Chapter XI: The woeful odyssey of the great warrior.
The water hits his face like a bag of bricks. He's tense. More so than usual. He looks back at the reflection in the small mirror in front of him as he wipes the trickling droplets of water from his face with his tweed coat, and feels his heart racing to escape its confines in his chest.
He takes a deep breath and turns towards the door of the small restroom, rearranging his suit. Forcefully, drawing every small morsel of strength that may be coursing through his body, he lunges his arm towards the knob and twists it open.
The creak of the doorway swinging forces him to retreat into the safety of the restroom, and the secure comfort provided by the lone toilet seat. He looks back outside and steps into the enclosed hall, looking to his right cautiously.
"Excuse me?" says a booming, cold voice from behind him.
"Gah!" he yells. Andrew turns around to see a rather large man standing anxiously by the door.
"Mind if I use the facilities or do you need it for another two hours?" says the booming voice through clenched teeth.
"Oh, um..." stammers Andrew, stepping away from the door. "Why, you certainly may, good sir," he finally says as he collects himself.
The large man pushes through Andrew and lets himself into the bathroom, slamming the door gracefully in his wake. Andrew looks over his shoulders yet again, as if looking for confidence, and walks back to his seat near the rear of the plane.
As he lets himself drown in his seat, he buckles his safety belt and releases an exuberant sigh. Looking over the head of the lady seating next to him, he glances through window to his right, searching through the darkness outside for any indication of trouble that may loom on the horizon. He takes a deep breath as a feeling of certain relief washes over him, then opens the overhead compartment and withdraws a slim leather-bound folder and starts sorting papers within in his lap.
A young and perky stewardess passes beside him and leans close to him. As he peruses through the papers his nose twitches with the faint smell of sickly sweet vanilla coming from her bare neck. Feeling queasy, yet slightly intoxicated by the beautiful smell, he turns towards her. Her crimson hair seemed to be glistening in the knot it was being held imprisoned in with two Chinese sticks. Her soft, cream-colored skin made his veins bulge as he desperately tried to restrain himself from lunging at her. A smile crosses her face as both their eyes meet. "Feeling better, sir?" she says.
Andrew says nothing. Unable to keep his eyes from widening, his cheeks from reddening uncontrollably and his trembling hands to lose their grip on the papers he was, up to that moment, looking through, he just stares, unblinking at her. A hint of a soft snicker escapes the stewardess as she bends to help him pick up his belongings.
Andrew drops to the floor in front of the stewardess and starts to gather his papers hurriedly. The stewardess arches her shoulders back and reads the document in her hand with a mixture of interest and disbelief.
"Further legislation for the rights earth-bound demons' employment in public offices," she says as she flips through the pages. "Alcohol prohibition laws for demons under the age of fifty? What's this?"
Andrew stares at her in shock for several seconds, until, in a moment of sudden realization, he slams his hand against the papers she was holding and puts them back in the folder. He looks up at her twinkling gray eyes and exhales a dry chuckle. "That's, um," he says, stammering uncontrollably, "th- that's confidential. I- it's t- top secret."
"Well," she says, pushing herself back to the her feet, "it's not so much a secret now that I know, isn't it?" She winks and a sweet smile crosses her lips. "Hope you don't have to kill me now, 007."
Andrew lets out another terrified chuckle. He stumbles back to his seat and looks up at her, desperately seeking aid from the Heavens to help him control himself.
"So?" asks the cute stewardess. "What was that all about?"
"Oh, it's, uh, it's really nothing. Just dribbles. Nonsense." A shy smile curls in his face. His heart racing at a thousand miles per second. The smell of her perfume seeping through his nostrils, making his hairs stand on end.
"Really? Then why so keen on not letting me see them? I mean, if they really were nothing, then why rip them off my hands?"
Another chuckle. Sweat begins to pour down his forehead.
"Well, okay. They're not really nothing, per se. It's, um, it's really... how do I put it? It's highly... classified... stuff. Area 51 type of... stuff."
"Really?" Her expression turns, to his surprise, to interest. She moves towards the seat before him and leans against it. "What kind of stuff? Is it really about demons?"
Andrew looks nervously to his surroundings. Everybody is asleep, yet his cautious observation for anybody eavesdropping filters towards the stewardess. "Oh, there's no one up. Everybody's asleep."
The remark was by all accounts true. The very few people that were taking space inside the first-class section of the plane were fast asleep. Andrew looks up to her standing right there in front of him and for a splitting second he wonders whether he was also dreaming, yet the thought dissipates immediately after the lady sitting next to him gives out a rather unpleasantly loud snore and hits him with her elbow as she readjusts herself in her seat.
The stewardess smiles at him. "There are a couple of seats empty over here," she says as she points towards the front. "I'm due my break anyways, so... want to-?"
Andrew opens his eyes wide and without saying a single thing, or even acknowledging her suggestion with a simple nod, he lunges to his feet carelessly. They walk quietly towards the front seats and they sit down.
The stewardess exhales a breath of relief and arches her back a little as her shoulders and neck crack softly. To his surprise, Andrew stares hypnotically at her. She looks at him and grins. "Sorry about that," she says. "Long night. I'm Millie, by the way."
Andrew stiffens out of his trance and chuckles nervously yet again. "A- Andrew..."
A soft laugh escapes her. "So, Mr. Andrew," she finally says, "I believe you were about to tell me about some demons." A long, sparkling smile curls across her face.
For the next hour Andrew drones about the world into which he, according to his tale, was born into. Thrust from the very bowels of his mother's womb into a frail and fragile little world overrun by forces beyond most mortal men's dreams and nightmares. An enforcer of undeniable good that battles a never-ending battle against the forces of evil that threaten to swallow the Earth into an ever-lasting darkness.
He tells her of his years of traveling the planet, in search of the means to battle the swine that poisons our lives. He tells her of his years in the mountains of Tibet, learning concentration through years of hard labor with monks. How he honed his skills through endless trials and tribulations. How he mastered the darkest of arts, in an attempt to understand his enemies, and slay them with his mighty sword, empowered by the very force that drove them.
To his amazement her attention, nor belief, wanders as he continues. And so, he tells her of Sunnydale. That after years upon years of mastering every means available to battle evil, he helps a promising young Slayer named Buffy and her band of good-natured misfit friends defeat the great and fearsome First Evil and saving the entire world from its army of doom. He tells her, in explicit detail how he fought it in hand to hand combat and dealt it its death blow.
Then, with a very cautious tone in his voice, he tells her of the disasters that happened a year and a half before. When every major city in the world was swallowed in a wave of chaos, blazing fires devouring the lives that dwelled within. Of how, with the sacrifice of the noble and gallant Angel, they defeated the force behind them and how they set to rebuild, and to expand their influence now, in this post-Apocalyptic world.
"Post-Apocalyptic?" Millie asks with palpable disbelief.
"Why, indeed, my fair lady. You see, after we defeated their armies, the world was in chaos."
"No, it wasn't. Well... kind of, but not really. Right?"
Andrew gives out a soft yet hearty laugh. He feels much more comfortable now, but somehow he feels the unnerving sensation of wanting to take a look at his watch.
"Oy, I didn't realize it was that late," he says smiling.
"What time is it?" Millie asks surprised.
He bends his arm towards her and a gasp suddenly escapes her.
"Oh, God, I have to get back to work."
"Hmm, well, that's a shame."
"That was quite a story, Andy."
"Yes it was. I'm pleased to say I've lived a full life."
"I'd say you'd do at that."
A short moment of silence falls between them, and in that fleeting second he feels distant.
"Well," she finally says, "off to work."
"Yeah," he says disappointedly.
They both stand to their feet and walk back to his seat. Millie waves goodbye and walks away. As Andrew stares at her he sees her glowing in the radiance of her beauty until she walks out of his line of sight. He turns and finds the lady in the seat next to his drooling over his seat. Disgusted and affronted by this, he walks, shaking his head in disbelief, over to the restrooms.
As he swings the door open, he feels a hand grab him sharply by his shoulder. Then, before he reacts instinctively, a sweet aroma flows into his nostrils calming his muscles. Millie turns him around and pushes him into the bathroom. She lunges herself onto him and drowns him in a powerful kiss.
Andrew looses control over his body. He cannot believe this is happening. A goddess came forth from the Heavens and gave herself to him, choosing this mortal and engaging him as if he were her god.
Millie quickly looses the knot and tosses her hair to her sides as Andrew looses himself down her neck and into her blouse. This is it. Over two decades of wait. But it was finally going to happen. This is the moment.
Then a sudden grunt pulls him back to the room. Away from the cloudy skies ecstasy in which he was flying. He feels his arms go cold, then subsequently numb. An unwelcome taste suddenly fills his mouth. He feels his legs quiver and then give way. Then nothing.
He falls over the toilet seat and a droplet of blood falls from his lips. Two black Chinese sticks stick out horribly from his upper-stomach, blood staining his lily-white shirt like a nightmare.
Millie stands over him and searches the inner pockets of his coat. She smiles as she finds a small black orb concealed in the right pocket. Then, pulling her hair into a ponytail with a rubber band she had been wearing on her wrist, she steps out of the restroom. As the door closes behind her, a small sign on it says 'Vacant'. She walks briskly up the passenger seats and starts waking up the people who were asleep. The plane was landing. Her mission completed. And somewhere, someone was about to have a very good day.