I'm back. I'm writing. I got accepted into my happy school, and I finished all my stupid courses with three days to spare. I'm in driver's ed, which is another name for the second ring of hell. I bet you thought I was dead, when I didn't update for THREE MONTHS. But I'm okay. Thanks for caring.
~Star Mouse
@ @ @
There is a bus station. Beyond that, a stretch of highway, a huge city, a huge airport, miles of sky flying by as the plane heads east, pointed west into the rising sun, another airport, another plane, a taxi, pulled by a bicycle, a canoe, a repelling harness, and a cliff overlooking the aquamarine sea and Crayola green forests.
Waffle~soled boots impact with the ground. Brown leather waves around free and hanging, against the background of the bus steps and the front right wheelwell and some driving electric guitar chords. There is a hard tap accented by a drum set impact as the tip of a pole of some exotic wood hits the ground beside the boots. One end is tipped in silver, and grits on the pavement as the pole is twisted by idle hands.
Camera rolls up.
She's asian. That much anyone can guess. She has the tan and the eyes and the nose and the hair, all glossy black but for the ends, feathered with green to match her eyeshadow.
Oh, and the pole? Sharpened like a needle.
Her eyes dart around, scanning escape routes, sources of wood, corners of shadow. Still looking around, she digs into her deep pocket and pulls out a plane ticket folder. Examines a yellow post~it note tacked to the inside.
A fueler passes by. The new arrival waves an arm.
"Excuse me?" She calls. "Where can I find the 'Magic Box'?"
@ @ @
The vampire sat casually at the table, eying the strange young woman over his glass. Strange... And frightening. And, though he loathed to admit it, he was frightened. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that had been the case. But this girl... She had an edge that put him on his. Not only was he almost positive she was insane, she smelled like Slayer.
For even-hundred years his existence had been dependant on his ability to distinguish friend from foe. He had become, over time, extremely sensitive to the smells and senses that heralded different breeds of predator. And prey. He'd tasted four Slayers, and he knew the blood when he smelled it.
This wasn't all Slayer, though. Not quite like the others. It was tainted, diluted, something. Almost like a vampire that had totally drained a Slayer, rather than a Slayer herself. But she was no vampire. He could hear her heart beating from here. Slow and steady, completely at ease. Actually, it was a bit slower than most humans he'd observed. (The ones he'd actually encountered, of course, tended to have much faster heartbeats, right before they stopped completely.)
He narrowed his eyes at the blonde, happily drinking a milkshake from Wendy's, while beside her a minion was happily drinking a manager from Wendy's. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest, and that fact alone weakened his conviction that this was, indeed, a Slayer. They tended to be terribly moral.
And though there was an undercurrent of stinking, sweating humanity, there was question in his mind of whether she was truly human. Apart from the smell, which hinted at something demon, no mere human could do what she'd done to his guards in a matter of seconds. He had to admit it to himself:
He didn't have a clue what she was.
He didn't know who she was.
He didn't, outside a few vague mentions of immortality and 'investments,' know what she wanted.
He didn't like not knowing things. He did not like being afraid. That this small woman could so easily make him such annoyed him no end.
He didn't know who she was.
When he'd asked, she'd smirked, and said, "Call me 'Anne.'"
He cocked his head. You know, from this angle...
She sort of looked like an Anne.
There was a dreadful banging around from below, where the assembling 'troops' were presently barracked.
The banging continued, this time accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like rowdy carousing.
He sighed, turning to the vampire down the table. "Would you please make them behave?"
The vampire wiped his mouth of the fast-food employee's blood, and let the body fall to the floor. "Sorry, sir," he lisped through fangs, "they're just a little . . . Restless."
"Yes, I can hear that. I suggest you make them rest."
"It's just, not letting them hunt, they don't really get much moving time, you know, and bagged animal blood..." the last was said the way a human might say 'rotten lowfat imitation goat cheese...'
"I certainly can't have them all hunting nightly. So close, I hate to risk my assembling troops to the dangers of night to night feeding. There are Slayers out there."
At this, Anne smirked, though whether in contempt or hidden knowledge, he did not know. His tone grew thoughtful as a plan formed.
"However, I see no harm in an organized, 'outing' for a few. A group of ten or so could go out and seek . . . provisions for the rest. Anne," she raised an eyebrow as he addressed her, in a highly disrespectful acknowledgement. "Perhaps you would like to lead such an expedition."
"Take out?" She smiled an absolutely evil grin. "Absolutely." She stood and headed for the entrance.
"Anne:" She turned back.
"Don't cause a scene. I'd rather not have any of the white-hatted authorities on my back. Yet."
@ @ @
The band doors of the Bronze burst open, and ten or so vampires in full game~face ran in. Several immediately broke off, as startled cries came from those who'd seen them emerge, to take up stations at the exits. Two more leapt onstage, immediately snagging lead singer and standing mic. The one with the mic unimaginatively shouted, "Freeze!" to the patrons of the club, who were just starting to realize that something was wrong.
This didn't do anything but escalate the panic of the crowd. Then again, it could have been the spotlights shining off the brow ridges and fangs that did it.
In the floor, several clubbers were singled out by the rest of the roving demons, and rounded up in front of the stage. A few lone vampires that had been out hunting on their own decided to join the party, vamping out on their very surprised dance partners.
In the shadows by the staircase, Marion and Willow watched with trepidation, but not much panic. The Watcher pulled out her cell phone.
"Looks fairly organized," she quickly assessed the uselessness of trying to take them all down. "We'll require back-up," she said, pressing three.
"Looks like we've found our army," Willow replied.
"Not all of it," Marion said with the phone dialing at her ear. "Probably a provisions team out for snacks. Birdie!" she said when the other end picked up. "Get down to the Bronze, and bring all the weaponry you can carry. I count at least--"
"11"
"--eleven vamps, in an organized attack. Alright. Good." She hung up. Willow had pulled the stake from her purse, and was palming it, weighing her options. Marion did the same, scanning the room to find the best place to strike.
And then someone else walked onstage.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. She yanked Willow back into the shadows.
"Wha--" she looked towards the stage, where a petite, leather-clad blonde had just taken the mic.
"Oh, damn."
"Your girl really doesn't mess around when she embraces the dark side," Marion agreed. A lot of the Bronzers had identified Buffy as 'the one that makes the weird bad things stop' and had relaxed slightly. She favored the crowd with a bright smile.
"Good evening. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the-thing-you-pray-to God-isn't-really-in-your-closet, otherwise known as Anne, and these," she waved a hand to indicate the other vampires, each of which had at least one person held captive, "are human corpses animated by demonic entities, which survive by drinking the blood of living humans. Or recently deceased humans, doesn't really matter."
She shrugged endearingly. "I guess the point I'm trying to make here-" she smirked, all endearing qualities evaporated, "is that the more you struggle, the sooner you'll become recently deceased."
@ @ @
Birdie set the phone down in the cradle, careful not to make any more cracks in the headset, then ran for the training room. She grabbed a duffle bag and threw axes, crossbows, stakes, holy water, crosses into it, yanked the zipper, and ran back for the door. She paused, hand on the knob, then ran back and grabbed one last double~bladed axe. 'Kay. Ready.
But before she could get out the door, said door chimed. Shit. Not now.
"Sorry, we're just clo--" she stopped.
The first thing she noticed was the duster. Brown leather, like a psychiatrist's recliner, well~oiled and smooth. Not as long as Spike's - the jacket that until two seconds ago had held her heart-- it fell to just below the knees. Around this point, Birdie realized she should be asking certain questions, such as "Who's knees?"
She adjusted her focus to include the owner of said coat. Oriental, with chin-length black hair feathered and tipped in green. She was standing in the doorway, bell still wobbling softly. With luggage.
That was a sign. Good or bad, too soon to tell.
"Uh..." Birdie said intelligently.
"I am at a Magic Box?" the newcomer asked, in heavily~accented English.
Birdie recognised the accent. "Yes," she answered in Thai. "We were just
closing. Can I help you with anything quickly?"
The girl blinked brown, almond-shaped eyes, made-up in green, in surprise, but recovered quickly. "I'm looking for Marion Krumpht," she replied, also in Thai. After a pause, she added, "Or Rupert Giles, I suppose, but preferably Miss. Krumpht."
The Watchers.
Luggage.
Young woman.
Duster.
Birdie did some quick math. It all added up to 'Slayer.'
. . .
Shit. Why now?
She waved vaguely at the air in front of her, as if that would help. Considering she was still holding the battle axe, probably not.
"Um, okay. You've come to the right place. Don't go anywhere. Really. One of 'em'll be by in a second. Or two. I just have to go..." She swung the axe a bit, edging towards the door.
"Just sit tight. And, uh, don't steal anything."
She left, and ran off down the street.
Petchra Niratpattanasai blinked after her. She stood in the middle of the store, surrounded by luggage, as Birdie's footsteps disappeared into the distance.
@ @ @
"Let's see..." Buffy wandered across the stage to the vampire holding the band's frontman. "Hey, handsome. Wanna dance?" she said. Before he could answer, she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him over to the mic. He seemed mildly surprised by his inability to fight off this normal looking, tiny, woman, but most of that wa pushed aside to make way for mind numbing terror. It likes its elbow room, after all. He didn't struggle all that much.
"What the hell is she doing??" Willow hissed. She gripped the stake, ready to dart forward.
Marion put a hand on her arm. "That won't help."
"But she--! I-! Why does she have to-- She doesn't drink blood!"
"I think this is a 'show them who's in charge' tactic. She'll kill him to prove that she can, and will. Not just to the crowd, but the vampires she's with as well."
And Marion's interpretation seemed pretty dead on as Buffy lightly caressed the rapidly-breathing young man's temples, resting her hands on either side of his head.
Willow's jaw tensed. ...One twist....
The entire Bronze seemed to have the same thought. The vampires watched with interest, the crowd watched with bated breath and dawning horror.
"Now," Buffy whispered, though the microphone picked everything up. "I promise. This'll hurt a lot."
There was a twang and a puff of dust. Buffy whirled to see the dusty air where the vampire nearest her had been standing. In that moment, her victim-to-be was wrenched from her grasp, and she suffered a powerful blow to the stomach.
Too powerful. Her head whipped back up from the floor.
"Well, if it isn't Scarface."
Birdie just hefted the axe, standing between Buffy and the young man slumped, trembling on the floor. The blade glinted in the spotlights with blood and vampire ash sparkling on it like pixy dust. Sort of.
"Get out," she whispered, the microphone, once again, picking up every word. "Take your orthodontia~challenged Klingon friends and leave."
Up till this, Buffy had looked almost ready to worry. But now she hopped up from the floor, obviously not seriously injured, and eyed Birdie.
"Or you'll what? We both know you're no match for me. Let alone me and my new friends."
Birdie adjusted her grip on the axe, and tried to think of something cool to say. The Klingons thing really hadn't come off well. She needed something to stall with until. ...Wait. Back-up wasn't coming. She was the back-up. She adjusted her grip again, sliding her foot out into a ready stance.
"Let's go."
Buffy didn't even bother to brace herself. She just waited for the axe to swing around, angled as a blunt as she knew it would be, and caught it. She wrenched it away from Birdie's hand and whipped it around her, catching the other girl under the chin with the handle. The scarred Slayer stumbled back as little sparkles danced around behind her eyes.
This time it was Willow who had to keep Marion from rushing forward. The rest of the Bronze watched in tense silence, not sure what was going on, but sensing that their very lives depended on it.
On stage, bathed in spotlights, Buffy watched Birdie almost fall, laughing when she managed to steady herself against the kneeling singer. Willow would later be haunted by the happiness that seemed to radiate from her recently so solemn friend.
"What did you think you'd do, you grotesque freak? You didn't honestly think you could beat me. I'm stronger than you'll ever be. You must realize that. I've defeated a god. If I die I'll just fuckin' pop back up again! Will you? What life are you on, little girl? If I kill you, will you stay dead, like a good Slayer? Will you know when to give u--SHIT!"
Everyone blinked in surprise at the crossbow bolt imbedded in Buffy's bicep, including Birdie. The singer turned to look behind him. Birdie felt his shoulder move under her hand, and turned behind her as well.
Petchra stood there, another bolt already loaded into the shaft of the blackwood bow she aimed at armslength.
"Are you so sure you will rise again?" she asked, shifting the weapon slightly to bring Buffy's upper left chest into the sights. "Perhaps we should test it. Even if you do, I bet it will hurt."
Marion stared. "I don't believe it! I never knew they could be that efficient!"
Willow looked back and forth. "What are you talking about? Who's that?"
Buffy narrowed her eyes at the interloper. She gripped her own upper arm tightly, as blood started to well beneath the fabric of her jacket and drip down her arm to escape at her wrist. "Who the hell are you?"
"Petchra Niratpattanasai. Feel free to call me Petchra when you describe your demise to the other denizens of hell."
Marion grinned. "Another Slayer! That rat-bastard Council actually came through!"
"Another Slayer? Wait! She's going to kill Buffy!
Birdie put out a hand. "Don't kill her yet. We have other plans."
Petchra hesitated, then adjusted the crossbow and fired, spearing Buffy through the thigh.
"Fine. Run away home."
Buffy screamed shortly in new pain, then barked, "Get us out of here! Now!" The vampires abandoned their captives --except for a couple, who'd already trussed them up, and just brought them with, and ran for the door. The other that had been onstage with Buffy grabbed her into his arms. As he ran with her for the backstage exit, she pulled a lighter from her pocket, lit it, and hurled it at the bar.
Which exploded as large amounts of alcohol ignited.
@ @ @
The explosion, subsequent dousing of water from the automated sprinkler system, and hordes of panicking people effectively stopped Birdie and Petchra from following the party. Marion and Willow attacked the inferno with fire extinguishers and containment spells.
Onstage, Petchra and Birdie eyed each other with new respect.
"You are a Slayer?" the newcomer asked, reverting to Thai. The sprinkler system rained down upon them, and Birdie pushed dripping hair out of her eyes. "Yeah. So are you."
"I am a Slayer."
"Thanks. For helping out."
"Not a problem. What was she? Not a vampire."
"No. Not a vampire. Another Slayer."
"Another Slayer?"
"What's a Slayer?"
Both looked down, startled, at the lead singer, who was now looking at them both with polite curiosity. He stood carefully on the water-slicked floor and shook his hair out. "Thanks for the assistance."
"Uh, no problem," Birdie said slowly. "Um, and you are?"
"Jagger. I'm a musician."
"Ah. Good?"
@ @ @
Shockingly enough, I am working on this story! I just keep writing little fragments from later chapters. I just can't seem to get the hang of writing them in order. But I think I'm getting back in the groove. Don't expect updates more frequently than once a week unless you're some kind of masochist.
~Star Mouse