Notes: Just wanted to say a big thank you to those who reviewed - it's always great to get feedback on what's going right/wrong!
As the sun hastened in its nightly ritual of climbing down through the sky over the city, the dark underbelly of Los Angeles stirred and prepared to awaken yet again. Not that it ever truly slept, but after nightfall – that was when the real fun started for the less human amongst the city dwellers. And, deny it as they might, everyone knew it. They might tell themselves and each other that the crime rate, the numerous muggings, stabbings and other pitfalls of living in an ever-growing city, that they were the reason for their wariness when it came to venturing out of an evening, but that wasn't the truth. Or not the whole truth anyway.
It turned out that the people of L.A. weren't really so different to the folks back in Sunnydale – they were just as good at telling themselves monsters don't exist, while all the time covering up the facts staring them in the face. Puncture wounds in the neck? Obviously just some kind of weapon the attacker was carrying. People who disappear? Happens all the time – sad but true and it's not as if there could be some strange other dimension they were sucked into. Attackers who look like really good walking adverts for plastic surgery? Hey, not everyone can be perfect, even in Hollywood …
Deny, deny, deny.
But there are some who can't escape the nightmare of reality as it truly is, who can't just see what they want to see. And they either let it beat them, make a stand, or run. But no one can run forever …
"Hey, blondie! Get your ass over here – you think we got all night?"
The girl at whom the impatient shout had been directed straightened up with a weary sigh, took a deep breath and spun on her heel with her eyes blazing angrily. "Yell at me like that again and you'll have all night alright – all night to find your boss someone else!" she snapped, but her reaction only drew hoots of laughter.
"Woah, looks like the little kitten's got claws! What d'ya reckon to that, Tony?"
Tony, a great hulk of a man with long brown hair and a beard to match, rose from his crouching position and drew himself up to his full height, somewhere in the region of six and a half feet.
"I think she should watch who she pulls 'em on, Mac." he growled in a deep voice as he stared down at the petite girl.
Her clear green eyes narrowed and she didn't even stop to think as she marched up to him defiantly and planted herself before him, hands on her hips.
"You think that scares me?" she asked, her voice low and as threatening as it was ever likely to be. "You think some cretin who just happened to fall off of the evolution chart bothers me? I've seen worse than you, so you can try the intimidation all you like – it ain't gonna work. You getting this or should I speak slower?"
The giant before her raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched as if under threat of a smile before he doubled over with a great bellow of laughter.
"Little girl, you are just the funniest thing I ever did see!" he managed between chuckles, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder and nearly sending her stumbling as he forgot his own strength. "You keep that up, kiddo, and don't let nobody push you around!"
Startled and yet vaguely relieved by the unexpected outcome to this stand-off, the girl pushed black and blonde streaked hair back from her face and allowed herself to relax a little as a smile tugged at her own lips.
"Alright then, if we've got all that outta the way, are you gonna get that mike set up or what?" she demanded with a grin, turning back to her guitar case as the sound crew of the club she was in finally got back to work.
"How's the head?"
"Been better – that one really lingered." Doyle grimaced, "But cheers for askin', Cordy, nice to know ya care …"
"What I care about is when you're gonna actually help me instead of sitting on your backside." Cordelia said sweetly from where she sat behind her desk.
"And what would you be sittin' on then?" Doyle retorted defensively.
"Hello - working! Unlike some who shall remain nameless and only be known as the badly dressed drunk and the slightly better dressed sulker …"
"Talk about givin' a dog a bad name and hangin' him!"
"Don't put ideas in my head!" Cordelia warned, "Right, go over what you saw in your vision again – maybe we're missing something. Oh, and totally feel free to leave out the gruesome sacrificing this time – I only held onto my lunch last time by sheer willpower! That and the fact that we really can't afford to be wasting good food …"
Doyle sighed and leaned back, tilting his chair onto two legs and closing his eyes to try to block everything out except the images which had earlier assaulted his mind.
"Bright flashes o' light, loads o' people, somethin' red … a car … a neon sign …" he paused, his face screwed up as if he was trying to get a better view of something, except for his eyes being closed. "That sign – it's a bar, but I can't make out the name … I can see it, but I can't see it …"
"Could you be any less helpful? Think, Doyle – anything that might give us a clue … A name … Or how 'bout the car – make, number, colour even?"
"I'm tryin' here … Uh, the car – black wi' blacked out windows …"
"In L.A.? Hate to rain on your parade, buddy, but if you'd seen anything of how the other half lives, you'd know that could be almost anyone worth anything in this city. Hey, maybe we're going to be helping someone rich and famous – wow, I'm thinking 'reward'. It would be bad PR to charge, per se …"
"God, now I know there's somethin' wrong when yer talkin' about not chargin'!" Doyle muttered, before focusing his attention on their case – or what little they knew of it at least. "At least we've got some time, I think – I get the feelin' the sacrifice I saw ain't due for a couple of days, but considerin' we know jack about what's goin' on …"
"We have to really shift. You think we should try talking to Angel again?" Cordelia asked hesitantly.
"His mind ain't on the job though …" Doyle mused, "But I suppose I could try talkin' to him again – I was thinkin' o' takin' the car out for a scoot round, see if maybe somethin' looked familiar … I could try to get Angel onboard?"
"A pub crawl? That's your answer?"
"All in the line o' duty, darlin'; all in the line o' duty." he just grinned.
Cordelia shook her head disapprovingly, but for once said nothing – it wasn't as if she had any better ideas and anything that got Angel out of his room had to be worth a shot. She watched as the Irishman climbed to his feet and headed for the lift to take him down to Angel's private quarters beneath the office and then turned back to the computer for a second. But it was only for a second as she shrugged her shoulders helplessly and closed down the internet window she had open. Somehow, she didn't think they were going to find their answers on Google. Not with the vague hints that were all they had to go on - a gory ritual sacrifice and a few hazy images of who, where and when that they could neither make head nor tail of. She'd have to wait for Doyle to figure out more about what he had seen before she could hope to help in any way …
With that in mind, she was able to pick up a discarded glossy magazine with a clear conscience and leaf absently through the pages. Confronted with visions of celebrities and stardom, she was lost to her daydreams of achieving such fame and fortune herself and could just imagine how it would feel. No more getting covered in demon slime, staking vamps and nearly getting killed on a regular basis – of course she was beginning to realise that she would miss Angel and even Doyle, in spite of how she may act in front of them. And a little part of her would miss the rush she got when they were successful with a case … But the thought of trading that in for life amongst the beautiful people – it was a nice way to exercise her imagination.
To have hundreds of adoring fans chanting her name; crowds of photographers jostling to take her picture as she emerged, radiant, from a stretch limo; to waltz down the red carpet looking like the epitome of glamour …
Suddenly, Cordelia snapped to attention and she grabbed the notebook in which she had jotted down the scant details of Doyle's latest visions. She quickly ran her eye down the series of hastily scribbled bulletpoints – it had been right in front of her the whole time. Bright lights, fancy car, red as in carpet perhaps … It might be a long shot, but it was all they had and anyway, pass up a chance at first-hand experience of the glitzy world of showbiz? As if!
to be continued...