I still don't own any Malcolm, Buffy or Angel characters. You think if
they asked really nicely they'd give them to me? [hopeful look]---[beat]----
Guess not, then. Damn. Oh well, here's a little more for you, and YAY-
Francis is back at long last. I know I don't name my chapters, but I like
to think of this one as 'Francis the Rogue Demon Hunter.' Even though,
like Cordelia, I still don't know what a Rogue Demon is. Enjoy, ~Anoron.
"I mean it, young lady!" Lois bellowed at Faith. "You are not to set foot outside this house for a week! That means no shopping, no patrolling, nothing! You will stay here and make sure this place is spotless!"
Faith's eyes blazed. This was absolutely ridiculous. Sure, she'd been involved in a high speed chase with a demon, done what she swore she never would and dragged one of her brothers right into the firing line, and even gotten herself arrested (actually, Dewey and Malcolm had gotten her arrested), but what else was she supposed to do?
"Mom, I *have* to patrol," she insisted, hoping her mother would understand the importance of Faith being able to do her job.
"Well you should've thought of that before you went and did something so stupid and thoughtless," Lois reasoned.
She walked away, leaving Faith to sit at the kitchen table alone and fume. The phone rang and she snatched it up.
"What?" she spat.
"Faith?" Francis asked. "I'm glad I caught you, I got a huge problem."
Swallowing her anger at her mother, Faith asked, "What's up, F?"
"Well, uh, I, ah. . . ."
"Spit it out already," Faith demanded. Patience was not on her very short list of virtues at the moment.
"I think there's a demon at the Grotto," Francis blurted.
Faith perked up, immediately on full alert. "A demon at the Grotto? What kind? Is everybody ok?"
"I don't know what kind. And yeah, everybody's ok. So far."
"Well," Faith began, slipping into recon mode. It was pretty much the closest she ever came to research mode. "What does it look like? Horns, scales, hyper-colour skin, what?"
"None of the above," Francis admitted in a small voice. "He's just. . . this really weird looking guy. . . keeps licking his lips a lot. . . it's creepy!" By the time he had finished, Francis' tone had gone from pathetic to defensive.
"A creepy looking little guy who licks his lips?" Faith snarled, finally snapping. "I have had, Francis, the King of all crappy days, ok? Some big-ass demon made an afternoon out of slamming me around for fun, Reese is in the hospital because his favourite target with my crossbow was himself, I have to help clean up the place, which by the way, is beyond completely trashed, and on top of all that, I'm *grounded* because I tried to combine baby-sitting Dewey with demon hunting. Oh, and I got arrested. Again."
After several seconds of tense silence, Francis found his voice again. "Ok, you had a bad day. I'm on board with that. But I'm telling you there is something seriously off with this guy."
"Fine. Watch him, give me something to go with and I'll help however I can," Faith returned. She hung up.
She was still sitting there, mulling over what Francis had told her when her mother stormed back in a minute later.
"Why are you just sitting there!? You should be helping your father clean up this mess, now MOVE!"
Faith muttered several obscenities under her breath as she dragged herself out of her chair.
The next day, while the rest of the family was collecting Reese from the hospital, Francis called Faith again. "Ok, here's something for you- this guy has *bugs* crawling all over him. Bugs!" Faith could hear the shudder in Francis' voice
Deciding that maybe Francis' mystery guest could be a demon after all, she grabbed a pad and a pen and began scribbling information down. "So this guy has a bug issue. What else? Describe him, and his little buggy pals."
Five minutes later, Faith was on the phone to Angel Investigations. "Hey, Cor, how's it goin'?"
"Fine. What's up Faith?" Cordelia responded less than enthusiastically.
"I need you guys to get into research mode for me. My brother's got a guest at the ranch, this Pfister guy who has, get this- bugs crawling all over him! Wicked gross, huh?"
Cordelia's only response was a loud "Eew! Not again!"
"What the hell-?" Faith began, but was stopped short by the sound of the phone hitting the desk as Cordelia dropped it. A few moments later, Angel picked it up.
"Faith you still there?"
"Yeah, though whether or not I can still hear properly is another thing. . ."
"Good. Listen, we've dealt with this kind of thing before, there was a demon in the Order of Taraka, hired by Spike to kill Buffy a few years ago. I don't remember the details, but Xander and Cordelia killed the first one, so it can't be too difficult. Unfortunately, Cordy's just been overcome with a compulsion to 'shower for a week', so I'll get the guys on it and give you a call back as soon as I can. Just sit tight," Angel hung up without letting Faith get a word in edgeways.
Faith shrugged it off and went into the backyard to do some training, let off some steam before the family came barrelling back into the house. It was less than an hour before Angel called her back.
"Did you get the info?" Faith asked immediately.
"Yeah, Faith. This guy is Wallace Pfister, brother of Norman Pfister. Norman is the one that Xander and Cordy killed, but here's where they're different; Norman could only be killed in his disassembled state. Wallace, however, needs to be in human form. Got that?"
"Human form. Check. Anything else?"
"Not really. Standard knife through the heart should take care of it."
"Ok. Thanks, Angel." Faith hit the disconnect button and then dialled Francis' number.
"Hey, Francis, I've got the goods on your demon guy. All it takes to kill him is a knife through the heart when he's in human form."
"Great. How soon can you be here?"
"Uh, you do remember the part where I said I was grounded, right?"
"Well, yeah, but what am I gonna do?" Francis whined.
Faith shrugged to herself. "Look, I'm sorry, F. It's not like the time Richie invited all those vamp sluts into his basement. I can't just slip out to the Grotto, do the slaying, and be back before Mom and Dad notice."
Francis chuckled at the memory. He sobered up quickly when Faith told him, "You're on your own with this one."
* * * * *
Faith hung up, leaving Francis to whimper down the dead line, paralysed with fear. Five minutes later, he was finally able to move again and returned the receiver to the cradle.
"Honey what's wrong?" Piama asked, coming in and noticing the uncontrollable shivers of Francis.
Shocking himself back into action, Francis grabbed his wife by the arms and conspiritually forced her into a secluded corner. "One of the guests is a demon and Faith is grounded so she can't come to slay it for us," he hissed.
"Oh my God! Which one?" Piama hissed in reply.
"Wallace Pfister."
"I knew it! That guy is way too creepy not to be a demon!"
"Shh," Francis cautioned, looking around.
Piama rolled her eyes. She watched, bemused, as Francis straightened and looked her in the eye. "Piama, I don't know if I'm gonna survive this, so I want you to know one thing-"
"What, how much you love me?"
"No! I want you to know, Piama, that the key to my safety deposit box is in my old gym shorts," Francis spoke slowly, as if he was imparting the most crucial information ever to be imparted.
Piama gaped at him. "You don't have a safety deposit box! All you have is that crappy old wrestling superstars lunch tin that you put a padlock on!"
"And I'm telling you- the key is in my gym shorts! God, don't you ever listen to what I'm trying to tell you?" With that, Francis stormed off to the kitchen to find a knife with which to kill Pfister.
The man/mass of bugs/demon was alone in the stables and Francis marched purposefully towards the building, brandishing a formidable-looking carving knife.
He slipped into the stables, moving as quietly as he could. Francis spotted Pfister standing by one of the stalls, petting a horse who was shifting and tossing its head in protest. A few bugs crept up Pfister's hand and blended into his arm. Silently, Francis crept up behind the demon. He raised the knife high above his head. He prepared to strike.
"Francis! There you are!" cried Otto, bursting into the stables.
Pfister jumped, startled, and spun around.
"Oh, geez," Francis moaned, having been sprung.
Before anyone could make another move, Francis plunged the carving knife deep into Pfister's heart.
"Francis, what are you doing?" Otto screamed.
Pfister began to convulse violently for a few seconds, then he slumped onto the hey-strewn floor, dead. Otto hurried over. "Is he dead?"
"God I hope so," Francis sighed, reaching over to pull the knife out. As he did, a few stray bugs flopped onto the hay.
With a disgusted squeal, Otto began to frantically stamp them flat. When he was done, he turned to Francis. "I don't know what you are doing, Francis, but we will get you help."
The ranch owner's eyes widened as a new though occurred to him. "We will be out of business once the media hears of this! I will not allow it to happen!" He grasped Francis firmly by the shoulders and shook him. "We will bury nice Mr. Pfister here, and nobody will be any the wiser. Come, let us get some shovels!"
In the dead of night, Francis and Otto dragged the carcass of Wallace Pfister far out into the desert. The pair shovelled furiously for five minutes, until Otto sank in a heap on the ground. He was out of breath and panting.
"Go on, Francis," he huffed, wiping at his sweat-drenched face. "Bury the evidence. Save the Grotto!" With that, he rolled onto his back and continued to pant.
Francis rolled his eyes and continued to dig. It was several hours before he had a satisfactory grave dug for Wallace. Otto heaved himself to his feet to help roll the carcass in.
They stood for a moment, looking at the ashen figure deep in the ground. Francis shrugged and moved to start covering it over.
"What are you doing?" Otto cried out.
"What am I doing?" Francis spluttered. "I'm covering this guy over before he starts to get really rank! Have you ever smelled a less than fresh corpse? It ain't pretty, Otto!"
"Well I think we should at least say something. I mean, you did kill the man Francis, did you not?"
"Yeah, I guess," Francis responded reluctantly. "But-"
"But nothing! We will give him a proper burial," Otto insisted. "You give the eulogy."
"Ok? Um, well, we're here, Otto and I, to bury Wallace Pfister, one of our upstanding guests who paid cash upfront for the full week. Wallace and I were never friends. That's probably because I killed him but hey, no hard feelings Wallace? I mean, you did deserve it, being evil and all. Anyway, have a nice rest."
Proud of his spur of the moment eulogy, Francis turned to Otto and beamed. "Uh, Otto?"
Otto sniffled into his handkerchief and wiped away a tear. "That was such a beautiful eulogy, Francis," he gushed. "I really wish Mr. Pfister could've been here to hear it. Ok, cover him over and we will never speak of this again!"
With a sigh, Francis shifted the shovel in his grip and started refilling the grave with dirt. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when the pair of weary workers trudged back into the comforts of the ranch. Suddenly excited about his demon slaying skills, Francis rushed straight for the phone.
"Faith? Are you there? I did it, all by myself!"
"What? Slow down, F," Faith commanded blearily. "Haven't had my coffee yet."
"Oh right! Wallace Pfister! I took care of it all by myself, I grabbed a knife and I plunged it straight into his heart!" Francis was mildly surprised to find that, when he recreated his actions as he described them to his sister over the phone, he looked down straight at the bloodied carving knife still in his hand. He frowned. He'd meant to bury that with the body, but he must've forgotten and just brought it back on reflex.
"That's great Francis, knew you could do it," Faith praised, her voice still conveying nothing but desire for more sleep. "Talk to you later."
Francis dropped the phone and regarded the dirty knife for a moment. With a shrug, he slipped into the kitchen and washed it up as best he could. He took several suspicious glances around to ensure he was alone, then casually wandered up to the knife drawer.
Francis opened the drawer, dropped the knife in, and walked away whistling.
* * * * *
Ok, I know you're all just itching to hit that review button down there. . . c'mon, don't let me stop you! ~Anoron.
"I mean it, young lady!" Lois bellowed at Faith. "You are not to set foot outside this house for a week! That means no shopping, no patrolling, nothing! You will stay here and make sure this place is spotless!"
Faith's eyes blazed. This was absolutely ridiculous. Sure, she'd been involved in a high speed chase with a demon, done what she swore she never would and dragged one of her brothers right into the firing line, and even gotten herself arrested (actually, Dewey and Malcolm had gotten her arrested), but what else was she supposed to do?
"Mom, I *have* to patrol," she insisted, hoping her mother would understand the importance of Faith being able to do her job.
"Well you should've thought of that before you went and did something so stupid and thoughtless," Lois reasoned.
She walked away, leaving Faith to sit at the kitchen table alone and fume. The phone rang and she snatched it up.
"What?" she spat.
"Faith?" Francis asked. "I'm glad I caught you, I got a huge problem."
Swallowing her anger at her mother, Faith asked, "What's up, F?"
"Well, uh, I, ah. . . ."
"Spit it out already," Faith demanded. Patience was not on her very short list of virtues at the moment.
"I think there's a demon at the Grotto," Francis blurted.
Faith perked up, immediately on full alert. "A demon at the Grotto? What kind? Is everybody ok?"
"I don't know what kind. And yeah, everybody's ok. So far."
"Well," Faith began, slipping into recon mode. It was pretty much the closest she ever came to research mode. "What does it look like? Horns, scales, hyper-colour skin, what?"
"None of the above," Francis admitted in a small voice. "He's just. . . this really weird looking guy. . . keeps licking his lips a lot. . . it's creepy!" By the time he had finished, Francis' tone had gone from pathetic to defensive.
"A creepy looking little guy who licks his lips?" Faith snarled, finally snapping. "I have had, Francis, the King of all crappy days, ok? Some big-ass demon made an afternoon out of slamming me around for fun, Reese is in the hospital because his favourite target with my crossbow was himself, I have to help clean up the place, which by the way, is beyond completely trashed, and on top of all that, I'm *grounded* because I tried to combine baby-sitting Dewey with demon hunting. Oh, and I got arrested. Again."
After several seconds of tense silence, Francis found his voice again. "Ok, you had a bad day. I'm on board with that. But I'm telling you there is something seriously off with this guy."
"Fine. Watch him, give me something to go with and I'll help however I can," Faith returned. She hung up.
She was still sitting there, mulling over what Francis had told her when her mother stormed back in a minute later.
"Why are you just sitting there!? You should be helping your father clean up this mess, now MOVE!"
Faith muttered several obscenities under her breath as she dragged herself out of her chair.
The next day, while the rest of the family was collecting Reese from the hospital, Francis called Faith again. "Ok, here's something for you- this guy has *bugs* crawling all over him. Bugs!" Faith could hear the shudder in Francis' voice
Deciding that maybe Francis' mystery guest could be a demon after all, she grabbed a pad and a pen and began scribbling information down. "So this guy has a bug issue. What else? Describe him, and his little buggy pals."
Five minutes later, Faith was on the phone to Angel Investigations. "Hey, Cor, how's it goin'?"
"Fine. What's up Faith?" Cordelia responded less than enthusiastically.
"I need you guys to get into research mode for me. My brother's got a guest at the ranch, this Pfister guy who has, get this- bugs crawling all over him! Wicked gross, huh?"
Cordelia's only response was a loud "Eew! Not again!"
"What the hell-?" Faith began, but was stopped short by the sound of the phone hitting the desk as Cordelia dropped it. A few moments later, Angel picked it up.
"Faith you still there?"
"Yeah, though whether or not I can still hear properly is another thing. . ."
"Good. Listen, we've dealt with this kind of thing before, there was a demon in the Order of Taraka, hired by Spike to kill Buffy a few years ago. I don't remember the details, but Xander and Cordelia killed the first one, so it can't be too difficult. Unfortunately, Cordy's just been overcome with a compulsion to 'shower for a week', so I'll get the guys on it and give you a call back as soon as I can. Just sit tight," Angel hung up without letting Faith get a word in edgeways.
Faith shrugged it off and went into the backyard to do some training, let off some steam before the family came barrelling back into the house. It was less than an hour before Angel called her back.
"Did you get the info?" Faith asked immediately.
"Yeah, Faith. This guy is Wallace Pfister, brother of Norman Pfister. Norman is the one that Xander and Cordy killed, but here's where they're different; Norman could only be killed in his disassembled state. Wallace, however, needs to be in human form. Got that?"
"Human form. Check. Anything else?"
"Not really. Standard knife through the heart should take care of it."
"Ok. Thanks, Angel." Faith hit the disconnect button and then dialled Francis' number.
"Hey, Francis, I've got the goods on your demon guy. All it takes to kill him is a knife through the heart when he's in human form."
"Great. How soon can you be here?"
"Uh, you do remember the part where I said I was grounded, right?"
"Well, yeah, but what am I gonna do?" Francis whined.
Faith shrugged to herself. "Look, I'm sorry, F. It's not like the time Richie invited all those vamp sluts into his basement. I can't just slip out to the Grotto, do the slaying, and be back before Mom and Dad notice."
Francis chuckled at the memory. He sobered up quickly when Faith told him, "You're on your own with this one."
* * * * *
Faith hung up, leaving Francis to whimper down the dead line, paralysed with fear. Five minutes later, he was finally able to move again and returned the receiver to the cradle.
"Honey what's wrong?" Piama asked, coming in and noticing the uncontrollable shivers of Francis.
Shocking himself back into action, Francis grabbed his wife by the arms and conspiritually forced her into a secluded corner. "One of the guests is a demon and Faith is grounded so she can't come to slay it for us," he hissed.
"Oh my God! Which one?" Piama hissed in reply.
"Wallace Pfister."
"I knew it! That guy is way too creepy not to be a demon!"
"Shh," Francis cautioned, looking around.
Piama rolled her eyes. She watched, bemused, as Francis straightened and looked her in the eye. "Piama, I don't know if I'm gonna survive this, so I want you to know one thing-"
"What, how much you love me?"
"No! I want you to know, Piama, that the key to my safety deposit box is in my old gym shorts," Francis spoke slowly, as if he was imparting the most crucial information ever to be imparted.
Piama gaped at him. "You don't have a safety deposit box! All you have is that crappy old wrestling superstars lunch tin that you put a padlock on!"
"And I'm telling you- the key is in my gym shorts! God, don't you ever listen to what I'm trying to tell you?" With that, Francis stormed off to the kitchen to find a knife with which to kill Pfister.
The man/mass of bugs/demon was alone in the stables and Francis marched purposefully towards the building, brandishing a formidable-looking carving knife.
He slipped into the stables, moving as quietly as he could. Francis spotted Pfister standing by one of the stalls, petting a horse who was shifting and tossing its head in protest. A few bugs crept up Pfister's hand and blended into his arm. Silently, Francis crept up behind the demon. He raised the knife high above his head. He prepared to strike.
"Francis! There you are!" cried Otto, bursting into the stables.
Pfister jumped, startled, and spun around.
"Oh, geez," Francis moaned, having been sprung.
Before anyone could make another move, Francis plunged the carving knife deep into Pfister's heart.
"Francis, what are you doing?" Otto screamed.
Pfister began to convulse violently for a few seconds, then he slumped onto the hey-strewn floor, dead. Otto hurried over. "Is he dead?"
"God I hope so," Francis sighed, reaching over to pull the knife out. As he did, a few stray bugs flopped onto the hay.
With a disgusted squeal, Otto began to frantically stamp them flat. When he was done, he turned to Francis. "I don't know what you are doing, Francis, but we will get you help."
The ranch owner's eyes widened as a new though occurred to him. "We will be out of business once the media hears of this! I will not allow it to happen!" He grasped Francis firmly by the shoulders and shook him. "We will bury nice Mr. Pfister here, and nobody will be any the wiser. Come, let us get some shovels!"
In the dead of night, Francis and Otto dragged the carcass of Wallace Pfister far out into the desert. The pair shovelled furiously for five minutes, until Otto sank in a heap on the ground. He was out of breath and panting.
"Go on, Francis," he huffed, wiping at his sweat-drenched face. "Bury the evidence. Save the Grotto!" With that, he rolled onto his back and continued to pant.
Francis rolled his eyes and continued to dig. It was several hours before he had a satisfactory grave dug for Wallace. Otto heaved himself to his feet to help roll the carcass in.
They stood for a moment, looking at the ashen figure deep in the ground. Francis shrugged and moved to start covering it over.
"What are you doing?" Otto cried out.
"What am I doing?" Francis spluttered. "I'm covering this guy over before he starts to get really rank! Have you ever smelled a less than fresh corpse? It ain't pretty, Otto!"
"Well I think we should at least say something. I mean, you did kill the man Francis, did you not?"
"Yeah, I guess," Francis responded reluctantly. "But-"
"But nothing! We will give him a proper burial," Otto insisted. "You give the eulogy."
"Ok? Um, well, we're here, Otto and I, to bury Wallace Pfister, one of our upstanding guests who paid cash upfront for the full week. Wallace and I were never friends. That's probably because I killed him but hey, no hard feelings Wallace? I mean, you did deserve it, being evil and all. Anyway, have a nice rest."
Proud of his spur of the moment eulogy, Francis turned to Otto and beamed. "Uh, Otto?"
Otto sniffled into his handkerchief and wiped away a tear. "That was such a beautiful eulogy, Francis," he gushed. "I really wish Mr. Pfister could've been here to hear it. Ok, cover him over and we will never speak of this again!"
With a sigh, Francis shifted the shovel in his grip and started refilling the grave with dirt. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when the pair of weary workers trudged back into the comforts of the ranch. Suddenly excited about his demon slaying skills, Francis rushed straight for the phone.
"Faith? Are you there? I did it, all by myself!"
"What? Slow down, F," Faith commanded blearily. "Haven't had my coffee yet."
"Oh right! Wallace Pfister! I took care of it all by myself, I grabbed a knife and I plunged it straight into his heart!" Francis was mildly surprised to find that, when he recreated his actions as he described them to his sister over the phone, he looked down straight at the bloodied carving knife still in his hand. He frowned. He'd meant to bury that with the body, but he must've forgotten and just brought it back on reflex.
"That's great Francis, knew you could do it," Faith praised, her voice still conveying nothing but desire for more sleep. "Talk to you later."
Francis dropped the phone and regarded the dirty knife for a moment. With a shrug, he slipped into the kitchen and washed it up as best he could. He took several suspicious glances around to ensure he was alone, then casually wandered up to the knife drawer.
Francis opened the drawer, dropped the knife in, and walked away whistling.
* * * * *
Ok, I know you're all just itching to hit that review button down there. . . c'mon, don't let me stop you! ~Anoron.