Originally... I thought I'd finish this collection in November. Then I promised myself I'd finish it before 2015. Now I'm going to do my best to have it done before the season 2 premiere... I did manage to finish some of them already but out of order, so I really think I can do it!
This fic takes place shortly before day 18: this is something that happened earlier in that 'story'. I still might write it someday – anyone know if there's a FDTD bigbang going on somewhere?
I was originally thinking of something else in the Camp Sunnydale AU, but this literally just came to me. When the Muse actually deigns to speak to me, it's best to obey!
Kate held her crossbow in the guard position in front of her, advancing slowly into what had once been the ballroom of an antebellum mansion.
This had once belonged to one of the most powerful men in the South, before the Civil War. It hadn't been the war that caused a shitload of damage, though – apparently a few years before that, a former slave turned bounty hunter had come looking for his wife. The owner of the plantation, some guy called Calvin Candie, hadn't wanted to sell the bounty hunter's wife. Candie either hadn't realised that the bounty hunter's former owners had sold the man's wife because they were afraid of her husband, or had been too arrogant to care. He should have. The bounty hunter had killed Candie, his sister, and pretty much everyone with white skin on the plantation, set the house on fire, and ridden into the sunset with his wife. A cousin had inherited the plantation, and re-built the house, only to find that the former owner was literally still around in spirit and really, really, pissed.
At least that was how the story went, and something had kept this mansion intact throughout the Civil War. It hadn't been occupied for more than six months at a time in the past 150 years – not even during the war, when every mansion in the area had been utilized for troops or nursing.
Kate had no idea why Vanessa had wanted to meet in this neighbourhood, but it didn't matter now. The wannabe Ghost Hunters crew had caught her and Seth on camera, so they couldn't just leave, and now it was too late: whatever this thing was, it had sealed the doors.
Kate had not lived through getting taken hostage, the Titty Twister, months of hunting culebras and even longer of Seth first thing in the morning before coffee, just to get killed by a jerkass ghost with attitude. Especially one who, quite frankly, sounded like he'd deserved everything he got.
Kate narrowed her eyes, as the moonlight coming through the skylights seemed to dim. She inhaled deeply, adrenaline starting to pump. Something was thickening the air around her, and it was already concealing the French windows that led out to the terrace. Smoke? Kate sniffed, but the air smelled… wet and misty, not hot and ashy. Fog, not smoke. That was something, anyway; a ghost fire was all she needed.
She took a quick look through the night scope on her new crossbow (at least Vanessa had managed to hand it over and walk her through the features before all this happened) but nothing showed. But then, if it was a ghost, Kate hadn't really expected it to. Ghosts were supposed to be 'cold spots' in the atmosphere, and was else was fog, but a giant diffused cold spot?
Kate said a silent prayer to Saint Michael for protection as she moved deeper into the shadows, and waited.
Yes, this is supposed to be the mansion from Django Unchained. It was the Muse again. I realise the story isn't quite right, but I figured that some of the details – like Dr King – would get lost over the century and change, especially since I'm sure Calvin Candie's contemporaries couldn't conceive of a white man going to such lengths to help a black man, much less kill a white man for 'just doing what's proper'. Django and Broomhilda's descendants (including one John Shaft, according to Tarantino) know the real story, and always made sure they include Dr King whenever they tell it.
Yes, I know that Saint Michael's a catholic saint, and Kate isn't (since Jacob's a pastor, not a priest). But I figure that hunting culebras would lead to doing pretty much anything that might help keep you alive and safe.