel stood up and walked away, running both hands through his dark hair.
"I told you, the Council doesn't make mistakes about things like this," Giles repeated.
"Buffy," Cordelia coughed.
"Buffy—" He cleared his throat again. "She wasn't a mistake. They knew she would be Called, but they were unable to implement her training because modern American parents don't just hand their children over to be sacrificed for an unknown sacred cause. It's simply not a part of this culture, or any other in the Western world.
"There are some exceptions, of course. Faith, for instance, came from a very unstable family. There were no legal entanglements in retrieving her. Kendra came from a culture that accepted and revered the Slayer tradition. You recall how Joyce Summers reacted when she found out about her daughter's… extra-curricular activities. If she couldn't accept that destiny for her seventeen-year-old daughter, one can only imagine how she would have felt about the suggestion of taking her toddler away.
"The Council had to wait until they could get Buffy's cooperation without parental interference. They were right then. I can only assume they are correct now. Impossible as it may seem…"
"Are you sure," Angel asked quietly, his back turned to the group, staring at the darkly draped window. "Are you sure that you aren't just hoping they're right?"
Giles jerked as if struck. The pain that was always traced in his tired features flashed hard and bright for a second. "Well, why the devil aren't you?" he hissed, before he could stop himself.
Angel didn't turn. "I've hoped. I've dreamed… and I've hurt, Giles," he replied in an even voice. "But I've also accepted the fact that she isn't coming back. If it was going to happen, it would have by now. It's been fifteen years."
There was a silence.
"Wait—Are you talking about Buffy?" Cordelia asked suddenly, hopping off the counter. She glanced between the dark faces of the four men. "Oh, my God. You are! What, they think SHE's the next Slayer? In their stuffy little British dreams!"
"What's wrong with Brits, eh?" Spike enquired, helping himself to Giles' untouched tea. "We ain't ALL stuffy, Love."
"I know it sounds improbable," Wesley reasoned. "But stranger things have happened."
"Stranger than what?" Conner asked.
The five adults jumped simultaneously, and turned to the door.
"I'm gonna get bloody whiplash," Spike mumbled.
"Conner, you're….on time!" Cordelia said shrilly. Walking over to place her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, Peter. Hey, Dale. I just went on a food run!"
Conner, Dale and Peter exchanged a look. Something was Going On. And they weren't about to be deterred by a load of Cordelia's rabbit food.
"Uncle Wesley!" Conner cried cheerily, heading over to clap the Englishman on the back. "Who're your friends?"
"This is Mr. Giles." Wesley pointed to the elder watcher. "And that is…"
"I'm yer old Uncle Spike." The vampire grinned cheekily.
Angel blanched. Cordelia gagged. Conner looked intrigued. " 'Uncle?' As in a real Uncle? Like a blood relative? Or 'Uncle' like how Cordy's my 'Aunt?'"
"Oh, there's blood involved." Spike held out a cold hand.
"Cool." Conner smiled. "I didn't think we had any actual family. So you're Dad's brother?"
Neither Angel nor Spike looked pleased at the idea. They protested at the same time.
"More like a cousin…"
"A nephew of sorts…"
"Long story." Cordelia paraphrased.
Conner looked skeptical, but decided to use the momentary tension to his advantage. "So, I told Peter and Dale they could sleep over. I didn't think we'd have company, since we never do. Is that okay?"
"Sure," Cordy said.
"Fine," Angel agreed, reaching for his wallet. "Why don't you guys go rent a movie and buy some popcorn and snacks. Then we can finish up here."
Conner looked at the hundred dollar bill his father had handed him with raised eyebrows. One look at his friends decided it. They threw their books onto the couch next to Spike and flew out the door before Angel could come to his senses.
To be Continued…
Notes: Hooray for part two! Buffy actually got named in this one! That's progress, people! Maybe she'll turn up by the end of the story. But then, the end is a looooooooong ways away. Well, keep reading and send feedback to TheTendoDojo@aol.com. I'm waiting. Don't add to my inferiority complex!
Notes: Don't worry, I'm not really Cordelia. Were you wondering who that trio of intruders was? Did you even read Commonplaces? Ah, well. Check out those notes if you haven't already. And if you're still too lazy to go read them, you must be an A/C shipper. How quaint. Get out.
Distribution: All I ask is that YOU ask.
1 Inheritance
By Myopic
1.1 Part II: Oddities
"Long time, no see, Peaches," slurred the ratty old blanket that balanced on the arms of a pair of middle-aged, bespectacled men who were hovering in the doorway.
"Wesley, Giles," Angel said blankly. The two visible guests hauled their burden into the dimly lit lobby and threw it not-so-gently onto a low red couch.
The blanket grew an arm, which pulled it slowly down, revealing an impossibly white blond head and the blurred features of a very pale, and obviously intoxicated man.
"Spike."
"Nice place, G-ranpa," Spike spat in his sarcastic British accent at Angel. He reached down to snap his leg to a less sickening angle. "Broke it," he explained without looking up. "Or had it broken for me, rather." Neither Wesley nor Giles looked sorry at the glance he shot them.
"We, erm, ran into him out front," Wesley said, with a hint of a smile.
"Heh, sure they did. With a Buick. Who drives a bloody Buick anymore?" Spike muttered. "Got any whiskey, mate? I wouldn't say no to something redder…"
"What brings you back to L.A.?" Angel turned to Wesley, with raised eyebrows. "I thought you needed time away, after…"
The wedding.
Wesley's cheek twitched.
"Yes. I did—" He sighed. " I do. But something came up in England." He looked at Giles, who was hanging back, looking uncomfortable. "Something concerning The Council."
Spike looked up. "What was that?"
Giles cleared his throat. On closer inspection, Angel was shocked to see how old he looked. He couldn't be older than 60, which was nothing to a vampire, but the lines of suffering were deep around his eyes. That should be my face, Angel thought, out of nowhere.
The Watcher spoke. "I think … this calls for tea."
"Arghhh. I have SO MUCH HOMEWORK!" Dale shouted, scattering pigeons left and right.
"Me, too," Conner and Pete chorused, dejectedly.
"It's gonna be a long, looonely night," Conner said, shaking his head and shifting his bookbag onto his other shoulder.
"Long, yes," Peter interjected. "Lonely, not necessarily."
Dale rolled her eyes at the rising grin on Conner's face. "You don't mean…" she began.
"Ohhhhh, yeeeeeah!" Conner yelled, turning to Peter and bashing fists. "It's that time again…"
"Once in every semester," Peter continued in a deep voice. "There is a week so long…"
"A course-load so unreasonable…"
"And a boredom so profound that drastic steps must be taken."
"This is that week."
"PSYCHO SLEEPOVER!" they sang.
Dale gave a long-suffering sigh. "You guys are so lame. We're not ten anymore, you know."
"Then stay home," Conner breezed, walking away.
"Whose house is it this time?" Dale sped up.
"Well, not mine. My Mom still won't let Conner on the property," Peter joked.
"Not MINE," Dale said quickly. "It was mine last time."
Peter stared at her. He could've sworn that last time they'd stayed at—
"My place." Conner shrugged easily. "That's cool. Ten to one my Dad never even notices we're there."
Pete and Dale exchanged a glance, but decided to let it go. Conner had been their best friend from time immemorial, but there were some things he just didn't like to talk about. And if Conner Donovan didn't want to talk about something, no power on earth was gonna make him. He was stubborn that way.
"That's impossible." That was all that Angel could say. He ignored the images that flashed into his mind. Golden hair, soft lips, warm breath— It was just a dream. Just a dream. "How could that be possible?"
"Obviously," Spike interjected, downing his third cup of tea. "The nancy boys of the Wankers Council have screwed up, made a clerical error or something."
"I don't think they would have contacted me for a … clerical error," Wesley insisted. "It's not as if we parted on the best of terms."
"He's right," Giles asserted. "The Watcher's Council is by NO means infallible, but as far as identifying and tracking Slayers, they've never been wrong."
"What about Buffy?" asked a calm voice from the doorway. Cordelia Chase sauntered into the lobby, placing a brown shopping bag with a couple of celery stalks sticking out of it onto the marble counter before she hopped up next to it. "She wasn't Called till like years after most Slayers are in full on training mode."
"Cordelia," Wesley said, walking over to take her hands. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
"I know," she smiled. "What's the Council done now?"
"They've Called the next Slayer, it seems," Giles replied.
"Wow, cause they've never done THAT before." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "So who's our next contestant?"
"NOT who they think it is. Spike's right, it must be a mistake." Angel stood up and walked away, running both hands through his dark hair.
"I told you, the Council doesn't make mistakes about things like this," Giles repeated.
"Buffy," Cordelia coughed.
"Buffy—" He cleared his throat again. "She wasn't a mistake. They knew she would be Called, but they were unable to implement her training because modern American parents don't just hand their children over to be sacrificed for an unknown sacred cause. It's simply not a part of this culture, or any other in the Western world.
"There are some exceptions, of course. Faith, for instance, came from a very unstable family. There were no legal entanglements in retrieving her. Kendra came from a culture that accepted and revered the Slayer tradition. You recall how Joyce Summers reacted when she found out about her daughter's… extra-curricular activities. If she couldn't accept that destiny for her seventeen-year-old daughter, one can only imagine how she would have felt about the suggestion of taking her toddler away.
"The Council had to wait until they could get Buffy's cooperation without parental interference. They were right then. I can only assume they are correct now. Impossible as it may seem…"
"Are you sure," Angel asked quietly, his back turned to the group, staring at the darkly draped window. "Are you sure that you aren't just hoping they're right?"
Giles jerked as if struck. The pain that was always traced in his tired features flashed hard and bright for a second. "Well, why the devil aren't you?" he hissed, before he could stop himself.
Angel didn't turn. "I've hoped. I've dreamed… and I've hurt, Giles," he replied in an even voice. "But I've also accepted the fact that she isn't coming back. If it was going to happen, it would have by now. It's been fifteen years."
There was a silence.
"Wait—Are you talking about Buffy?" Cordelia asked suddenly, hopping off the counter. She glanced between the dark faces of the four men. "Oh, my God. You are! What, they think SHE's the next Slayer? In their stuffy little British dreams!"
"What's wrong with Brits, eh?" Spike enquired, helping himself to Giles' untouched tea. "We ain't ALL stuffy, Love."
"I know it sounds improbable," Wesley reasoned. "But stranger things have happened."
"Stranger than what?" Conner asked.
The five adults jumped simultaneously, and turned to the door.
"I'm gonna get bloody whiplash," Spike mumbled.
"Conner, you're….on time!" Cordelia said shrilly. Walking over to place her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, Peter. Hey, Dale. I just went on a food run!"
Conner, Dale and Peter exchanged a look. Something was Going On. And they weren't about to be deterred by a load of Cordelia's rabbit food.
"Uncle Wesley!" Conner cried cheerily, heading over to clap the Englishman on the back. "Who're your friends?"
"This is Mr. Giles." Wesley pointed to the elder watcher. "And that is…"
"I'm yer old Uncle Spike." The vampire grinned cheekily.
Angel blanched. Cordelia gagged. Conner looked intrigued. " 'Uncle?' As in a real Uncle? Like a blood relative? Or 'Uncle' like how Cordy's my 'Aunt?'"
"Oh, there's blood involved." Spike held out a cold hand.
"Cool." Conner smiled. "I didn't think we had any actual family. So you're Dad's brother?"
Neither Angel nor Spike looked pleased at the idea. They protested at the same time.
"More like a cousin…"
"A nephew of sorts…"
"Long story." Cordelia paraphrased.
Conner looked skeptical, but decided to use the momentary tension to his advantage. "So, I told Peter and Dale they could sleep over. I didn't think we'd have company, since we never do. Is that okay?"
"Sure," Cordy said.
"Fine," Angel agreed, reaching for his wallet. "Why don't you guys go rent a movie and buy some popcorn and snacks. Then we can finish up here."
Conner looked at the hundred dollar bill his father had handed him with raised eyebrows. One look at his friends decided it. They threw their books onto the couch next to Spike and flew out the door before Angel could come to his senses.
To be Continued…
Notes: Hooray for part two! Buffy actually got named in this one! That's progress, people! Maybe she'll turn up by the end of the story. But then, the end is a looooooooong ways away. Well, keep reading and send feedback to TheTendoDojo@aol.com. I'm waiting. Don't add to my inferiority complex!