Chapter Seven: Transportation
A/N: For disclaimers, notes and warnings see Chapter 1.
Do bear in mind, A/N for Concourse Pt. 1 still apply.
Chapter Seven: Transportation
XLH Joseph B. took the stage and waited a moment for the conversations to slow to a murmur, then stop. Then he introduced the next speaker with, Giles thought, a lack of enthusiasm verging on animosity.
"Gentlemen," he said, "one of our veteran members, XLH Robert Y., presenting his Viewpoint, 'We are professionals.'"
XLH Robert Y. eschewed the limp and his eye-patch dangled from a pocket in his relatively subdued shirt. He was, by the standards of the room, an older man, in his early to mid forties with an air about him of weariness that suggested he had, as the phrase went, seen more of the world than serenity required.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I would like to start by thanking Harvey for his excellent and fair summation. And I would like to add, a lot of you are familiar with my views on Walt Peckham's death. But I want to make it clear that when Harvey says he was in that alley at midnight fully prepared to do his duty, I believe him. Harvey is an honorable guy, if perhaps a little naïve. He was there. Some people he thinks were there, weren't…. I don't suppose we'll ever know exactly what happened, but that doesn't matter much in the long run. Walt was a loony, if didn't happen then it would have some other time. But Walt, sacrifice to save us? Not likely." He paused a moment, walked to the front of the stage.
"I had a walk around the parking lot this morning. There's some nice bikes out there. You all know what kind of bike Xander and Faith ride, right? A BMW GS. You know how many of those are out there? Three. Okay, fine, that's a big, tall and heavy bike. Maybe it's a bit much for the average 'Faith' to handle. There's about twenty Harley's out there. That makes sense. Faith's been known to ride a Harley, a Harley works the image. You what else is out there? About a dozen Honda Goldwings. Another dozen assorted rice burners. Yeah, I know, I know, Honda makes a good solid bike at a reasonable price. Big fucking deal. Faith on a Honda? Does that work for you? Faith on a Goldwing, the fucking Winnebago of motorcycles? There's actually a Winnebago out there. And a bunch of SUV's with trailers for the bikes. You're getting soft, gentlemen.
"But the demons and the vamps aren't, gentlemen. They're the same. They're still deadly. You get sloppy, sooner or later you're going to get eaten. And you're thinking, yeah, maybe, but what do you care, Robert, you old bastard. And you're right, I'm not Harvey. I don't care. Except any time an Xander gets eaten, or just run out of town, it makes my life more dangerous. More difficult. That I care about."
He paced, peered out at his audience again. "Lotta new faces. Nothing succeeds like success, right? How many of you scared a demon this year?"
About three-quarters of the crowd raised a hand.
"Bullshit," said Robert Y. "Double bullshit with steam. No one in this room has ever scared a demon. Mr. Xander Lavelle Harris Himself does not scare demons. Faith scares demons. Buffy scares demons. Slayers scare demons. Mr. Harris' power lies in the fact that slayers love him. Our power lies in the illusion that slayers love us. The illusion, gentlemen. And the thing about an illusion, gentlemen, it has to be more real than the real thing. If Faith decides she wants to drive a mini-van and wear pastel polyester suits, she can. 'Cause she can cut the head off any demon that laughs. We don't have that luxury…."
Giles glanced over at Willow and Xander as they fought not to laugh as they pictured Faith in pink polyester and a Ford Freestar. Giles had to smile himself. He leaned back and let his thoughts wander, as Robert Y. went on at some length. Giles felt a certain sympathy for the man, he'd felt the need often enough of late to lecture young watchers on the dangers of complacency. He resolved, however, that in future he would limit such lectures to a three minute maximum. The point was quickly made, there was no need to belabor it.
"This is all very nice," Robert finished up, "quaint country Inn in a demon-free zone, bring the kiddies, have a big dinner, admire each other's eye-patches. But seriously, if all you want to do is dress up funny and do good works, join the fucking shriners.
"One last word, any of you clowns show up in costume in my territory, I'll kill you myself."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The three boathouse companions argued. They were in the Verne's room obtaining Verne senior's camera when young Jules V. voiced the idea of telling their parents, on the grounds that if his father found out Jules had known Faith and Harris were there and hadn't told him, he would be lucky to survive long enough to be grounded for life.
Dustin, a rather chubby slightly older boy at the back side of fourteen, thought that they should keep it their little secret forever, a private joke to dwell on any time he got the 'Why can't you be more like Xander' lecture. Which he well knew was soon to become the 'When Xander was your age…' diatribe.
Vanessa, a lithe tomboyish just-turned-fourteen, was of the opinion they should get the pictures, and first, find a way of using them as an excuse to meet Faith herself, maybe get a picture with her. And secondly, to wait and reveal their knowledge at the moment of maximum possible embarrassment for the parental units.
She had her hand on Jules' shoulder and she was leaning forward speaking earnestly on this theme. Jules in turn was failing miserably in his honest and honorable attempts to not look down her shirt at the foothills of puberty and was, gradually, coming around to her side of the question. He made sure to note that she had very pale blue eyes, just so he would be ready if and when she asked. He was a bright, observant boy, and had learned from the mistakes of others.
They took the camera and a spare memory card and hurried downstairs and took up a position at the back of the diningroom. Jules soon realized they were premature, the lookalike contest wouldn't be for some time yet, the 'Faiths' were engaged in some dull discussion of benefits and profit sharing. But they were wedged in together at a small table, Vanessa pressed up against his side and he was reluctant to suggest a move.
"Let's see if we can't narrow it down," he said.
"Yeah," Vanessa said, "first we'll eliminate the fat ones. Then the blondes."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Bored with the money talk F. Charity and F. Anne slipped away from the meeting and joined F. Kaitlyn in the potting shed where she was conducting a little alchemical experimentation with the hair sample they'd taken from the Inn manager.
"So, what's the what, witchy one?" F. Anne asked.
"I don't know," Kaitlyn said, "I've never seen anything quite like this. It's like a curse, but it's not exactly. She has a good soul, at heart, but … It's not really an accurate metaphor but its like she has a cancer of the soul … but there's no hate, usually when you have a soul that's …. sick like this there's hate involved and I see no hate here. In fact I see love, which should nourish a soul not weaken it. We'll have to have Will take a look over the lunch break. And we need to find that other girl, the mousy one, we need a sample from her as well."
"Anything we can do now?"
"No, just, you know, be ready. When we find out what's behind this, we may need it slain. Maybe in a hurry."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Joseph B., somewhat more warmly this time, introduced the next speaker, XLH Renee V. on the subject, 'We are Soldiers in a Righteous War.'
Renee V. limped urgently to the center of the stage, turned and faced his audience, staring around with his uncovered eye for moment. He was a bulky man, with the look of high school football star who still worked out but ate a little more than he should.
"You all know the famous words of Edmund Burke, 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.' Let me tell you something else Mr. Burke said, 'No one could make a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little.'" He paused, dramatically, glared around.
"Robert and I do not see eye to eye on a lot of things, but on one thing we agree. This is not a game."
"But I am here to tell you, I scare demons all the time. True, I, Renee V. am not that scary. Perhaps Robert is right and Xander Harris isn't that scary, that only the idea of The Slayer causes fear. That doesn't matter. The fear is real. And I carry it with me in this eye patch and this shirt and this cane. When I go into a demon bar I bring that fear with me. I make it real. And when I leave the vamps and the demons aren't sitting back thinking philosophical thoughts about some vague idea of a distant enemy. They're thinking 'Faith is just around the corner.' Who knows how many vampires who were thinking about going out on a little hunt that night decided to have another warm one at the bar instead? I'll never know. You'll never know. Perhaps it is a little thing. But it is better than nothing."
"There is only one true Faith. There is only one Buffy. I don't know how many Slayers there are, but they are not infinite, they are not everywhere. But every time I show up at a vampire bar, at a yak bile and gielworm distributor, at one of the Animovic clan's Chinese buffets, I bring The Slayer with me. I remind them that there is a greater power in the world, that they survive only as long as they do not draw attention to themselves. I remind them of their limitations. And in so doing, in a way, I create those limitations.
"And so do each and every one of you. The Slayer is legendary. We are legion."
"There are those who think it is only about the money. It's not. The money, the tribute, if you will, only makes it real. If one demon sees another demon pay, that demon knows the power is real. That demon feels the touch of The Slayer. So it doesn't matter if XLH Robert Y. cares only about the money, as he claims. The effect is the same.
"We all have to make a living. How many of us in this world can truly say we make our living making the world a better place? We are lucky indeed, gentlemen…."
Giles stretched out his right leg, rubbing at his thigh where a cramp had threatened to form. The man had a point, he thought. The world may seem small on GoogleEarth, on the television screen as you leap continents at the speed of light, but get out and walk a little and one remembers the world is truly a huge place and Slayers can't be everywhere, can't even begin to cover the ground. A vampire in the average town who suddenly finds himself on the point of a slayer's stake can truly, however briefly, curse his luck. The question is, however, does this loony in an eye-patch extend the power of the slayer or dilute it?
Giles polished his glasses. The weekend wasn't going to be quite the simple, fun time he'd planned on. But wasn't that always the way?
Renee V. was finishing up,
"I wish to thank Harvey P. and those directly involved in the orphanages and safehouses. I encourage you all to contribute above and beyond the requirements. I say let us enjoy the lovely grounds, the food, one another's company for a weekend. But let us not forget our true purpose. Let us remember, that while we were never granted superpowers, we have been given the means to do good in the world. Xander Lavelle Harris was granted no superpowers, but when he found himself thrust into the dark world we all know exists, he answered the call and created a legend. It is our duty to use that legend as he would want it used.
"We can do no less. Thank you, gentlemen," he said and limped off to relatively enthusiastic applause.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Hey, kiddo," Lorelai said, "How goes the spying. That meeting must be a lot more interesting than I thought it would be..."
"Err, well, actually that's why I'm calling," Rory said. "I never actually made it to the projection room. Jess was there and….
"Jess was here, at the Inn? Should we count the silver?"
"Mom! That's not funny."
"Yes it is."
"No, it isn't, but anyway, I suddenly had this urge to go to Hartford. So, I thought I should let you know. We're at the Musty Bookshelf now, but I think we'll see a movie, if that's okay."
"Yeah, sure, fine. But you might want to get back in time for the town meeting. I think it might be interesting."
"The town meeting?"
"Yes, well, Michel put up a sign inviting the guests to attend."
"Why did he do that?"
"Well, you know, Michel."
"You told him to."
"No. Well. Maybe. Just a little."
"Why would you do that?"
"Taylor annoyed me. But, here's the thing, some the guests have been asking me about it and I think maybe some of them are really going to go."
"Oh my. We'll definitely be back in time then."
"Good. I'll make popcorn."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Joseph B. was grinning as he made the next introduction, Davis O. on "We Be, Therefore We Are."
XLH Davis O. bounded on to the stage, twirling his cane like a vaudeville dancer, his attitude and curly hair putting Giles in mind of Harpo Marx, though Davis O. was anything but silent.
"It's true," he said, "I see a lot of new faces. Welcome. But, more importantly, to me at least, I see a lot of old friends. And, old friends, I have a confession to make. I haven't seen a demon, let alone scared one, in over two years…
"Hey, I did my time. Two years, three months, eleven days, thirteen hours and forty-two minutes. F. Steph and me we had some times, good and bad, had some close calls. And I earned this shirt and eye patch and fuck anyone who says otherwise. But I quit the moment Steph told me she was pregnant. Conning demons is no profession for the father of young children. So I quit that.
"But I didn't quit Xander Lavelle Harris. Being Xander Lavelle Harris made me who I am. It taught me I had courage I never knew I had. I know I am not the only one here who, when faced with a life crisis asks himself, "What would Xander do?" and acts accordingly.
"And I didn't quit the Society. Because who else in the world would understand a word I just said? Robert, I swear, I'll never wear an eye patch in your territory. But Robert, being Xander is not just an illusion. The changes being Xander made to me and my life are real. And while I say bravo to Harvey's good works and Renee's noble fight, why should we stop there? I agree with Renee. It is all about the fear. Not just the demon's fear, it is about our fear. And conquering that fear.
"The more of us who can say "Boo," to things that go bump in the night, the better. In the end that is the only solution. Slayers can fight the battles, can hold the line, but in the end, only humans can rid the world of demons once and for all. This room is only a small beginning, perhaps none of us will live to see the day, but a start must be made somewhere.
"Ordinary, everyman, Xander Lavelle Harris has shown us the way. The answer is courage. The answer is not laying back and letting the Slayer save us. The truth is that in the end we must save the Slayer….."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Officially the next item on the Faiths' agenda was a round-robin switch-tables-every-ten-minutes get-to-know-you session, which quickly turned into, F. Charity noted, a bitch-about-my-Xander session. The storytellers soon reminded F. Charity why, on the whole, she didn't much like women. The stories told, on the other hand, reminded her why, on the whole, she didn't much like men, either.
She found herself being suddenly very grateful for the one she had.
She mostly kept silent and listened with half an ear as F. Alba and F. Anne weaved elaborate bullshit about the advantages of working with gay Xanders, discovering in the process that they were far from alone. F. Alba's tall tales about XLH Anthony B.'s derring-do kept her amused for awhile. But she soon found herself fighting the urge to go look at the kids again. Then said the hell with it and quit fighting. Maybe the little bastards would do something truly disgusting or annoying and she could get the whole stupid idea out of her system.
As she eased away from the tables, a movement in the corner caught her eye, she glanced over and found herself being carefully assessed by three teens whose clumsy attempts at surreptition amused her. After a beat the girl shook her head no, and drew a line on a piece of paper and their attention turned elsewhere.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"The only man among us," Joseph B. said, "to have the privilege of meeting the Man Himself, Edward G."
Giles glanced over at XLH Al J., who shrugged.
Ed G. was a tall man, thin, who walked slowly and talked slowly.
"It was an ordinary day at the Starbucks on Euclid Avenue in Cleveland Ohio. A bit cloudy with a hint of rain in the air. I was reading the Plain Dealer over a cappuccino when he came in. Of course, he was striking figure, the eye-patch, the scar, the bright shirt and the silver wolf-head walking stick… as we all know, anyone... well, almost anyone, can make an impression dressed that way. But it wasn't just the clothes, it was the man. One look and you could tell, this was a man who had seen the worst of the world and looked it in the eye…"
Giles heard XLH Al J. groan softly, saw him sink in his chair. Already in his mind's ear Giles could hear Andrew repeating this speech word for word in his most portentous tones…. And he could hear Willow doing the same, with a slightly different attitude… he could picture Faith, Buffy, and Dawn holding their ribs and gasping for breath through each recitation. For his own part, Giles was storing away choice phrases for judicious use at some appropriate moment in the future. He would be avenged ten-fold for every "G-man" and "Gilesy-Wilesy" he had endured over the years. But not now. Now it would be too much like piling on. Right now he almost felt sorry for the young man.
According to Ed G. Xander had borrowed the comics section, and they'd shared a laugh over "Get Fuzzy." It was clearly an often and lovingly told tale, almost touching in its simplicity. Giles wondered what would happen to Ed. G's psyche if he ever learned he had told Xander he'd got his own limp wrong.
"I cannot claim," Ed. G. said reasonably, "On the basis of a brief conversation in a coffee shop, to know the man's mind. But I have studied the man's life, tried my best to sift the legend from the reality. I think if Xander Lavelle Harris was here today, if he had heard the presentations, he would tell us that we were crazy, that we should leave the demons to the slayers, not to risk ourselves.
"I'm sure that's what he would say. I'd like to think he wouldn't really mean it. I'd like to think he'd recognize Robert's pragmatism, Renee's humanitarianism, Davis' idealism, and he'd tell us to remember that vampires and demons are the true enemy, and that, if we must do this, then we should at least do it together," Ed G. finished.
And he limped offstage to standing applause.
"So Al," Giles heard XLH Bill Rose ask, "What do you think the Man Himself would say?"
"He'd tell them to stop saying 'Lavelle' all the damn time. But that's just a guess, of course."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
During this break Giles left Xander to Willow's tender mercies and slipped up to his room to down some aspirin and make a quick call to get the council geeks started on their research into the XLHDS charities. When he came back there was a table and four chairs on the stage and a tall woman in black leathers and sword was talking with Joseph B. who was nodding mechanically.
F. Erin M. had an entirely appropriate rough and smoky voice, with a touch of the deep south in it. She also had easy manner that Giles found a little surprising, given the subject. He chided himself briefly for his own prejudice and listened.
"I know you'all never started out to be all boys' club, it just naturally worked out that way. And when you first started using 'Faith's we were essentially hired help. But that time's gone gentlemen. You can't do it without us. We are partners now. Don't you'all think this whole separate meeting thing is getting a bit silly?
"And gentlemen, it doesn't take a deep study on of the life of Xander Lavelle Harris to know that the Man Himself is not afraid of strong women. Surely if there's anything in the man's character you can emulate it's that. It ain't like we're asking you to attack a stavrox demon with a panga. Just to sit next to a woman, maybe even just your wife, when you talk business. It don't seem like so much to ask.
"On other thing I've noticed, Mr. Xander Lavelle Harris, who is not afraid of strong women, always seems to be surrounded by beautiful women who love him. I'll let you all draw your own conclusions from that. Thank you, gentlemen."
XLH Kevin G. who was clearly F. Erin M.'s Xander, took his turn and said, essentially, "Please let them in 'cause until you do my life sucks."
Harvey P. pointed out that while they all recognized the 'Faith's contributions, and that Faith herself had reformed, he had observed that the 'Faith's still tended to style themselves after her wilder days. He wasn't entirely sure that women who the night before had driven a 'cute' waiter into hiding, and who had, if rumor was true, had assaulted a stockboy at the local grocery store were really ready to sit at the big boy's table.
Joseph B. pointed out that it was still, for practical reasons, the Xanders that actually walked into bars and collected the pay-off, the Xanders who took the most risks while the Faith's stayed in the background, necessarily a distant menace. Besides, he said, what if Faith and Xander broke up? The XLHDS could continue, but the 'Faith's would have to be dropped, there would be problems if they were full members…
F. Erin drew a deep breath and stood to speak and Joseph looked at his watch and said he was sorry, they'd run out of time for this discussion which he was sure would continue in a less formal setting.
XLH Kevin G. winced and hung his head in weary resignation.
It was time for the lookalike contest.
"Oh yes you are," XLH Bill Rose said. "We all are. You too, Reggie."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
They met, as planned, by the boathouse. The Faiths had finished early and were waiting as the Xanders came limping out to join them.
Xander's spirits sank. She was mad. She'd promised she wouldn't be. But she was. He could see the little stormclouds in her eyes. At least, thank god, it wasn't Buffy.
"And who's the Faithiest Faith who ever Faithed?" Dawn crowed, waving her gold-plated plaque over her head like a ring girl at a boxing match.
"How bad?" Xander whispered to Buffy, who replied,
"Seventh. And you?"
"Fifth again. But Ed said my limp was better this time."
"What's Will so happy about?" Buffy asked, then added, "Ohmigod, she didn't win, did she?"
"No. But she didn't finish last, and the guy who did is really, really mad."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"If you all will excuse me," Giles said, "I think I need to get a little air. Zoey, if I may borrow the keys to one of the Harleys?"
"You want me to give you a lift, Mr. Giles?"
"No thank you. It's been a long time, but one doesn't forget. I'll take it easy, I promise."
He spent a few minutes puttering along the country road, getting used to the controls again, trying to remember to ride on the wrong side of the road. Then he opened it up a bit and enjoyed the wind in his face, felt some of the day's tension clear. After about ten miles he u-turned and went back, spent a little time exploring the town of Stars Hollow, home of many lawn ornaments, the strangest of which was probably the elaborately carved wooden chuppah, though the collection of gnomes next door was noteworthy as well.
Tour completed, he parked in the town square and went into the old fashioned diner that Faith and Xander had said served genuine old-fashioned American food. Something that Giles, in his time in California had come to doubt actually existed. He sat in a corner table, opened the menu and prepared to enter the unknown.
"Try the chicken-fried steak," a voice said. "Anybody can make a decent cheeseburger if they want. But the true test of a diner is the chicken-fried steak." Giles looked up. The man was of Mexican heritage, in his forties, well-built if a bit thick in the jowls. He looked vaguely familiar, obviously one of the Xanders, though he had left off the eye patch and the cane, and the shirt was relatively restrained.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Be my guest," Giles nodded and the man sat, glanced back at the young Korean waitress who came over, took their order for two chicken-fried steaks and ice tea.
"I'm Jaime," the man said, Giles tried to remember his pseudonym and, briefly, failed, but the man continued without waiting, he said, "Of course, the problem is, if a chicken fried steak is bad, it's really bad. So tell me, Mr. Giles, what happens now?"
-30-