~*[+]*~
EPISODE FOUR
"Holy Swinging Crebbils, Beastman!"
Lorne couldn't believe how badly things were going. He looked over to where Angel was narrating his adventures to a rapt audience and then grimaced into his mug of ale. Despite what that irritating blonde vampire had assumed, there was beer in Pylea. It just wasn't good beer.
There was a round of appreciative applause as Angel concluded his bloodthirsty tale, and then Lorne finally managed to get his attention.
"Well, aren't you a regular Hans Christian Tarantino," he quipped as the vampire reached him. "But we should probably be getting back to the palace."
"Oh," Angel deflated a fraction. He didn't know if he was up to another round of Cordelia's blithe indifference just yet. "I hate to disappoint the kids," he hedged. "They really seem to be enjoying this."
"They're not the only ones," Lorne observed perceptively. "Nice to be seen as a hero without all those pesky little moral ambiguities you get back home, isn't it?"
"Yeah, maybe." Angel shrugged. It was nice to be accepted full stop. He didn't get that often.
"They see you a certain way," Lorne continued. "You start to see yourself that way. You become that image." He nodded emphatically. "I get it. I do. Because I know how they see me. Can we go?"
Angel tipped his head slightly, self-consciously thrusting his hands into his pockets. He got what the Host meant. He got it because he knew how Cordelia saw him. He wondered what it would take to shift that perception - to get her to see him in a different light.
"Angel!" Landok approached them from the Square. "It is time for the Bach-nal. You must swing the crebbil."
"Yeah? Okay." Angel grinned at the green-skinned warrior. Anything to avoid the princess.
Lorne had been in the process of downing the last of his ale, but at Landok's invitation he began to choke.
"The crebbil?" he spluttered. "Angel, wait..."
~*[+]*~
Cordelia stormed into the throne room with Wesley at her heels.
"Cordy, please," he implored. "You must listen to me."
"No. I've heard enough." She sat down firmly on her throne, as if she were never leaving it again. "You want me to go back out where we'd be slaves? Sorry, not seeing the up side to that."
"There are forces at work here," Wesley insisted. "You don't know who these priests are or what it is they serve."
"Me!" she all but shouted. "They serve me, okay?" She sighed at his wounded expression. "Look, if you wanna go, then go. I have to stay here and ... make proclamations and wear a crown and be a princess."
"And bring about the coming of the Belial!"
"Okay, well, whatever that is, it's gotta be better than shoveling demon horse poop!" She glanced up at the entryway, her breath catching in her throat. Damn, it was Silas.
"Majesty," he droned. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes." Cordy was having hot poker flashbacks.
"No," Wesley contradicted. He was going to get to the bottom of this prophecy now. "What is the Belial?"
Silas stared at him for a moment, assessing, then turned to Cordelia. "Have you had a vision, your Majesty?"
"Yes," Wesley interjected quickly. It was the perfect excuse. "Yes, she's had a vision. So you may as well be candid with her, or she'll know." He could feel Cordy's eyes boring into the back of his head.
"The Belial is the second sign," Silas mechanically explained. "A ravenous beast that personifies the evil in all men. It is drawn to the Cursed One in readiness for the coming of the Gemel."
"Of course," Cordelia said, as if she'd known all along. "Now, see, Wes here didn't even know what the Gemel was. You tell him."
Silas blinked slowly. "The Gemel are the embodiment of the twin suns," he intoned. "Two beings of such power that they will end the world as we know it and bring forth the Golden Age."
"Good," Cordelia managed around her closed throat. "That's good. Thanks. You can go now." She waved Silas away.
He hesitated for a moment, almost glaring at them, then reluctantly bowed and departed.
"The Gemel," Wesley mused at the now-closed doors. "If I recall correctly, Gemel is an archaic word meaning paired or joined. It also refers to either one of a set of twins."
"I don't care what it means," Cordy interrupted, leaping from her throne. "I just wanna get the hell out of here before the world ends."
"It's them," Wesley murmured. "It has to be."
"Them who?" Cordelia looked up from where she was gathering together a load of treasure.
"Buffy and Spike," Wesley said. "They are the Gemel. It stands to reason, doesn't it? Ordained by the Powers, linked psychically, and they do look quite similar these days. Even their dress sense is alike."
"It is?" Cordelia pulled her trademark disgusted face. "That's just crass."
Wesley's lips twisted as he attempted to hide a smile. "Be that as it may," he said. "I'm sure the Covenant are less than pleased with the Gemel's imminent arrival. Buffy and Spike are in grave danger. We must warn them."
~*[+]*~
Angel stared at the slave girl on the chopping block and wondered how in the hell he'd ended up in this situation - how he always ended up in these situations.
"Swing the crebbil!" the crowd chanted encouragingly.
Angel grimaced at the blade in his hands. Obviously 'crebbil' meant 'really sharp axe' in Pylea. "You expect me to..."
"Sever the cow's head from its body," Lorne's Mom urged eagerly. "Then we can eat."
The vampire's eyes widened at that. Eat? This was way worse than he originally thought.
The girl began muttering. "Make it quick," she repeated over and over in an anxious litany. "Make it quick, make it quick."
Landok scowled at the hesitant Drokken killer. "It is a great honor to swing the crebbil at the Bach-nal." Surely Angel would not refuse.
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Angel reassured him. "And it's a nice crebbil, too. Sharp." He lowered it to his side. Play peacemaker guy, play for time. "Look, how about we tell some more stories? That was fun..."
"Swing the crebbil!" Mom insisted. She sounded annoyed now.
"But you want me to kill her," Angel protested. He was beginning to see that there would be no easy way to back out of this.
"The cow is a runaway," Mom told him peevishly. "A scavenger. It sneaks down from the hills and plunders our food stores."
"She was probably hungry," Angel defended.
He glanced down at the prone girl - on her knees with her hands bound. She looked really fragile like that, defenseless, her long dark hair parted to reveal the nape of her neck. It reminded him a little of how Cordy's hair used to be before she'd had it hacked off. He missed those gorgeous mahogany waves sometimes...
Okay, there was no way he was killing this girl.
"Will you not swing the crebbil?" Landok demanded.
Angel reached down and pulled the girl upright, tucking her protectively behind him with one arm and bringing the crebbil up into a defensive posture with the other.
"Only if you force me to."
The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves, rumblings of mob activity starting anew. Angel sighed. Was mass violence like a pastime or something with these guys?
"Oh boy." Lorne picked up an abandoned mug of ale and quickly knocked it back. "Here we go..."
"Angel, why do you insult us?" Landok was flabbergasted at the turn of events.
The vampire ignored the question and spoke reassuringly over his shoulder to the girl. He hoped she wasn't the panicky, hysterical type. "Okay, we're just gonna back up, nice and slow ... and these folks are gonna..." At his first actual step back, the crowd launched itself forward. "...Try to kill us!"
Angel kicked out, his boot connecting solidly with the chest of the nearest demon and sending him back into the group behind. They toppled like dominoes, giving him enough leeway to wield the crebbil in a sweeping motion and keep the remainder at bay.
Lorne made an exaggerated expression of disgust - violence was so cliche - then opened his mouth and started singing. When he hit a particularly strident note the mob fell into chaos, clamping their hands over their ears.
"What is this sorcery?" Landok moaned.
"It burns!" Mom fell to her knees, sobbing.
He caught Angel's eye and nodded. The vampire shook his head a little at Lorne's methods, amused, but then dashed away, dragging the slave girl behind him. They mounted a horse and rode out into the woods.
Lorne smiled and began strolling through the distressed crowd. He kicked into a hearty rendition of 'Stop In the Name of Love'.
Ah, the fabulous Miss Ross, always a crowd-pleaser.
He was just reaching the second verse when a chariot roared into the Square, the helmeted passenger brandishing a club-like weapon. Two seconds later, that club had connected with the Host's chin and he toppled to the ground suffering from a severe case of unconsciousness.
~*[+]*~
Wesley poked his head around the corner, checking for guards.
"All clear," he whispered, rounding the bend and gesturing for Cordy to follow him. She didn't appear. "Hurry up!"
Cordelia waddled into sight, laden down with booty - silverware, jewelry, anything she could carry.
"Are you ever gonna find a way to get us out of here?" she complained. "This stuff is heavy you know."
"There," Wesley indicated a wooden trapdoor in the floor of the passageway, then began to struggle with the latch. When he finally managed to get it open, the stench erupting from it made Cordy gag.
"Okay," she said. "Looks like I'll be staying to be beast-bait."
Wesley cringed at her flippancy. "Cordelia, you can do this," he assured her. "The sewage system empties out past the castle. It's our only sure bet. Just ... hold your breath."
She peered haughtily into the opening, trying hard not to inhale. She shouldn't have to wade in icky castle waste - there had to be like a princess rule or something. "Fine. But you go first."
Wesley scowled at her, but then lowered himself into the hole. There was a muted splash and a muffled "Good Lord."
Cordy smirked. Ha! Serves you right, pushy Watcher guy!
Her smirk soon evaporated as she realized that she was next. She shuffled toward the trapdoor, accidentally dropping a couple of baubles from her pile of goodies.
Oh perfect. She scurried to gather the fallen treasure, several more trinkets falling as she bent down. One rolled away to rest against a booted foot.
Cordelia gasped and looked up. Silas again!
She straightened - belatedly noticing that some other priests and several guards had also come into the passageway.
"We've been looking for you, Majesty," Silas said, making the appellation sound like an insult. He nodded to the open trapdoor and one of the assembled guards hurried to slam it shut. "Someone must speak to the servants about leaving that door open."
Don't panic! "Yeah," Cordy agreed breezily. "It is kinda whiffy in here." Silas eyed her haul of treasure and she smiled nervously. "I just thought I'd ... have this stuff appraised."
He just looked at her unblinkingly. "She has served her purpose," he droned. "Take her to the dungeons to await the Belial."
~*[+]*~
Wesley stumbled out of the sewer tunnel with great relief, the fabric of his trousers dripping with sludge and clinging to his legs below the knees, his expensive leather loafers beyond repair. He brushed off his T-shirt and adjusted his hand-knitted sweater around his neck. That, at least, was reasonably clean.
Wes took one last look back at the tunnel opening and sighed. Cordy hadn't made it, so it was up to him to locate the others - to try and find a way out of the place before Buffy and Spike caused an apocalypse or some similar catastrophic event.
He headed off into the woods. Well, at least he would be harder to catch on his own. If they didn't track by smell, that was.
~*[+]*~
Angel had been riding for a while, trying to put plenty of space between himself and the township. Those demons were nuts. Drusilla-grade nuts. Before she'd regained her sanity that was.
He wondered momentarily how she was doing. He'd sent her out to a temple that he knew of, a place where they'd keep on with the demon-restraint lessons that he'd been teaching her. She had come a long way in the last month, further that he'd thought possible, but he'd sent Gunn to keep watch over her - just in case. The two of them had developed an odd sort of friendship - really, really odd, considering the way Gunn felt about vampires.
Angel glanced about at his surroundings. They'd reached a grassy slope adorned with several rock formations and a sparse edging of trees.
He sighed. They. He'd rescued a damsel in distress - again.
Sadly, it wasn't Cordy. On the up side, though, this girl hadn't said two words since he'd pulled her from the mob's clutches - Cordy would have been chattering away until his ears were bleeding.
He reined the horse in. "I don't think we've been followed," he said, trying to curb his introspection. He dismounted and helped his companion climb down. "We should probably stay on foot now, in case they try and track us."
Angel slapped the horse on the rump and it dutifully trotted off down the slope. He turned back to the girl.
She was staring at him. Really staring. He felt like a bug under a microscope.
"You okay?" Maybe she was in shock or something. He hadn't considered that.
She continued with the staring, this time reaching up a shaking hand to touch the side of her head, almost as if she were checking to see if it was still attached.
"Handsome man," she breathed softly. "Saved me from the monsters."
Angel took a second to absorb the handsome man part and then grinned at her. She was cute. Sort of dippy, but cute.
The girl gaped at his smiling countenance, her eyes widening even further, then blushed furiously. "Bye." She turned and bolted into the tree line.
"Hey, wait!" Angel scowled. Well, so much for gratitude. Maybe she was a bit more like Cordy than he'd thought. He ran after her.
She led him a merry chase, too. It was almost like old times for a while - stalking prey, hunting down a meal.
She reached a small clearing and ducked into a gap in some rocks.
Some kind of cave?
A minute later, she came tearing back out, only to collide with Angel. He caught her by the arms to steady her.
"Oh my, oh my" she babbled. "Trespassers ... Not real, not real."
"Oi!" chirped a familiar voice. "Watch your gob, missy. Who're you to say what ain't real?"
Angel stared at the cave opening, stunned. "Spike?"
"'Hello Peaches." The blonde vampire smirked, tucking his thumbs into his belt. "Got a tan yet?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Could ask you the same," Spike tipped his head appraisingly. "Notion was we were here to save that vision chippie of yours, 'n here you are all hooked up with a new bit o' fluff." He eyed the girl, then took a second, harder look. "I know you," he said. "Saw your ID card inside. You're that Winifred bird. This is your place."
She gazed at him in awe. "I dreamed a name like that. Dreamed it was my own."
"Winifred?" Angel repeated. He squinted at his rescued ward. He could see it now, remember the picture from the flyer - the missing girl from the library in LA. "Winifred Burkle. They called you Fred."
She started to struggle against his hold, trying to run. "Stop it," she whimpered. "You're not real. None of this is real."
"Got a problem with that, does she?" Spike asked. "I can relate. Reality can be a bloody pain in the..."
"Spike," Angel ground out. "You're not helping."
The blonde grimaced. "Right. Sorry. You'd best bring her in then. Familiar surrounds and all that, might calm her some." He smiled. "Besides, Buffy's better at this stuff." He nodded sagely. "It's a chick thing."
Angel was still trying to come up with a good reason why he'd wanted his Childe along on this trip and getting nothing but a big blank.
Spike gave him a sly smile, like he knew exactly what his Sire was thinking, then pivoted on his heel and went back into the cave. There was nothing left to do but follow.
"Who's that?" Fred asked urgently. "Who're you? Who am I?"
Angel shook his head. And he thought he was confused...
He trailed after Spike, dragging Fred behind him.
Buffy was waiting for them next to the rock pool. "Are you okay?" she demanded on seeing him. "You didn't get beat up by the fuzz or anything?"
Angel's mouth ticked up at the corners. "Fuzz?"
"Small town police," Spike supplied, resting indolently against a boulder and lighting one of his omnipresent cigarettes. "Interrogation tactics and all that."
"I'm fine," Angel said. "Wesley's fine. Cordy's fine."
"Cordy's fine?" Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "You've seen her?"
"Hmm." Angel realized that he still had Fred by the upper arm and let her go. She dashed away to an alcove beyond the rock pool and began to scribble on the wall with a piece of chalk. He frowned. "What's she doing?"
"Scrawlin' portal nonsense," Spike related. He indicated the other walls. "Seems to be a hobby of hers."
Angel peered around. Almost every available space was covered.
"She's been here five years," he commented. "Must have been hard going."
"You gonna stick to the subject or not?" Spike inquired bluntly. "'Cause you're skippin' over cheerleader-girl details."
"He's got a point," Buffy took Angel's hand. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Angel pulled away from her, disgusted with himself all over again. "Nothing happened. That's the problem."
Buffy shot a brief glance at Spike, both blondes reacting with twin looks of awareness. So that was the way of things...
"I was all set to rescue her, you know," Angel went on. "Charge in there and kill the demons and carry her off somewhere safe. I thought she was in danger." He rammed his hands into his pockets. "She just ... didn't need to be rescued." The smile he gave them was almost sheepish. "They made her a princess."
"They what?" Buffy tried to be strong, she really did, but Spike had already started with that adorable little giggle of his and she couldn't hold it. She broke down laughing. "God, I wish I'd been there!" she bubbled. "Did she have a crown?"
Angel glowered. "It's not funny."
"Oh, it so is!" Buffy sniggered, but then quieted at his sour look. "Angel, not every girl wants to be rescued. Some of us can look after ourselves. And it's not like Cordelia doesn't know what you're capable of - she sees you doing heroic stuff all the time. You've gotta try something different."
"Different?" Angel frowned.
"Have you tried talking to the chit?" Spike asked, then answered his own question. "No, of course you haven't. You've got all the conversation skills of a wet rag."
"Shut up, Spike."
"No, he's right," Buffy seconded. "Wet rag notwithstanding."
"I can't," Angel leant back against the stone wall. "Every time I try I just start stammering like an idiot."
"Well, idiotic stammering is better than nothing right?" Buffy encouraged. "She might even think it's sweet."
"I don't want her to see me as sweet," Angel complained. "Sweet means soft and fluffy and ... safe." He sighed. "Sweet means platonic."
"Aha," Buffy nodded. "So you figure bold and dashing and dangerous will work? You want to be seen as romantic hero guy - a bit of swash with your buckle."
"It worked with you," Angel said, earning a growl from Spike.
"I was sixteen," Buffy stressed, exasperated. "And I am so over that whole knight in shining armor thing."
"Hey!" Spike protested. He got a vague feeling that he'd just been insulted.
"Hang on," Buffy held up a hand. "I'm having a thought. Back when we first started dating, Cordelia was interested in you. She used to practically throw herself at you - more emphasis on the literal than the practical."
"She did?" Angel was surprised. "I don't remember..."
"Most likely you were all wrapped up in forbidden Slayer fruit, mate," Spike suggested. He leered at his partner. "Buffy tends to grab a blokes attention and keep it."
The Slayer smiled at him, a knowing Mona Lisa type smile. Angel had to look away from the affection in their eyes.
"But that doesn't mean..." he began, then straightened up, squinting at Fred. She had stopped defacing the wall and was watching them intently. "Hey."
She smiled shyly. "Hiya."
Buffy turned to look at her. "Are you ready to talk to us yet?"
"Yeah, maybe, if you're real. You're all really real, aren'tcha?"
Spike snorted. "Don't get any realer, pet." He pursed his lips. "Is 'realer' a word or did I just make that up?"
"Do I still have my head on?" Fred asked.
Spike gave Angel an incredulous look. "You sure know how to send 'em potty, don't you?" he asked. "First Dru and now this poor bint."
Angel returned the growl that Spike had given him earlier. "I didn't send her anywhere. She sent herself here. With the book, with those weird words."
"They're not words," Fred declared, completely rational all of a sudden. "They're consonant representations of a mathematical transfiguration formula."
Spike blinked. "Oh, obviously," he deadpanned. Flippin' loony. Buffy glared at him and he scowled back. "What?" he demanded via the link. "She can't hear me."
"Yeah, but I can, and I don't want you making fun of her."
"Why not?"
Angel folded his arms and regarded Fred. He could sense that Buffy and Spike were involved in some kind of link-based argument and decided that he really didn't want to know what it was about. This portal thing was a whole other ball game, though.
"We have to get her back to Wesley," Angel announced.
Buffy and Spike stared at him but it was obvious that they hadn't followed his logic, their minds still in argument-mode.
"She's the portal expert, right?" he put forward. "And Wes is our portal expert. I'm thinking we get them together for a big old portal summit."
Spike nodded. "Reckon Cave-boy is on to somethin' there." He smirked at the Slayer. "Two heads bein' better than one 'n all."
She barely spared him a glance and moved toward the timid girl. "Hi, I'm Buffy," she greeted. "Fred, right?"
"I guess," Fred blinked at her, gnawing at her lower lip. She looked like she was trying to hold herself back from doing a runner.
"Okay, Fred, here's the deal," Buffy continued, all business. "We take you to our friends and you help us get back home."
"Back?" The girl was trembling now. "Can't get back. There's no back."
"There is," Angel insisted. "And you're coming with us."
~*[+]*~
Cordelia was cold.
The least they could have done was give her back her real clothes 'cause flimsy regal robes weren't suited to dungeon dwelling with it's windowless, clammy...
"Hey!" she shouted. "Can I get some room service here? The princess won't be any good for Belial-bait if she freezes to death!"
The door clanged loudly and she jumped back as it opened, almost tripping on the straw-covered floor. One of the guards casually threw something at her. As she caught the garment, the door slammed shut once more.
Cordelia looked down at the supple leather in her hands then held it out for inspection. It looked familiar.
It was Angel's jacket! His favorite jacket. The one he wouldn't part with even if...
Oh God what if something had happened to him?