Summary: Certain books have found their way to Sunnydale, pre-Buffy.
Disclaimer: I dun' own nuttin'!
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Pre-Fic Comments:
Okay, this is cleanup-fic. We ain't doing no bug lady quite yet.
Any songs listed without an album... that just means I have no idea what album it's from.
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Giles slumped back as they stopped the last of the suiciders. It was just as well Xander managed to stop the Rite before *this* song got going. The other songs had only hinted at the Nosferatu; this one was damn blatant about it.
Now, for the damage control.
"Bloody lovely," he snarled. Jesse gave him a startled look.
"What?," Jesse asked. It was the first time he'd ever heard the British man swear.
"Look around. We've got at least ten different types of vampire -- all having their soul, thus being rather grey as far as the Slayer is concerned, a dozen barbarian berserkers, what looks like some demons, werewolves...," Giles trailed off.
"Giles! Do I make with the Slaying?," Buffy asked. "I mean, this place is half full of vamps now!"
Xander joined them, dragging a middle aged woman behind him. He had one of his plated gloves on his right hand. "I don't think we should. Telling them what they are working our way from there should work."
"Xander! What are you doing with Amy's Mum?!," Willow asked Xander, half scolding him. She had a slight frown on her face.
"She's the caster," Xander said.
"You're joking," Giles said, disbelieving.
"Nope. Looks like Carl is realising what's happening," Xander noted, pointing at the DJ setup on the stage.
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Carl stopped flicking through one of his bins of records, looking at his hands.
Talons.
There were talons on his hands.
GODDAMMIT! Those things were ripping up his record covers!
He continued flicking through his records, but far more carefully.
* * *
The already loud sound got even louder, as the distorted guitars started chugging along to the beat. The metal stairs that the five were under started to visibly vibrate.
"Nope," Jesse said. "The elevator doesn't reach the top floor. He's a can short of a sixpack, a record short of a collection."
Giles groaned at the last comment.
Buffy looked at the DJ. "His teeth have grown into fangs, no other changes besides the claws."
"At least we've fixed the suicidal people," Willow pointed out.
"Yes, there is that," Giles sighed. "If anyone has any ideas, they are welcome to contribute them."
"I've got one," Jesse said.
"Can't be any worse than what we've planned already," Xander said. "Okay, hit us with it."
Jesse departed the group for the stage.
"We're doomed," Willow groaned.
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Carl looked up, as he felt someone tapping on his shoulder. Weird. The crowd knew he didn't do requests. He looked up. Oh. Great.
Jesse.
"Hey man, can I make an announcement?," Jesse asked. "It's... well, you remember when you stole that book off Xander?"
Carl nodded. He was unable to speak to Jesse, as his mouth was still duct taped shut.
"It's like that. Important," Jesse not-explained.
Carl rolled his eyes, but turned the music down and handed the mike to Jesse after he turned it on.
"Testing... right. Uh, Twelveheart's Final Rite has been active for the last three or four tunes," Jesse began, "and it's affected some of you, as you can visibly see. This is not a joke. This is deadly serious. If you even think you've been changed, go see the really old English guy in the tweed under the stairs and Xander."
He handed the mike back to Carl, who then immediately turned the music back up to 'fetal position in a kickdrum in a concert' levels.
Well. That explained the talons, Carl thought to himself. He felt his neck.
That would explain the quite recent lack of pulse too.
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Xander and Giles gave Jesse very nasty looks when he got back to them. They were now being mobbed by drunk bikers and worried students.
"Look, all come with me tomorrow to the hospital, we'll prove your new status there, and we can sort legal matters out then. All those who can't come tomorrow day, come tomorrow evening to the hospital," Xander shouted above the music. His face was pale, and he was sweating slightly.
Giles, though unwilling to allow the newly changed to live, could understand their unwillingness to die. He gave a short listing of the vulnerabilities that he knew of for the vampires, then cautioned the newly made barbarians on their newly short fuses.
"Look, I don't bloody care if you didn't want this. It isn't my bloody fault! If you want to bitch at someone, go bitch at...," Giles paused, then looked at Amy's mother. While he prided himself on his selfcontrol normally, this was anything but.
"Darla," she whispered, barely audible over Trent Reznor. "She said she was working for the Master."
"There," Giles said triumphantly.
"Great, man, just great," a biker said. "Tom is gonna kill me when I can't come to the garage tomorrow."
"Tom Wilson?," Willow hesitantly asked.
The biker nodded.
"Mr Wilson'd let you work at night," Willow said, almost as quiet as Amy's mother.
The biker and his companions grinned, showing their new fangs. "Thanks, babe!"
Willow flinched at the long canines, and the bikers winced back.
"Here's my number," Giles said to the crowd, writing it on a sheet of paper. "Make a copy and ring me if you want. You've all come into an unsettling world, I'm afraid. There are numerous demonic vampires who would love to kill you all just to see your blood flow."
"You're kidding," a student said. He had brown hair and green eyes. "They're like the Sabbat?"
Giles paused to recall what the boy was talking about. Ah, yes, that role playing game, Vampire the Play or Masquerade or something. "Something like that, yes."
The boy grinned, then held out a hand experimentally. It turned into shadow, then solidified.
"Cool, very cool," his female companion said.
"Looks like we've just gotten a few dozen more Slayer-ettes," Jesse said.
Buffy gave him a weirded look.
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Post-Fic Comments:
Sorry, the music slipped from the European stuff.
This is gonna be a bit of a pain to write, thinking of what all these people are gonna do. If anyone wants to take some random created person from this and write crap, feel free.