In case anyone's concerned *coughcough*Dreamzone*cough* , no matter how bleak things may look now, this is, truly, deeply, utterly B/S all the way. But you've got to remember that Spike and Buffy have really hurt each other, and it will be difficult to build up trust and love that may never have even been there. I'm not going to rush their progress, just to end up with a really false situation on my hands. I promise they really will get together. And it'll be great, and it won't involve telepathic links or anything. Well, actually.... But never mind that now. The rest of the plot is okay too, I think, so maybe you could get into that, while you wait for the fireworks.
Muchos Gracias for the reviews. They warm my heart like ...um... A blowtorch? On low stream. Or maybe a crockpot. I dunno. But keep with the cheeries, and I'd like some criticism too. I know there are grammar/ typos and whatnot, but it's such a hassle to go and change it, I don't think I will. If it really bothers you, just squint and pretend I didn't spell 'idiocy' with an 'e'. And suggestions are good, too. Just as a warning, if you think you can mold my story to your own foolish whims; I have the plot worked out in detail already, and I probably won't be changing the main traffic. But if there's a conversation or argument you think would be funny, or something like that, by all means, suggest away. Later.
~Star Mouse.
Oh, DM: Dig your story. Lots of blood. I haven't gotten to the 'Duplicitous' part yet, though. Still looking.
@ @ @
Giles sighed. Things had been busy, and he felt that he fully deserved the brandy he had in his hand. He had taken on a very active part in the training of the new Slayer, this month, and it was exhausting.
Training Buffy had been very hard work, too, in the beginning. Well, the first several years. At times her willful attitude had made him despair of her ever learning anything. And now he was doing it all over again.
Birdy's shy outer shell had quickly melted, to reveal a personality very much like Buffy's. Much for the quips and one~liners, that girl. But, like Buffy, also with the unswerving dedication. The stalwart heart beating steady, so very definitely to a different drummer that got his tempo from some intersteller transmitter. It was so familiar, some of the things they had gone through, already. When he had taken Buffy as his Slayer, she had already been fighting a year. Birdy was at much the same level Buffy had been. Just needing her skills honed. Just like he knew how to hone them. Like he was trained to hone them.
It made him feel like a real Watcher again. Officially. Not the strange role of godfather he had taken in this little clan. Though he felt he could easily include Birdy in that circle.
He nodded along with the turntable for a moment, letting the rhythm of the record guide his thoughts. Let the song sooth him.
--And she seemed to see him as a father figure, as well. Whatever her past was --she wouldn't talk about it-- it hadn't been happy, and had obviously been lacking in concerned and caring family. Sometimes, when the Scoobies were all gathered around the research table, and she was a part of that intimate circle, he saw her sigh, like she really couldn't believe her luck. Couldn't believe how she could be included like this.
Such a dreadful shame to have to hand her over to someone else.
Birdy's new Watcher was already en route from England, probably looking down on the Atlantic at this very moment.
He took a sip of the brandy.
@ @ @
"Anya, there's no way."
"Alexander Harris..."
Xander waved his hands in what he hoped was a placating way. Anya looked about ready to go Vengeance on his hiney.
"Ahn; chill. Just. Think about it, okay? Carefully. Then explain the whole thing to me again, as you would to a child."
Anya's shoulders rose and fell as she took deep breaths. "Alright. Wedding. Happy time. Time for family and friends to gather around the radiant couple, and for the men in attendance to either feel pity or jealousy for the groom, and the women to just feel jealousy for the bride. I want to be envied properly on my happy day, to make up for the *pity* I received on my last, not-so-happy day." She took another breath, and launched back into the explanation.
"Logically, the better we look, the worse the guests will feel about themselves, and the more they will envy us. I *will* have this dress," she tossed a magazine, bristling with sticky notes, into his lap, rather forcefully, "and you *will* wear this tux." Another magazine hit its mark. "And we'll be happy, damn it!"
Xander bit his lip. "Ahn, believe me; I want you to be happy. Forever. I'm dedicating my *life* to making you happy. That's why we're getting married. But we can't possibly afford this. I agree. It's a beautiful dress, but Vera Wang charges an arm and a leg, and if you want this dress, you'll have to decide which you want more: Limbs or the dress to put them in."
Anya's lip trembled. "Do you really not pay *any* attention to what's going on around you?"
Xander was baffled. What was she talking about? Probably the reason he didn't know what she was talking about.
"Xander, I could buy this dress for all five of my bridesmaids, if I wanted. I don't," she added, "because that would defeat the purpose of looking better than them, so they envy me. But I could."
Xander searched for words. "How?" Good enough.
"Easy. Willow got me on the net. The entire stock of the Magic Box has been uploaded onto both Amazon.com and its own home page. I have links to other sites as well. If they don't have an item, the customer is sent to me. It's easier for me to get rarer items, with the teleporting, and the connections, so I've built up a strong customer base all across the Americas. Some scattered business in Europe and Asia, also, but most of--"
Xander waved a hand "Woah; hold up." He narrowed his eyes incredulously. "You're saying the Magic Box actually *sells* stuff?"
Anya gave him a look like he had started talking German.
"Duh. Do you honestly think I would invest my time and effort into something that wasn't rewarding?" She smiled. "Like you."
@ @ @
Buffy opened the door to the Danger Room. "18 Wheeler" issued forth. She smiled and nodded her head to the beat. There were thuds and 'whump's, also to the music. And the cr/lanking sound of a chain. Birdy was really giving the bag the what~for.
But not, and this was important, getting too much fierce joy out of it. Not like Faith.
When the new Slayer had shone up, years ago, Buffy had thought she had found a kindred spirit. Someone who could understand what she went through in a way that her friends could not, no matter how hard they tried. Someone she could relate to better than she had related to Kendra.
Yeah. That had lasted all of a month.
Faith had gone all wrong. She had been the person Buffy knew was inside her. She had become the person she could have been, if things had been different. Faith scared Buffy because she saw her as a mirror.
Birdy was a lot like her, yeah, but it was on a very superficial, I-like that-music-too kind of way. Like a friend. Birdy could be her friend.
She hadn't made a friend in years. The closest she'd gotten, ironically, was just after she went all Resurrection~y. Spike. They'd been friends.
Yeah. That had lasted all of a month.
. . . Birdy'd been here about a month. Better start looking for signs of buried evil.
She approached the whirling, flailing young woman, glancing occasionally up at where the bag was attached to the ceiling. The peg was gyrating wildly in the ring, but it the bolts were sticking fast.
She didn't bother trying to yell over Pink's vocals, just edged into Birdy's vision. The girl blinked, gave the bag a few more hits with the sides of her arms, and caught it as it swung back at her. She smiled warmly, and leaned to turn the stereo off.
When the music died, she turned back, still smiling. "Gotta love the song," she said, through heavy breaths. She was wet with sweat, and whispy hairs were curling up around her hairline and sticking to her forehead. She looked exerted, not exhausted. The white lines of her many scars stood out starkly against her flushed face, but it was really easy to see past the creepiness that could be if you knew the young woman smiling there. Buffy smiled back.
"Hey. Good workout?"
"Mm! Yeah. It ...feels good. To release some of all this extra energy I have now." She walked over to the stool and grabbed a towel.
"Yeah," Buffy replied. "I know what you mean."
Birdy wiped her face, looked up. "I'm still game. You wanna spar?"
Buffy gestured at her clothes, which included leather and denim. And heels. Birdy shrugged.
"I've got an extra pair of your workout clothes here. Speaking of which: I promise, I'm getting around to getting my own. My bosses are trying to figure out those newfangled telephones as we speak, so they can transfer my back pay to an account here."
Buffy waved it off. "No biggie. One body, too many clothes. You can just help yourself until you get around to buying some more your style."
It had already come out that Birdy was more of the "vintage grunge" mentality. Buffy's leather skirts and peasant tops were the right size, but they didn't really fit her.
Birdy pantomimed beating the crap out of someone, in miniature. "And the other part?"
"Nah. I just came to see if you wanted to come with me and Dawn for lunch. Willow too. We're sort of celebrating Dawn's release from the Summers Hall of Juvenile Detention. You know, for that little incident a couple weeks ago?"
Ah yes. The now imfamous 'fungus bomb' incident.
"Ooh. Yeah, I'd love to go, but it'll take me too long to get ungross. I don't want you to have to wait. You guys can just go ahead."
"I know. I took the stinky sweaty factor into account. You've got an hour to get ready, if you really do want to come. You know, if you weren't just blowing me off politely, which is okay too," Buffy replied.
Birdy smiled. "Totally. I really want to go." She looked around. "I guess I'll jog home." She narrowed her eyes at Buffy, still smiling. "You're really not mad at Dawn anymore?"
Buffy shrugged innocently. "Let's just say, lunch is Dawn's treat, and I will be ordering lobster."
@ @ @
The airport was crowded. After all, LA was a hub. The flight from England had just arrived at the gate, and the tunnel~ish hallway that led from the plane to the building was starting to spew passengers, all of whom looked a bit worse~the~wear from the redeye trip. And for many, the journey was far from over.
She stepped out into the central hallway, and looked around. Youngish. Possibly thirty, almost certainly less. Dressed like someone who wore something this conservative because it was expected of her, not because she wanted to. She sighed in exasperation and flicked her dark, egg~lensed sunglasses into her hairline, scanning the crowd and the guide signs. She looked down at her ticket, and then back up at the courtesy map on the wall. Her narrowed eyes traced the path to the baggage claim. She sighed.
"Bugger."
@ @ @
The sewers were built to be vampire friendly. And the vampires were friendly to them. Below the city, there existed a vast network of man~sized tunnels, guarded from sunlight. And they were getting a cleaning out.
Spike was gaining quite a reputation in the demon underground, literal and figurative. As a master vampire, he had been treated with caution for a while. But now, the word was out, in a big way.
The Slayer of Slayers was batting for the other team.
Vampires and demons scrambled for cover as Spike stalked through the subterranean streets, a baseball bat in one hand, sharpened like a pencil. His wrath was carried out swiftly and efficiently. And silently. His eyes glinted yellow in the filtered, dusty light from the caged emergency flourescents lined up along the ceiling.
He was out to kill.
Not out to kill anything in particular, really. Though he certainly wouldn't object to taking a few shots at a certain petite blonde. She'd been back at his crypt, yesterday. It was getting worse than Harmony, on the annoyance factor. He considered that for a second, staking a fleeing vamp through the back in the moment of contemplation. On second thought, no. Nothing was worse than Harmony.
But this weird Buffy-- this nice, nervous, polite Buffy that insisted she loved him-- was fast approaching the Harmony level. And it was putting him in a vicious mood.
@ @ @
Buffy sat back, setting her napkin on the table. "Wow, Dawnie. That was great. Thanks for treating."
Dawn scowled back. "Thanks for ordering clams."
"Oysters. Nice ones, this close to the Pacific," Birdy corrected absently. She put the finishing touches on a little table art she was working on, made of toothpicks and sugar packets and her extra forks. Dawn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Seashells with squishiness inside. Not my idea of yum."
Willow smiled. "It was very nice of you to treat us, Dawn."
Dawn shrugged. "I kinda had to. Orders of the BuffyMom."
"But all the same, you did a good job of stifling your cries of torment when Buffy ordered her shellfish."
"What can I say? I'm a trooper."
Buffy grinned evilly, and picked up her menu. "Yeah. A trooper that will be buying us desert."
@ @ @
The following is a little taste of "Trombone Humour" picked up in Marching Band:
"There are two elephants sitting in a bathtub. One turns to the other and says, "Could you please pass the soap?" The other one replies, "What do I look like, a typewriter?"
. . .
And that's it. That's the joke. And everyone in band hears it and they just
burst out laughing like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Me
included.
Fear the marching band. Fear them greatly.
Review if you didn't get the joke.
~Star Mouse