Chapter 11: Now Don't Tell Me... I've Nothing to Do -
Thursday September 17, 1998; Sunnydale High School Library, mid morning.
From the personal Journals of Rupert Giles, Watcher:
There is a popular adage that states that 'No good deed ever goes unpunished'. Observing the various trials that the Hellmouth seems to visit with great regularity upon my Slayers and their young assistants, I cannot fail to wonder if it is more axiom than adage. It certainly does seem that with every victory they wrest from the darkness, some malevolence seems determined to counterbalance it with assaults that tear at the essences of whatever strengths they draw upon. During the past months alone, I have seen them weather tests of spirit that would possibly fracture far older and more mature men and women.
In previous months, I've seen my former Slayer buckle under such a test, worn to a drawn fragment of the cheery, irreverent girl I first encountered.
In many ways, the balance that Faith has struggled to achieve recently is much more precarious, and more and more seems irrevocably tied to the bonds that she is forging with her friends and partners. Most notably with young Harris and Ms. Chase, one of whom is the apparent target of this latest manifestation of the Hellmouth's pernicious influence.
As I take this brief respite to gather and organize my thoughts and to update this journal, I reflect upon my ongoing observations of the young people around me. Each new crisis shows me new depths and facets to these youngsters, causing me to reevaluate yet again with new eyes. I am forced to wonder again if actual parents continually look upon their progeny with fresh eyes, wondering from whence these young strangers appeared wearing the guises of the children they thought they knew.
Despite our tentative leads, we are as of yet no closer to discovering a real cause for the seemingly animalistic transformations of the various girl's personalities. It is so far not matched within any descriptions of spell or demonic effects to be found within my available references. Nor, apparently, are any clues to be found as of yet in whatever online resources there are, including those found within Jenny Calendar's technopagan communities.
Ever reserved, young Osborne has drifted into an almost grim intensity of focus that might astonish anyone familiar with his normal lackadaisical and ironic outlook upon life. Understandably, to be certain: Daniel Osborne's attachment to young Miss Rosenburg exceeds even his understated devotion to his musical interests. From moment to moment as promising leads prove to be unrelated to the effects we've noted, he sinks farther into a sullen ferocity of effort that cannot fail to recall similarities to the beast that devours him from within once a month. Watching him, I'm struck yet again by the paucity of reliable information that is available on how the beast self manifests within the were afflicted individual outside of the lunar cycles. At odd moments when the corner of my eye falls upon him at his computer, I glimpse something more lupine and predatory hunched over the keyboard than the laconic teenager I'm used to. I am reminded that wolves mate for life, and at these moments there is little human and much of the bereaved predator in this child-man...
Then I gaze upon him fully, and there is but a slight, small, and very young man with worry lines creasing his forehead and the corners of his eyes, his shoulders hunched as though under a weight much greater than he wishes to bear.
Whilst I have not had as much opportunity to observe Xander Harris at length during this crisis, I have noted an edge of near panic mixed with grim seriousness underlaying his normal clownish demeanor - a clownishness that normally persists even in the midst of times of grave peril. I cannot wonder at this: were I once again a young man only recently discovering hitherto unsuspected depths of feeling for a young woman such as Ms Chase, as I suspect is the case with young Xander, I believe that I too would have an edge of gibbering panic and grimness to my behaviors. Nor can I fault him - far from the petty, superficially attractive, and flighty girl I had once taken her for, Ms. Chase has of late revealed herself to be a young woman capable of surprising depths of beauty and character often at odds with her surface personae. To have discovered such a gem only to be faced with the possibility of slowly losing her would drive any worthy young male into depths of near homicidal depression - I marvel that Xander is able to hang onto as much of his normal cheerfulness and irreverence as he has.
Losing myself briefly in these observations does at least serve to distract me from my own very real concerns over whatever effect is afflicting our female companions, as well as my frustrations at being unable to identify a possible cause even with the data points available to me. I greatly share Oz, Xander, and Faith's intensity of frustration: Miss Rosenburg and Ms. Chase are remarkable young women to the eyes of anyone who takes time to look beneath outward appearances and mannerisms. Their loss would strike deeply to the core of our small group in many ways; ways not merely limited to the hearts of their paramours.
I do find myself envious of Faith in this: while her own concerns are readily apparent, she at least has the solace of preferred action within to immerse herself. Waiting upon the results of her expedition while perusing volumes that steadfastly refuse to divulge needed answers is possibly the hardest of the two options. For the sake of her friends and her own stability, I do hope that she is successful where we are currently failing. I wish her Godspeed and good fortune in her search.
Which in turn brings me full circle to one of my earlier paragraphs: I have three young people in desperate need of options for the salvation of those close to them; two compatriots that are in equally desperate need of rescue; all of them depending on me to provide - and I have neither succor nor option to offer any of them.
It also occurs to me how greatly Willow's absence and the lack of Cordelia's oft scathing - but often perceptive observations - diminish our research abilities and effectiveness. Coming at the same time as Dacascos' counter movements, it is a tactical loss we can ill afford as much as it is a personal blow against us all. That 'coincidence' bears further examination, I believe...
- Rupert Giles, Watcher; In this Year of Our Lord 1998, September the 17th.
Giles set aside his journal as Oz glanced over from the computer, placing it near the stack of reference materials he'd set before himself for further perusal. Leaning back in his chair, Oz stretched while rubbing at his eyes, then gave Giles a curious look.
"Anything?"
"I'm afraid not," Giles admitted. "I've been using writing therapy, as it were, to order my thoughts upon the situation and speculate upon various avenues of exploration." The not-quite-lie came easily to him: he had spent at least part of that period of time making lists and noting lines of inquiry both future and already explored.
"Did it help?" Oz's expression was bland, but there was a small tic at his left eyebrow that hadn't been there at the start of the morning.
"Some." Steepling his fingers before himself, Giles looked over the fingertips into the immediate distance. "I've at least managed to list out the possibilities we've explored that have not borne fruit. And also outlined a few possibilities for later exploration, depending of course upon Faith's discoveries at Hideyoshi's residence." Glancing up, he inquired, "Yourself?"
"List of odd occurrences involving female students at other schools Hideyoshi's been affiliated with," Oz said. "Seems a few girls have been institutionalized over the years from behavioral disorders." Oz crossed his arms over his chest, looking thoughtful. Giles reflected that those were two of the longest sentences he'd possibly heard the musician utter ere now. Continuing, Oz stated, "And left posts on Ms. Calendar's old techno-pagan boards outlining things. No responses yet."
"Hmm. The timing strikes me as odd," Giles remarked. Oz's eyebrows lifted, and he elaborated. "Coupled with Dacascos' apparent offensive against us, just now, this seems oddly coincidental."
Oz's expression went distant for a moment, and he nodded. "Takes out one of our main researchers and support pillars. And it distracts us from trying to deal with his demon assassins."
"Indeed." Giles nodded. "However, that still leaves us with nothing to either connect nor rule out the possibility, nor any means of combating this effect as of yet."
"As of yet," Oz's expression was wry. "It'll turn up. It has to." His eyes flickered to the wall clock and he added, "Time for me to start getting ready to meet Xander and the girls for third period.
"Very well. I shall redouble my efforts to uncover some possibly useful means of approach until your return."
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Thursday September 17, 1998; Sunnydale High School Biology Classroom 132, 10:30 A.M.
Oz caught up with Xander and the girls a couple of minutes before the bell. When Oz gripped Xander by the shoulder, indicating with a slight squeeze and a jerk of the head for Xander to hold up a moment, he gave Cordelia a peck on the cheek and sent her into class ahead of them with a brightly chattering Willow and Aura.
"So, tell me you came up with something useful?" Xander asked. He stepped aside to let Heidi past them, answering her inquiring look with a shrug.
"Hmm. Define 'useful'," Oz said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Tilting his head, he stated, "Found lots. Not sure how useful it is yet."
"Great." Shoving his own hands in his pockets, Xander favored the world around them with a disgusted look. "Faith make it back yet?"
Oz shook his head. Looking past Xander in through the classroom door, both of his eyebrows went up. Following the musician's gaze with a questioning look, Xander frowned as he saw a dark haired young woman shuffling papers from a folder at Mr. Hideyoshi's desk.
"And the day just keeps getting better," Xander observed.
"Where are we going?" Oz said. "And why are we in this hand basket?"
With a bark of startled laughter, Xander nodded agreement as he turned and pushed through the door with the last group of trailing students. As Oz went to sit with Cordelia and Willow at their lab table, Xander sauntered his way up to the front desk with a disarming - he hoped - grin.
"Hi there," Xander summoned all of his non-existent charm. "Where's Mr. Hideyoshi?"
"Hmm. I believe he took a personal day, Mr... ?" The young woman favored him with a half smile, half frown.
"Harris. Xander Harris," Xander bobbed his head, smiling back. "So, will he be back today? Is he sick?"
"Sorry," she gave him a politely sympathetic look. "Have no idea. I'm Ms. Dane - I was called in to substitute for him today." She shrugged, apparently unconcerned.
"Oh, ok. And I'm sure you'll do a fine job at it, too," Xander said. He suddenly realized that she probably thought he was a classroom Romeo flirting with her before the bell, his cheeks warming. "Uh... look, I know it's right before the bell- " the bell that rang just then, confirming his theory, "But I really need to hit the bathroom before class. Desperately."
The half frown became a full one as she regarded him. "Really, Mr. Harris. I would greatly prefer that you take care of such things before the bell, if you would."
"Yeah, well. I do. Err, I did," Xander said, crossing his legs at the knees and bouncing slightly. "But we have fast water in this school. At the fountains, I mean. Fast."
"Oh," Ms. Dane shook her head, looking past him at the restless class. "Go ahead. But do please hurry back. I won't hold today's lesson for you." Pausing, she asked, "Do you need a hall pass?"
"Thanks," Xander's grin broadened and he uncrossed his knees. "No, uh, it's just around the corner. No problem," he assured her. 'No problem except me looking like an idiot, and I'm used to that.'
Turning the long rotation away from her desk so he could look across the Biology lab as he did, he caught Oz's eyes - along with curious looks from Willow, Cordelia, Larry, and Heidi - as he turned. He did his best to communicate something relevant to Oz via sign language, and figured he just ended up looking even more spazzed without accomplishing much.
Oz raised an eyebrow, glanced past Xander at Ms. Dane, and nodded fractionally. Xander almost bolted out of the classroom.
Once out in the hall, he threw a quick look around for trolls and thugs, and then pelted away headed for the library. Enroute, he desperately wracked his brain trying to remember everything Willow had ever mentioned about browser caches. Part way there he realized that Oz had been using his own laptop, and came to a dead stop. 'Crap!' Xander thought furiously. 'No point in even thinking about wondering if Giles could dig Hideyoshi's files out of the library computer. He's even more with the technical ineptness than I am. What we need is a hacker.'
It struck him between the eyes that if someone had deliberately wanted to cripple the Scoobies/Nightwatchmen, you'd be hard pressed to find a better way than by taking out their technical genius, common sense, and female brawn all at one stroke. He really hoped this was accidental, or they were screwed.
'Hacker, phracker, and a brain... If I only had a brain... And I know just where to get one,' he realized a moment later. 'Now all I have to do is remember what class he has now and figure out how to non-verbally get him out of class... '
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