TITLE: The Powers, inc. Chapter 3, (AKA "Sunnydale, Californ-i-a")
AUTHOR: Me, oh yes.
ARCHIVE: I'm an archive whore. Just lemme know, okay? SPOILERS: None, yet. I think. I dunno. SETTING: Buffy season 3, (pre-ATS). RATING: PG -13. Because I love to swear, oh yes, how I love to swear! Fuck! DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of Doyle, Angel, Cordelia or Lorne, for I am not Joss. Damn him. FEEDBACK: Ooo! Yes please! AUTHOR'S NOTES: Still Doyle POV, (as always.). Thank you all for the wonderful feedback, because as we all know, feedback is a writer's reason for existence, et al. Hoping to pick up the pace a bit in this chapter, I mean... jeez! If this story gets anymore exciting it's gonna break out into a bridge game!
Now, y'see... Sunnydale, California is approximately a 2 hour drive from the ol' Caritas bar, in LA. The first most striking thing that you'll notice about Sunnydale is it's bright and sunny climate. There's no beating it. There are rows and rows of immaculate, white picket houses with friendly and immaculate, white picket house-type folks living in them. All in all, it's a beautiful place to visit, all small and quiet, like. Totally different from the seedy underbelly of LA that I'm so used to.
Of course, the second most striking thing about Sunnydale that you'll notice is it's Hellmouth, but I'm thinking I'm getting ahead of myself.
Understand that whilst I was in Los Angeles drinking my body weight in cheap beer, in Sunnydale something else was going on. In the deepest, darkest corner of Sunnydale stood a creepy, big ol' mansion. This mansion, much like the rest of Sunnydale, was practically perfect in every way, and there was nothing especially evil about it.
Or, for that matter, about the vampire that occupied it. I starting to think this story is becoming a little too sarcastic, y'know? I'm beginning to sound like Cordelia, here. Oh, wait... I haven't told you about Cordelia yet, have I? Ah, forget it. Ignore me.
Anyway, this vampire fellah, he's got the hump. He goes by the name 'Angelus', (or 'Angel' to the people he hasn't tried to evisicate), and he doesn't have much in the way of mates. Angel doesn't sleep at night, being a vampire and such. I suppose that'd make him nocturnal, except that he's not totally nocturnal, because he doesn't sleep during the day either. He'd been having nightmares about that one time the previous summer where his Slayer-girlfriend sent him to hell, and therefore was a raging insomniac, and really - can you blame him?
Sometimes our vampire friend tries a little Tai Chi to mellow himself out. Every so often, he feels all suffocated and will drop in on the Highschool library to oh-so-subtley check in on the very same Slayer- girlfriend that sent him to hell. That's pretty much how he justified his miserable existence, y'know? And I thought my backstory was tragic.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I'm just giving you a feel for this vampire-guy, because as Lorne told me, he was the very hero I was supposed to be consulting. It seems to make sense me introducing him to you now because, for all his hellish gal problems, Angel was having an infinately more interesting time then I was. After Lorne was finish reading my destiny, I spent the next few hours of my life alternating between phoning a few unsavoury characters from my address book, and shoving my head in the toilet bowl; I think I drank enough scotch that night to drop my own Aunt Judy.
"Hello? This is Willy's bar, what d'ya want?" Was the familiar, weaselly voice from down the phoneline.
"Willy? Is that any way to talk to an' old pal, man?"
"Ah, uh... Doyle! It's good to hear from ya! Umm.. you do know I've been meaning to pay you that c-note back, right?"
"Y'what?... oh, the 'Wolverines' game. Right, yeah. That's ancient history, yeah?"
"Yeah?... I mean, uh... yeah!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, still feeling a little woozy from all that scotch I drank earlier, "Great, because I'm needing a favour. Pal. I'm looking for a vampire... "
Willy answered just a little *too* quickly, y'know? "Sure, sure! I can help with that! What does he look like?"
"Well... I dunno. From what I've heard, he looks pretty much like what he is: a corpse in a girlie black coat. But listen boyo, this vampire has this, like... he has this thing..."
"... a vampire with a... thing ?"
"Yeah, he has this whole 'soul' thing going for him, like a quest for redemption, or something? My man Lorne says this vamp should be in Sunnydale, and who else happens to be in Sunnydale, but my bestest ever pal Willy! How's the bar, Willy?"
"It's er... it's good. Listen, I don't know anything about Angel. Never heard of him, I swear!"
I could feel the startings of a hangover brewing, "Now, I never even said his name was Angel."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then the phone was put down. I turned to Lorne, "Yeah, Willy says he knows where Angel is. But it doesn't look like he's going to tell us over the phone."
Lorne absently filed his nails, not even remotely interested. "Fabulous. So, we're travelling to Sunnydale? Can we rent a convertible?"
"What?! No... no way, man! You're not coming with me! This whole messenger thing is my deal, right?"
"Oh, come on. What's a little Hellmouth between friends?"
"No."
"Look, it's not like I don't have faith in your abilities, because I do... " Lorne thought about this for a minute, "Okay, no, I guess don't. You drink too much, and even though it pains me to pry myself away from my business to play diplomat between you and the vampire Lestat, I've heard some weird and not-so-wonderful things about this Angel guy, Lambkin. He doesn't like people, and you don't like people, and that equals... well, this is kinda anti-social math for the remedial, isn't it? You get the point."
I was a tad offended, "Shut your face!"
"Oh, debunch your panties, Doyle. I haven't said a word tonight that wasn't true."
Well, he had me there. "Yeah, fair do."
"So we're renting a convertable, right?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "Yeah. Sure. Youbetcha."
ARCHIVE: I'm an archive whore. Just lemme know, okay? SPOILERS: None, yet. I think. I dunno. SETTING: Buffy season 3, (pre-ATS). RATING: PG -13. Because I love to swear, oh yes, how I love to swear! Fuck! DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of Doyle, Angel, Cordelia or Lorne, for I am not Joss. Damn him. FEEDBACK: Ooo! Yes please! AUTHOR'S NOTES: Still Doyle POV, (as always.). Thank you all for the wonderful feedback, because as we all know, feedback is a writer's reason for existence, et al. Hoping to pick up the pace a bit in this chapter, I mean... jeez! If this story gets anymore exciting it's gonna break out into a bridge game!
Now, y'see... Sunnydale, California is approximately a 2 hour drive from the ol' Caritas bar, in LA. The first most striking thing that you'll notice about Sunnydale is it's bright and sunny climate. There's no beating it. There are rows and rows of immaculate, white picket houses with friendly and immaculate, white picket house-type folks living in them. All in all, it's a beautiful place to visit, all small and quiet, like. Totally different from the seedy underbelly of LA that I'm so used to.
Of course, the second most striking thing about Sunnydale that you'll notice is it's Hellmouth, but I'm thinking I'm getting ahead of myself.
Understand that whilst I was in Los Angeles drinking my body weight in cheap beer, in Sunnydale something else was going on. In the deepest, darkest corner of Sunnydale stood a creepy, big ol' mansion. This mansion, much like the rest of Sunnydale, was practically perfect in every way, and there was nothing especially evil about it.
Or, for that matter, about the vampire that occupied it. I starting to think this story is becoming a little too sarcastic, y'know? I'm beginning to sound like Cordelia, here. Oh, wait... I haven't told you about Cordelia yet, have I? Ah, forget it. Ignore me.
Anyway, this vampire fellah, he's got the hump. He goes by the name 'Angelus', (or 'Angel' to the people he hasn't tried to evisicate), and he doesn't have much in the way of mates. Angel doesn't sleep at night, being a vampire and such. I suppose that'd make him nocturnal, except that he's not totally nocturnal, because he doesn't sleep during the day either. He'd been having nightmares about that one time the previous summer where his Slayer-girlfriend sent him to hell, and therefore was a raging insomniac, and really - can you blame him?
Sometimes our vampire friend tries a little Tai Chi to mellow himself out. Every so often, he feels all suffocated and will drop in on the Highschool library to oh-so-subtley check in on the very same Slayer- girlfriend that sent him to hell. That's pretty much how he justified his miserable existence, y'know? And I thought my backstory was tragic.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I'm just giving you a feel for this vampire-guy, because as Lorne told me, he was the very hero I was supposed to be consulting. It seems to make sense me introducing him to you now because, for all his hellish gal problems, Angel was having an infinately more interesting time then I was. After Lorne was finish reading my destiny, I spent the next few hours of my life alternating between phoning a few unsavoury characters from my address book, and shoving my head in the toilet bowl; I think I drank enough scotch that night to drop my own Aunt Judy.
"Hello? This is Willy's bar, what d'ya want?" Was the familiar, weaselly voice from down the phoneline.
"Willy? Is that any way to talk to an' old pal, man?"
"Ah, uh... Doyle! It's good to hear from ya! Umm.. you do know I've been meaning to pay you that c-note back, right?"
"Y'what?... oh, the 'Wolverines' game. Right, yeah. That's ancient history, yeah?"
"Yeah?... I mean, uh... yeah!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, still feeling a little woozy from all that scotch I drank earlier, "Great, because I'm needing a favour. Pal. I'm looking for a vampire... "
Willy answered just a little *too* quickly, y'know? "Sure, sure! I can help with that! What does he look like?"
"Well... I dunno. From what I've heard, he looks pretty much like what he is: a corpse in a girlie black coat. But listen boyo, this vampire has this, like... he has this thing..."
"... a vampire with a... thing ?"
"Yeah, he has this whole 'soul' thing going for him, like a quest for redemption, or something? My man Lorne says this vamp should be in Sunnydale, and who else happens to be in Sunnydale, but my bestest ever pal Willy! How's the bar, Willy?"
"It's er... it's good. Listen, I don't know anything about Angel. Never heard of him, I swear!"
I could feel the startings of a hangover brewing, "Now, I never even said his name was Angel."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then the phone was put down. I turned to Lorne, "Yeah, Willy says he knows where Angel is. But it doesn't look like he's going to tell us over the phone."
Lorne absently filed his nails, not even remotely interested. "Fabulous. So, we're travelling to Sunnydale? Can we rent a convertible?"
"What?! No... no way, man! You're not coming with me! This whole messenger thing is my deal, right?"
"Oh, come on. What's a little Hellmouth between friends?"
"No."
"Look, it's not like I don't have faith in your abilities, because I do... " Lorne thought about this for a minute, "Okay, no, I guess don't. You drink too much, and even though it pains me to pry myself away from my business to play diplomat between you and the vampire Lestat, I've heard some weird and not-so-wonderful things about this Angel guy, Lambkin. He doesn't like people, and you don't like people, and that equals... well, this is kinda anti-social math for the remedial, isn't it? You get the point."
I was a tad offended, "Shut your face!"
"Oh, debunch your panties, Doyle. I haven't said a word tonight that wasn't true."
Well, he had me there. "Yeah, fair do."
"So we're renting a convertable, right?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "Yeah. Sure. Youbetcha."