I will concede to popular demand, and stop whining and guilt~tripping the dear dear readers into reviewing. (And it was working, too. *Sniff*) So, I'll just do the usuall, tired, over~used "Rthing from now on. Hmph. If you like this story, or my other story, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab," you'll probably like "Shades of Grey," "In a Different Light," and "True Colors" by Dee Bradfield (under my favorite authors). Two aren't finished, so why don't you reveiw them for me, so they'll get that way.
Enjoy yon fic. She's un doooozie.
~Star Mouse
@ @ @
When Birdie came home from the longest workout of her life, it was fairly obvious that she had missed something. The Scoobie gang as she knew it was sitting in Buffy's living room, each holding a Powerbar, watching the blonde Slayer like she was going to explode at any second.
When Birdie walked in, Buffy looked relieved as hell. "Birdie! Thank God! -I mean, 'oh look, guys. The other Slayer's back. You can go home now.'"
Birdie stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I worry you? I left a message--"
"Oh it's not you, Bird," Xander waved. "Not that we aren't concerned for you and everything. It's just Buffy's having a little problem, and we wanted to stick around until there was someone nearby to knock her unconscious before she makes Dawn cry again."
"Hey!" Dawn called out.
"Well, you did."
Birdie shot Buffy a confused look. Buffy just smiled apologetically and chewed her Powerbar. Birdie looked at Spike, the next sanest person in the room. He rolled his eyes.
"Witches and Lil' Bit tried a protective spell for Buffy that went wrong and summoned a demon to possess her. So far, she can contain it if she keeps her strength up, but it's just a matter of time until the demon gets too powerful for her to deal with."
The room went quiet. Spike had just managed to explain a Scoobie Sitch in two sentences, without once resorting to odd, hard~to~interpret colloquiums, getting off track, or being interrupted.
Birdie blinked. "Oh." She had actually understood that.
"How come Evil Dead doesn't do all our explanations?" Xander complained. Or complemented. It was hard to tell.
Birdie [like everyone else] ignored him, and she went over to put a hand to Buffy's forehead.
"And you guys want me to be here for damage control?" she asked.
"'S about the size of it, pet," Spike replied, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Nothing nasty happened on my shift, and it doesn't look like I'm needed any more, so I'll just clear out." He headed for the door.
"Spike."
He turned. He could see the pleading in Buffy's eyes. This was as close as she'd ever get to begging him to stay. It would be easy to stay.
He sent her a cocky salute and glided out the door.
Everyone assembled opted not to comment on the heartbreak visible on the Slayer's face.
@ @ @
The next morning...
Buffy emerged from her room in full training mode, sweats, sneakers, the
works. Training was increasingly becoming her escape time, and right
now she really had something she needed to escape from.
Say, a demon possession? She made sure she had her Training Mix in
hand, and skipped down the stairs.
She was met at the bottom by Giles.
"And where do you think you're going?"
"Training. The stinky/sweaty will make the bad~ness go away."
"Absolutely not. You will cease your training schedule until we can work this ...situation out."
Buffy pouted. "Giles! I'm supposed to be stronger! How am I supposed to get strong if I can't train?"
"It has already become apparent that the demon is powerful enough to usurp your mental control if your are sufficiently weakened. You must not do anything that might exhaust you to the point of such a loss of control."
Buffy's semi~cheerful mood vanished. "You've got to be kidding me! What am I supposed to do in the meantime?
"Rest. Eat. And we will be talking about that, by the way, once this crisis is settled. Also, you could assist in the research. We are trying to ascertain, through study of the spell Willow and Marion used, exactly what sort of demon they conjured."
"Great. I get possessed and I get to be research girl."
"The joys of life on the hellmouth," Giles agreed blandly, the walked off into the kitchen, secure in the knowledge that no matter what hells she may put herself through, his Slayer would never endanger her family.
@ @ @
Marion Krumpht was studiously transcribing some of her personal journals into the Watcher diaries when the knock sounded on the door.
"It's open!" she called. A vampire couldn't take that as an invitation, but a human could. It was a very careful greeting, all told.
"Hey," Birdie said behind her.
Marion turned, whipping off her tortoise~shell glasses.
"Oh, hello! Is there something I can help you with?" The two hadn't really done much bonding yet, so Marion assumed there was probably a hellmouth~related difficulty bringing the Slayer to her door.
Birdie shrugged. "I finally got my funds transferred. You know how it is; get back~pay for the last twelve years, gotta spend it quick."
Twelve years? "Ah, right. You don't need my permission, of course. Take the evening," she said.
Birdie smiled, and it was easier not to notice the scars than the first few times. "Thanks. But I was kinda hoping you'd go with me. A totally demon~free bonding moment."
So she had noticed the lack of rapport as well. This would make things easier. A Slayer and Watcher should understand one another. It would be much less of a trial to nurture such a working relationship with both parties aware and willing to work towards it.
"'D love to accompany you."
@ @ @
Anya slowly turned in front of the mirror.
It was perfect. Like a star is perfect. Well, except for the huge part, and the plasma part, and the ball of gas part. Not really like a star. Like ... A wedding dress. That kind of perfect.
She made another circle. She couldn't resist. It was just too beautiful. It made her feel beautiful. And it wasn't even the dress she had planned on getting. It was one from a rack in the back of the store. It wasn't from any designer she'd heard of --and she'd learned a lot the last few weeks about wedding fashions-- and it was a fraction of the cost of the dress she'd had her heart set on.
But now her heart was changed. She needed this dress like she needed to breathe. She needed the rough white silk and the flared skirt and the three off~the~shoulder straps and the short matching veil and she really needed roses, because they would look beautiful with this dress. And she needed to find different bridesmaids' outfits, so they would sort of match, and she needed new shoes of a slightly different shade, and she needed them all in four days..
Xander would love it.
@ @ @
"What do you think?" Birdie held the faded denim garment up for inspection. Marion eyed it curiously.
"What is that?"
Birdie shook it out, "Jeans. Loose, stylish, Slayer friendly. See? There's even a little rip right here, for better flexibility."
"Uh huh. Intriguing. I like 'is one, myself." Marion held up a black and silver threaded kilt, liberally sprinkled with safety pins.
"Awesome. Try it on."
"I think I will."
"It'd go great with those glasses."
"...Mm."
They both took their piles to dressing rooms, which happened to be adjacent.
Through the sound of zippers and flitting fabric, Birdie asked, "So, do you just wear them for reading?"
"Yeah," Marion answered. "They make me look like a [insert British phrase here]."
Birdy smiled. "Do your realize that your accent has changed since we've been here?" Her Watcher sounded more like Spike than Giles now.
There was a slightly~embarrassed silence from the other stall.
"Ah, no. I hadn't. I guess I'm just more comfortable now."
"Yeah, the mall will do that to you," Birdie replied. She slipped the cranberry~red tank over her head and posed for the mirror.
On the other side of the wall, Marion fluffed her rid~lighted bob and modelled the navy green spaghetti strap and kilt. The choice had nothing to do with the fact that Willow had mentioned something about liking green.
"Uh," she started very carefully, "I, ah, can't really place your accent, Birdie. Where are you from?" It was amazing they hadn't had this conversation sooner, but, hey.
"I'm not really sure," Birdie replied. She replaced the jeans with a pair of tartan bloomers, and patted the puffy fabric at her knees. "The accent, I kind of picked up from the ...people I was around." She did a few squats, to check the stretch.
Marion waited, but that appeared to be the extent of the information Birdie planned to give voluntarily.
"Oh?" she prompted.
"Sorry. More?"
"If you don't mind. I'd really like to know more about you, Ms. McGregor. You're a fascinating person, and I want to hear how you got that way." Good. Didn't sound too suspicious or pushy.
"Hey, call me Birdie. Okay, you want story? Okay. Um, I was snatched from my cradle, brought up to age seven by people who scarred me, apparently for fun, until I was rescued by a clan of kung~fu monks who took me under their wing and taught me everything useful that I know."
Slight pause.
"About five years ago, I was recaptured by the same sickos as the first time, and held for another year until I was found and saved again, by the same monks. Later, we found out that the bad guys thought I was some super~human. All the torture I endured for eight cumulative years was 'tests'." Air quotes. "For the last four years I've been playing Darth Maul, weird face and all."
Marion could barely speak. The story was told with such offhand nonchalance, such apparent lack of feeling, that it made her want to cry.
"But, why--?"
"Supposedly, I was the daughter of a Slayer. But I dunno. They could have gotten that wrong, too. I learned a lot about Slayer lore, working for the monks, and as far as I know, not one has lived long enough to give birth. But it doesn't matter, does it?"
The 'case~closed' tone to her voice seemed to indicate a good time for a topic~shift, so Marion hurriedly said, "Right, right. So, Ah, did you like the clothes?"
"Yeah. Except for that one you gave me."
"The--"
"--leopard~print kilt. Yeah."
@ @ @
Giles sat in a booth at Rupert's, skimming a rather large, leather~bound text. Every now and then, he would compare it to the spellbook Dawn, Willow, and Marion had used.
He cross ~ checked a section, then flipped ahead.
His hand paused above the page. He looked up at nothing, thinking. His hand fell, and he turned back several pages, to something he had half~read twenty minutes ago, all the while muttering, "oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear..."
He found the page, scanned to the relevant section, and compared it to the spell. He slumped down against the wood back of the booth.
"Well, that's it. I knew it'd be something like that. So typical." He looked down at the book for a bit longer, then firmly shut it, and stood.
"Not that it will help us, of course. Not if I have any say."
@ @ @
Buffy sat alone in her room, trying to write in her diary. She had about seven full ones in a box in her closet, under another box under a pile of clothes behind the hanging skirts and jackets. They were an interesting, if painful, read, really.
But the self~confession thing wasn't really working right now. She'd only gotten as far as 'Today I can't move, because the demon inside me might get out...'
And she could feel it. Not like an animal running around inside her, or something. More like a ...stomach ache in her throat. And a pressure behind her eyes. And a terrible intensity added to all the lights in the hall. And a tingle in her fingers, like they were nearly asleep. She basically felt like something was trying to wear her down from the inside. Which was actually quite true.
A year ago, she was thrilled to feel anything. Even pain. But now she would just as gladly go back into that dark place the demon had sent her last night.
*That was what she wouldn't write in her diary: her willingness --- need--- to give in.*
She hadn't felt anything when the demon was in control. She had been sore as hell after, and she still was. But then, right then, it was like the demon had taken the pain along with everything else.
Her pen stopped its idle tapping.
@ @ @
"*Eh~hmm.* 'R and R'."
~Star Mouse