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Mad World II
Hm, nothin' new to report. Guess all you can do now is read.
The radio screamed an entrancing mantra, crackling and breaking like the new flame of a fresh burning fire. A pair of knobby hands reached for the dial and delicately turned, stopping every few beats as new voices streamed through the speakers. A little sound to fill the room, yeah, that's what he needed. Norman Hinton shuffled around the termite bitten floor, grumbling to himself about how a man of his age shouldn't be up and around, rearranging the attic. But the wife these days was getting harder and harder to deal with.
He couldn't believe the woman, threatening him by hiding his imported cigars, and going so far as to calling the doctor about his bad back. "Martha, c'mon, 'had a bad back since '62. You know, back when…" Martha had finished for him every time.
"…when coach switched you from left field to short stop and the balls got higher and higher. Yeah, Norm heard it all before. Besides, you're long overdue for a check-up with Dr. Dimson, now march!" Dr. Dimwit is more like it.
Continuing his groaning and moaning, Norman fiddled once more with the punishing radio, searching for something of interest. Heard all the sports scores… memorized all the golden oldies…
KNA news was beginning again. Grinning at this newfound airwave treasure, the old man reached behind himself and found a crate waiting for him. He sat. The radio squabbled and screamed briefly, causing Norman's fingers to absently travel to the gadget in his ear. He fiddled with it. Damned thing never worked in the first place. Sounded like interference. Another groan escaped his tired, pale lips. The device had waited long enough and began the news program without another second for him.
Between his battles with his hearing aid in one air and the other ear grasping for any of the program he could, Norm found himself torn. He caught bits and pieces of the words through a tight faced wince, "… urgent message for the public…. Is dangerous and should not be… if any information contact your local police….CEO of Kinsmann International Affairs Ted Glickman …. She was employed…"
By the time Norman had rearranged his earpiece into a somewhat useable position, the program ended, leaving a bitter, frustrated old man with a box of Wild Cubans smirking at him in their hiding spots and a box of clutter glaring at him.
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The whines downstairs steadily and steadily grew as the possessed night droned on. The continuous buzz of the television upstairs went along in uninterrupted harmony. Both prisoner and captor, both Slayer and Slayer fell prone to the empty void of each other's mind. This vision, so corporeal, had never fought back, never responded. Why was now any different? Buffy's inner monologue was debating. When she had struck her, the skin had flinched. When she had chastised her, the lips had moved, and words were spoken. What had changed? Nothing! So why now was she getting a reaction?
It made no sense to Buffy. And furthermore, she didn't think she could quarrel any longer with herself, the answer wasn't coming. For now, the Slayer stay rooted, sitting against her crumpling, grained carpet, grinning from her lightly polished lips to the pixelated glass before her. If she strained her ears just long enough she could hear the pained cries from below her feet. It was a comforting feeling. She held power. Though she was no longer the only Slayer in the world, she still had power. The power. And that was all she would need. Nothing else would suit her more than to conduct and control the movements of the single other presence in her home.
Once the thing had spoken, once it had whispered Buffy's name against cold, pale, and peeling lips, each lip trembling in fright with the muttered syllables, Buffy had retreated. Her feet drug her back towards the stairs, glaring through narrowed, jade eyes. Words sat invisible on her jaws, waiting to be released onto the aimed target. Faith cringed.
And there Buffy left her, chuckling and smiling to herself as she left her ghost alone for another painful night in solitude.
Now though, in the midst of her own content, she heard, and felt, the rough oncoming of a new presence, or many more, nearing her home. She didn't worry about it though. It could have simply been her next door neighbour, the Bakers, crossing over her gate to get to her own home in frenzy. The feet were moving quickly she could tell, and she guessed again that Mrs. Baker could have been running late from a meeting at the office and was just getting home now with a bag of groceries in hand ,ready to feed the waiting family. Or possibly it was a late night jogger, pushing his legs with a huffing chest onward, forcing himself to continue running, no matter how much the stitch in his side grew.
Buffy's thoughts and predictions were interrupted suddenly.
The door was pushed, more forced open, and a flurry of all sorts of people entered the house. First a wave of soldier dressed men, armed with large guns and other weapon assortments, followed by three suit-clad men, each holding out a badge with their own pictures and other various information printed on the plastic. Everyone quickly entered as guns were cocked and chaos ensued. Buffy stood.
No words were directed towards the Slayer. She was highly ignored. The men with guns all tossed themselves at the basement door, hurtling down the stairs. Within a record amount of moments, they all filed back into the living room with a limp and lazy eyed Slayer in their hands. Buffy smiled. Just as quickly as they had come, still silent towards Buffy, the men all disappeared, sprinting towards their cars and murmuring cryptic nonsense to each other.
Though unsure on what exactly her toy had been taken for, Buffy knew it was for something bad. She must have been particularly sinful before she had gotten a hold of her. The Slayer was curious to find out as to what, though figured no answers could be dug up. Her mind explained to her that this vision of her once love wasn't real and no history could be found of a ghost could it? Buffy smiled again at the thought. If her plaything wasn't returned to her in a matter of days, she'd have to go searching, and that she felt required too much effort to do.
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