Chapter VII: Reason.
The room is dark. The air that fills its walls feels thick and warm against the skin. A door opens in the far end of the stage, creaking loudly against the silent backdrop. She steps into the hall calmly, walking with certainty in her pace, looking dead into the darkness with neither worry nor doubt in her eyes. She listens to the way the particles of oxygen travel as she walks, seemingly searching across the den for a particular sound that suggests the location of her quandary.
She peers through the shadows as if she were bathed in daylight. Her eyes moving accordingly, hunting for the advance of her prey. As she walks towards the center of the stage, she turns her head towards the vast emptiness that shrouds the audiences seats. Then, as if her position were an indication, an engulfing light showers the stage, and Illyria stands defiantly against it. Her blue streaks fall over her face, graciously covering her furious eyes. Her hands, bulging into trembling fists capable of shattering mountains and shredding steel as if it were mere cotton candy fall to her sides craving for an enemy to engage in battle.
A rattling hiss spews from over-head, and as she turns her gaze upward, four bodies tumble from the ceiling. Their bodies draped entirely in black cloths, their arms bound across their waists. Four female figures slowly rising to their feet. Their bodies radiating a vibrant rage, statically shaking as they surround the King. Illyria lowers her brow, an indication of command and power against enemies too trivial for one such as her.
She cocks her head to the side and looks at them as they hiss in unison. "You do not belong," says one as they continue to stumble in a circular pattern against the Old One. "You must leave," hisses another. Illyria turns her gaze momentarily back to her left as she continues to peruse through the circling abominations before her. "You're days are gone, master," snarls another.
Then Illyria unlocks her eyes from the creatures and focuses on the light that shines before her. "I am Illyria," she muses commandingly, "Shaper of Things. I do not take petty quibble from peasants."
The four abominations suddenly stop in their path and stare at her in silence for mere moments when, with amazing precision, they unleash a powerful and ghoulish wailing as they tear their arms away from their bounds. Vigorous organ music suddenly roars through the stage, filling the entire hall. Illyria grabs the ghoul to her right and as she raises her a loud voice attempts to shout over the intrusive music.
"No!" screams Lorne disappointedly. "No, no, no, no, NO!" The music stops as the house lights go up and the women in the stage suddenly freeze in their positions. He steps on to the stage and Illyria turns her gaze towards him, still holding the girl up with her right arm. "Um, Mrs. Illyria," asks the girl shyly, "could you please put me down now?"
Illyria puts her down calmly and the girl straightens her costume as her feet touch the boards of the theater stage. The girl sitting in the back of the stage at the organ turns towards Lorne with an inquisitive, yet somewhat distraught, look on her face. "What's wrong?" she asks nervously.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" asks Lorne impatiently. "I'll tell you what's wrong, sweety. It's hiss, menacing hiss, snarl, wail, punch then comes the ominous and more-intrusive-than-I-like organ music!"
"I- I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I can't see the stage from where I'm seated," she says to her defense.
Lorne takes a deep breath and looks towards Illyria. "You see what I'm dealing with here?" he asks her. "Why is it that Slayers can flip cars upside down with their pinkies but they can't follow a simple instruction, huh?"
Illyria cocks her head inquisitively. Lorne sighs in disappointment and shakes his head. "Alright, people," he says towards the small crowd of Slayers sitting in the audience. "Class dismissed. We'll pick up from where we left off next Wednesday."
The girls start picking up their books and other belongings and head out for the exit of the theater hall, when Gunn walks in. He walks towards the stage and smiles casually at Lorne. "How's our production of 'King Lear' coming along?" he asks him jokingly.
"Ha, ha," snarls back an annoyed Lorne, "that's very cute, you know? How am I even supposed to--" Lorne interrupts himself as he sees the girl at the organ walk past him hastily. "Hey, hey, hey," he says jogging after her, "Sorry for pulling a Whitney for you up there, kid. You did great. Okay?"
She tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles shyly. "Okay, sir. I'll see you Wednesday afternoon," she responds softly.
Lorne smiles. "Atta' girl," he says proudly. "That's what I like to hear. And don't worry, after we're done with this, not even Tim Burton himself'll come up with something creepier than our little piece. Trust me... I oughta know." She smiles with encouragement and hurries after her classmates. Lorne walks back to Illyria and Gunn and notices the condescending smirk on his lips. "What?" he asks Charles suspiciously.
"No, no," answers Charles smiling, "I'm just wondering if you really believe that."
"What? The Burton thing?" asks Lorne. Charles raises his eyebrows inquisitively. "Timmy gave me an idea for a Broadway show he wanted to do once at a party," Lorne continues, "but I coaxed him back to reality by sending him to a rehab facility. That man can't hold his sugar without getting goofy... more than usual. I mean, have you even seen that 'Charlie' trailer? I'm out of the business for a year and the man is suddenly back riding the sugar horse. Thank God, he's not evil. How would that be for a double whammy?" He laughs to himself.
Gunn looks at him puzzled. "He's not a demon?" he finally asks.
"No," says Lorne, with a sigh and slight note of disappointment in his voice, "just a guy with delusions of being one." Lorne turns his gaze towards Illyria, who has been hearing the conversation with slight intrigue. "You okay there, Leery? You look kinda blue in face."
Illyrian looks at him slightly puzzled by his question. She smirks proudly as she responds, "I do not require any assistance, Krevlornswath, if that is what you imply."
"Yeah, well," Lorne responds in kind, "thanks for the assist, honey."
"You're appreciation is irrelevant for me, demon," she says with a proud smile on her lips. "It amuses me beyond gratification when you belittle the children for their poor delivery."
"Heh, that's... heh, heh... that's not..." chuckles Lorne nervously, biting his lips as Gunn raises his eyebrows in surprise.
"Really?" asks Charles with a curious smile curling his face. "Is that right?"
"In my days," Illyria says, almost with delight, "we used to impale the insubordinate upside down for questioning authority, but I find your ways particularly pleasing to my eyes as well."
Lorne looks at her nervously, then back at Gunn. "That's not it," he says defensively.
"So I take it Theater Class has become an outlet of your rage? Or is it that you just feel superior?" asks Gunn, forcibly trying to contain his amusement.
"Hey," shouts Lorne, "why don't you go give Spike a lecture for throwing books at the students at poetry class?"
"Alright, alright," Gunn says chuckling softly, "You're doing a great job, man. I'm just bustin' your chops a little bit."
"If you no longer require my assistance I shall retire to my quarters," interrupts Illyria impatiently.
"Oh, sure," responds Lorne gleefully. "Thanks again, sweety. Same thing next week." Illyria walks off the stage and exits through the very same door she came in before. All the way through the back of the stage.
Lorne and Gunn stand alone on the stage, awkwardly silent. Lorne walks off towards his seat in the audience and picks up his papers.
"She seems to be doing okay, isn't she?" says Gunn almost as if to himself, as he stares hypnotically at the door in which Illyria left.
"W-what?" says Lorne, slightly startled.
"Illyria. She seems to be dealing with the situation pretty well."
"Well, she's got us to keep her busy and amused. And, of course, there's ye olde Breeze o' the Sea to keep her happily sedated as well," he says with a slight snicker.
"You're pumping her liquor?" asks Gunn, somewhat shocked.
Lorne chuckles. "You should see her when she gets drunk. She just goes totally catatonic. Let me tell you, you could hit her over the head with a sledge-hammer and she wouldn't even notice."
"That's because she doesn't," retorts Gunn. "I remember Wes telling he broke an axe over her head once and she didn't even flinch."
"Yeah, well, I was talking figuratively, Mr. I-have-to-take-everything-so-literally-I-thought-spark-plugs-were-fireworks."
"Hey, that was one time," Gunn shouts in his defense. "One time! Man, a guy gets a brain-boost and everybody suddenly thinks it's pretty damn funny when his street-smarts suddenly go poof faster than Spike's cigarettes."
"Yeah, and you didn't find all that funny too when he started calling you Sparky after that," says Lorne laughing.
Gunn rolls his eyes and shakes his head while chuckling to himself. He takes another look at the door and walks down the stairs towards Lorne, as he peruses through some papers. He stands beside him as Lorne puts his things in his briefcase. He grabs it and turns towards Gunn, who's lost deep in his thoughts.
"Have hope, Gunn," he tells him calmly with a smile. Charles looks at him startled, completely at a loss for words. The words echo in his mind, as he tries to formulate a coherent thought. Lorne smiles. "You're conflicted," he continues with a nurturing timber in his voice. "I know. I am too. But I stick my head in ten thousand things at the same time to get my mind off this whole ordeal, while you stick yours in it. And that's good, 'cause we really need somebody dealing with this directly, and quite frankly, everybody else is scared out of their minds to be in your position. But you need to take it in stride. Look at you, you're exhausted."
"I know, I know," says Gunn somewhat ashamed, "but, it's just that I can't believe this is happening. And I can't help but think that I could've done something about all of this if I had gone to L.A. with him last year. Maybe this wouldn't have happened. Lindsey, Spike... Fred. Every time I look at her I... I just want to kill him. Because I... just don't understand how he could've done this to her, to all of us. And I hate him for it."
"He used to be your best friend once, Gunn. After everything that's happened in these last couple of years, he's still your friend. I don't believe for a second that what he did to Fred was intentional. I really believe he wanted her back. But it blew up in his face big time, and now she's..." Lorne pauses then scoffs softly. "Whatever he's doing, I believe there's a reason. I knew there was something brewing in his head when we last spoke. I just wish I had realized what it was right then. But, hey, I'm not dwelling on it, and neither should you. You didn't go to L.A. because you felt you were needed here. There was nothing there for you, Charles. You know that. And you need to stop blaming it on yourself, and focus on what we're going to do next. Because you paid a high price for the gift you have in your brain, kiddo, and you need to put it to use here. Where it's needed. Capisce?"
Gunn puts both his hands inside his pockets. He knows Lorne's words are true, but they don't appease his mind. "You're right," he finally says, though more to himself than to his companion.
"Of course I am, pumpkin'," says Lorne exuberantly. "Who do you think you're talking to?" He slaps Gunn on his arm. "What do you say we go to the Teacher's Lounge and drown our petty sorrows in sinful amounts of liquor?"
Gunn smiles gleefully. "I'd love to, but I first have to stop by the infirmary. Haven't checked on Emily yet."
"Emily?" Lorne asks with deep curiosity.
"Roberts," answers Gunn, scratching the back of his head.
"Oh," wails Lorne.
"What? What is it?"
"She was supposed to be here for the rehearsal, and I, uh, said a few remarks about her as a person that I'm starting to deeply regret."
"What do you mean?" says Gunn, trying to contain his intrigue.
"Mostly curses. Curses, and a fair amount of epithets," says Lorne disenchanted and ashamed with his own behavior. "What happened to her?"
"Spike cracked her ribs when he hit her with a sledge-hammer," affirms Gunn.
Lorne stares at him without blinking for a few seconds and Gunn starts laughing softly. "Now I know why all the girls looked at me all weird when I started cursing the star of the play for her lack of responsibility." He pauses to collect his thoughts. "I need a drink," he says almost saddened by the suggestion.
"It's gonna be fine, Lorne. You're the King, Queen and all the puny horse-riding people of entertainment. I don't think this'll crush you're world."
"Tell that to girl with the crushed rib-cage," bemuses Lorne. "I'm so gonna smack Spike over the head with a hammer. Let's see how much he's gonna like it."
"I think you'll probably end up causing him permanent brain damage."
"Yeah, sure, like he has that much going on up there anyways."
Gunn laughs as they walk out of the theater hall. Somehow, the thoughts that once clouded his mind are gone. Perhaps, being surrounded by friends constantly has taken to that effect. They walk up the hallway towards the door, and step out into the light of day.
Somehow, this has been a very good day, he thinks to himself. Just exactly what he needed.