A brief summary of West Wing, for those not familiar with the show: The series tells of the trials of the Bartlet administration. Jed Bartlet is the president, a professor-type with a love of trivia and a sometimes queer sense of humor. He is also suffering from Multiple Sclerosis (MS), which he has hidden both from the public and his staff. His closest friend, confidant, and Chief of Staff is Leo McGarry, the hardest-working man in the White House. Leo is a recovering alcoholic and recently divorced.
Their senior staff consists of Claudia-Jean Cregg, the press secretary, Joshua Lyman, the deputy Chief of Staff, Toby Ziegler, the Communications Director, and Sam Seaborn, the deputy Communications Director. At this point in the series they have been in office for roughly a year and prepare to deliver their second State of the Union address. Major problems are tensions between India and Pakistan, Republicans having found out about Leo's alcoholism, and the president's MS acting up.
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Power Politics 1: In This White House
#
The White House
Washington DC, USA
January 10, 2000
Parallel 047
#
Your name is Joshua Lyman and you are the White House's Deputy Chief of Staff. You are responsible for over a thousand employees working here and, which is by far the greater responsibility, for the smooth running of the most powerful country in the world. Which is why you really have better things to do than what you are doing right now.
"I don't think it's being sorted in the mailroom. It's an invitation to the President to address Congress. I'm assuming it was hand-delivered." You pause as the person on the other side assures you that she will do her best. "Thank you."
Hanging up with a sigh, you look up when your assistant, Donna Moss, knocks at the door.
"Yes?"
"Margaret came by."
"Yes."
You rise out of your chair, resolved to go down to the lobby yourself and kick the shit out of whatever guy managed to lose the invitation for the President. Some things you just have to do by yourself.
"She said Leo said to remind you, you need to pick a guy."
Leo McGarry, whose assistant Margaret is, is your boss, the White House Chief of Staff, and he is in a lot of trouble right now because some nosy reporters (no doubt aided by Republicans) have dug up things from his past he'd rather have forgotten. Not that Leo would ever allow anything like that to get in the way of his job.
"Right."
"She said you'd know what that means."
"Yeah."
"Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know what that means."
You sigh again. You really like Donna (maybe even a bit more than a boss should like his assistant, but you refuse to dwell on that point too much), but sometimes she can be a real pain in the ass. Especially on days like this.
"Someone from the line of succession is required to be absent from the State of the Union," you tell her, hoping that this will satisfy her curiosity. You should have known better, of course.
As you walk through the corridors you almost manage to tone out the conversation while still participating in it, a trick you picked up years ago. Maybe later you'll even remember what you talked about with her, but you wouldn't put any money on it.
"So who's it gonna be?" Donna asks once you have assured her that the assistant of the Deputy Chief of Staff is not part of the line of succession, no matter how many people might die because some terrorist or other decides to blow up the Hill with the entire cabinet inside.
"Roger Tribby."
"The secretary of agriculture?"
"Yes. Listen. Be sweet to Margaret and Leo today. This might not be the worst day of their lives, but it's got to be in the top five."
"Okay."
"See ya later."
You continue walking, thinking about the twenty high-priority things that need to be done by yesterday and aren't even close to being finished. With less than two days to go until the State of the Union, the president down with the flu, Leo about to be publicly spanked for being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, and everything else that goes on in this building on any given day you don't anticipate to be out of here before midnight. You usually aren't.
"Excuse me, Mr. Lyman?"
You turn around, seeing a petit blonde woman walking toward you. She is dressed in a sharp suit and looks every bit the professional, but something about her bothers you. She seems ... out of place here. Maybe she's a Republican.
"Yes?"
"I'm Elizabeth Springer, assistant clerk from the Hill. I was supposed to deliver the invitation to the President to deliver the State of the Union, but I'm afraid I got kinda turned around in here. This place is huge."
You mentally check off one item on your humongous to-do list when you see the engraved envelope in her hand.
"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you got here at all."
She raises an eyebrow at you.
"Sorry, that didn't come out right. We're having a bit of a day here today. Come this way, please. I'm afraid the President is having a thing right now, but Leo can sign you for it."
Turning your back to lead her to Leo's office, you don't notice her looking around with a careful eye and, even if you had, you would have written it off to a junior clerk's awe at being in the White House for the first time.
Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that the person walking behind you is actually an artificial life form forged from a mystical metal on a mission to save this entire universe you call home. Your imagination, while formidable when it comes to politics, doesn't reach quite that far.
#
"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."
Your name is Sam Seaborn and you are the deputy communications director of the White House. Part of this job is to meet with all sorts of interest groups and weirdoes and that is exactly what you are doing right now.
"It is not a problem, Mr. Rutherford."
Truth to tell, were anyone to ask you, you would not be able to say why you made room for this particular appointment today, especially as your calendar is already overflowing. Your memories of how this meeting came to be are somewhat hazy. In fact the only thing you remember clearly is going through the lobby and being greeted by this gentleman whom you have led to your office now, but the moment you spotted him you just knew that you had an appointment with him. An important one.
Later on you will not be able to remember any details about this meeting, either.
You find nothing strange about any of this, though. You have met a lot of strange people since starting in this job, all of them one hundred percent convinced that their interests should be supported by the government to the exclusion of all else. You have met with people demanding to see the aliens the government keeps hidden in Fort Knox, people who think the maps should be redrawn so that south is on top and north at the bottom, and quite a few even stranger ones.
So you just talk with this man called George Rutherford and at no time are you aware that the gentleman in question is not in any way participating in your conversation. To be more precise he isn't even in the room with you except in a purely physical sense. His astral self is walking the White House at will, inspecting every corner and looking for a particularly malevolent presence.
The only thing you know about all this, though, is that you are in an important meeting and so you keep on talking. The only thing you find slightly strange is that pendant the man is wearing, shaped almost like an eye. At times you get the feeling the eye might actually be watching you.
#
Outside the home of Roger Tribby
Washington DC, USA
January 10, 2000
Parallel 047
#
Your name, back in the days when you were still a human being, was Leonard Johnson. These days most people just call you Lenny and that's it. Given the fact that you are a vampire you really don't have much use for a last name. None of the really famous vampires have last names, after all, and you intend to be famous one day.
Unfortunately for you it will never happen, but you don't know that yet.
These days you are still a relatively young vampire and your lot in life is to be minion to another. It's like being an employee, only with fewer benefits and no pay. Then again, most employees don't get to kill a lot of people and drink their blood every odd night or so. Being who you are, you consider that one a major perk.
The boss trusts you to handle this, so you want to make sure that everything is going as planned. Checking the piece of paper in your pocket you verify the address. Yes, this is the place. You motion to the three other guys with you, giving them the sign to start moving.
The secretary of agriculture, being a member of the cabinet and part of the line of succession, is entitled to Secret Service protection, but that pretty much consists of a single guy keeping watch from across the street. Agriculture isn't considered that dangerous a field. Taking him out wouldn't be much of a problem under normal circumstances, but you have been given very specific instructions. Under no circumstances must there be signs of foul-play.
You haven't been given a reason for that, but you do know what the boss does to people who mess up his plans. Therefore you will take great care to do everything exactly as you have been told.
It helps, of course, that this strange world you found yourself in about two weeks ago is very much different from the one you are familiar with. The boss tried to explain it to them, but the only thing you understood was that, due to the near-absence of magic in this world, many of the primary safeguards against vampires simply don't exist. No mystical barriers preventing you from entering private homes, crosses don't work, and no one seems to have heard of a Slayer here.
The sunlight still burns, which is a drag, but all things considered you are quite happy here.
The plan for tonight is simple. One of your team will deal with the Secret Service man, distracting him without killing or clueing him in that anything really happened this night. Meanwhile the rest of you will enter the home of Roger Tribby, carefully avoid his wife and kids, and grab the man himself, whisking him away without anyone the wiser.
You are more a fan of plans that go along the lines of 'kill everything in sight', but you are confident that you can handle this, too. How difficult can it be? Back home you would have to find a way to get invited inside; you might have to worry about the Slayer or the guy you're supposed to nap being some kind of magician or demon-in-disguise. Not here, though. This world, however you came to be here, is almost painfully boring. As a matter of fact you wouldn't mind seeing a little more action around here sometimes.
The thought has barely made its way through your brain when someone behind you coughs, drawing your attention.
"You guys are out pretty late," a young, dark-haired woman says. She is dressed in tight leather pants and wears a tube top that leaves little to the imagination. Her only acknowledgement of the January temperatures is a leather jacket worn loosely around her shoulders.
The boss said no signs foul-play, you muse, but you are pretty sure you can dispose of that tasty body in a way that will leave no visible connection to Roger Tribby. From the growling of your boys you figure they agree with you. Your primary target will still be there in a few minutes.
"I've got a bit of frustration to work out," the woman continues, walking towards you and cracking her knuckles, which produces an oddly metallic sound. "Who wants to be first?"
You are about to take a step forward when a sound from a nearby alley announces the arrival of yet another newcomer. It's the very distinct sound of a blade being drawn from a scabbard. A young man steps out of the shadows, sword in hand, giving them a smile.
"Room for two?" he asks, throwing a side glance at the woman.
Suddenly you are not feeling quite so confident anymore. There is something very off about these two. If you were back home you would almost think ... but no, there aren't any Slayers in this world. Certainly no male Slayers or anything.
"Take the guy," you motion to the two vampires on your left. "We'll take the chick."
Everything after that happens so fast you barely manage to take it all in. The 'chick' explodes into action, laying into both of you with punches that hit like jackhammers. Behind you the tell-tale sound of a vampire exploding into ash tells you all you need to know about the fate of your other team-members. Things are going seriously wrong and you haven't survived as long as you did by being stupid.
While the surviving two of your guys are keeping the newcomers busy you high-tail it out of there as fast as you can. Before you even reach the corner you hear another of your guys die, cursing your luck. This world was supposed to be safe for the undead. What is going on here?
You are two steps around the corner when you skid to a halt, not quite believing what you see in front of you.
"If you want to survive as a minion," the tall, dark vampire in front of you says, "the one thing you need in abundance is luck."
His face is illuminated by the street light and your blood runs even colder than it already is.
"Are you feeling lucky tonight?" Angelus asks, grinning from ear to ear.
"A-Angelus?" you manage, taking two steps back. You know this one, of course. Every vampire knows of him. The traitor. Once the most vicious of your kind, but now a lapdog of the humans, hunting and killing his own kind. How did he come here? Did he somehow switch worlds as well?
"You know me?" Angelus' grin grows even broader. "Of course you know me, silly question. Here's a good one, though: The me you know, soul or no soul?"
"W-what?"
"Come on, it's not that difficult a question. Soul or no soul? Do-gooder or evil bastard?"
Your mouth opens and closes, but you are quite certain that it produces nothing but meaningless sound. Angelus sighs and leans against the wall of the building.
"No, it's okay. I guess I know the answer. Damn it! What is it with all those doppelgangers of me getting themselves a soul? What's so great about having a soul and becoming a do-gooder? Can you tell me that?"
You manage to shake your head, even as a menacing growl from behind Angelus diverts your attention from the black-clad vampire. Something emerges from the shadows. Something huge.
"Yeah, I know," Angelus simply says, giving the monster appearing behind him but a single glance. "We're supposed to question them regarding Wilkins. So, where is Tricky Dick Wilkins?"
You realize the question is directed at you, but you are too busy taking in the newcomer. At first you think it's a werewolf, but if it is then it's the biggest damn werewolf you've ever seen. Walking barely upright, it still towers over Angelus. Spittle is dripping from its gaping maw and eyes the size of your fists are looking directly at you while a body that has to be a thousand pounds of solid muscle tenses in anticipation.
"Tell me or tell my friend here," Angelus remarks, pointing over his shoulder at the giant wolf.
"W-Wilkins? I know of n-no Wilkins. I w-work for Mr. Trick."
Angelus glares at you for a moment, but then shakes his head. "He's telling the truth. Not a smart move, buddy, but that's the way it is. I guess we really don't need you anymore."
The giant wolf takes a step forward and you prepare to run, no matter how futile it may be. You never get the chance, though. The last thing you hear is a sound coming from behind you, something that sounds like 'SNIKT'.
Then something sharp and cold cuts right through your neck and everything goes dark.
TO BE CONTINUED
Note in closing: Sam actually met with people wanting to know about aliens in Fort Knox, though I think it was actually later in the series. The thing with the maps turned around happened to CJ, I think, but I found it funny, too. And for all those not familiar with the SNIKT sound, it's the sound effect always used in the comics when Wolverine unsheathes his claws.
I'm not sure whether I'll get another chapter done before Christmas.
In case not, merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you.