Meanwhile…Pt. Two
Sunnydale
To anyone else of a 'normal' background, the Magic Box at this time of night would only bring a frightening array of suspicion-laced chills. Every shadow that danced upon the dusty texts and enchanted candles would have one convinced that unearthly spirits were abound. Any creak from the old wooden floor would echo of sinister deeds, any breeze would carry whispers, any-
"Aaackchoo!" Sneezed Willow. Any dust bunny, of which there were multitudes, would cause every sensitive nose to erupt such as Rosenberg's had.
"Bless you." Tara passed her a box of Kleenex, which Willow thankfully accepted. Her nose and eyes were rimmed in red with allergy induced sinusitis. After she blew her miseries away, the young witch rubbed her eyes and sniffled pathetically as she settled down once again to her readings.
"Are you sure there isn't just another Palantir we could use? Then we could just look inside it and whamo! There's our mystery man." Suggested Anya.
Giles was mumbling under his breath as he traced the Old English words from a spell book with his index finger. "No," he started. "The other Palantir's are all in Middle Earth. We could not reach Middle Earth without the Palantir being used to open it. But we don't have the Palantir,"
"Which is why we need to find out who does." Anya replied while rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Dumb question. But still, it would help if we had another Palantir."
Giles was too absorbed in his studying to counter Anya's stupefying remark. "There must be something, some sort of way to reveal…" But he went back to incoherent mutterings while rubbing his chin unconsciously.
"I wonder what it's like." Willow said aloud. Tara and Anya both looked at her, prompting her with quizzical facial gestures to continue her oblivious train of thought. "Middle Earth." She explained.
At Willow's pondering, Tara too, began to wonder silently. Anya screwed her mouth up and shrugged. "Kind of like here I guess. That is where it gets its name after all. Except I don't think they have cars or malls or phones. Or guns. They probably ride horses a lot. Ah, the good old days." She sighed. "Or t.v.'s," she continued "or movies, but they have books!" She pointed out. "And wine and sorcerers, and hobbits, and demons, and vampires, and evil squirrels and-"
"Vampires?" Giles looked up.
"Evil squirrels?" Willow and Tara repeated together.
Anya was lost in her ramblings. "They probably don't have indoor plumbing either."
Giles was holding out his hands to shush everyone down, but Willow and Tara were still staring at each other with amused yet utterly baffled faces. "Wait, wait. Anya, how do you know they have vampires?" Giles asked.
Anya shrugged. "I don't know. It's kind of common knowledge. Word travels pretty quickly in the D.C.S."
"What's the D.C.S.?" Asked Tara.
"The Demon Communication System. Unbelievably effective, like the time that a horde of Pillager Demons were planning on ransacking the country of Kyrgyzstan, except they couldn't find it, so word got out and someone found an atlas-"
"Anya!" Shouted Giles. "Vampires. Middle Earth. Cease your incessant babbling and get to the task at hand."
"No need to get snippy." She chided. "Well weren't you there when Legolas got all mad and- no, wait, I suppose you weren't. I guess there used to be a lot more than there are now, but apparently they do still exist in Mirkwood, but they're way creepier than they are here."
"How so?" Asked the Watcher.
Anya was squinting up at the ceiling as she strained to remember what she had been told. "More pasty and gnarled. They never go back to being human; come to think of it I don't think they ever were humans. They look more like…" She snapped her fingers as she grasped for a comparison. "You know, like one of those…"
Willow and Tara were staring at her with mouths agape. They had no clue what she was going for.
"…first like demons…"
Giles looked down at his book in defeat, then suddenly raised his head again.
"…then more demonish…"
"Like the First?" He asked.
Willow and Tara gasped. Anya smiled and snapped her fingers then pointed at Giles. "Yeah, like the First!" Her smile immediately left as soon as it appeared. "Oh. Like the First."
Mirkwood
The snap and ensuing hiss from a small ember explosion in his fireplace did nothing to remove the melancholy mood from the King. He leaned on one elbow in his high-backed chair, rubbing his index finger and thumb together in a consistent motion, hypnotized by the glowing fire that cast long shadows on his face.
Calenuil strained to see inside the King's private chambers, an act that normally would have been received instantly by Thranduil's sharp hearing, but in his current state the King did nothing to acknowledge his brother's blatant spying. Calenuil's face plainly displayed his distress over his King's lack of activity for the past few days. Not that he couldn't relate to Thranduil, indeed, the whole Kingdom of Mirkwood felt despair growing with the realization that they were helpless to bring the Prince and Elrond's son back. All who approached the bewitched area became increasingly erratic, so much to the point that Calenuil and his guards had to physically restrain two Elves that had become entangled with each other over a mere disagreement about Orcish hunting traits. He sighed, not loudly but enough that Thranduil should have scorned him for interrupting his thoughts so rudely. But the King made no such comment.
A heavy hand on his shoulder made Calenuil jump. He turned about with disdain marring his features, (it was both highly embarrassing and unusual for an Elf to be startled) but his features immediately relaxed when he saw who stood behind him.
Gandalf smiled warmly at the Elf, then peered around him to see the King. "How long has he been as such?" His gruff voice was kept at a steady monotone, not any louder than it needed to be for an Elf's ears.
Calenuil joined the wizard in his scrutiny of the King. "Ever since the Prince and Aragorn disappeared." Calenuil was suddenly confounded by a puzzling realization. "Gandalf, how is it you are here? We only sent word to the Istari but three days ago. Surely it could not have reached you yet."
One of Gandalf's eyebrows rose mischievously. "A wizard never reveals his secrets, Counsel. Or his sources for that matter."
Calenuil smiled and nodded knowingly. The Greyhamme was renowned for his slightly unorthodox methods. However orthodox wizards could be, he supposed.
"My Lord!" A scout came running towards the chamber room, ignoring Calenuil and Gandalf and heading for the seated King. The two followed the panting scout into the room and stood behind him rigidly as he kneeled before his liege. "My Lord," he prompted again.
Thranduil looked up slowly, as if momentarily lost. His eyes flicked from the urgent scout's face and up to the two behind him. After blinking for a few minutes, the King seemed to come out of his reverie quite suddenly. "Gandalf?"
Gandalf was about to reply when the King turned his full attention upon the scout. "What news?" He demanded.
"My Lord, my scouting party was placed at the edges of the cursed ground where we lost the Prince and young Aragorn. We stayed on watch throughout the night, when we felt the storm arise as it did that same fateful day." He paused to catch his breath while everyone in attendance silently hung on his every word. Thranduil made an impatient motion with his hand for the Elf to continue. "We saw the fissure open, even larger than before. But we heard voices."
"What were the voices?" Questioned the King.
"We heard a woman's voice. And then we heard two more voices. I am positive of it my Lord, they were the voices of Aragorn and Legolas."
The three listeners studied each other with serious stares. "Then they are alive." Calenuil said softly.
"What did my son say? Could you speak with him?" Thranduil asked.
The scout shook his head sadly. "No my Lord. Nor could we entirely understand what the three spoke of. But I am certain that Legolas attempted to come back."
Gandalf inhaled deeply. "But they did not make it through. The question is why?"
Thranduil studied the Istari intensely. "Gandalf, would you be so kind as to inspect the area? I am exhausted of all knowledge on how to retrieve my son and Elrond's."
Gandalf gave his warmest hopeful smile. "I will do so immediately." He placed a comforting hand on the Thranduil's shoulder. "We will find them, your Majesty."
In the alleys of Sunnydale
Whoever said that vampires were morbid and gothic and dreary obviously didn't live the life that William the Bloody did. At least that's what he liked to think as he pounded back yet another shot at an underground pub playing 70's blues music. He flicked his cigarette in the glass ashtray and rolled the shot glass on the bar, much to the annoyance of the bartender who stood glaring at him with his hands on his hips. Fed up, the bartender snatched the glass away and stalked to the end of the bar, mumbling expletives under his breath.
Spike considered taking a wallop at the man, and then reconsidered. He was well trained enough to know what that brought about. He compared his situation to that of the dog being held back by the electric fence. Say what you will about reformed vicious dogs all thanks to an idiotic invention, like it or not the dog was still stewing with pent up aggression. He pushed himself away from the bar and slung his leather jacket over his shoulder while lighting another cigarette. He was bored. Had seen and done it all. And drank it all too. Life was useless and mundane. 'Passions' was in a rump for the past month.
He slammed open the rusty old bar door and it hit the side of the brick wall with a bang. It was the backdoor entrance, leading to the large green dumpster and his bike, which was parked next to several discarded black garbage bags. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, was about to mount his bike when he heard an odd commotion that begged his attention.
Past his bike, near the mouth of the alleyway were two figures, humanoid from what he could tell. They were hunched over something, and seemed to be tearing at it. They took no notice of him as Spike cautiously walked towards them, willing his footsteps to be silent. Approaching them from behind, Spike was somewhat reviled to find two vampires feasting on an Orc, snarling at each other like rabid dogs as they tore the flesh away from the decomposed body. Spike could not help but emit a very loud 'eeeew' which immediately caught the attention of the two feasters. They growled at him as they stood, but then one cocked his head.
"Spike? Hey, how's it going man?"
Spike saluted with his two fingers that were clutching the cigarette. "Alright mate. You?"
The vampire shrugged and smiled. "Terrific. Say, you hungry?"
Spike wrinkled his nose as he gazed down at the ravished body. "Um, no that's alright. Got some warm pig's blood at home."
The vampire laughed. "Pig's blood? Man, that's rank. You should really give it a try dude. Makes you feel…good." They turned from him and went back to the banquet, tearing the flesh with their teeth in true animalistic fashion.
Spike found himself morbidly captivated by the gruesome scene. "Why are you eating that?"
The other vampire that had remained silent up to this point now stood and glowered at Spike with dark clotted blood dripping from his mouth. "You gotta problem with that? Whatsa matter, jealous?" The two vampires began laughing, only that one that strode towards Spike had a distinctly more maniacal tone. The vampire pushed Spike roughly. "You wanna go man?"
Spike took a quick drag of his smoke and threw it away as he smirked at the vampire. "You've got to be kiddin' me. You? You ain't nothin' but a pup, mate. Yeah, lets go. Lets give you a lesson." Spike rushed the vampire, but was unbelievably surprised when the vampire stood calmly and unleashed a pounding right to his stomach that made Spike double over and gasp for air. The vampire grasped both his hands in the air and brought them down on Spike's back, pummeling him to the ground. A kick to his cheek sent the world exploding into stars, and forced him onto his back. The vampire reached down, and with unnatural strength, held Spike up with one hand around his neck. Spike grasped the hand clutched around his throat, choking for air as he thrashed in the vampire's grip. The vampire brought him in close to his face, as if inspecting him, then laughed and threw Spike. Spike hit his bike, hard. As he lay gasping for air and threateningly close to unconsciousness, he heard the vampire approach him.
"Time to get outta the game you old fart. We got ourselves some new protein now."
It was the last thing Spike heard until the ringing in his ears became a torrential wave and sucked him into oblivion.
