This was going down as one of her more surreal moments. Not because everything was wonky or weird looking, but because she still didn't feel like anything she was doing was real. Which wasn't even really a lot. She was just sitting.
"You know you don't have to be here, right?" she said, looking out of the corner of her eyes at Nadja, who was sitting beside her on the couch, flipping lazily through TV channels. Beth was facing the other way, looking out the front window, watching the road. She could hear the sounds of a cartoon show on behind her, but she didn't know which one.
"Of course I have to be here," Nadja replied. "I want to see her."
Ah yes, of course, Beth sighed internally. The reason why everything felt so strange: Margaret was coming. And she was anxiously awaiting her arrival. Part of her was curious to know how the stuck-up girl had changed; it'd been four years and a lot of growing had been done on both their parts. The more morbid piece of that part wanted to know if Margaret was still the same cruel bully she'd always been. Beth almost wanted to dare the girl to say something to her, so it'd give her an excuse to punch the bitch. And then the rest of her was still pretty sure none of this was actually happening. Which it was, unfortunately.
"You know, you can't just talk incessantly about a person and not expect me to want to meet them," Nadja explained.
"I didn't talk incessantly about her," Beth argued. "I've hardly mentioned her at all!"
"Okay, fine, alright, you never say a word about her," Nadja groused, "but that's what's got me so interested! I mean, who is this girl, this mysterious Margaret who is the bane of your existence? I mean, James tried to turn you, Baba's tried to kill you like twice, and I'm pretty sure she's still numero uno on your personal hit list."
"Actually, that's teenage Hitler, but not for the reasons you'd probably think," she joked.
"Are you surprised that I want to see her?" Nadja inquired. "Whether you realize it or not, Beth, you've built this girl up in your head. She has so much power over you, and I want to know who she is."
"She's a girl whose best skill was making other people feel weak," she explained shortly. "And I have not built her up anywhere."
Nadja shot her a look that said she wasn't buying that. "You don't think I wasn't ever made fun of? We make bullies bigger in our head because at the time, they are. And you deserve someone on your side who doesn't have to be on your side. You're facing down your biggest demon yet, which is saying something, after that behemoth Bigfoot you fought last night."
"It wasn't actually Bigfoot," she mumbled, laying her chin down on the back of the couch. Her parents were supposed to be coming back from the airport anytime now.
"You're right," Nadja agreed. "Up here, we call him Sasquatch."
The unmistakable black build of her father's old-new car pulled into view down the road and she tensed. It was happening. It was actually happening. Good Lord Almighty, it was truly, surely happening. She didn't know what to do. What was she supposed to expect? What was going to happen?
"They're here," she finally uttered as she sat up, watching the black car pull into the driveway and up into the garage. Nadja was suddenly beside her, TV and remote forgotten, as she watched the tail-end of the car disappear.
"Oh my god, it's happening," Nadja hissed, voicing the words currently jumping around in Beth's head.
Soon enough, the sound of muffled voices could be heard floating through the garage door, their words undiscernible. In a moment, the party of three would be entering into the household. Suddenly, Beth didn't want to look like she'd been waiting. Quickly, she jumped up, striding into the kitchen.
"Beth, where're you going?" Nadja cried, watching her friend disappear.
"I'm getting a snack? You want something?" she called back, going straight for the pantry. She perused the shelves, but didn't pick anything up. Instead, she listened.
The garage door opened and the sound of her mother talking became clear.
"The warehouse district around here is probably the best, though the woods offer some of the more wilder variety of demons," her mother explained. "You won't be allowed to go there without one of us for a while. As for the parks—oh, hi Nadja."
"Hello, Mrs. Summers," Nadja perked up on the couch. "Also, hi Spike!"
"'lo pet," Spike greeted, setting down something heavy on the floor. Likely bags. A slayer could carry heavy things, but she still only had two arms and he was something on a gentleman. "Jus' you?"
"Mm-hm," she replied. "Daniel has some sports meet-up this evening. Or practice, one of those things."
"Oh, Margaret, this is Nadja. She's one of Beth's friends." There was a hint of warning in Buffy's voice, like she was anticipating and trying to avoid some hostile comment. Instead, Margaret just mumbled a greeting. Well, she didn't sound all that different.
"Where's Beth?"
"Right here," Beth called out, appearing out of the kitchen, bag of cookies in hand. She leaned against the archway, eyeing Margaret, who only stared right back. Not much had changed, it seemed. She still had that curly, red hair and the splattering of freckles across all visible parts of her skin. Her face was still narrow and her eyes still sharp, giving her almost a calculated expression. Or maybe that was just how she normally looked at Beth; she hadn't often compared notes with others. "Had to get a snack." She held up the bag for emphasis, before moving around the group and heading straight for Nadja. She passed by Margaret as she did so, giving the girl a side eye. Despite having grown much since Beth last saw her, and now towering a several good inches above Beth, she didn't seem so imposing. In fact, she felt small in the house, even if she dwarfed nearly everyone one in it.
"So, what'd you pick?" Beth asked, falling onto the couch beside Nadja.
Nadja grinned. "Still looking," she replied almost haughtily, shooting glances at Margaret as she did so.
Rolling his eyes, Spike offered to show Margaret to her room. The girl followed without question, though she in turn shot her own looks at Nadja and Beth as they sat on the couch. Beth was sure to meet each and every gaze unwavering.
Once Spike returned, he looked around at the group and let out a sigh. "She's goin' to take some time gettin' comfortable. The rest of her things'll come in the mail soon enough. But that did go better than I expected."
"Better?" his wife snorted, hands on hips. "What were you expecting, an apocalypse should the two meet?"
"No," he retorted harshly, "but I was expectin' some fightin', at least of the verbal kind."
"Girls fight with their eyes, Spike," Buffy informed him none-too-gently. "You missed the entire encounter."
"Yeah, there was some major girl pissing-contest going on," Nadja assured him.
"There wasn't any fighting," Beth scoffed, shaking her head at them.
"Oh yeah, then what do you call this?" Nadja asked, proceeding to stare unblinking at her.
"Discomforting," Beth replied, poking Nadja on the nose.
Jerking back, Nadja glared half-heartedly at her. "If Daniel was here, he would agree. He's got that super-extra-special sensory skill that totally would have called your bluff."
"There was no fighting," Beth promised, though that said nothing of any future engagements. She was pretty sure something was going to go down eventually, likely taking some structures with it.
"You were sizing her up," Nadja accused.
"I was not!"
"Well, she sure was doing that to you," Nadja rejoined. "Face it, you wanted to pull her hair, go all girl-fight on her."
"I'm a slayer," Beth reminded her. "If I'm going to fight anyone, I promise it will cause more damage than hair-pulling."
"Well when you do that, take it outside," her mother asked. "I guess I'll go and order some dinner finally, though I have a feeling Margaret's just going to sleep through the rest of the day and tonight. She looked dead-tired getting off that plane."
"Better shake that off quick," Spike advised. "Trainin' starts up Monday. Same for you, missy."
"I'm already prepared," Beth told him, holding up her fists. "What do you think I've been doing these last three years? Knitting?"
"Hey, don't diss knitting," Nadja said. "Knitting is very hard and requires good finger movements."
"Oh, just knit me a sweater."
"Watch me," Nadja retorted. "Oh hey, can I stay for dinner? I already told my parents not to expect me back until late. Beth, you can drive me home, right?"
"Sure," Beth replied, looking over at her mother who begrudgingly agreed to let Beth take her car around for a spin. They were still against her driving around a lot, which she thought was a whole bunch of unfair because really, the only way she was going to get good at driving was by—weirdly enough—actually driving.
"I'm thinking Chinese," Buffy decided, walking toward the kitchen.
"I want mushu!" Beth called.
"Ooh, make sure it's that one place that serves vegan!" Nadja said. "I actually found this great place off of Roy Street—"
"How is it that we acquired so many kids?" Buffy said once she was in the kitchen, Spike right behind her. "I thought we agreed to only having one."
"You might've," he murmured. "'Sides, everyone knows that you can't have just one daughter. She's got to have friends."
"Mm, I can only imagine how my mom felt when all my cheerleading friends came over," Buffy mused.
"Don't rightly know if Margaret counts as our get," he muttered. "Don' like her being here."
"I think she noticed," she said. "You kept giving her looks through the rearview mirror. Look, if Beth can be okay with her being here, then you can."
"You just agreed earlier than they were starin' one 'nother down," he claimed.
"And they are and that's something we can handle," she told him. "And if she says she's alright with this, then we can be alright with this. This was ultimately Beth's decision so we need to do our best not to exacerbate the circumstances. Now, gimme that menu."
Sighing, he reached over and snagged the paper off the fridge. "We have to train them together," he reminded her.
"I know," she replied, like she completely missed what he had been implying.
"That gives them an opportunity to be competitive," he continued.
"Oh, I thought that was the point," she said.
"It is, when there isn' a multi-chapter backstory to go with that," he concluded.
"I'm hoping it'll bring out the best skills in both of them," she explained. "And honestly, Margaret is going to need this. I've looked at her past reports: she's not doing so hot. She's been shirking her duties and not taking anything seriously. Claims it's 'too easy.' I think Giles was onto to something when he decided to ask me to take in Margaret. He thinks that she'll hate to be upstaged by Beth, who's essentially a model student."
"I think Andrew would beg to differ about the model part," he muttered.
"You obviously haven't heard the praises he sings about her," she informed him. "He sounds like you do sometimes. Just because she doesn't listen to you, doesn't mean she doesn't listen to anybody else."
"She doesn' listen to anyone," he said.
"Yes, but Andrew doesn't care," she claimed. "Now, are you feeling beef teriyaki or walnut shrimp? Because I've kind of got a hankering for seafood."
-.-
It was weird, laying upstairs in her bed, realizing that just below her someone who was likely considered her very own mortal enemy, was sleeping away. Beth was trying to wrap her head around it—she really was—but she was still almost convinced it wasn't actually happening.
Glancing over at her phone which sat innocently on her bedside table, she thought of calling Zack. She didn't know why, as while she had explained to him who Margaret was, it wasn't as if he was familiar with that part of her life. Things had been different at the academy than they were in Bellevue. It was 12:15 am though, and she did not think he would appreciate being woken up at 4 in the morning. And while he loved to hear from her, she didn't think he'd like the early hour. He was, after all, going to college for his future. Also engineering. Gross.
She snatched the phone up off her table anyway.
A few rings in and he picked up, the sound of muffled, techno music in the background. "Why, hello there beautiful."
"Hey Jackie," she greeted, adjusting herself so she was laying sideways across her bed, her feet and head sticking out over the sides. She stared down at the floor, knowing that Margaret was somewhere below her, snoozing away. She made a face.
"So what to what do I owe the honor?" he inquired, and she could almost hear the smile in his voice. "The last time you graced me with a call was nearly a month ago."
"Sorry, school's been really busy and I usually try and call Zack before anyone else," she apologized.
"Ah yes, your zany, brainy boyfriend," he remembered. "How's the long-distance treating you? I myself was never a fan."
"That's because you're the most huggy person I know," she retorted. "Physical touch is like 80% of all of your relationships."
"That might be true, but it doesn't explain why you're calling me instead of him right now," he commented. "Both him and I are in the same timezone."
Sighing, she asked, "Are you busy? I can hear music in the background. Did you go to some party?"
"Yeah, it's just some weird rave in a warehouse," he told her. "I go to those all the time, so you're not interrupting me. 'Sides, the crowd here is a mite bit weird for my taste. I mean, what's your opinion on Furries?"
"Furries?"
He laughed. "That's what I thought. Now what's eating you? Hopefully nothing literally."
"Do you remember Margie?" she asked, knowing that he already would. Like most of the other slayers around her age, Margaret had had a little bit of a crush on the older, much more mature Jackie. He'd already solidified himself as being a suave gentleman with his kind manners and piano-playing abilities, but then he'd gone and added being cool to the list as well by getting his first tattoo. At least that's what the theory going around was. If you asked Beth (and no one did), she'd remind you that the only boy close to their age at the Academy was Jackie. Sure, there was her own dad and some of the younger Watchers, but they had all at least been in their thirties. Jackie had been eighteen.
"She was the red-head, right?" he asked. "Uh yeah, she really liked spin-kicks and Liszt."
"Of course, you'd remember that," she chuckled.
"I'm serious! Every time I played, she always requested Liebestraum to the point that I got tired of playing it. But why are you bringing her up? I always figured Giles would stick her in some outpost in Siberia, so no one had to deal with her."
"Well, he didn't," she informed him, unable to keep the sneer out of her voice.
"No. He—he didn't, did he?" he murmured, sounding almost amazed. "No, he wouldn't dare. He posted her to Seattle?"
"Not exactly," she mumbled. "Turns out, she's not doing so well in her field training."
"No." He almost sounded like Nadja, his voice low and gaspy, waiting for more "juicy gossip." "She's training alongside you?"
"She's currently asleep in Willow's old room right now," she told him.
He took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "How's it been? How are you?"
"I don't know yet," she offered. "She hasn't even been here a full day. She came here straight from the airport, we exchanged terse greetings in the form of stares and then she went to go sleep off her jet lag. Jackie, I haven't even really seen her, let alone processed her existence in the same time zone as me. I feel like I haven't been reacting properly at all."
"Well, what's proper?"
"I don't know, freaking out?" she asked, sitting up. "When my parents told me, I wasn't happy, but I wasn't upset either. Shouldn't I have been spitting mad at the idea of her coming here? Or, I don't know, terrified that it was going to be like it always was? I hate that girl and yet I can't even find it within me to throw more than a guarded look at her."
"Everyone reacts to things differently," he reminded her. "And it's not every day that someone's old bully comes back into their lives, especially so soon after it first happened. Beth, you've got your friends and you've got your family. This is your territory, not hers."
"I know, that's what Daniel kept saying," she grumbled.
"Maybe you should listen to him," he told her. "I've never met the kid, but he sounds pretty smart. You feel what you need to feel, Liz, when you need to feel it. Don't try and expect yourself to act a certain way because you think that's what's appropriate. You get upset, you get upset. You get angry, you get angry. And if you don't wanna feel nothing at all, then don't. She's not the boss of you; never has been."
"Mm, you know this would be a lot easier if you were around," she mused. "I think they always tolerated me a little more when you were around."
She heard him sigh before he said, sadly, "I know. They were all like that, all of them, every year. But I can't be that person for you anymore and I don't think you need me anyway."
"I'll always need you," she interrupted. "You're basically my big brother."
He laughed. "Never said I wasn't," he agreed, "but I meant for this. Liz, you are the strongest person I have ever met in the whole fucking world and I don't ever want to see you have to bow down to anyone, much less her bitchy white ass. So, you give her hell, alright? She ain't the boss and you ain't the peasant. Show her up with some of those flashy moves of yours, really make her failing ass feel it."
"See? That's why I need you," she said. "You never, not even for a second, let them get away with a thing. Sometimes you didn't even say anything, you'd just look at them."
"They were thirteen, Liz. I don't think you understand how easy it was to make them shut up."
"Well it's not as if I could do it," she reminded him.
"You where eleven. It's even easier to get kids that age to shut up. Look, Margie? She doesn't control you anymore. She can't. Here, for you, she has no power. And she'll know that quickly, so don't let her try and pull one over on you.
"And I know this is going to be hard for you," he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I can't imagine what this is like for you, but like I said, she can't tell you what to do here. You're a slayer and she's a slayer and you're worth a hell of a lot more than she is."
"Thanks, Jackie," she told him quietly, smiling a little.
"And just remember, it's not my job to be nice to you, I did that on my own. Everything that comes out of my mouth is 100 percent the bona fide truth," he said.
"I know, I know," she sighed, "you were always ready to call me out for doing something stupid."
"Which was most of the time," he muttered.
"Hey!"
"Admit it, you took after your dad; you were a stupid kid," he argued. "And another thing—"
Beth didn't hear the rest of what he said, as the music in the background got loud enough that she was able to make out some of the words (was that a techno Spice Girls Remix?), as someone shouted for his attention.
"Hey, Jackie, you're gonna miss the air raid!" someone shouted, sounding totally inebriated. She didn't know what this "air raid" was, but she figured it was something drunk and high people should not be engaging in.
"Yeah, I'll be right there!" he shouted back and the music died down again.
"I think I'm feeling better now," she admitted to him. "Don't let me hold you back from enjoying your party."
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, there's one every weekend," he assured her. "I'm here for whenever you need me."
"Thank you. For now, I think I'll be okay. I haven't actually talked to her yet, so maybe things won't be liked they used to be. Maybe she'll just be curt with me."
"I'll cross my fingers for you," he promised.
"Alright. Night, Jackie."
"Night, Beth."
Ending the call with him, she let out a huge exhale, her breath fluttering some of the hair hanging in her face. She quickly brushed it out of the way, choosing to go down and get a midnight snack. She hadn't had much of an appetite at dinner (which turned out to be a good thing, considering Nadja had), but was now feeling some of the effects of a light meal.
For the first time in this house though, she felt some apprehension at going downstairs. She stood at the top step, peering down into the dark hallway. She could see the shoes lined up by the door (well, hers and her mother's were; her father left his sort of haphazardly) and the edge of the coat rack from where she stood. She could also hear the sound of her father snoring from their bedroom. It was funny to think about really; once upon a time he slept silently, like the dead (because he was), and now he made enough noise to be heard from any spot in the house. Her mother said she almost wished he was a vampire again.
Hesitantly, she took her first step. She couldn't hear any sound from the ground floor, save the clock ticking on the mantel. Other than that, it was a quiet house (okay, well also her dad's snoring, but she already mentioned that). More confidently, she took the rest of the steps down to the foyer. She heard no movement and saw no light from Margaret's new room. The door was even closed and her parents had been certain she would sleep likely until mid-morning.
She swiftly made her way into the kitchen, hoping neither of her parents would wake up and come downstairs. Even though they never had before, she felt that they just might this time. She stayed silent for that reason, not wishing to wake anyone. It wouldn't have been so bad if her aunt still lived with them, but she was off being happy in her new relationship with Esme, even if it left poor Beth out in the cold.
The kitchen was dark, save for the dim light from the street lights coming in through the back window and soon the light from the fridge when she opened it. She stole out a carton of fried rice, figuring no one would really miss that (and if they did, then oh well). She sat down at the breakfast table, munching away quietly on her food as she tried to distract her thoughts by thinking about the mid-terms that were happening soon. Oh how, oh how was she going to balance it all with slayer duties?
Her test day thoughts were interrupted when she heard the floor boards squeak. She jerked her head up to see Margaret standing by the dining table, regarding her coolly. Damn, she forgot about how quiet other slayers could be. Double damn.
The girl said nothing to her and Beth wasn't surprised. One, they hardly ever spoke to begin with (and if they did, it was usually cruel words from Margaret and growling from Beth), and she looked like she'd just woken up. Her hair was mussed and she was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, sporting some team name Beth hadn't heard of. Not surprising, she sometimes couldn't remember the sports team from Seattle (one of them was birds, right? Some sort of birds?).
Beth was the first to speak, having a good idea what Margaret wanted. "There's leftovers in the fridge," she told her, motioning toward said appliance. Margaret didn't say anything, and Beth half-expected the girl to ignore her completely and go for the pantry, before she made a sudden movement toward the fridge. Beth hadn't been expecting company for dinner and honestly, she could do without it. Better nothing than someone rude, right?
She only listened as Margaret shuffled things around in the fridge, preferring to eat her fried rice instead. It wasn't that good and she was actually pretty picky when it came to fried rice, so she didn't know what part of her brain had made this decision in the first place. Obviously, not a very smart part.
While Beth attempted to pretend she was eating alone, Margaret seemed intent on making her presence known. She made a lot of noise as she moved around, rattling dishes and closing the microwave door loudly. It was obnoxious and Beth ignored it for as long as she could. Admittedly, it wasn't very long.
"If you keep that up, my dad's going to come down here and check it out," Beth informed her, keeping her voice neutral. "He's a very light sleeper."
Margaret, again, didn't say anything—totally out of character—but she did stop being so loud. Ha, Beth knew it. It was a ploy. And she fell for it (dammit).
Finally, Margaret sat down, taking a seat at the counter rather than at the table with Beth. Not that she minded, though she figured it had a lot to do with wanting to keep her distance from the thing, seeing as she had been so insistent before on being noticed. She refused to be the first to speak again, wishing to be kept in blessed silence until they were done eating and could go their separate ways. But Margaret wasn't keen on letting Beth have what she wanted—it was likely something that went against her very nature to do.
"I don't know why they're letting you into field training," Margaret finally voiced, likely a thought that had been on her mind for days now.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, it might have something to do with me being a slayer, but you know," she replied, tone caustic.
"How do they know it's not because you're some freaky vampire?" Margaret went on to say, her own tone taking on a biting tone. "For all we know, you might just keep getting stronger until you go nuts and kill us all."
Oh, there's only one person I'm thinking of killing, she thought sourly. "I'm a slayer," she stated. "You and me are one in the same. Get over it."
She more of heard than saw the look of disgust that past over Margaret's features.
"Look, Beth. I don't know what the hell you are, but I'm the slayer here, okay? Not you. So, if you think I'm going to work alongside you, like some team, you're crazy."
Beth bristled at her tone, whipping around to face her. "Seeing as your inability to work with others is what got you stuck here in the first place, I don't think you have much room to argue."
It was obvious from the look on Margaret's face that she hadn't expected Beth to fight back. It the beginning, Beth had been shocked every time Margaret said something nasty in her direction. Toward the end of her time at the academy, she'd only throw a scathing look at Margaret before stalking off. But now, Beth was snapping back. Her reaction surprised Margaret, but she recovered quickly though, an icy look settling over her features.
"Why would I ever work with a thing like you?" she bit out.
"Because you don't have a choice," she hissed, standing up and walking over to Margaret. She made sure that she was close enough to cause the other girl discomfort, watching as she stiffened at Beth's approach. "Do you know what they do to slayers who fail field training? Of course, you don't; it's never happened before. You'll be the first. And do you really want to be the first slayer in history to fail at the one fucking thing she was designed to do?"
Margaret didn't reply, maintaining her stoic expression, but Beth could see the wavering emotions in her eyes. One would not be hard-pressed to find out that Margaret wanted to be the envy of all the other slayers. She had been top of her class before and she wanted it now. "This isn't the time to be petty, Margie. I'm already leagues ahead of you as it is, so you've got some catching up to do. And if you think my mum is going to sit around while you've got your snobby nose stuck up in the air, you might as well drop out now. Watch yourself, because that thing already out-did you."
Beth didn't give Margaret time to recover as she spun on her heel and sauntered out of the kitchen, sure to take her trash as she went (wouldn't it be embarrassing to have to go back and get it?). It wasn't until she was climbing the stairs that she let the satisfied grin overcome her features. She'd talked Margaret into stunned silence. Oh, if only she'd taken a picture. She heard those lasted longer.
-.-
Training was as abysmal as Buffy had expected it to be. Currently, it was bordering on the worst thing she'd ever experienced. And she'd died. Twice.
Beth had always had a bit of a competitive streak to her. Prior, she'd never really had anyone as an opponent when it came to slaying, so usually it had resulted in her just trying to outdo the expectations they'd put on her (sometimes she tried to out-eat Spike, but that ended just about as well as one would expect). Now though, with Margaret having joined, Beth finally had someone to compete against. And boy was it not pretty.
Buffy winced at the sword's blade embedded itself right into the wooden support pole, where Margaret's head had been. She had thought it'd be a good idea to open up with weapons, see if anyone favored one type above the other or was just plain dismal with another. What she hadn't expected was a full-on war occurring in her basement, one which Andrew was incapable of halting. He'd open his mouth every time someone made a particularly vicious swing, but then he'd "eep!" and shut his mouth again.
To Beth's credit, she wasn't the only one behaving aggressively. If anything, Margaret had probably started it. Buffy hadn't missed the gleam in Margaret's eyes when she'd shot the crossbow much closer to Beth than to the actual target. From then on, it'd been an angry mess.
"Um, maybe we should do something," Andrew suggested, making no move to do just so.
Buffy watched the back and forth with a bland look. She hoped that maybe this was some form of catharsis for the two, or that they'd at least get it out of their system before she took them both out into the field. And while Buffy had no concerns about her daughter's ability to handle herself when dealing with the monsters, she had concerns when it came to who she'd be relying on. Margaret seemed hostile toward Beth—nothing new there—and that could prove to be fatal out there. It wasn't often that a slayer died during her field training, but it had happened, and it was mostly due to the slayer group being less than harmonious. And these two were about as harmonious as the underground Punk music her husband so fondly liked.
"They need to work this out," she decided, arms crossing as she fell into Head Slayer mode. Slayers were competitive people; a lot of rivalries had been bred in the training room of the Academy as girls battled it out to be the best. Margaret had been one of those girls, although she had enough charisma to avoid the brunt of it. It seemed girls had liked her because they wanted to be her. But with Beth, though the two had never shared a class before this, they'd butted heads as often as they could, and the effects went deeper than some class ranking-based rivalry. Theirs was one of true hatred, born and bred deep. Just how was it that Giles had thought this was going to be a good idea? He'd be lucky if they both got out of this with all their limbs still intact (as both seemed dead-set against letting that happen at the moment).
"Wouldn't it be better to let them get this anger out on the demons?" he theorized. "At this point, there going to drop the ceiling on themselves."
She glanced up at said ceiling, supported by the wooden poles now sporting many blade marks, and shrugged. "Seems pretty sturdy to me," she replied, turning her attention back to the two girls. It was too much to hoped they'd be friends, but hopefully not that much of a stretch for them to be comrades.
Another blade sailed through the air, taking some hair with it. Okay, maybe it was too much of a stretch.
Sighing, Buffy took a step forward before loudly calling out, "Alright! That's enough!"
Both girls stopped without hesitation, though the looks in their eyes spoke of continuing this, possibly at a later date in time (note to self: lock basement door and do not leave weapons lying around).
"This was a test to see your proficiency with weapons, not how well you can take another person's head off," she snapped at the two, letting her fury with them be known. "You leave that for when you're out with the demons."
"I'm already with the demons," Margaret muttered, low enough that Buffy didn't hear it. But Beth had. Already running on adrenaline from the fight, she let out a low growl before launching herself at Margaret, forgoing a weapon entirely (lesson the first: Always have a weapon—addendum: You're a slayer. You are a weapon).
Taken off guard, Margaret let out a shriek as Beth tackled her to the ground, clawing at her as she did so. This wasn't as vicious of an attack as it had been before, resembling more of a cat fight than anything. But if Margaret was going to be petty, then dammit, Beth was going to act so in response.
"I said enough!" Buffy shouted, forcibly removing her daughter from Margaret, both of whom were still trying to get at one another. Andrew did the best he could to pull Margaret back, but she was a slayer and him, a mere short nerd. The odds were against him. Thankfully, Margaret stopped on her own, standing up and flipping her hair back as she wiped the blood from her nose.
"Go get cleaned up," Buffy barked at the girl, who quickly nodded before heading up the stairs, Andrew following behind her. She threw one, last dirty look at Beth before disappearing through the doorway. God, she couldn't wait for Spike to get from the car shop. She needed a break.
"What the hell was that?" Buffy asked, finally releasing her daughter.
"She had it coming," Beth grumbled in response, rubbing her fist against her pant leg, smearing blood along the fabric. Not hers, something of which Buffy couldn't help but feel a little proud of. She knew she shouldn't encourage it, but it was good to see Beth take down the arrogant girl without so much as gaining a scratch herself.
"You can't just attack her like that," Buffy said, instead of praising her (must not support such violence!).
"Are you honestly taking her side?" she asked, astounded.
"I'm not taking anyone's side," her mother retorted. "But as your teacher—yours and hers—I can't just let you do that. I know she's not being easy on you and I know she's going to do whatever she can to set you off, but you can't let her. Beth, part of your evaluation is how well you can work in a team. She's already proving to be terrible at that; don't let her drag you down with her."
Sighing, Beth turned and slumped against the wall. "I'm never going to be in a team, so who cares?" she asked. "None of the other slayers would work with me anyway."
Sighing, Buffy walked over to her daughter and pulled her into a comforting hug. "Prove to me that you're better than this, like I know you are. Margaret is a small girl who wants to make others feel small as well. And you are—you are someone that is larger than life, Beth, you just don't realize it yet. Don't let her fit you down to her size."
"Maybe if we just sew her mouth shut for the rest of time," Beth muttered and Buffy hummed in amusement.
"Unfortunately, we can't do that," she told her.
"We can't, but I bet Aunt Willow could."
"Alright, go take a break," Buffy laughed, pushing her daughter toward the stairs. "And no more fist fights, okay?"
"Only the ones I start, right?" she asked, teasing.
"All of them," her mother clarified with a frown, though it was negated by the humorous gleam in her eyes.
Mumbling to herself, Beth hurried up the stairs and back onto the first floor. She dropped down onto the couch, folding her hands over her chest. She could hear the water running from the bathroom and she hoped Margaret was having a hard time getting the bleeding to stop. Nose wounds were particularly bloody if she remembered correctly (which she did).
The door to Margaret's room opened and closed, Andrew standing in the lounge as he regarded Beth.
"Tell me I broke her nose," Beth asked.
"No, but she will be sporting a nasty bruise for at least the rest of the day," he replied, coming to sit down beside her.
She frowned. That was honestly the worst thing about slayers. It didn't matter how hard she hit one of them; the mark always faded within a day or two.
"What'd she say?" he asked after a moment of silence.
"Same material," she replied. "You'd think giving her four years would mean she'd have come up with new insults, but no. It's as they say, 'no school like the old school.'"
"You know, Beth—" he started, going into teacher mode.
"Oh, don't you start too," she groaned, interrupting his budding lecture. "My mum already gave me the talk, so I don't need it from you too."
"She did?" he asked, wilting a little. "Darn it. I was too late. I knew I should have stayed down there with you."
"Why, so you could just put your hands on your hips and nod along to whatever my mum said?" she asked, smiling. "You know she would have dominated the lecture regardless of your presence."
"But that doesn't mean I don't have to try," he responded.
"I swear, you're worse than my dad," she said.
"Be happy he wasn't here to see what happened," he told her.
She snorted. "He'd be cheering me on and you know it. Mum might take on the role of Head Slayer and take an objective approach, but not him. One wrong move in front of him, and Margie will find herself shipped back to Scotland with the words 'defective slayer' stamped across her forehead. You know, if Margie had met him as an actual, soulless vampire, he would have killed her so easily. You don't think—"
"Neither of your parents would approve of that," he interrupted quickly, already knowing where her train of thought was going.
"I wasn't planning on actually doing it," she grumbled and he threw her a "yeah right" look. "You know, I open one portal and suddenly everyone's so sure I'm going to do it again. Nobody got hurt, not even the intended target."
"You accidentally went through yourself," he reminded her. "And don't forget the window incident."
"You all promised to never bring that up again!" she hissed, throwing him a dirty look.
He sighed. "Beth, I know this isn't optimal, but you're going to have to try on your part as well. Rise above it, gentle slayer, and be victorious!"
She gave him a weird look. "You know that I hate when you talk about me like that," she said. "You're only allowed to idolize my parents."
"Fine," he huffed. "But listen to me: Margaret is always going to be a mean girl, but you don't always have to be the victim. Just do what I did!"
"You mean join a murderous psychopath who plans to take over the world and then gets killed and then get my other friend killed?" she inquired, cocking her head to the side.
He frowned. "You know, I think I'll just go check on Margaret," he said, standing up quickly. "Make good choices!"
She only shook her head at his antics, letting out a deep sigh as she leaned back up against the couch. It seemed everybody wanted her to be the bigger person (except Nadja, who just wanted to be petty), but nobody seemed dead-set on telling Margie what to do. No, she was allowed to be as rude and insulting as she wished. Of course, if she kept it up, she'd likely fail out again (a thought which brought a wicked smile to Beth's face). Damn, this was supposed to be her year! After all the trouble with all these crazy people wanting her to be something she wasn't already, this was supposed to be the year she finally ended up where she was supposed to be. And now dumb Margie had come in a ruined it. Never mind Beth totally could have vetoed this if she wanted to; what mattered was that it was happening and it sucked. Like really, really sucked.
But like honestly, could her life get any worse?
-.-
Virothan hated many things, one of which was being lied to. Though deceit was not his game, it certainly was his brother's. In a way, he could admire the way Abechius could weave treachery and lies to suit his fancy, but when used against him, his own kin, it was loathsome.
Instead, all he could do was watch Abechius as he moved about their home, engaging with the servants and other members of the Royal Staff. He was completely at ease, either unaware of his older brother's watchful eye, or uncaring of it. In fact, the boy seemed rather light considering his last interaction with his eldest. Did he honestly think that Virothan was not at all suspicious of his actions? After all, he had been the last person to see their sister alive, and with claims of her living circulating through the castle, he had to be concerned. But, alas, it seemed he was not. Instead, he flirted vivaciously with one of the maids, who studiously avoided making eye contact with him.
"Abe!" he eventually barked.
Abechius' head snapped up, an innocent look overcoming his features.
"Yes, brother Roth?" he inquired, taking a step away from the maid, who let out a breath of relief.
"I have need of you," Virothan informed him. "The Head Chancellor is calling for a meeting this coming hour and I am unable to attend. I require you go in my stead."
Abechius blinked, looking taken aback. Virothan had never involved him in any politically matters since taking the crown, and he had honestly considered himself barred from such events. He hadn't a governing bone in his body, and yet—could it be true?
"Of course," Abechius replied with a nod. "I shall prepare myself immediately." Turning on his heel, he strode off toward the Chancellor's Chambers.
Virothan frowned as he watched his brother's departure. He had hoped that by unsettling him, Abechius would resort to further deception, allowing Virothan a chance to slip in and catch him. But he saw nothing but surprise in his young brother's eyes, nothing akin to suspicion or concern. Did Abechius truly believe that the claims of their sister living were incorrect? Did he truly believe in her demise?
Or maybe his brother was a fool willing to stand by his claim until the opposing evidence became overwhelming irrefutable. The latter seemed just as likely.
Eventually though, he would catch Abechius in his lies. With the rumors circulating amongst the castle, their absent sister was once again the talk of the town as she had been. Revered by all for her love and compassion, not to mention fierce loyalty to all their people, word of her reappearance sparked joy amongst the castle. Surely mention of her would drive Abechius to try and cover his tracks.
A fleeting thought passed through Virothan's head. Was it possible that this was simply all a case of mistaken identity? Was the girl seen not at all their sister, only someone who bore a striking resemblance to her? Surely if one were to traverse all edges and corners of the vast dimensional worlds, a single twin would arise. But he was unable to dismiss such a thought. He felt skepticism in Abechius' claims, as the boy was famous for his tall tales. He may have told Virothan exactly what had occurred, gruesome details and all, but story fabrication was only one of his numerous skills. He did not honestly think the boy could speak the truth even if it benefited him so. No, Abechius was withholding something, and he would tear apart the universe to find out what it was.
Or at least tear apart his brother. Torture tended to be a befitting technique to get those who wished to remain silent to speak.
.
.
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A/N: You know, I believe as some point someone had commented they wanted Margie introduced into the story. Well, I hope you enjoy her and all her bitchy glory!