2.
The sun was going down by the time everyone had checked in to their respective rooms and made a run to the local drug store for T-shirts, shampoo, and other basics. The four wounded girls were put into one room, most of them already beginning to heal. Ivy's broken ribs and concussion were the worst of it. The other girls were taking turns checking on her, in between changing each other's bandages and counting bruises.
Exhaustion and being fed should have made some of them collapse, but Xander wasn't surprised that rest wasn't happening for any of them. It was always like this, after the big ones: everyone too wired to crash, too jacked up on adrenaline and relief to do the sensible thing and pass out. And this apocalypse was bigger than the others had been-- they'd defeated the First. El Uno. The baddest of them all. Why shouldn't they be acting like popcorn in a giant microwave?
Especially since most of them hadn't lost anyone. Not anyone special.
(Anya, are you mad at me? I couldn't find you. I would've brought you with us, no matter what, if I just could've found you....)
He did not want to be alone with the thoughts inside his head. Those thoughts were not his friends. He didn't want to talk about it, either. Not yet. Sometime, maybe, but not now. It didn't seem real yet; he kept expecting Anya to call and chew him out for leaving her by the side of the road, demanding that he pay for a cab to the hotel so she could get out of the rain.
If there had even been a body, he probably wouldn't feel like this. Something he could touch, something to traumatize him and give him nightmares and make it impossible *not* to deny it. It wasn't that he didn't believe Andrew, or that he desperately didn't want to. It just... wasn't real yet. Anya was going to be back any minute, his gut said so.
The crash that was coming when his gut finally got the message that she wasn't ever showing up wasn't going to be pretty.
Until then? There was Strawberry Hill wine in plastic cups - two bottles of it-- and crazy bread in Buffy and Dawn's room. As long as he wasn't going to be drinking alone, progress was being made from the last time Anya went away.
"Why don't I get any? I helped save the world too, darnit."
Buffy poured herself another cup and made a face at the pouting Dawn. "Because you're underage, and none of the other girls get any either. They're all Slayers now, but strangely, that doesn't mean they won't get mega-sick if they drink too much. And they're all too young to have any idea what too much is. I'm just heading that problem off before they learn it through sad personal experience."
The other Slayers had been wandering in and out of all their rooms on the floor for the last hour, skipping in to share their Chinese take-out and Mexican food and excitedly hug everyone before dancing out again. It was really pretty scary. Xander was very glad that he was not sharing a room with any of them tonight.
"You should talk." Dawn snorted and snagged another piece of pizza from the box on her bed. "I thought you always said 'beer bad'?"
"Yes, beer bad. But wine? Wonderful."
"Not that anyone's advocating alcoholic excess, of course," Giles murmured, taking another sip from his cup and grimacing, then leaning back in his chair.
Buffy and Dawn had each commandeered a bed, with Willow sprawled out at the foot of Buffy's, and Xander stretched out on the floor in between them, his back against the nightstand. Giles had fallen into one chair as if he were a hundred years old and never moving again, and Andrew had kind of curled up in the other, for once not saying much. Xander could tell he was still sort of shocky, which was actually kind of a relief, because he didn't want to talk to Andrew right now. He wasn't sure how well he'd keep it together if Andrew said anything about Anya again. He'd been proud that he hadn't yelled when the kid had given him the news, and very glad that he hadn't lashed out with "why didn't you save her?" or "God I wish it had been you." But he wasn't going to push it by actually holding a conversation with Andrew, or letting himself drink so much that it would all spew out without being able to stop it.
(Even though it's true. I think I'm going crazy, An. I'm talking to you in my head, and I'm wishing him dead and not dead; I'm glad you saved him, I don't want to undo that. It's nothing personal, I just hate the sight of him now. Why didn't I stay with you instead of Dawn? I could've saved you, it's my fault, not Andrew's, no, it's no one's fault, or it's the First's fault, it's...)
No, talking to Andrew was not an option.
"Oh, but a little celebratory giddiness is in order, you know," Willow said, waving her tacky pink plastic champagne glass around in a circle. His Willster never could drink more than one beer without getting goofy and lit up. "We got out of the Hellmouth before it could chew us up and spit us out and... okay, not all of us, but...." She bit her lip, her face falling. "Sorry, guys. Being quiet now."
The expression in Buffy's eyes when she glanced down at him probably matched his own: don't make me think about that yet. I'm okay if I don't think.
Whatever else he'd ever felt about Spike - which had ranged from kill-him-now to almost liking him, about once a year - he'd come through for them. Xander knew he was now *not allowed* to ever, ever call the guy evil again. Or say that he hadn't loved Buffy. In another month or so he could probably make fun of his hair, but not any sooner. And he would personally rip the arms off anyone who said anything remotely similar about Anya.
"It's not your fault, Will." Buffy took another sip from her cup. "I'm not sorry we're alive and I'm really, really glad we won. We kicked ass, the girls should get their party for it. And I don't want to bring everyone down." She looked at Xander again, and he clenched his jaw and looked away. "But could we not go there yet?"
"Seconded," Xander said, raising his glass.
"Thirded," Dawn muttered, then stuffed another piece of pizza in her mouth.
Giles looked around the room, then cleared his throat, studying the bottom of his cup. "I have a suggestion, before the subject of our... losses, is tabled for the evening. If anyone would care to hear it."
"Maybe," Buffy said warily. "What is it?"
"The Slayers have mentioned wondering how to deal with the deaths of the others, since a funeral service is impossible. I spoke to the management and confirmed that bonfires are allowed on the beach with a permit. Perhaps a mass memorial service tomorrow night would be appropriate, if it isn't raining?"
Xander turned this idea over in his head and felt the first real stab of grief hit him, untinged with anger or disbelief. (You never saw the point of funerals, you didn't understand Joyce's, and you didn't really get Buffy's, maybe you'd be glad we're not having one for you... ) Oh, how much did he *not* want to deal. But Anya would -- would've yelled at him for being stupid, for not agreeing to a perfectly plausible solution. The Slayers deserved some kind of ceremony to say good-bye to their friends. And he owed Anya this. So much more than this, but at least a good-bye. Not drawing it out forever until he couldn't avoid it anymore.
(I'm glad you were a hero there, at the end, I'm glad you didn't bail, I love you for that, I always loved you. I was stupid and I miss you so much already.)
"That works for me," he said, not looking at Giles. "Buffy?"
"Yeah. I think... It's a good idea." She nodded without smiling. "Thanks, Giles."
"I'll see to it tomorrow, then. Around sundown."
They were all quiet for a second, avoiding each others' eyes, which made the sudden very loud, multi-voiced shout of "We're the Olympic Slaying Team!" from down the hall that much louder. Xander blinked. He caught Willow's eye, and saw the giggles she was sternly suppressing, and felt a grin tug on his mouth against his will.
"What on earth...?" Giles wondered aloud, cocking his head.
"We will, we will, ROCK YOU! *Rock* you!"
"Everybody sing!"
"We will, we will--"
Giles winced as the song became increasingly off-key. "Oh dear lord. They're going to get us thrown out. And I put down a deposit."
"Are you sure they didn't get some of the wine earlier?" Dawn asked suspiciously.
"Pretty sure," Buffy replied, sounding hesitant. Then she frowned. "Except I think Faith went with some of them to get food, so um, not sure at all, now that I remember what happened at the Bronze. Not that she had a driver's license, but that didn't stop her getting served before...."
*thump thump THUMP! thump thump THUMP!*
It sounded like the Slayers were stomping down the halls toward them and back, shouting "We Will Rock You" the whole time. Xander swallowed more wine to hide his smile, then tilted his head to the side, humming along. Willow was snickering into the mattress now, her shoulders shaking.
"Ahem, yes." Giles rolled his eyes. "Where is Faith, may I ask?"
"Cuddling with Principal Wood."
"Faith and Principal Wood...?" Andrew asked, looking intrigued and awake for the first time in half an hour.
"Dawn!"
"What? I don't think he's 'up' to anything else yet, he was wounded..."
"DAWN!"
"Oh, spare me. Those two have *so* been boinking. And he doesn't need her to 'check his bandages' in his room for four hours straight." Dawn smirked. "Although, that does wind up at a pretty interesting visual place, like the two of them comparing body piercings--"
Buffy's "meep" owed more to Dawn talking about sex than her being upset at Faith and Wood doing anything, Xander judged, so he felt safe sticking his two cents in. "You know, they'll have matching stomach scars by the time his heals up. Kind of like getting tattoos with each other's names. Very trendy. Much better than wedding rings."
"Should we get them congratulations-on-your-sex-buddy presents?" Willow put in with an evil smile. "I bet that would freak Faith out."
Buffy's ack-face morphed into mischief-face at that. "Ooo. I'm in. Maybe matching earrings?"
"Nothing dangling for Robin. It wouldn't go with the baldness. He'd look like Dennis Rodman," Dawn pointed out, snatching another piece of crazy bread before Xander could.
"I don't know, I think he could pull it off," Andrew said, thinking aloud. "I mean, Wesley Snipes wore earrings in 'To Wong Fu' and he's a real badass... although not so much in that movie, 'cause he was supposed to be a drag queen."
"Okay, I vote for dangling."
Buffy hit Xander with a pillow, not hard, just as Kennedy came in.
"Kennedy, what was that godawful noise about the Olympic team earlier?" Giles asked as the dark-haired Slayer pounced onto an open spot on the bed next to Willow.
"Hunh? Oh, that. Some guys in one of the rooms came through the hall and wanted to know who we were, and Vi and Rona had been saying that we could take on all the martial arts teams ever now, so it just kinda seemed-- Uh, maybe you had to be there." She grinned, and kissed Willow on the nose. "Having fun?"
"We're getting Faith and Robin some earrings to celebrate their couple- dom," Willow informed her.
Kennedy brightened. "Oo! Do we get presents for getting together too?"
"Aren't I present enough?"
"You're a goddess. But I want new earrings. These aren't even my best pair, and they're all I've got left."
"Tomorrow there will be much more shopping than there was today," Buffy said firmly. "All courtesy of the Watcher's Council platinum cards. Right, Giles?"
"As long as I'm not required to witness your rampage through the malls. Or carry any shopping bags."
"Sweet mother of god, yes," Xander said with feeling. Twenty-five Slayers on a shopping hunt. Twice in one day, he was feeling mortal fear. "Wills, you know what I wear, you'll get me new shirts, won't you? I'd just slow you guys down."
"Of course. And I might get you some *nice* shirts, too."
"Ha. Ha. Ha."
"If Willow gets to shop for you, and we have unlimited charge cards, I'm getting you something too. Something you *will* wear," Dawn decided. "You'll thank me later."
"I'm sure I will. I'm not stupid and I have good self-preservational skills. Everyone says so."
"Giles, are those charge cards really unlimited?" Kennedy asked, twisting her head around to look at him.
"Well, for most practical purposes, yes. The entire resources of the Council were-- extensive, and since there are only a handful of Watchers left, we've rather done away with the necessity for accounting for the near future. Why?"
"Some of the girls want to call their parents, let them know they're okay. And some of them are talking about going home now...." She looked wistful at the thought.
"Ah. I see. The phone calls certainly aren't a problem. Tell them to charge them to their rooms. As for the other... that has yet to be decided." Giles looked thoughtful, and Xander had a brief, passing thought about contacting his parents. Just to let them know he was alive. After all, if they'd heard about Sunnydale sinking into the earth, they might be worried.
Worried? His parents?
Well, he'd call them tomorrow anyway.
"We should probably call L.A., tell the guys down there how everything came out," Buffy said, leaning her head back against the pillow behind her. "They should know they don't have to worry about the First."
"Don't you want to call Angel?" Willow asked, looking at Buffy worriedly. "I mean, we do kinda owe him, for the amulet...."
"I really, really don't want to talk to him yet," Buffy said, her voice low. "Not yet."
Which brought up a whole new angle on how things turned out: that Angel had been the one who was probably supposed to die, and not Spike. That had to be the ultimate weirdness for Buffy. Not for the first time, Xander was glad that the whole destiny thing had passed him by. (An, I'm sorry we didn't get married. I'm sorry I didn't tell you to leave. I'm sorry I didn't keep you safe. I wish I could have, I wish I had....) Maybe he didn't have superpowers, but at least he didn't have to stay up late at night thinking about whether one of his old girlfriends was supposed to die in the other's place.
"We are the CHAMPIONS, we are the CHAMPIONS--- there's no time for LOSERS cause we are the CHAMPIONS--- of the WOOOORRLLLD!"
"Somewhere, Freddie Mercury is spinning his way out of his grave from sheer horror," Giles observed sadly, shaking his head.
*** CLK kikimariposa@prodigy.net
The sun was going down by the time everyone had checked in to their respective rooms and made a run to the local drug store for T-shirts, shampoo, and other basics. The four wounded girls were put into one room, most of them already beginning to heal. Ivy's broken ribs and concussion were the worst of it. The other girls were taking turns checking on her, in between changing each other's bandages and counting bruises.
Exhaustion and being fed should have made some of them collapse, but Xander wasn't surprised that rest wasn't happening for any of them. It was always like this, after the big ones: everyone too wired to crash, too jacked up on adrenaline and relief to do the sensible thing and pass out. And this apocalypse was bigger than the others had been-- they'd defeated the First. El Uno. The baddest of them all. Why shouldn't they be acting like popcorn in a giant microwave?
Especially since most of them hadn't lost anyone. Not anyone special.
(Anya, are you mad at me? I couldn't find you. I would've brought you with us, no matter what, if I just could've found you....)
He did not want to be alone with the thoughts inside his head. Those thoughts were not his friends. He didn't want to talk about it, either. Not yet. Sometime, maybe, but not now. It didn't seem real yet; he kept expecting Anya to call and chew him out for leaving her by the side of the road, demanding that he pay for a cab to the hotel so she could get out of the rain.
If there had even been a body, he probably wouldn't feel like this. Something he could touch, something to traumatize him and give him nightmares and make it impossible *not* to deny it. It wasn't that he didn't believe Andrew, or that he desperately didn't want to. It just... wasn't real yet. Anya was going to be back any minute, his gut said so.
The crash that was coming when his gut finally got the message that she wasn't ever showing up wasn't going to be pretty.
Until then? There was Strawberry Hill wine in plastic cups - two bottles of it-- and crazy bread in Buffy and Dawn's room. As long as he wasn't going to be drinking alone, progress was being made from the last time Anya went away.
"Why don't I get any? I helped save the world too, darnit."
Buffy poured herself another cup and made a face at the pouting Dawn. "Because you're underage, and none of the other girls get any either. They're all Slayers now, but strangely, that doesn't mean they won't get mega-sick if they drink too much. And they're all too young to have any idea what too much is. I'm just heading that problem off before they learn it through sad personal experience."
The other Slayers had been wandering in and out of all their rooms on the floor for the last hour, skipping in to share their Chinese take-out and Mexican food and excitedly hug everyone before dancing out again. It was really pretty scary. Xander was very glad that he was not sharing a room with any of them tonight.
"You should talk." Dawn snorted and snagged another piece of pizza from the box on her bed. "I thought you always said 'beer bad'?"
"Yes, beer bad. But wine? Wonderful."
"Not that anyone's advocating alcoholic excess, of course," Giles murmured, taking another sip from his cup and grimacing, then leaning back in his chair.
Buffy and Dawn had each commandeered a bed, with Willow sprawled out at the foot of Buffy's, and Xander stretched out on the floor in between them, his back against the nightstand. Giles had fallen into one chair as if he were a hundred years old and never moving again, and Andrew had kind of curled up in the other, for once not saying much. Xander could tell he was still sort of shocky, which was actually kind of a relief, because he didn't want to talk to Andrew right now. He wasn't sure how well he'd keep it together if Andrew said anything about Anya again. He'd been proud that he hadn't yelled when the kid had given him the news, and very glad that he hadn't lashed out with "why didn't you save her?" or "God I wish it had been you." But he wasn't going to push it by actually holding a conversation with Andrew, or letting himself drink so much that it would all spew out without being able to stop it.
(Even though it's true. I think I'm going crazy, An. I'm talking to you in my head, and I'm wishing him dead and not dead; I'm glad you saved him, I don't want to undo that. It's nothing personal, I just hate the sight of him now. Why didn't I stay with you instead of Dawn? I could've saved you, it's my fault, not Andrew's, no, it's no one's fault, or it's the First's fault, it's...)
No, talking to Andrew was not an option.
"Oh, but a little celebratory giddiness is in order, you know," Willow said, waving her tacky pink plastic champagne glass around in a circle. His Willster never could drink more than one beer without getting goofy and lit up. "We got out of the Hellmouth before it could chew us up and spit us out and... okay, not all of us, but...." She bit her lip, her face falling. "Sorry, guys. Being quiet now."
The expression in Buffy's eyes when she glanced down at him probably matched his own: don't make me think about that yet. I'm okay if I don't think.
Whatever else he'd ever felt about Spike - which had ranged from kill-him-now to almost liking him, about once a year - he'd come through for them. Xander knew he was now *not allowed* to ever, ever call the guy evil again. Or say that he hadn't loved Buffy. In another month or so he could probably make fun of his hair, but not any sooner. And he would personally rip the arms off anyone who said anything remotely similar about Anya.
"It's not your fault, Will." Buffy took another sip from her cup. "I'm not sorry we're alive and I'm really, really glad we won. We kicked ass, the girls should get their party for it. And I don't want to bring everyone down." She looked at Xander again, and he clenched his jaw and looked away. "But could we not go there yet?"
"Seconded," Xander said, raising his glass.
"Thirded," Dawn muttered, then stuffed another piece of pizza in her mouth.
Giles looked around the room, then cleared his throat, studying the bottom of his cup. "I have a suggestion, before the subject of our... losses, is tabled for the evening. If anyone would care to hear it."
"Maybe," Buffy said warily. "What is it?"
"The Slayers have mentioned wondering how to deal with the deaths of the others, since a funeral service is impossible. I spoke to the management and confirmed that bonfires are allowed on the beach with a permit. Perhaps a mass memorial service tomorrow night would be appropriate, if it isn't raining?"
Xander turned this idea over in his head and felt the first real stab of grief hit him, untinged with anger or disbelief. (You never saw the point of funerals, you didn't understand Joyce's, and you didn't really get Buffy's, maybe you'd be glad we're not having one for you... ) Oh, how much did he *not* want to deal. But Anya would -- would've yelled at him for being stupid, for not agreeing to a perfectly plausible solution. The Slayers deserved some kind of ceremony to say good-bye to their friends. And he owed Anya this. So much more than this, but at least a good-bye. Not drawing it out forever until he couldn't avoid it anymore.
(I'm glad you were a hero there, at the end, I'm glad you didn't bail, I love you for that, I always loved you. I was stupid and I miss you so much already.)
"That works for me," he said, not looking at Giles. "Buffy?"
"Yeah. I think... It's a good idea." She nodded without smiling. "Thanks, Giles."
"I'll see to it tomorrow, then. Around sundown."
They were all quiet for a second, avoiding each others' eyes, which made the sudden very loud, multi-voiced shout of "We're the Olympic Slaying Team!" from down the hall that much louder. Xander blinked. He caught Willow's eye, and saw the giggles she was sternly suppressing, and felt a grin tug on his mouth against his will.
"What on earth...?" Giles wondered aloud, cocking his head.
"We will, we will, ROCK YOU! *Rock* you!"
"Everybody sing!"
"We will, we will--"
Giles winced as the song became increasingly off-key. "Oh dear lord. They're going to get us thrown out. And I put down a deposit."
"Are you sure they didn't get some of the wine earlier?" Dawn asked suspiciously.
"Pretty sure," Buffy replied, sounding hesitant. Then she frowned. "Except I think Faith went with some of them to get food, so um, not sure at all, now that I remember what happened at the Bronze. Not that she had a driver's license, but that didn't stop her getting served before...."
*thump thump THUMP! thump thump THUMP!*
It sounded like the Slayers were stomping down the halls toward them and back, shouting "We Will Rock You" the whole time. Xander swallowed more wine to hide his smile, then tilted his head to the side, humming along. Willow was snickering into the mattress now, her shoulders shaking.
"Ahem, yes." Giles rolled his eyes. "Where is Faith, may I ask?"
"Cuddling with Principal Wood."
"Faith and Principal Wood...?" Andrew asked, looking intrigued and awake for the first time in half an hour.
"Dawn!"
"What? I don't think he's 'up' to anything else yet, he was wounded..."
"DAWN!"
"Oh, spare me. Those two have *so* been boinking. And he doesn't need her to 'check his bandages' in his room for four hours straight." Dawn smirked. "Although, that does wind up at a pretty interesting visual place, like the two of them comparing body piercings--"
Buffy's "meep" owed more to Dawn talking about sex than her being upset at Faith and Wood doing anything, Xander judged, so he felt safe sticking his two cents in. "You know, they'll have matching stomach scars by the time his heals up. Kind of like getting tattoos with each other's names. Very trendy. Much better than wedding rings."
"Should we get them congratulations-on-your-sex-buddy presents?" Willow put in with an evil smile. "I bet that would freak Faith out."
Buffy's ack-face morphed into mischief-face at that. "Ooo. I'm in. Maybe matching earrings?"
"Nothing dangling for Robin. It wouldn't go with the baldness. He'd look like Dennis Rodman," Dawn pointed out, snatching another piece of crazy bread before Xander could.
"I don't know, I think he could pull it off," Andrew said, thinking aloud. "I mean, Wesley Snipes wore earrings in 'To Wong Fu' and he's a real badass... although not so much in that movie, 'cause he was supposed to be a drag queen."
"Okay, I vote for dangling."
Buffy hit Xander with a pillow, not hard, just as Kennedy came in.
"Kennedy, what was that godawful noise about the Olympic team earlier?" Giles asked as the dark-haired Slayer pounced onto an open spot on the bed next to Willow.
"Hunh? Oh, that. Some guys in one of the rooms came through the hall and wanted to know who we were, and Vi and Rona had been saying that we could take on all the martial arts teams ever now, so it just kinda seemed-- Uh, maybe you had to be there." She grinned, and kissed Willow on the nose. "Having fun?"
"We're getting Faith and Robin some earrings to celebrate their couple- dom," Willow informed her.
Kennedy brightened. "Oo! Do we get presents for getting together too?"
"Aren't I present enough?"
"You're a goddess. But I want new earrings. These aren't even my best pair, and they're all I've got left."
"Tomorrow there will be much more shopping than there was today," Buffy said firmly. "All courtesy of the Watcher's Council platinum cards. Right, Giles?"
"As long as I'm not required to witness your rampage through the malls. Or carry any shopping bags."
"Sweet mother of god, yes," Xander said with feeling. Twenty-five Slayers on a shopping hunt. Twice in one day, he was feeling mortal fear. "Wills, you know what I wear, you'll get me new shirts, won't you? I'd just slow you guys down."
"Of course. And I might get you some *nice* shirts, too."
"Ha. Ha. Ha."
"If Willow gets to shop for you, and we have unlimited charge cards, I'm getting you something too. Something you *will* wear," Dawn decided. "You'll thank me later."
"I'm sure I will. I'm not stupid and I have good self-preservational skills. Everyone says so."
"Giles, are those charge cards really unlimited?" Kennedy asked, twisting her head around to look at him.
"Well, for most practical purposes, yes. The entire resources of the Council were-- extensive, and since there are only a handful of Watchers left, we've rather done away with the necessity for accounting for the near future. Why?"
"Some of the girls want to call their parents, let them know they're okay. And some of them are talking about going home now...." She looked wistful at the thought.
"Ah. I see. The phone calls certainly aren't a problem. Tell them to charge them to their rooms. As for the other... that has yet to be decided." Giles looked thoughtful, and Xander had a brief, passing thought about contacting his parents. Just to let them know he was alive. After all, if they'd heard about Sunnydale sinking into the earth, they might be worried.
Worried? His parents?
Well, he'd call them tomorrow anyway.
"We should probably call L.A., tell the guys down there how everything came out," Buffy said, leaning her head back against the pillow behind her. "They should know they don't have to worry about the First."
"Don't you want to call Angel?" Willow asked, looking at Buffy worriedly. "I mean, we do kinda owe him, for the amulet...."
"I really, really don't want to talk to him yet," Buffy said, her voice low. "Not yet."
Which brought up a whole new angle on how things turned out: that Angel had been the one who was probably supposed to die, and not Spike. That had to be the ultimate weirdness for Buffy. Not for the first time, Xander was glad that the whole destiny thing had passed him by. (An, I'm sorry we didn't get married. I'm sorry I didn't tell you to leave. I'm sorry I didn't keep you safe. I wish I could have, I wish I had....) Maybe he didn't have superpowers, but at least he didn't have to stay up late at night thinking about whether one of his old girlfriends was supposed to die in the other's place.
"We are the CHAMPIONS, we are the CHAMPIONS--- there's no time for LOSERS cause we are the CHAMPIONS--- of the WOOOORRLLLD!"
"Somewhere, Freddie Mercury is spinning his way out of his grave from sheer horror," Giles observed sadly, shaking his head.
*** CLK kikimariposa@prodigy.net