The Vampire as Metaphor...Book III of the (Semi) Complete Works of William Soames Walthrop...
PG 13
Summary: A lost work of one William Soames Walthrop (...aka Spike) as it was delivered at one of Cicely Addams' house parties, shortly before Will's demise. See the reference to it in "Drusilla"...
Disclaimer: All BTVS characters remain the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and all other owner/creators of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series...
Contributions to the recovery of the lost works of England's third worst poet are always welcomed...
Part XIII...
License signed…You do have pull here, Potter noted to Smackles who shrugged. Witnesses ready… A beaming Marie De Russell, a rather relieved…Startin' to think this might end badly for me…Hotel clerk Miss Ana and her ever-suspicious beau, Detective Harris. Bride up front and center in her makeshift yet rather lovely one had to admit, Potter thought, gown. Father Sweeney proceeded with the ceremony…
Smackles having dutifully kept him from the bottle…Both the wine on the hotel room table and the small flask of whiskey concealed on the good Father's person. He managed said ceremony with reasonable coherence and accuracy…
Of course, while not a problem, Potter had noted to his bride as they'd awaited Father Sweeney's opening…He finding he'd pawned…Er, misplaced…His Good Book…And requiring a replacement fletched by Miss Ana…He and his people were not Catholics.
"Me neither…" Elizabeth had shrugged. "But a preacher's a preacher's, right?"
The history of the struggle for religious tolerance leading in part to this new world empire, in nutshell format, Peter thought.
She eyeing him cautiously throughout the ceremony…
More to this little fellow than he lets on…Though…
Not sure if I wanna plumb those depths to find he's like all the rest. A touch sadly…
Father Sweeney a bit gaspy now as he bulled along…Dry, so dry…Yet…Eye on the wine bottle on table. The goal in sight…
A grim look on the former Miss Springs' face as she stared straight ahead, avoiding now her plighted one's look…
Won't hafta to worry long about that. And the worse he is…The better…
Hard lass to figure…Potter thought, now eyeing the red-faced padre. She actually seems a tad disappointed in me. What the damned devil?…She and her little band of schemers…Likely including our stalwart detective who so conveniently shows up as boyfriend to the clerk girl who so conveniently arranged for us to stay together.
At least Miss De Russell seems what she says she is, poor girl…
Well, I'll to the bottom of this one way or another. Starting with a good look at that book…Book. Whatever it really is and whoever it really belongs to…
"Hey!" he yelped as Elizabeth prodded him in the side.
"Say ya, damnit…" she hissed.
Hmmn?
"Laddie? Do you take this woman?" the Father eyed him. "…To have and…"
"Etc, etc…Yeah, Father…He does…" Elizabeth insisted. "Right?" She eyed Potter…A killing look…
"Certainly, yes…" he frowned. Damn you, girl I already said I'd go along…No need to look at me like you'll pull a gun from under that dress fold. Or that sharpened stick you keep jangling about in your pockets…
Hmmn…Miss De Russell eyed the pair…
Well…Love does take stranger forms. And they certainly don't look any more unhappy than my…She pondered over "parents". Hmmn…So confusing my memories there…Somehow, not quite… Well…I must have been poor then…Yes, before Father…Poor Papa…So recently dead…Became wealthy.
Yes, that's it…She shook her head a little to clear it…
"And you, Elizabeth…Do you…?"
"Yeah, yeah…Kiss me, Petey." she turned to Potter, lifting the improvised veil Miss De Russell had provided.
"I think we should hear the details…" Potter noted dryly. Holding off from her as she blinked…
Hey…Better than you have kissed these ruby beauties, limey-boy…she frowned. Turning to the Father… "Right, finish up…"
"It is customary…" the Father noted. But glanced at the bottle…Then at Smackles who made a quick, urging gesture…Get on with it. Accompanied by a slight lifting of concealed confiscated whiskey bottle in pocket.. Ah, the Promised Land is at hand, dearly beloved…
"Yes…Do you Elizabeth, take Peter to be your lawful, wedded husband? To love, honor, and obey him? So long as you both shall live?..."
Kinda hopin' to avoid that…she thought. Still, so long as he ain't a magics type. Quick glance to Willie who'd dutifully done the required magics sweep using a concealed talisman before a Slayer made such a risky vow…
And it ain't like we're gonna live forever. Or even long…
One of us, anyway…
"Sure…I do…" she nodded.
Hmmn…No desire to kneel at his feet. Good…The one thing good ole Willie was a lil' worried about…Concealed occult ability. But a Slayer's gotta take a risk sometimes…
"May I?" Potter asked, bringing her out of her reverie…
Oh, right…Hitched…
"Yeah, sure…" she felt a touch of lips. Willie eyeing them nervously as the kiss exceeded the polite minimum of a Slayer merely using a mark. Elizabeth involuntarily putting an arm round Potter for a brief instant before releasing and stepping back, a little unexpectedly dazed…As the assembled group clapped. The happy couple staring at each other…Potter apparently not a little dazed himself. Willie fidgeting a bit in his spot as the good Father eyed him hopefully, his duty faithfully executed…
Magics of the occult kind not really being Smackles' concern here…
…
Vladimir eyed the product of Olive's several hours' effort…
The cleaning waif now in rather respectable dress…Not overly elegant…Washed, brushed, and holding herself with surprisingly good carriage. A respectable daughter of respectable parents, both sadly now deceased…According to the story Olive had ceaselessly drummed into the girl…And being shipped for burial back home…
He walked round the girl who repeated Olive's instructions with a diction which now nearly matched Olive's own. Not bad, one must concede…And the crash course in bourgeois etiquette seemed to be sufficient.
For an American, at least…
All a matter of a little force-fed education, Olive noted. The key to social advancement, along with the bourgeois outer show of a few clothes…
Hmmn…Yes…Whether one accepted the revolutionary nonsense or no…Clothes indeed do make the man or woman, he conceded.
And yet…He frowned…
"This notion of traveling with the Slayer, in coffins on the same train? At her mercy? Olive, dear…Surely Miss Springs is not so foolish as to avoid checking anything so obvious…"
"Which, dear boy…" Olive smiled. "Is precisely why we will not be traveling in the coffins…They are merely bait."
Hmmn…
"Then?"
"We travel like any other good passengers, with tickets and a sleeping car. I naturally have booked separate berths…" she noted, demure smile to which he returned a polite bow.
Thank God…
"With packing crates to use by day…And the coffins to alert us to any intrusion."
"How's that…?"
"The Slayer or hopefully her assistant or assistants will naturally check them first. And when they're opened, a battery will heat a wire to our crates, alerting us soundlessly. A trick Heinrich employs to protect his own and those of his key minions' lair and coffins." she noted. "I had my own and an extra prepared days ago."
Really? He eyed her…
So…A bit of intelligence vital to any action against Nast. An offering of trust? A hint my suggestion is not looked on completely unfavorably…?
"Excellent…" he nodded, with genuine admiration which, in spite of herself, she was rather pleased to acknowledge…
Foolish…But I get so little approbation at home…she sighed.
"But…Is it wise to let the Slayer or her assistant find the coffins empty?"
"They won't be empty…" Olive smiled. "It's a big city…We just need to find a suitable couple before six am when they allow loading…"
"Sweetheart…" she turned to the girl. "Show us how much you miss your poor mama and papa…"
The girl began weeping on cue, with sincerity. Nicely done, not too over the top…Heartrending, really…Vladimir thought…If I had a heart in the emotional sense to rend…
"Very good…" he nodded, slight frown…
"What now?..." Olive eyed him.
"I'm rather attached to my own coffin…" he sighed, shrugging. "It's been in the family for generations and I've never slept out of it."
Like a little slice of home in a fine mahogany box…The interior lined with the very carpeting from my boyhood room on the estate…The silver dragon crest on top, from above the old castle fireplace. Ah…
"You brought it from Transylvania?" she stared, shaking her head…
"You do realize the Watchers' Council would be looking for just such a shipment? And given your granduncle's reputation…It would lead them right to us."
"It's well concealed…I don't think there's any danger. But it's probably wise to follow your plan. I'll simply have my people ship it on later." he noted. Graciously conceding…Though inwardly frowning…
Damn, what about my reputation? I have made my own way in the Underworld since trapping Granduncle Vlad in stasis with his own mother's crucifix. Lady, I am in no small way the reason men fear the night. Especially in terms of their significant others of the female persuasion…
Lord, Olive sighed. Aristocrats and their ridiculous obsessions…Almost a pity if Heinrich succeeds in his plans, given his conservative mold he's sure to be limiting as to the full extent of violent social reform we'll be allowed to carry out.
Though I'm reasonably sure I'd have a crack at putting this smirking fop against a wall, just before sunrise…
…..
Sadly, time failing to allow a lengthy honeymoon…Or even a suitable wedding reception…Heck, even a fully suitable ceremony. The newlyweds had been left alone to enjoy their few hours of nuptial bliss before the train left the next…Well, this…Morning…
Elizabeth a bit startled to find Potter quite contentedly settling down on the room's sofa. She'd expected at least a try for the bed…
"Anything wrong?" he looked up at her puzzled face as she stood over him…
Geesh…Leastways lemma throw ya out of our conjugal bed.
Or not…Strictly to keep up appearances, ya know. Could look odd if anyone pokes round…Say someone bent on killin' the Slayer.
Finds Petey on the couch and next thing ya know, the killin's off while it asks twenty questions. "Say, Slayer, how come yer feller's sleepin' here? You got some Slayer clap thing? Or don't Slayers' like it with human guys?"
Embarassin'…And not good for the disguise. Eh…Really just a last chore to keep things hummin' smoothly. Kind of a kindly gift to Dogmeat the Poet here…she thought.
Wonder how good he is? And I don't mean as a poet type…Desperately repressing the urge to blush. C'mon, girl… Not like he's the first guy you ever… Well, I mean, in the linea duty… Or because I kinda fancied, in a case or two… Though not Dogmeat here, of course… Well…Brit, but he's got that thing some of them have…Reserve? Yeah, reserve…Lil' more than meets the eye. Yeah…
Yeah…she frowned…A lil' greedy bastard reserved in there.
Well…Can't blame a dead man walkin' for lookin' out for number one and his family…
He did say he had a brother and sister waitin' on him. I guess I can unders…
"Miss Springs?...Elizabeth?" he tried.
Huh?... "Oh, yeah…Sorry, distracted. Kinda…" she hesitated. "You don't wanna come to bed? I mean…"
Lord, is she blushing? I wouldn't have thought it possible…
"…I wouldn't want ya to be uncomfortable…"
"I'm fine. Ummn…I just thought it would be better…More comfortable for you…"
"Nice of yer…" she turned abruptly. Pausing by the bed as he sat up, looking over to her, blanket round his shoulders…
Rather nice nightie that…
"Yeah, we best keep it businesslike, I guess. Just thought ya'd be more comfortable, like I said…" shrug.
"Well…" he began. "If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable…"
"What's that supposed ta mean?!" she snapped back, face a bit reddening.
Is she? Is that a…?
She wiped hastily. "I'm not 'comfy' with guys in my bed, if that's what yer sayin'. Good night, ya limey jackass…!" she hopped into bed, blowing out the lamp on bed table as she did.
Hmmn…
"Elizabeth…I didn't mean it that way…"
"Elizabeth?"
Lord…
American girls…
"I am sorry, Elizabeth. And I didn't mean to hurt you…"
You scheming little…
Can't believe she's got me apologizing to her…
"Right…Fine…Gunight…" sound of her turning over in bed, blankets pulled up.
Ah, well…No worse off, I suppose.
"Peter?" suddenly.
"Still here, love…"
"Ya wanna come over?"