When Fred was ten, her father bought her a puppy. She named it Socrates, or 'Soc' for short. She loved that little puppy like she never could again. Seriously. That's how much she loved that dog. Her and Soc, best buds forever.
Soc was a rambunctious, and curious little thing. He always wanted to play. He would play with Mommy. He would play with Daddy. He would play with the other animals on the ranch. He would even play with the ducks by the pond. If Soc had a fault, (and he didn't, clearly, how could such an awesome doggy have a fault?) it was that he liked to play too much. Soc would sometimes leave the ranch and go out looking for 'adventure'. Usually in mean Mr. Anders's farm. More specifically, his hen house. Now Soc was raised on a steady diet of delicious and nutritious puppy chow, so he had no need to try and eat Mr. Anders's hens like he said Soc was trying to do. Soc was just playing with them. He probably liked to see them squawk and run around like they ain't got no heads. But in fairness to Mr. Anders, it was more than likely real bothersome to hear your hens making that awful racket. He would come by after one of Soc's 'visits' with her dog tied to a rope, meanie, and yell at her and her parents. Generally, he would demand her parents put her sweet Socrates on a leash. They tried it once you know, but Soc cried and whined late into the night. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, and she ran outside and undid that stupid leash and she and Soc played until Daddy came out and yelled at her for not being in bed. Funny how he didn't mention letting Soc loose.
One day, Soc didn't come home. Daddy went out looking all night, but he couldn't find him. The next day came, and she spent most of it on her bed. Crying for her missing best friend. Later that night, Daddy came into her room, and she could tell right then and there, that something was bad. He found Socrates. Shot dead. Mr. Anders did it. The mean old bastard said it was an accident. That he was only trying to scare her dog away. Her. Dog. Hers! Well that night, after the sherif came over to take Daddy's statement, she snuck out of her room and went to Mr. Anders' farm. She would teach him the error of his ways. One did not take things from Fred without retribution. Arriving at the contemptible barbarian's domicile, she entered his shed, removed, the gasoline, and watched with satisfaction as the fowls burned and screamed.
-
"NYAGH!" Illyria sat straight up from her position on the floor. She was breathing heavy. lIke she had just run a marathon. She looked down at her sweaty, shaking body, and realized that was a nightmare. It must have been, for it was not possible the sweet natured WInifred Burkle to perform such a terrible act. No. The ending of that nightmare was derived from Illyria's own sense of pride and possesion. While she ruled, if someone had the audacity to steal or destroy something precious to her, Illyria would reap vengeance of epic scale. The very ground would tremble in fear, and the sky would lament her anger. She felt dampness on her cheeks, and knew, from Wesley's death, that it indicated grief. 'Why,' She thought to herself 'should I feel grief for an unimpressive and short lived beast?' And grieve she did. She shed fat tears of sorrow, yet without the heaping sobs. It looked as though her eyes were just leaking. Until you actually looked into them. The normally ice blue orbs were warm brown, and those eyes held the pain of a little girl who lost her best friend. Illyria's demeanor and form remained. She had not changed to the Burkle persona, that was confirmed in Fred's mirror. What was happening? For the first time in it's existence, the creature known as Illyria was afraid.
She stalked down the stairs of the Hyperion and into Angel's office. The former God King was looking for something, anything, to help explain what was happening to her. She tore though tome after tome, seeking answers that just were not there. Growing more and more agitated all the while. Finally, after what felt like hours, she slumped down to the floor in defeat. Illyria had never felt so low, and she shed more tears. These were tears of shame for her fallen state.
"Aw Fred, just look at you." Illyria's head whipped up at the unexpected voice.
"I know you." she said with growing recognition. "You assisted Angel in returning his soul."
Willow Rosenberg walked into the devastated office and kneeled next to what was once her friend. She smiled sadly. "Yeah, and now I'm gonna help you."
-
Morgan Walker was heading to her new office. She has just been appointed C.E.O. of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart, but she's not really all that happy about it. Especially considering what happened to the previous heads of operations. Holland Manners was butchered, not by ordinary vampires, but by half of the legendary scourge of Europe. Nathan Reed vanished without a trace. Linwood Murrow was decapitated by Lilah Morgan, who in turn, was killed by Angelus, who in turn was attacked by an army of demons. Are you seeing a pattern here? O.K. great pay. All the cars a girl could want. And the absolute best health and dental in the world. All that did help make the job more bearable, but it really didn't matter because she was probably going to die young anyway. Ah well. At least she could enjoy her fantastic new office in the meantime. Except that the aforementioned Angelus was sitting in her chair with his feet on her desk.
"Your vampire detector's broken." Angel informed her, gesturing to the deceased monk on her couch. Fighting her urge to panic at the unexpected sight of the worst mass murderer she has personally seen, Morgan arched her eyebrows and calmly told him to get out of her chair. Angel just chuckled. "Not bad. If I couldn't smell the fear radiating off of you, I wouldn't have been able to guess you were about to piss yourself." Angel put on his most charming smile. "Come on. Am I really that scary?"
Morgan took a moment to remind herself that the vampire before her has a soul before responding. "What are you doing here? How did you get in without him," she pointed to the dead sorcerer on the couch "detecting your presence?"
Angel leapt over her desk and got in her face before she had time to blink. "Skill." He told her and Morgan shrank back despite herself. Angel's smile returned. "Now," he continued, "you're going to tell me why Wolfram and Hart is interested in Veronica Mars and Wallace Fennel. Otherwise?" Angel started to play with a set of keys he pulled out of his coat, "I'm going to show you exactly how skilled I am."
"But we aren't!" Morgan denied almost pleadingly, "We wanted to know why they were affected by Champion's Bane, but that's it! I swear!" She looked at the cheerfully jangling keys as though imagining what could be done with them. "Our interest in them vanished once we learned the truth."
"They're potential champions." Angel reminded her. "If they wanted to, they could make life very difficult for your side of the fence." Angel reached out quick and put his arm around Morgan. As he did so, she let out a little shriek. "You mean to tell me that you guys aren't worried about things like that?" He poked her nose in an endearing fashion. "Come on. This is me here. I know how you people think, so don't tell me that you aren't interested in them." He jangled the keys again. "I don't like it when people lie to me."
Morgan started to shake her head. "But we aren't. We don't have the time, or, or the resources to waste on a POTENTIAL threat." She shrugged her way out of Angel's arm. "No. Our big mission, right now, is to set up shop again." Morgan chuckled a little. "Seriously. If we spent all our time going after potential champions we would never get any work done. I mean do you know how many potential champions are out there?" Angel started to answer, but Morgan went on before he could. "A lot. Too many to count really. Just because a person has the potential to be a champion, doesn't mean that they'll become one." She gave a small smile. "Thank God for human nature huh? Makes my job easier." She sat down at her desk and put her glasses on. "Now, is there anything else Wolfram and Hart can do for you?"
Angel gave the woman a confused look. "A minute ago you were practically faint, now you're as cool as a cucumber?"
Morgan smirked. "If you were going to kill me, or torture me, or do any of the nasty things you implied, then you would have done them. You wouldn't have bothered to threaten me in the first place." She took a deep breath. "I have work to do." Before she could get started on any of it, she found herself held by the neck up against the wall.
"Don't get me wrong Morgan. Just because I didn't torture you, doesn't mean that I actually have any problem doing it." Angel vamped out and threw her across the room. "Next time?" he growled, "I bring pliers." Then he was gone and Morgan Walker was left alone. Wheezing and coughing on the floor of her office.
-
"You're making me dizzy." Wallace told a pacing Veronica.
"Then stop watching me." Veronica was nervous. Really nervous. She had never, in her life, imagined that she would have to explain to her dad that she was attacked by vampires. It was bad enough when she was attacked by people, but add demons to the mix? He would either have her committed, or lock her up in that hamster ball thing he so likes referring to. If she's lucky, she'll get the habitat that's his new favorite 'Let's Lock Up Veronica for Her Own Good' plan instead.
"How am I supposed to stop watching you? You block the T.V."
"Only intermittently." Veronica helpfully pointed out. "You can still find out who's boning who on the 'Surreal Life' in between my pacing."
Wallace rolled his eyes and shut off the television. "Yeah thanks, but I think instead I'll see what's up with my best friend." He put his 'I'm listening' face on and sat ready to listen. He was a picture of readiness. A veritable cornucopia of attention that ... well I think you have the idea.
Veronica, for her part, stopped pacing, and stared at Wallace like she couldn't believe she got stuck with someone as dense as him for a BFF. "Are you joking?" she practically shouted. "My dad will be here any second and I have absolutely no freaking idea what I'm going to tell him!"
Wallace raised his eyebrows. "I thought you were going to tell him the truth?"
"Yeah, that only lasted until I got to 'I was attacked by vampires." Veronica told him bitterly, then flopped into her chair. "I really don't think that's going to fly."
It was Wallace's turn to look at his BFF like she was stupid. "So just leave out vampires. We were attacked and then we got rescued. Simple Miss Mars."
Veronica blinked. Twice. "I guess that'll work."
"Damn. You really are messed up over this, huh?" Wallace observed worriedly.
Veronica smiled sardonically. "Well duh, Dip. What else could I be? Vampires plus reality equals all work and no play make Veronica go something something."
Wallace smirked. "Well, at least you can still quip."
Veronica smiled again, this time for real. "I know! Thank God. I'd be lost without my witty rejoinders." Her smile faded, and she looked at the clock. "It's been a while since Dad called. Traffic can't be that bad this time of night." She looked to Wallace for a plausible explanation.
Wallace gave her a look. "What?" He asked.
She let out a mock sigh. "You're of the urban demo right? So, like, maybe you could, like, tell me what's up in the urbs."
"You're terrifying. You know that right?" Wallace spoke like to her like he genuinely feared for her sanity. (between you and me, it ain't like he don't got reason to worry)
"Yeah, well ... sanity's boring. Being crazy is much more exciting." She told him while she fished out her laptop. "I'm gonna do more research on the demons and stuff." Veronica stifled a yawn. "After I get some coffee. You want?"
She asked, heading for the door. Wallace replied in the negative and turned the T.V. back on. Veronica stifled another yawn in the hallway. On the way to the coffee machine, she started humming along to the muzak. The coffee was made with little incident, I'm sure you're glad to know. With coffee in hand, she headed back to Wallace's room, when her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller I.D. It was her father. Smiling, she answered the phone. "Papa," she chided mockingly, "you know you're supposed tell me when you ain't gonna be home in time for dinner. I was getting worried." Her only response was silence. "Dad?" Nothing. "Dad! Are you O.K.? Why don't you say something?"
"Because he is not O.K." Veronica's coffee dropped onto the linoleum flooring of the hospital. "If you wish your father to live, you will do what I say exactly. Do you understand?" Her memory flashed back to what was undeniably the worst night of her life. The night she thought her father, the most important person in the world, was dead.
With that horrible event fresh in her mind, there was really only one answer she could give: "I understand."
