Author's Note: If you don't like reading long notes, here it is in a nutshell - this is part II of "Candy Mulder...The Vampire Slayer?" For those of you who don't mind my blabbering, I'd just like to say that this story was a long time coming. I wrote part I all the way back in high school, and started this one about the same time...and picked it up again here, in university. So, if you sense a shift in sensibilities, tones, etc....blame it on the huge time lapse, not only between stories (not to plug myself, but it wouldn't hurt you to read part I, although it isn't necessary) but between *parts* of stories. All in all, I wrote this because I just love Candy. I don't think I'm the first writer to love one of their characters - I'm not *in* love with Candy; I think of her more as an annoying, but adorable, cousin. I also love her parents and the whole Buffyverse and although both are now officially gone, I don't see why they can't live on. So, on that note, be forewarned - it's an alternate universe, and I don't care what happened on either Buffy or the X-files. I've tweaked. Be warned - I tweaked.
*And for those of you who are still listening, I hope that part III doesn't take quite as long! Darn writer's block!
ENJOY THE SHOW!
Candy Mulder, The Vampire Slayer: Something Vampire This Way Comes (1/6)
"Oof!" moaned Winford as he tottered backwards.
I retracted my outstretched foot. "Whoops. Sorry, Winford. Kicked a little too hard, huh?"
Thomas Winford, my watcher, peered out at me from behind the umpire's mask he had over his face. He sighed, and pulled the mask up and over his head. "What's gotten into you? Brute strength alone does not make up for a lack of technique." He gave me another exasperated little sigh, trying to show me he was dead serious, but it failed. Come on - he was dressed up in a puffy suit, for protection, sort of like those plastic sumo suits you see sometimes, and it was totally funny.
I suppressed a giggle as he turned away from me to adjust something in back. Winford means well - he's a great watcher. That is, he totally knows his vamps and his martial arts. It's his job, as my watcher, to instruct me, the vampire slayer, on those very two topics. But, from the five plus months I've known him, I've gotten the distinct feeling he is completely lacking in the fun department. And making *me* lose sight of fun, too. "You can't blame me, you know. It's a Friday night and look where I am." I gestured aimlessly at the library we were in.
He turned back to face me. His face was pure confusion. "What? Here, in the library? I'm here as well."
I gave my own little sigh. Pushing him gently away by the shoulder, I traipsed over to a chair and sat down. I was all sweaty, and my father's black "Aliens Make Better Coffee" t-shirt was darker in some spots. "Stuck in Sunnydale High - in the library - at..." I checked my watch. "...seven p.m. on a Friday night. I am a total loser."
Winford plodded over to where I was sitting. "Why didn't you say something?"
I brightened and looked up at him. "You could always patrol." he continued. I glared at him.
I stood up half-angry, half-bored out of my skull. "Ick. Patrolling. Major funfest."
Winford frowned, arms crossed over his chest.
Okay, I admit patrolling isn't all that bad. Compared to the alternatives - homework or you guessed it, more combat practice. Or worse. Like, I distinctly remembering my mom asking me to rearrange my closet. Shiver. Plus, it wasn't all that boring. It sorta sucked at first, but since then, the pace had entirely picked up. I usually managed three or four semi-good slays a night. In addition, I'd even done in some creepy leathery demony thingy. Unfortunately, I can't remember its name or anything. Something short and sharp-sounding. That was the highlight of my week. More like month. In fact, now that I thought about it, vamp activity had slowed down considerably in the last week. Not good for a socially challenged slayer.
I started to mention this to Winford, but he was petulant. "It's your duty, after all. Why are you complaining? You asked for, how do you say it? Action. The first three months you were here it was much too quiet. That, though, can be explained by the presence of Raphael, the vampire master..."
"He was a *master*? Oh, thanks for that bit of post-event information!" I blared.
My parents and I had first moved to Sunnydale, California five months ago. So that sucked, but it was just downhill from there. First, my parents, dedicated FBI agents, just up and quit the Bureau. Unfathomable. Then, I meet Winford. Read: instead of someone my own age to befriend. He kindly informs me I am the Chosen One. And, what, pray tell, is that? It means, basically, that I, Samara Candace Mulder, instead of leading a somewhat normal teenage life, (or as normal as a teenage life can be) must instead slay the undead - and when I'm not doing that, kick the kazoonga out of my puffy mentor.
The thing is, I practiced like heck the first three months with the results being - nada. Not a single vamp. Very weird for Sunnydale. Did I forget to mention it's on the mouth of hell? Yeah, the Hellmouth. But then, this majorly freaky dude who was like a hundred years old (not that he looked it) blows into town and I end up staking three-fourths of his minion group, the Fearsome Quartet. Fast-forward to him kidnapping my parentals and me practicing full-scale slaying for the first time officially on a guy who'd already creamed two other slayers. Who was, I now know, a vamp master. And this connected how to the paucity of slayees? "And so what?" I asked.
"Well, it's quite common for vampire activity to slow down with the presence of a master. You see..." He began removing his protective gear. Lecture mode.
"Yup, got it. So, you think new big trouble brewing?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I didn't think it was like, crucial, but like, you know that right after I dusted Raffy there, the vamps came out full force again, right?"
"Yes."
"Well," I twirled a lock of my hair around my finger. "Mostly, I've been doing in a good number of the overgrown leeches. Buuuuuuttttt..."
"More substance, Candy." He rubbed his forehead like it hurt.
"Like, this week, I staked like...one."
"One?" Winford was suddenly real interested.
"Yeah. One vampire. Caught him sniffing around this tomb. I mean, when Ralph came around, you couldn't find a vamp for miles. Guess they kinda respect the big guy, huh? Give him some bleeding room?" I suggested. Winford, in the process of removing his protective gear, looked fiercely at me. I sighed. I'm working on the puns, really I am. Who knew the slayer gig was so...cerebral? "Think it's a sign of evil?"
"Quite possibly, yes. So, in lieu of training, I'd suggest a spot of patrol." The puffy suit was off and he was standing there in his nondescript librarian's outfit, looking intently at me.
I shrugged. "Beats the heck out of beating you." I offered. He raised his eyebrow. I'm trying, I'm trying. "Hey, you practice or something? Looks just like my mom!" At my house, we call it the Signature Scully Raise, reserved for Mulder crackpot theories. Come to think of it, there's been a paucity of them, too. Quitting the FBI has definitely taken a toll on my parents' routines.
Winford pointed with his index finger towards the door. "Go, Candy."
"All right, all right." I conceded, gathering up my stuff. "But I gotta make a quick pit stop at my house."
Winford was already cleaning up and didn't hear me. I shrugged again and started on my way home.
The thing is, I wouldn't mind training so much, except that it's begun to consume me. Five months in Sunnydale, and I still haven't made a single friend. Not *one*. Partly I think it's because it takes me some time to warm to people, but I also know the inordinate amount of time I spend cooped up in the library is a factor. Who wants to hang with a major book nerd? I'm only a partial book nerd. I completely sympathized with my father's plight at Quantico, where coz of his out there beliefs, he was called "Spooky." But my dad never cared. Maybe coz he had my mom to watch his back. Who do I have to watch my back? Winford? Yeah, right.
I reached my house and unlocked the front door. "I'm home!" I called out. I could hear the TV on in the living room. "Dad? Mom?"
"In here, sweetie." came my mom's voice. I followed it into the living room.
She was sitting on the couch, channel-surfing. "How was your day? The librarian tire you out?"
I smiled wanly. Mom has no idea. She thinks all the extra time I spend at school is as a library assistant. Sure, she was kidnapped by that vampire master. But she wasn't present at the actual slaying, and even if she saw, I'm sure she'd rationalize it. That's her way, after all. She's the scientist - she met my dad when the feds asked her to debunk his work on the X-files. So, okay, she doesn't go along with his conspiracy theories, but she has a great faith in my father, and according to her, she's seen a whole lot that science can't readily explain away. Still, I wished she had a mind that was slightly more open. Then maybe I could tell her I was the vampire slayer, the only girl in the whole world skilled and strong enough to hunt down the undead and put an end to their terror. I'd use those exact words, too. Maybe even throw in "sacred duty". It's a whole lot better than pretending I was some happy-go-lucky librarian's aide. I mean, I burned one down at my old school in D.C. No one should let me near books.
I sat down next to her. "No. We just catalogued some stuff."
She tousled my hair, the same mousy brown as my father's, but with red highlights inherited from her thrown in for good measure. "You're sweaty." she pointed out.
"Uh, yeah. Lugging around all those heavy...dictionaries." I blurted out, leaping up. "Where's dad?"
She didn't raise an eyebrow. Totally un-Momlike. "Upstairs, video conferencing with the Lone Gunmen."
"Really?" I said, too enthusiastically. "The Lone Gunmen are talking to dad? What's up? I thought he gave that all up to teach other people how to be weird."
When they quit, my mom, a doc, took a position at Sunnydale General, and my dad at UCLA, as a paranormal psychology professor. I looked at mom. There's the Signature Scully Raise! "Hmmmph." was her vocal accompaniment.
I dashed up the stairs and into my parents' bedroom. Dad was staring intently at something that had just come out of the fax machine. "Daddy..." my voice petered off as I looked at what he was holding. "What's that?"
"A map of the seismic activity of Sunnydale over the past five months." said a slightly nasal voice from the computer screen.
I grinned and said, "Hi, Uncle Frohike."
Frohike is one of the Lone Gunmen. They're these computer geeks, good computer geeks, who've been helping my dad for years. They publish this newsletter that reports the truth on government cover-ups, military cover-ups - you know, anything covered up.
I waved into the camera mounted on top of the monitor. "Hi Uncle Langly, Uncle Byers."
"Candy." said Uncle Byers. He looks a lot like Winford, very spiffy. "How's school?"
"Never mind school," interrupted Frohike. I've always thought he bears a striking resemblance to a Smurf, minus all the blue. "What's this your dad's been telling us about vampires?"
I clucked my tongue at my dad, who looked briefly at me, then went back to studying the faxed information. Sure, dad knew about the vampires. It's just that he doesn't know the *whole* slayer thing and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't think even he would approve. What he does know is that I rescued them from the vamp master, and leave it at that. So whatever he'd been telling the Gunmen, wasn't about my sacred duty. "Yeah, well, we ran into one really creepy one." I almost blurted out the name, but that was a slayer thing, so I didn't. I wasn't supposed to know.
"Just one you say?" asked Frohike. I nodded. "Still pretty scary."
Dad was taking an interest in the conversation. Anymore and I'd be telling him the whole thing, so I cut them off. "What's with the interrogation? And the earthquake readouts?"
My father answered. "The seismic activity we're seeing here," he jabbed at the paper. "I think could correspond to some kind of vampiric activity."
"How so?" I asked, looking at the sheet. It looked senseless to me.
"The readings are off the charts. It's amazing we're not feeling anything. But I think we will. Shortly. "
"And the vampires have something to do with this how?"
"Somehow," dad said, standing up. "I think they're tapping into a well of supernatural energy that's present here, and harvesting it."
"You know the mandatory question - for what?" I prodded. I glanced briefly at the screen. The Lone Gunmen were listening intently as well.
"That's just it. I don't know for what." He pulled back the curtain and looked out at the dark town. "But I get a feeling it's not good."
*And for those of you who are still listening, I hope that part III doesn't take quite as long! Darn writer's block!
ENJOY THE SHOW!
Candy Mulder, The Vampire Slayer: Something Vampire This Way Comes (1/6)
"Oof!" moaned Winford as he tottered backwards.
I retracted my outstretched foot. "Whoops. Sorry, Winford. Kicked a little too hard, huh?"
Thomas Winford, my watcher, peered out at me from behind the umpire's mask he had over his face. He sighed, and pulled the mask up and over his head. "What's gotten into you? Brute strength alone does not make up for a lack of technique." He gave me another exasperated little sigh, trying to show me he was dead serious, but it failed. Come on - he was dressed up in a puffy suit, for protection, sort of like those plastic sumo suits you see sometimes, and it was totally funny.
I suppressed a giggle as he turned away from me to adjust something in back. Winford means well - he's a great watcher. That is, he totally knows his vamps and his martial arts. It's his job, as my watcher, to instruct me, the vampire slayer, on those very two topics. But, from the five plus months I've known him, I've gotten the distinct feeling he is completely lacking in the fun department. And making *me* lose sight of fun, too. "You can't blame me, you know. It's a Friday night and look where I am." I gestured aimlessly at the library we were in.
He turned back to face me. His face was pure confusion. "What? Here, in the library? I'm here as well."
I gave my own little sigh. Pushing him gently away by the shoulder, I traipsed over to a chair and sat down. I was all sweaty, and my father's black "Aliens Make Better Coffee" t-shirt was darker in some spots. "Stuck in Sunnydale High - in the library - at..." I checked my watch. "...seven p.m. on a Friday night. I am a total loser."
Winford plodded over to where I was sitting. "Why didn't you say something?"
I brightened and looked up at him. "You could always patrol." he continued. I glared at him.
I stood up half-angry, half-bored out of my skull. "Ick. Patrolling. Major funfest."
Winford frowned, arms crossed over his chest.
Okay, I admit patrolling isn't all that bad. Compared to the alternatives - homework or you guessed it, more combat practice. Or worse. Like, I distinctly remembering my mom asking me to rearrange my closet. Shiver. Plus, it wasn't all that boring. It sorta sucked at first, but since then, the pace had entirely picked up. I usually managed three or four semi-good slays a night. In addition, I'd even done in some creepy leathery demony thingy. Unfortunately, I can't remember its name or anything. Something short and sharp-sounding. That was the highlight of my week. More like month. In fact, now that I thought about it, vamp activity had slowed down considerably in the last week. Not good for a socially challenged slayer.
I started to mention this to Winford, but he was petulant. "It's your duty, after all. Why are you complaining? You asked for, how do you say it? Action. The first three months you were here it was much too quiet. That, though, can be explained by the presence of Raphael, the vampire master..."
"He was a *master*? Oh, thanks for that bit of post-event information!" I blared.
My parents and I had first moved to Sunnydale, California five months ago. So that sucked, but it was just downhill from there. First, my parents, dedicated FBI agents, just up and quit the Bureau. Unfathomable. Then, I meet Winford. Read: instead of someone my own age to befriend. He kindly informs me I am the Chosen One. And, what, pray tell, is that? It means, basically, that I, Samara Candace Mulder, instead of leading a somewhat normal teenage life, (or as normal as a teenage life can be) must instead slay the undead - and when I'm not doing that, kick the kazoonga out of my puffy mentor.
The thing is, I practiced like heck the first three months with the results being - nada. Not a single vamp. Very weird for Sunnydale. Did I forget to mention it's on the mouth of hell? Yeah, the Hellmouth. But then, this majorly freaky dude who was like a hundred years old (not that he looked it) blows into town and I end up staking three-fourths of his minion group, the Fearsome Quartet. Fast-forward to him kidnapping my parentals and me practicing full-scale slaying for the first time officially on a guy who'd already creamed two other slayers. Who was, I now know, a vamp master. And this connected how to the paucity of slayees? "And so what?" I asked.
"Well, it's quite common for vampire activity to slow down with the presence of a master. You see..." He began removing his protective gear. Lecture mode.
"Yup, got it. So, you think new big trouble brewing?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I didn't think it was like, crucial, but like, you know that right after I dusted Raffy there, the vamps came out full force again, right?"
"Yes."
"Well," I twirled a lock of my hair around my finger. "Mostly, I've been doing in a good number of the overgrown leeches. Buuuuuuttttt..."
"More substance, Candy." He rubbed his forehead like it hurt.
"Like, this week, I staked like...one."
"One?" Winford was suddenly real interested.
"Yeah. One vampire. Caught him sniffing around this tomb. I mean, when Ralph came around, you couldn't find a vamp for miles. Guess they kinda respect the big guy, huh? Give him some bleeding room?" I suggested. Winford, in the process of removing his protective gear, looked fiercely at me. I sighed. I'm working on the puns, really I am. Who knew the slayer gig was so...cerebral? "Think it's a sign of evil?"
"Quite possibly, yes. So, in lieu of training, I'd suggest a spot of patrol." The puffy suit was off and he was standing there in his nondescript librarian's outfit, looking intently at me.
I shrugged. "Beats the heck out of beating you." I offered. He raised his eyebrow. I'm trying, I'm trying. "Hey, you practice or something? Looks just like my mom!" At my house, we call it the Signature Scully Raise, reserved for Mulder crackpot theories. Come to think of it, there's been a paucity of them, too. Quitting the FBI has definitely taken a toll on my parents' routines.
Winford pointed with his index finger towards the door. "Go, Candy."
"All right, all right." I conceded, gathering up my stuff. "But I gotta make a quick pit stop at my house."
Winford was already cleaning up and didn't hear me. I shrugged again and started on my way home.
The thing is, I wouldn't mind training so much, except that it's begun to consume me. Five months in Sunnydale, and I still haven't made a single friend. Not *one*. Partly I think it's because it takes me some time to warm to people, but I also know the inordinate amount of time I spend cooped up in the library is a factor. Who wants to hang with a major book nerd? I'm only a partial book nerd. I completely sympathized with my father's plight at Quantico, where coz of his out there beliefs, he was called "Spooky." But my dad never cared. Maybe coz he had my mom to watch his back. Who do I have to watch my back? Winford? Yeah, right.
I reached my house and unlocked the front door. "I'm home!" I called out. I could hear the TV on in the living room. "Dad? Mom?"
"In here, sweetie." came my mom's voice. I followed it into the living room.
She was sitting on the couch, channel-surfing. "How was your day? The librarian tire you out?"
I smiled wanly. Mom has no idea. She thinks all the extra time I spend at school is as a library assistant. Sure, she was kidnapped by that vampire master. But she wasn't present at the actual slaying, and even if she saw, I'm sure she'd rationalize it. That's her way, after all. She's the scientist - she met my dad when the feds asked her to debunk his work on the X-files. So, okay, she doesn't go along with his conspiracy theories, but she has a great faith in my father, and according to her, she's seen a whole lot that science can't readily explain away. Still, I wished she had a mind that was slightly more open. Then maybe I could tell her I was the vampire slayer, the only girl in the whole world skilled and strong enough to hunt down the undead and put an end to their terror. I'd use those exact words, too. Maybe even throw in "sacred duty". It's a whole lot better than pretending I was some happy-go-lucky librarian's aide. I mean, I burned one down at my old school in D.C. No one should let me near books.
I sat down next to her. "No. We just catalogued some stuff."
She tousled my hair, the same mousy brown as my father's, but with red highlights inherited from her thrown in for good measure. "You're sweaty." she pointed out.
"Uh, yeah. Lugging around all those heavy...dictionaries." I blurted out, leaping up. "Where's dad?"
She didn't raise an eyebrow. Totally un-Momlike. "Upstairs, video conferencing with the Lone Gunmen."
"Really?" I said, too enthusiastically. "The Lone Gunmen are talking to dad? What's up? I thought he gave that all up to teach other people how to be weird."
When they quit, my mom, a doc, took a position at Sunnydale General, and my dad at UCLA, as a paranormal psychology professor. I looked at mom. There's the Signature Scully Raise! "Hmmmph." was her vocal accompaniment.
I dashed up the stairs and into my parents' bedroom. Dad was staring intently at something that had just come out of the fax machine. "Daddy..." my voice petered off as I looked at what he was holding. "What's that?"
"A map of the seismic activity of Sunnydale over the past five months." said a slightly nasal voice from the computer screen.
I grinned and said, "Hi, Uncle Frohike."
Frohike is one of the Lone Gunmen. They're these computer geeks, good computer geeks, who've been helping my dad for years. They publish this newsletter that reports the truth on government cover-ups, military cover-ups - you know, anything covered up.
I waved into the camera mounted on top of the monitor. "Hi Uncle Langly, Uncle Byers."
"Candy." said Uncle Byers. He looks a lot like Winford, very spiffy. "How's school?"
"Never mind school," interrupted Frohike. I've always thought he bears a striking resemblance to a Smurf, minus all the blue. "What's this your dad's been telling us about vampires?"
I clucked my tongue at my dad, who looked briefly at me, then went back to studying the faxed information. Sure, dad knew about the vampires. It's just that he doesn't know the *whole* slayer thing and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't think even he would approve. What he does know is that I rescued them from the vamp master, and leave it at that. So whatever he'd been telling the Gunmen, wasn't about my sacred duty. "Yeah, well, we ran into one really creepy one." I almost blurted out the name, but that was a slayer thing, so I didn't. I wasn't supposed to know.
"Just one you say?" asked Frohike. I nodded. "Still pretty scary."
Dad was taking an interest in the conversation. Anymore and I'd be telling him the whole thing, so I cut them off. "What's with the interrogation? And the earthquake readouts?"
My father answered. "The seismic activity we're seeing here," he jabbed at the paper. "I think could correspond to some kind of vampiric activity."
"How so?" I asked, looking at the sheet. It looked senseless to me.
"The readings are off the charts. It's amazing we're not feeling anything. But I think we will. Shortly. "
"And the vampires have something to do with this how?"
"Somehow," dad said, standing up. "I think they're tapping into a well of supernatural energy that's present here, and harvesting it."
"You know the mandatory question - for what?" I prodded. I glanced briefly at the screen. The Lone Gunmen were listening intently as well.
"That's just it. I don't know for what." He pulled back the curtain and looked out at the dark town. "But I get a feeling it's not good."