"Twilight for Anonymous…"
Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!
Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, .com or direct to story at www. ...
General audience level...
Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…
Part II…
London…
City lodgings of a certain famed playwright…Currently indisposed…
Anne Shakespeare, striding rather fiercely…Stake in hand…As Ben Jonson, having followed her at her "request", watches her from a stool. Occasionally eyeing the currently indisposed William, still bound and trussed in chair…
"It's the cause…It is the cause…Name it not, will I, bein' a good wife and mother." she pauses, eyeing William in his chair…
Hmmn…He eyes her back…
You know, that rather makes for a nice scene there, with the pacing and touch of a frenzied…
"…Nor in front of company…" she frowns at Jonson.
Hey…You brought me here, lass…
"…If I ever thought…" she glares at Will. "Any of them tales were true…About those women…"
Lord…Burbage's been shooting his mouth off again…Will sighs inwardly.
Tries soulfully innocently look…Annie…
"Anyway…" she nervously waves. "We've more to concern with here…How could you be lettin' some twit nobility be stealin' your work and passin' it as his own, Will?"
Think of the family in any case…Our girls…Little Hamnet…The potential loss of all their future hopes, she eyes him.
"Will?...A man like Oxford? You'd let him lay claim to your work?" she fumes.
Hmmn?...He tries exaggerated puzzled stare…
Oxford?...Steal…?
"Everyone in Strafford's heard tell of the claims…It's humiliatin', Will. Why else…Apart from missin' ye (and the natural desire to be sure me London-based spouse is really spendin' 24/7 on nothing but the family business during the theatrical season, she did not say)…Would I be spendin' the dear moneys for such a trip…Leavin' our girls with me parents…Abandoning the Hellmouth of Strat…"
Ummn…She pauses, blinking at the puzzled Jonson.
"…abandoning them to the hell of Strafford, alone." she lamely and hastily corrects. "Unless it was so dire for the family cause. What were ye thinkin', William?"
Well?...She eyes him.
Oh, right…Pulling cloth from mouth…
"Sorry…But what be ye thinkin' Will? What moneys could he offer so worth giving away yer birthright…?"
And if ye have a figure, lets have it…With breakdown of all costs to be met, includin' Hamnet's tuition at Cambridge. She eyes him with frown…
"Anne…" William gasped, a bit out of breath… "I've not…"
"No?" she eyes him…Beaming look… "Not betrayed me with the easy-virtued ladies of London and yer own foul stage? Or not sold our future? Or…(even better)…Both?"
Hmmn…Well…Definitely not #2 but as to #1?
Still, no need to get bogged down in detail…
"Uh, no…Dear…" he replies.
Which said, could naturally cover either/or…
She eyes him squarely… "Truly?"
"I've never sold Oxford anything but that little sonnet…"
Frown…Boy, you know damned well that wasn't the question I had in mind…
Still, the practical must take precedence here…
"Right then…I've need to speak a word in the ear of one Edward Dever then…"
"DeVere…" Jonson, helpfully.
"Whatever…"
"Ben?..." Shakespeare looks over. "Why the devil are you here?"
"Why who else would dear Anne turn to in the circumstance?" Jonson, snidely. "You being occupied…"
Will eyeing a now somewhat-tables-turned Anne. She, a sheepish expression…Ummn…
"Man does know about me other profession, Will…" she tries. "Even knows our dear boy yet lives, hidden."
"Exactly…" Ben, smugly.
And was it not I who suggested the hiding from those in the know who'd dearly love to use a Slayer's son for their heinous blood sacrifice?
"No reason to bring him along to see me trussed like a goose…Or a patient for the stone cut…" Will, frowning.
"He'll say naught…If he knows what's best for him." Anne, grim nod.
"Already forgotten, friends…" Ben, spreading hands, benevolent smile…
"But as to Oxford…I don't think Anne should be charging in to threaten him. He's a powerful man with connections at Court…"
"Connections of dubious worth now…" Will notes.
"Queen still loves Essex like the idiot son she (probably) never had with Dudley." Jonson shakes head. "She'll not tolerate his friends abused by the ordinary folk. However extra-ordinary they may be…" he adds hastily to Anne's glare.
"What?" Anne stares… "Is he in trouble with the Court now as well?"
Just what we need…The family business shut down because some fool drags our work into his mud…
"They say…And 'they' are pretty well placed to know…" Will notes. "That he and Essex are up to no good…Trying to gain sole access to the Queen, possibly even more…"
"More?...How much more…?"
Jonson portrays chopping of head with head… "That much more, if they're caught…"
"Holy Jesus…" Anne crosses herself. "Will, what have you got us mixed up in?"
"Me…?" Shakespeare blinks.
Say could you? He holds up bound hands…Really can't express the emotion without the hands…
She frowns, but undoes rope…
"As I say…I've done nothing of the sort. Sweetheart, you know I'm not political, excepting of course…"
"Will!..." Anne, hastily.
Since they know I know about the Undead killin' thing, Hamnet's safe haven, and all that, I'd guess it's the closet Catholicism she's in a dither about…Jonson thinks, watching contentedly.
All grist to me mill, that's for sure…
"…Well, I'm not political. I've done nothing for or with Oxford to give cause for the Court to be angry with me. No more have I done for you, girl…" solemnly innocent look.
"I'm sure I'm wantin' to believe that, William Shakespeare…" she begins.
A sharp knock at the door to the rooms catching her in mid-chastisement…
….
Wardrobe room of the Chamberlain's Men at the Globe Theater, Southwark district of London…
"Tis fine stiching…Here…" toss of coin, caught in mid-air.
Quick bite of said coin…Ah, the real thing…Warm smile…
"Thanks for your custom, Master Hemings." hasty pocketing of coin.
"Miss Jenkins…" Hemings, bow with flourish suiting a lead actor of the company…
Anya Jenkins, seamstress to the company, a position secured by both her talent and her friendship with Anne Shakespeare, nodding in return…
"Wilt it be Sir John for you this next time?" she asked. Hemings shrugging…
"Lord knows lass. But our Will is at work on something. Hope it's more of Falstaff…That fat knight is a sure box office draw. Still, with Master Shakespeare, who knows…He's been getting' temperamental of late. Wantin' to do more in the line of Art I hear…"
"I'd thought he'd done such…" she blinked. "That last one with the Italian kids was simply beautiful…"
"One might've hoped the lad would've purged such sentiments from his system with that…" Hemings sighed. "He's a practical man generally, is our Will, but the craze for his stuff may be going to his head…He talks till one might be tempted to go drown oneself in a butt of wine about the need to 'go further'…Further, he says. As if we've put all thought of profit and security to rest and have sacks of gold and silver in the cellar to allow us indulgence of any whim we so desire…"
"Still, the man is a genius, John…" Anya noted. "And his darkness of late has grounding…" respectfully mournful tone.
"God bless the poor child." Hemings, shrugging. "So he tells us as to the genius…Constantly…Though…" smile. "A bird or two have said…Confidentially…That all his inspiration comes from other sources than the bottle…"
"I should hope so…" Anya, frowning. "Wait? You're not giving precedence to the rumors about someone else…?"
"And kill the goose before the eggs is laid? Girl, give me credit…" Hemings frowned. "I'll just be sayin' there are…Rumors…"
"Well, I'm not believin' 'em. And if you know what's best for you, John Hemings…"
He put up his hands in a peaceful gesture…Lass…
"I've no wish to see such tales spread. I'm merely sayin'…Where there be smoke…Sometimes…There be...A fellow puffin' on the Indian pipe…"
She shook her head. Hemings, grinning, turned and left.
Hmmn…She sighed…
Well, not my job to dispel rumors about the authenticity of Mr. Will Shakespeare's works…
In fact, rather more my job to encourage such, I suppose…
Though, I am here for now merely as an observer. D-H having been clear on the set-up of Mr. J's revenge portfolio. No action till 1858 when Mr. Shakespeare's reincarnated self takes the earthly field…
Just have to see no one gives warning…Say some victim of Mrs. S's stake with a desire to win points with the Slayer by alerting her. Or some well-meaning psychic or soothsayer…One can't be too careful in a long-term project like this…
I mean Livia's vengeance scheme for the Roman Empire took nearly 1500 years to bring to full fruition. With plenty of opportunity to throw the whole thing off-track…
Seems a shame though about these rumors…Denying poor Will his just due as a great author and handing the laurel to some jerk with a fancy old name. Not to mention it could lessen the effect of our own scheme…I mean if he never becomes the world's most famous author, what's so bad about being reborn as the world's worst poet…
And the current seeker for the mantle…That dork DeVere.
Slimy little wuss with that phony soulful manner…Well, he'd best never let Annie catch up with him…That glam of his will never fool a Slayer as capable as she…
"Seamstress!..."
"Comin', Mr. Burbage…!" she called.
Never a break in this job…D-H should award me extra credit…
