The only characters I own are the ones you haven't heard of. When I say that, I'm just assuming you are familiar with the telly show upon which this fiction o' mine is based. Ya know. Since you're reading fanfiction about it, and all. If not, just...watch it, or something. It kicks ass.
~Star Mouse
@ @ @
Giles looked around in alarm. The small figure sprawled face-down across the counter was attracting a bit of attention. He cleared his throat and called out in his best bartender voice.
"Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along, now."
It really didn't sound like anything he'd seen on tv. He would have to practice in front of a mirror or something. He looked back down at the young woman in front of him. She was in jeans and a red hooded jacket that had pulled down her arms when she fell and left most of her shoulders bare. There were symbols painted in berry juice along her upper chest, such as he knew were used in transportation spells.
He should probably get her off the counter, but he really didn't want to disturb her before Buffy and Spike arrived. He risked checking the pulse at her neck. She stirred, and he drew back quickly. Alive, then.
All manner of demons were crowding around to watch the floor show. The combined oder of ten different, interdimensional species was enough to make the Brit gag. But he curbed the impulse, trying not to offend his clientel, who were being oh so helpful.
"That kid spilled my drink!"
"What do you think the Ripper's gonna do about that damage?"
"Remember the Flangdre that broke the table?"
"Yeah. That gave me nightmares."
"Looks edible."
Giles blinked. "I beg your pardon!" A green, anphibious monster with a head like a bullet was gazing thoughtfully at the girl on the counter. Giles tried to take an offensive stance, bringing himself a few inches closer to eye level with the beast. "There will be no human consumption in my establishment," he said firmly.
The beast backed off. It's no good to brass off the bar tender. Giles made a little shooing motion at the curious onlookers, most of which were fully capable of cleaving his head from his body with assorted appendages. "Now run along, the lot of you. If-if you cause more trouble here than there already is, I will ... I'll see to it that you can't get a decent drink within a fifty-mile radius of the hellmouth."
@ @ @
Buffy sat next to Spike on the way to Rupert's. Well, there wasn't much of an option, other than having her ride in the trunk, and he wasn't quite that pissed at her. Yet. But she could tell he'd be reaching that point pretty soon if she kept at the 'love me again' thing.
She glanced over at him again. She'd been doing it for the whole ride, as if he didn't notice. Once, it would have thrilled him. Now it merely annoyed.
"Have I got something in my teeth, then, pet?"
"Huh?" Buffy nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She was going to deny it. Even after proclaiming her love, semi~publically, reminding him every few minutes of the fact, she would still deny sneaking looks at him as he drove. He shook his head.
"Don't bother, Slayer. Just... Don't."
"Don't what?" she asked. She twiddled with her hair some more, looking pointedly straight ahead.
"Never you mind. You know what. I refuse to talk about 'us' now." With the word us, he took both hands off the wheel to do mocking air quotes.
The sides of Buffy's jaw sharpened, as she clenched her teeth. She faced forward.
"Yehyeh. Get huffy, bitch," he muttered, turning into the gravel lot in front of Rupert's. The crunching rock against rock against tire rubber noise momentarily drowned out the crickets, making the chirping seem louder when it returned. The yellow lights illuminating the lots in fuzzy circles were orbited by moths like astroids around a sun. Spike hopped out of the car, slamming the door and heading for the bar, not waiting to see if Buffy was following.
Of course, she did. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, if it would make him remember how to love her.
She hadn't ever been this determined to win someone. She had often gone to great lengths for the people she loved, but never when she knew-- knew beyond doubt that they didn't love her in return. But that was how Spike had loved her, and she would do the same for him. At some point they had to meet, right? And more than anything, she needed to make that happen. She wouldn't mess this up again.
@ @ @
Spike stalked into Rupert's, the Slayer close behind. They both paused momentarily, just inside the door, and surveyed the room. As their twin predatory gazes swept the assembled demons and undead, nearly half of said patrons jolted up from their seats and headed for the other door. Most of them left money behind, with fear directed equally between the Vampire, the Slayer, and the Bar Tender, once and ever more known as Ripper.
Giles blinked as a great part of his clientele suddenly left. Then his Slayer appeared next to him, and he sighed.
"My business sense rebels, but I'm glad you're here."
"What's going on with the woman? Has she blown anything else up?" Buffy asked.
Giles gestured to the young woman on the counter, several stools away. Spike stalked over to them, obviously posturing for the demons still remaining in the bar.
"S gotta pulse," he offered. "Strong one. Tried waking her up?"
Giles looked around frantically for something to clean. Ah. Shot glass. He relaxed into the rhythmic motion.
"I, ah, thought it would perhaps be better to wait until you two got here, rather than facing something with that ability alone."
Spike started to reply, but his vampire hearing clicked in. His head shot round to the body. Which was stirring.
The young woman let out a small groan and attempted to sit up.
She slipped off the counter.
"Oww..." She blinked, and looked around her. "Where the hell am I now?" she muttered. She looked back up at Buffy, who caught her breath and took a step back. She heard Spike and Giles gasp behind her.
The girl's face had started out beautiful. Square face, defined cheek bones, though not as cut as Spike's. Pale, porcelin complexion and blue/green eyes. Pain-filled eyes. Surrounded by scars. And not just sliced, line scars. There were pock-marks, like someone had let a cigarette burn against her cheek. And what looked like a black brand just below her ear, where neck joined jaw. Several of the raised, pink lines ran through into the hairline, and one reached down from the edge of her left eye down her jawline and around her neck to the right.
The worst part was that many of them looked anything but random. Several lines of scar tissue ran parallel, slicing through her brow in neat file. There was a diamond drawn around one eye. And a crude star etched into her forehead, near her right temple.
She saw Buffy's stare, and turned away. "Uh. Hi. Can you please tell me where I am?"
Spike and Buffy looked at each other. He raised an eyebrow at the young woman.
"Sunnydale, California. Hellmouth," he added. Figure she knew about that anyway, what with the magical appearing and whatnot.
The girl's head shot back around, embarassment at personal appearences forgotten. "California? What the hell... I was trying to get to Bangledesh!" She got to her feet angrily, adjusting her clothing, looking around for luggage that didn't exist. "Of all the..." she muttered. "I was after the Slayer, not a couple Valley Yokels..."
Giles perked up at the Slayer reference. "Slayer? She's in Bangledesh? How long has that been the case?"
The young woman looked at him, a bit puzzled. "For as long as she's been called. Nearly two years, I guess. I mean, unless she's moved. I did ask them to send me to the Slayer, so if she's moved down here..." She looked back and forth between their faces. "I really need to talk to her. Do you guys know where she is?"
Buffy's eyebrow arched. "Not sure," she said. "Not really on speaking terms with her, myself. But I've got some ties to the demon underground, and they seem to think the Slayer's been here for a while, now."
"I know her," Spike spoke up. "And I might be able to contact her. What exactly do you need 'er for?"
"...I'm not sure I should tell you. I mean, it's really none of your business, and I have no way of knowing I can trust you." She looked around her, as if suddenly processing her surroundings. "Where the hell did I pop out?!"
Giles looked around. "Rupert's. Demon bar. And we really have no reason to help you, either. The mere fact that you seek the Slayer bodes badly for your intentions."
The young woman nodded slowly. "So you guys are her friends," she reasoned. "Weird."
"Oh? Why is it that weird that a Slayer would have friends?" Buffy tried not to make her annoyance too obvious.
"Oh, it's just that I heard she was sort of a loner. But you guys don't need to worry. This thing involves the Slayer, only. And I'm not going to hurt her, or anything. I just need to talk to her." She pulled a few sheets of paper out from her red jacket. "I'm sort of like a messenger. I promise it's in everybody's best interests that I speak with her."
"Everybody's best interests, as in, 'here comes the apocolypse'?" asked Buffy.
The young woman blinked. "Okaay..." She bit the inside corner of her lower lip, in thought. Her scar tissue stretched oddly. "I'm getting the impression that this wouldn't be your first 'end of the world' senario." Once again, her suspicious gaze flickered to each of their faces. "Either that, or you're all crazy."
Spike did the slow, scary smile thing. "What makes that an either/or, pet?"
The young woman gave him a look that told him she didn't buy into that for a second. "Uh, right... But I really need to speak with the Slayer, kay? It's kind of a matter of life or death. *Her* life or death."
@ @ @
Ooh. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty worried! Gee, I wonder what will happen next. Anything? Reviews make for conclusions. I think I'm an addict, or something. Withdrawal is an ugly thing that you don't want to read.
~Star Mouse