From: Bogeymn666@aol.com Subject: BUFFYFIC: i need games 2 Date: 01 Oct 1997 01:24:37 -0400 (EDT) hi i have games 1/1 by samantha and i was mailed parts 3/4 and 4/4 i was wondering what happened to games 2/4 i looked on the list serve sight and on some other sights but cant seem to find it i would greatly apreciate either you sending 2/4 or perhaps explaining why it doesnt exist if thats the case ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Anya Subject: BUFFYFIC: Deep Thoughts 1/1 Date: 03 Oct 1997 18:20:13 -0400 Deep Thoughts by Anya Edited by: Rob "Peter" Ullhorn *SPOILERS: Set immediately after "When She Was Bad" He sat hunchbacked, alone on the steps outside school, staring up at the setting sun. Confusion ran rampant through his mind. The longer he put off trying to sort through it, the louder and louder it got. His world, his entire universe had just gone topsy-turvy, and he didn't have a clue of what to do. Or even where to begin dealing with it. Xander sighed heavily, replaying scene after scene in his minds eye. The first week of school had been an ....experience. In those few short days, he'd done more emotional maturing than he had in the last four years. It was so weird. Feeling so many emotions, in such a short time, only to discover that everything he'd thought, everything he'd felt was all just an illusion. It all began the night before school started, before Buffy had returned. Those silly games as they walked.... the ice cream... and then... God, he had never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he had Willow. It was such a strange yet incredible sensation; the tension, the growing breathless anticipation, the growling of the vampire. The vampire that had interrupted that moment was a real piss-off. For the first time in his life, he had found himself in a "moment" that felt so unbelievably right..and it had slipped completely away with that vampire showing up. "At least he's dust now," he thought. The vengeful smile forming across his face, taking solace in that brief moment of revenge. The thoughts entering his conscious mind however quickly replaced that smile with a frown. Willow was probably grateful to that vampire. After all, hadn't she turned him down over the Spring Fling? "I was a jerk. Asking her out after Buffy did the "just friends" routine." He muttered to himself, absently rubbing his hand across the back of his aching neck. "What was I thinking? I should have never put her in that position. She had every right to tell me to go shove for being so cruel." Then later, at the Bronze. Buffy slinking in seductively, asking him to dance. His every wish, his fondest dreams finally being fulfilled. Her body, sexily grinding against his. Yet despite all that, he felt ...nothing. No spark, no interest. Yes there was lust, yes there was a perverse sense of pleasure at what she was doing, but nothing substantial, no connection. No, seeing Buffy like that, at her bitchiest, awoke a part of himself that he had never known before. Had he ALWAYS felt this way? Was it always this strong? What took him so long to realize? And more importantly, was it real? A dejected sigh ripped from his throat. Standing, he kicked absently at a small pebble on the step, watching it spin and fall. Allowing his feet to follow that stone, he aimlessly wandered down the stairs, and blindly across the courtyard towards the fountain. Since school was out, the campus was virtually deserted. Buffy was in the library, as was Willow. It was supposed to be a quick drop in and leave visit, but he knew better. Xander had elected to take the few minutes to try and get his thoughts in some sort of order. Bending down, he scooped up a small handful of little stones, and began trying to make them skip in the pools of rapidly moving water. As they darted across the surface, his mind replayed the vampire's trap in the library. Just like the jumping pebbles, things had moved quickly. One moment, the threesome had been holding their own, the next thing they knew.... He had heard Willow's scream, and turned to help her just as a vampire grabbed him and threw him into the railing. The last thing he saw was Willow being dragged away, kicking and screaming. When he came to, Willow and Giles were gone, and Buffy was walking in. In retrospect the fury, the rage, and the undeniable near hate he'd felt toward the Slayer shamed him. Yet he had been so afraid for Willow, so afraid she would be hurt or destroyed like Jesse was, so terrified that he would never see her smile again...he lashed out at Buffy. "If they hurt Willow, I'll kill you." Looking back however, he realized how ridiculous it was to even think he could kill the Slayer. It was a pure stroke of luck she hadn't pounded him into the ground for saying that. That, or she was probably too busy trying to keep herself from laughing at his temerity. And yet, he'd meant every word. It unnerved him even more to realize, that if he didn't kill her, he would cheerfully let Buffy kill him. Did his feelings for Willow really run THAT deep? "I thought that was soap-opera melodrama... nobody feels like that, do they?" He muttered, staring down at his wavering reflection. And seeing Willow hanging upside down above the Master's skeletal remains; Xander felt his stomach lurch once more. She was so close to that vampire with the knife. Xander had no doubt that if Angel, Buffy and himself hadn't arrived when they did, Willow would have been the first sacrifice. She was such a tiny person, that the beating she had taken at the library kept her unconscious far longer than the others. While Buffy was doing her little "ridding the world of a few more vampires" routine, he had cradled his friend in his arms, taking comfort in the sight of her steady breathing. When did he fall in love with her? The strength of these feelings weren't new, only his awareness of them were. He could remember the zookeeper, about to kill Willow, and felt the panic again. His Willow. Nobody hurt HIS Willow. But...she didn't want to be his. No, there was some other guy in school that she pined for. She had understood his crush on Buffy so well, empathized so perfectly...there had to be some guy out there that she was so hung up on. And Xander was jealous of him. The only thing he could do is wait, and hope. Maybe one day, Willow would notice her best friend as more than her best friend. He just had to wait. --The End Comments, and criticisms always welcomed! anya@interlinks.net ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Subject: BUFFYFIC: Bad Feelings and Love Handles (1/1) Date: 04 Oct 1997 09:59:06 -0700 Posting alert! Posting alert! I did not write this. (I'll be posting my own, much twistier story this weekend...) If you liked this story, write to the address below the author's name. And, for the record, it was written before WSWB... ~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~ Bad Feelings and Love Handles by Sheila Marie Lane slane@sunflowr.usd.edu Dedicated, with aggravation, to Chris, Judy, and Beth. And Lizbet: he is definitely "really much a lot better" in person. Standard disclaimers apply. "Owww!" "Sorry," Willow said for the hundredth time as she helped Buffy into a chair in the library. Giles came out of the stacks, took one look, and came running. "What happened?" "Nothing," Buffy said with disgust. "Nothing at all. Xander, quit hovering." Xander gave her an extremely offended look and plopped into the chair next to her. "Willow's hovering. I'm just being concerned." "What happened?" Giles repeated with some force. "Nothing, I told you. I tripped in gym class." "Over me," Willow said miserably. Xander patted Willow's arm. "It's not your fault. You just happened to be there." "And she just *happened* to take a header." "Will! It's okay, really. I promise." But Willow was obviously not convinced. Giles, meanwhile, was down on his knees examining Buffy's right ankle. "Yes, I'd say you definitely sprained it." Buffy looked pained. Willow looked guilty. Xander looked confused. "Wait a minute. How is it that you fight all kinds of demons, monsters, and what-have-you and barely breathe hard. But--" "But." Buffy said with a wince as Giles probed. "But I take a header in gym class. Gee, I'm lucky." She rolled her eyes. "I am *so* sorry, Buffy." Buffy reached over and tugged one of Willow's braids. "Stop it, silly. Or I'll sprain *your* ankle." Willow looked rather as though she'd feel better if Buffy did, but she subsided. "Well, stay off it," Giles said finally. "Slayers heal faster than most, but they still need to heal. Go home and rest." "No slaying? Way cool." Buffy grinned. "I'm gonna go home, suck down the Motrin, and watch bad movies on cable." "Sounds like a plan," Xander said with a grin. "Can I come?" "Sure! How about you, Willow?" "Uh...I don't know." Willow kept her head down and her face blank, anyway. "I'll get back to you. Bye. Sorry." As she disappeared out the door, Buffy turned to Xander with a frown. "For no apparent reason, I have a bad feeling." He looked down at her bag. "You might be wrong." "About the bad feeling?" "No, the non-apparent reason. Don't you usually carry a stake in here?" She twisted to look. "Yeah--it's gone! Willow!" She jumped to her feet, then sank back down with a moan. Xander sighed. Visions of semi-dates with Buffy floated above his head, then disappeared. "No. I'll go." Giles watched him hurry out the door, then turned to Buffy. "Now I *really* have a bad feeling," she said darkly. ***** Xander found Willow, as he had expected to, curled next to a tombstone in the graveyard looking incredibly scared. "Willow, what the heck do you think you're doing?" He crouched down beside her. "It's not even dark yet, for cripe's sake." "I know. But I didn't want to come in when it was dark." "Uh-huh. So you decided to come in..." He checked his watch. "At two-thirty?" She shrugged. "I didn't have anything better to do." He scooted closer to her. "I know you better than that, Willow. You're embarrassed, and you're guilty, and you're afraid Buffy's mad at you and hiding it. So you came out here to brood." She looked over at him in astonishment. "Where did all that come from?" He shrugged. "We've been buds since preschool, Willow. I was bound to get a handle on you at some point." She snickered. "What?" "A handle on me?" "Well..." She snickered again. "Stop that!" "I'm sorry. It's just...the mental picture..." She trailed off into laughter. He glared at her for a moment, then a really evil light flashed into his eyes. "Oh, really." And before she could react, he had her down on the ground as his fingers poked her sides. "Aaah!" "No handles here..." "Xander, stop that!" "And none here. Hm, wonder if..." "Eeeee!" "Okay, there's a possibility. Hey!" And Xander collapsed on the ground as Willow found the particularly ticklish spot at the base of his ribs. ***** Fifteen minutes later, they were both covered in grass and completely exhausted. Willow panted several times before finding the breath to say, "Get off me, you oaf." "Who you callin' an oaf?" Xander tried to summon the strength for revenge and failed. He propped most of his weight on his arms and looked down at Willow. He looked down at her for a long, time, in fact, until she shifted under him. "What?" "I don't know." He kept looking. "You're a pretty girl, Willow Ann." She caught her breath and tried to smile normally. "You haven't said that to me in a long time. Years." "It's still true." They stared at each other for a moment more, then Xander looked away and rolled off her. "Come on. You can't protect the world until after dark anyway, and you've already missed most of last period. Let's go get a Coke." "Okay." Willow let Xander pull her to her feet. They brushed each other off, trying to laugh and not quite making it. Xander grabbed her hand and started off. Willow hung back. "Xander?" "Yeah?" She waited until he turned back. Then she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. He looked at her for a moment. "Oh." "Oh?" She swallowed hard. "That's all you have to say? Oh?" "Yeah." He smiled, slowly, then took her hand again, linking their fingers together. Willow looked up at him. She knew she was blushing. "Oh." "Come on." Celli Sheila Marie Lane willow slane@sunbird.usd.edu ----- -------------------------------------------------- "He looks really much a lot better in person." --Lizbet ===== ====HeLLLion====SunS====Prophile/BL====RFW/MFW==== http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/4928 "See? Whenever we fight, you always bring up the vampire thing." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Subject: BUFFYFIC: Mourning Light (1/1) Date: 04 Oct 1997 10:02:57 -0700 Nope, this one's not mine either. You know the drill... ~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~ Mourning Light by Sheila Marie Lane slane@sunflowr.usd.edu Dedicated to Leslie--I *will* return the favor someday--and David. *sigh* Standard disclaimers apply. Angel sighed and turned over. The morning light was bothering him--wait a minute, the morning light wasn't supposed to be there. He yawned and tried to forget it, but it was *really* annoying him. Besides, someone was knocking on his door. "Angel! Angel! Wake up!" He ignored the rattling of the door handle as long as possible--until the very real worry that Buffy might try to kick the door in occurred to him. "O-kay! Hold on." Jeans...where were his jeans? He finally dug them out from under his bed. He debated looking for his shirt, too, but there were some ominous sounds coming from the door... It was fairly amusing to see Buffy gape at him when he opened the door. He must remember to strip more often. "What *is* it?" he asked, trying to hold on to his annoyance. "What is *is,*" she mocked, "is a glorious day. And you promised to go to the movies with me this afternoon." "Oh, jeez, is it afternoon already?" He looked over at the window and blinked. No wonder the light hadn't seemed right. It was afternoon light. Wasn't it? He stood there, confused, for a moment, but Buffy was shaking his arm. "Yo! Angel! Snap out of it. Night owl," she said with a laugh. "Come on, drag a shirt over those glorious pecs and let's *go*!" The darkness of the movie theater was blessed relief to Angel. "I think I have a sunburn already," he groused. "Shhhhh!" Buffy stopped watching "George of the Jungle" long enough to poke him in the side. He sneered one more time, considered going back to sleep, then finally snuck Buffy's hand into his--and some of her popcorn into his mouth, while he was at it--and started trying to follow the plot. Weird tasting popcorn. Of course, what did he know? He hadn't had popcorn in--never mind. The movie was actually amusing. So was picking Buffy up off the floor when one particular scene involving a coffee commercial had her in hysterics. "Okay, I admit it," Angel finally said. "It was fun. Not really my style, but fun." Buffy looked smug. "Stop that." "What?" "That see-all, know-all look." She stuck her tongue out at him. "There, is that better?" The sun was getting way, way too hot. Angel knew he'd have to head home soon, or he was going to be duller than ashes. Er, duller than dirt. Er-- He grabbed Buffy and kissed her. She made a startled "eek," then hung on for dear life. He bent her back over his arm, started kissing his way down her neck-- And woke abruptly when the pillow he was clutching broke. "Damn," he said, looking down at the feathers all over the bed. "Not another one." And he wasn't talking about the pillow. At dusk, Angel stood at the window, watching the shade over it glow with the light outside. It dimmed and dimmed, until finally he could lift it up and stare at the stars above. Tucked tightly into his hand was a single feather. the end Celli Sheila Marie Lane willow slane@sunbird.usd.edu ----- -------------------------------------------------- "He looks really much a lot better in person." --Lizbet ===== ====HeLLLion====SunS====Prophile/BL====RFW/MFW==== http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/4928 "See? Whenever we fight, you always bring up the vampire thing." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Lady Came from Sunnydale Date: 04 Oct 1997 12:15:46 -0700 The Lady Came from Sunnydale (To the tune of "The Lady Came from Baltimore") The lady came from Sunnydale She owned a gallery place She joked with me that I was pale I wore my human face Chorus: I was sent to kill her daughter Drain her blood and run But I fell in love with Ms. Summers Came away with none Though lady Joyce was always sweet Her daughter killed my kind Joyce didn't know what I must eat It never crossed her mind Chorus She locked her house's doors each night To keep the dark things out She never stopped to see it right That's what I'm about Chorus Her daughter said I was a fiend Who fed on people's blood To Joyce I was a human being I married her for love Chorus (Lyrics copyright 1997 by Lisa Rose) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Elizabeth Ann Lewis Subject: BUFFYFIC: Three of Spades (1/1) Date: 04 Oct 1997 21:14:30 -0700 The characters and concepts of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are not mine. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, Sandollar, etc, etc, have all legal and monetary rights. I just get them waking me up at all hours of the morning demanding that I tell their stories, that's all... As always, for the Sunnydale Slayers. This time they shuddered instead of cooing. Praise, flames, chocolate and tall, dark, undead angsty guys to lizbet@primenet.com *~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~* Three of Spades by Elizabeth Ann Lewis England, 1818 Old Nick's Tavern, on the road from London to Dover Billy cursed under his breath at the last of the travelers who stumbled up the stairs, to bed and wives and sleep. They left him the dregs of their bottles, and not enough time to clear their purses of gold. Not nearly enough time. The rich, the idle, the careless poured forth from London, dreaming of the continent, barred to them for so long by a generation of unrelenting war. Their minds were fixed on Greek statues and French women, not on whether the friendly chap they met in a tavern was dealing from the top or the bottom of the deck. Billy made a tidy sum that way, hazing their minds with wine and stealing their gold with cards. It had occurred to him -- often -- that it might have been easier to simply steal their purses outright. Before he had left London -- before he had fled the Town to save his own sorry skin -- he hadn't flinched from doing what needed to be done, whether it was cutting a purse or cutting a throat. But it was more of a challenge, this way. And he hungered for a challenge. Tonight, however, all he hungered for was more. More play, more gold, more wine, more blackness spreading out and out, blanketing him, blanking him. Oblivion was what he sought, wanted until he began to wonder if the opium addict's pipe was truly as disgusting as it looked. All he had were the cards that he restlessly shuffled and reshuffled, their sound a purr in the still night. Out here, on the road, in this filthy tavern, he couldn't make half the money that he had in London. In London they had feared him where he walked the nighttime streets. Here he was affable Billy, charming bloke, always willing for a round of ale and a round of whist. And the charm sickened him until it was a poison eating out his mind. The innkeeper paused his considerable bulk by the cracked table Billy occupied. "Time's up," he said, not unkindly. Everyone thereabouts liked Billy. "Seek your own bed, boy. Get you gone." Billy's hand closed convulsively on the knife he wore beneath his coat. ~One moment. Just one. That's all it'd take. Then his gut would lie open like a fish's and his mouth would gape like one. Just one. Just one...~ The bloodlust didn't haze Billy's mind, but sharpened it. Enough that it wasn't a footstep or a breath of sound that made him aware of the third person in the main room of the tavern -- just feral senses honed to a point that made him look up to meet dark eyes. The newcomer was perfectly positioned to see the knife gleaming, barely slipping free from its sheath, under the table and out of sight of the rotund innkeeper who had no idea how close silver death waited. Not best pleased at having his sport interrupted -- although he knew quite well that in another moment the knife would have gone back into its sheath and he would have gone docilely home, Billy leaned back in his chair, his pose that of the lord of the manor, master of all he surveyed. The night might not yet be lost. Anyone fool enough to travel at night when the highwaymen lurked was fool enough to fall into a game of cards with him. And he was a rich one, too. His clothes were tailored close to his body in a fit that screamed of wealth, the fabric finer than anything Billy had touched in his wretched lifetime. A gold watch gleamed at the brocade waistcoat, and a silver ring winked from his hand. A fob, a dandy, and a fool. Billy smiled, not even bothering to hide the predatory intent that prompted him. He'd be dining well tomorrow. The innkeeper bustled over to his new guest, full of self-importance and fawning desire for his lordship's comfort. Even if his guest was not a lord, it never failed to make the gentry more generous to be called such. With three words and a sweet smile, the newcomer had the innkeeper stumbling back, his florid face gone white with fury or fear -- or both? Swinging the cloak from his shoulders, the dark man crossed the room to sit at the table with Billy. Restlessly, the cards continued their endless shuffling song, a pitch that raised and lowered, raised and lowered. "Care for a game?" Billy asked casually, ignoring the sting of sweat that had broken out on his body. Half of it was from pure covetousness, wanting the rich fabrics, the gold, the easy life. And half of it was from wondering if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing in the stranger's eyes. He'd seen a man go mad, once, seen it happen right before him. And the eyes... had gone calm, tranquil as the man had used a broken bottle to tear a man to pieces. Very clear, very sure. "I'm always ready for a game -- if the stakes are high enough." A cultured voice, carefully trained to sound precisely as it was meant to sound. Billy's senses sharpened again. He'd heard voices like that before, when those who had clawed their way out of the muck had tried to ape gentile manners. For hours the cards kept up their steady fall, gleaming ivory on the dark wood. Ladies danced and bowed to kings -- and fell, when it suited the king's pleasure. Billy's pleasure was of a different kind, gold and gold and more gold piling up before his hands. So much gold, a bright, shiny mass... his eyes dazzled in its reflection until he could see nothing but its glorious sunlit color. Blinded by light, he did not notice when the gold began to disappear. It wasn't until the stranger tossed a handful of coins into the pot and called to see his cards that Billy realized that he didn't have enough to match his opponent's bet. With a shock that chilled him to his soul, he realized he'd lost every ha'penny that he had won from the weak, foolish fop, and every penny of his own besides. Billy's breath began coming in puffs, each exhalation a denial of reality. "No... how did you... it can't... I can't..." "Ah." One short word sliced through Billy's burgouing hysteria. Damn his black eyes, he hadn't even broken into a sweat. "Well, then. Shall I propose one final game?" "I told you, I haven't got any more," Billy said fiercely. "And why would you want it? You don't need money." "Who said we would be playing for money? Here's the rules: we each pull one card out of the deck. I'll shuffle, if you don't mind. You pull the high card, and you can take anything of mine you wish. I pull the high card -- and I can take anything of yours." Billy's eyes narrowed as he watched his opponent across the table. He'd seen some perversions in London -- participated in some, if the truth be told -- and yet that wasn't what the gentleman had in mind. Billy didn't know what his opponent wanted from him -- or with him. But he did know what he would take if he pulled the high card: everything. And he knew what he had to lose if he pulled the low: nothing. Grinning, Billy handed the deck over to his dark-haired opponent. "Whatever you want, mate." Long-fingered hands were surprisingly dexterous with the aging deck, shuffling and blending the pasteboard with ease. In a few moments, a fan spread out on the table between himself and Billy. "Pick a card," he invited. With a hesitance he didn't quite understand, Billy slid one card from the rest of its kind and flipped it over. The three of spades. Unless Billy got very, very lucky, he'd lost the bet. With a quick moment in the dim light, a hand flashed out and turned over another card. The king of hearts, with his axe held at the ready. For a moment, in the uncertain light, Billy thought he saw the bloodred heart bleeding across the card. Before he could blink to clear his sight, the card disappeared, along with the rest, along with the gold and the table and everything on it. The languid, indolent fop hauled him up by his collar, and his eyes gleamed the shade of the coins fallen on the hearth. "This is what I will take," he snarled, his face distorted into the mask of Hell. In a lifetime spent fighting in a world that would as easily slit your throat as breath a word, Billy had never lost a fight. He lost one then. Knives gashed into the skin of his neck, burning with a bright agony that made the blood pouring across his flesh seem cold in comparison. He flailed like a rat caught in a terrier's grip, pathetically unable to protect himself. The weak light dimmed and faded, flickering until Billy wondered if it was the beginning flames of perdition he was seeing rather than the warm hearthfire. Cold stones, under his cheek. He couldn't move. He could feel his heart beating, shallowly, rapidly, trying desperately to move blood that no longer coursed it his body. But his senses still focused on the stranger than knelt beside him. "Tell me... do you want to live, or do you want to die?" He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't give the answer that his tormenter seemed to want. Watching his struggles for a few moments, the last, helpless flop of a fish caught on dry land, the stranger finally laughed. "I'll assume you want to live." This time, the blood that flowed across his face felt warm on his death-chilled skin. It trickled into his mouth, and set up a hunger, a thirst, more powerful than any Billy had ever known. It didn't matter that he could barely move, that his nemesis had proven and reproven that he was stronger. He... needed... *more*, and would be willing to fight to the last moment of life to get it. Later, he would dimly recall clamping his face against the cuts the stranger had made on his own neck. Then, his understanding was narrowed down the the blood that flowed into him, more and more, rich and powerful. And, with the blood, the sense of *other*, the demon that took residence in the twisted place where his soul used to be. A century, a year, a moment later, Billy stirred, blinked like a child waking from a nap. The stranger's clothes were stained with blood but otherwise barely disordered, and the amused, arrogant light still lit his dark eyes. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice no more than casually curious. "B--" Billy checked himself. "William the Bloody," he said instead, pride ringing. "William the Bloody, hmm?" Leaning close, the stranger smiled. "Let's see you live up to that name, shall we?" ******** High Priestess Lizbet of the CoJ ~*~ lizbet@primenet.com Co-List Mummy, Sunnydale Slayers: "Spank your inner moppet." "I just LOVE these new toys that come with a new list! Woo-hoooo!" -- Anya "Willow had a mental image of the two of them with Giles saying sternly, 'Repeat after me, please. "The lady often slays on rainy days."'"--Elaine, "Cuppa" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: Cage of the Burning Sun Date: 05 Oct 1997 14:52:10 -0700 CAGE OF THE BURNING SUN (To the tune of "House of the Rising Sun") There is a cage in Sunnydale Hung in the burning sun It's been the ruin of a poor little boy They called "Anointed One" His mother died at vampire hands When crash did go their bus His sire was the Master, Lord Before that man was dust Now the only thing a vampire needs Is a dark place and some blood And the only kind keeps it satisfied Is thick young crimson crud It fills its mouth up to the brim Then passes its victims 'round And the only pleasure it gets outta death Is heartbreakin' this town Oh Mother, tell your children Not to do what Anointed's done End their lives writhing in agony In the Cage of the Burning Sun He'd vampire skin and vampire soul But face of a little boy His final thought as flesh flamed hot Was Mom, the bus, his toy All kids who come to Sunnydale Your race will sure be run If you should land in vampire hands And the Cage of the Burning Sun (Lyrics copyright 1997 by Lisa Rose) This song is now in "Traditional Songs" section of the Little Buffy Page at: http://www.wco.com/~cybrpaws/lilbuffy.html ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: Addicted to Blood Date: 05 Oct 1997 18:35:22 -0700 ADDICTED TO BLOOD (To the tune of "Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer) The lights are on, your soul's not home Your neck is not your own We're tradin' blood, yours sure tastes fine Another sip and you'll be mine Goodbye to food, goodbye to sleep Just feel my fangs, they're in so deep Your throat is wet, now you don't breathe Just one more sip, you'll start to teethe Chorus: You used to think you would gag on the stuff, oh yeah But after our exchange, you can't get enough And now you've even got a gameface... You're addicted to blood! You see old friends, you feel the need They all say "hi!," you whisper "bleed" Their hearts beat, there in your mind Who'd think a pulse could feel so fine? A blood-starved fiend, you can't be saved Hemoglobin is all you crave If someone asks to walk with you Heaven help them if you do Chorus Might as well face it, you're addicted to blood! (X4) The lights are on, your soul's not home Your body's not your own Your lungs die, your teeth bite Another sip, child of the night... Chorus Might as well face it, you're addicted to blood! (X8) (Lyrics copyright 1997 by Lisa Rose; title suggested by Jen Hawthorne) This song is now in "Pop Songs" section of the Little Buffy Page at: http://www.wco.com/~cybrpaws/lilbuffy.html ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: romana@mindspring.com (sah) Subject: BUFFYFIC: ADMIN: List rules Date: 06 Oct 1997 10:05:43 -0400 (EDT) 1. Fiction should have Buffy characters in it and clearly be related to Buffy. Crossovers are great, and expected, but general vampire/monster stories that aren't in the Buffy universe and don't use Buffy characters belong somewhere else. 2. Discussion of posted fiction is permitted onlist. Please put "DISCUSS" in your subject line. Requests for missing story parts should go directly to the author, and not be posted to the list. Discussion that is not related directly to the fiction should go over to the general Buffy list. Discussion of fiction is expected to follow common netiquette guidelines and use PG-13 language. 3. No advertising of items or services, Buffy related or not, and no posting of non-story items such as .gifs, sound files, etc.. No attached files of kind-- if your mailer makes your fiction into attached files, you need to find another way to get it to the list. 4. If you're writing a story and including advance information on a new episode, and you're posting your story earlier than the national viewing time, please: **Mark the post as a "spoiler" in the subject header. **Leave about twelve lines (blank or with non-spoiler info) at the top of the post. This ensures that anyone w*o doesn't like knowing about an episode ahead of time is "protected." :) The blank space is for people whose mailers automatically open up the next piece of mail, without giving them a chance to see "spoiler" in the header. Spoiler warnings are not necessary after the start of the episode's national viewing time, which is currently set at 9 p.m. Mondays, Eastern Standard Time. Spoiler warnings are not necessary for reruns. 5. This list is absolutely NOT for erotic fiction. stronger than sexually PG-13 material is to be posted to the list under any circumstances. A story may be R rated for violence or language, however. 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PLEASE NOTE: not following any or all of these rules will get you the following: **First offense: offender is uns*bscribed for one week. **Second offense: offender is uns*bscribed to the Buffyfic list for a minimum of three months. **If the offender returns and does it again, they're offlist permanently. As noted above, posting sexually explicit material is the exception -- you go straight to permanent unsubbing. Again, welcome! If you have any questions about these rules, please contact either one of us offlist. If you have subscription problems or questions, the fastest way to get h*lp is to e-mail one of us at the addresses below, at the kirby@xmission.com addy which is the "official" e-mail owner of the list. Jill Kirby (jtkirby@mcs.com) & Sharon Himmanen (romana@mindspring.com) Listowners, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fiction List buffyfic@xmission.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: Cage of the Burning Sun (Completely Revised) Date: 07 Oct 1997 12:16:41 -0700 CAGE OF THE BURNING SUN (To the tune of "House of the Rising Sun") There is a cage in Sunnydale Exposed to the burning sun A solar oven for that poor little vamp They called "The Anointed One" His mother died at vampire hands When fangboys crashed their bus His sire was the Master, Lord Before that man was dust Now the only thing the Master did Was drain blood from some girl And make a kid in his fruitless bid To raise Hell in the world He sent his lackeys up above Then chortled to his son And the only pleasure he got outta life Was in killin' everyone Oh mother, warn your children Not to do as Colin's done End their lives writhing in agony In the Cage of the Burning Sun With vampire teeth and vampire soul But the face of a little boy His final thought as his skin got hot Was "Rosebud," his airplane toy All you who come to Sunnydale Don't ride the bus, but run! Lest you may land in vampire hands And the Cage of the Burning Sun (Lyrics copyright 1997 by Lisa Rose) These and other lyrics may be found at: http://www.wco.com/~cybrpaws/lilbuffy.html ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Megan Lee" Subject: BUFFYFIC: Tallulah (part 1 of about 10 parts, more or less) Date: 08 Oct 1997 16:30:00 PDT Disclaimer: I do not own any of the regular Buffy characters they are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and the WB channel. I do claim ownership of those characters that live out their lives in my imagination and on my computer, like Tallulah and Company. The song "Die with Me" is property of the band Type O Negative. Please do not sue me, because I am already very much in debt. Thank you. 8o-) *NOTE:I am not sure as to how many parts this will be as I am still writing most of it. Please be patient and I will try to get the rest of the parts up ASAP. Please send any comments or criticims on over to me. I'd appreciate them. Now on with the Show. Take Care Wolfka Tallulah based on the television series “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” Shadows lay deep, sparked here and there, by the pinpricks of civilized light at contrast with the wild stars above. The night is hushed as the watcher gazes down on this small picturesque town above the Hellmouth. Down there are the ones she seeks, the ones who are fighting the darkness with the passions in their heart. Down there is the chosen Slayer and her Watcher. They, the Slayer and her watcher, are different from those from before. They are not alone in their battle against the vampires, demons and forces of evil, they have a band of friends who help them. Four of them are human, a boy, two girls and a woman, who is a witch but not a witch. The last one is inhuman, one of the undead, a vampire with a soul. That in and of itself is something one does not see everyday, the night watcher well knows. A vampire with a soul is a strange bird, especially, when he is attracted to the one who is sworn to rid the world of vampires. Looking down the night watcher smiles, as she contemplates the days ahead. Glancing at her companions she strokes their heads and murmurs softly to them, “Time to go make some memories, my friends. Way past time.” ********** The Bronze. The one place in town where it’s OK for young people to hang out. To listen to bands and relax. As usual, it’s smoky and rich with the noises of people having a peaceful evening listening to various bands. The dance floor moves like a wind blown grain field, as couples dance slowly to the sounds of a romantic song. In a dark corner, a young girl is in the arms of someone much older than she. Her fair hair is spread out over the black velvet shoulder of her companion, his head near hers as he talks into her ear. Near them a boy and a girl sit comparing notes on the snobbish Cordelia. Looking over the fair haired girl throws in a rude comment about the brain capacity of said Cordelia and the little band of merrymakers laugh and smile. As the last dance ends, the stage darkens as a gauzy curtain falls across the front. A hush falls over the Bronze as the crowd waits for the next offering to be made at their sacrificial alter. The sounds of a changing of the bands is heard and then silence. Silence and darkness. Out of that silence comes a soft tinkling of ivory piano keys being touched gently. Slowly in the darkness, a tune is built with just that one instrument singing it’s soul. The tune is quiet, soothing, reminiscent of a brook babbling over well placed stones. The fair haired girl, who’s name is Buffy, feels the man next to her stiffen as the piano music changes. The music becomes less whimsical, and more dark and brooding by the second. Looking up at her companion she whispers, “Angel?” The man looks down at her, his face a mask of agony, his eyes so full of pain that he looks like a stranger. “Angel what is it?” she whispers again, touching him gently on the arm. “Please, what is the matter?” He rudely shakes off her arm, and tries to insist that it is nothing. But as the music plays on Buffy sees that he is getting more and more disturbed. Then the thin layer of gauze the only barrier between the crowd and the band is raised. Seated at a baby grand piano is a young woman. It is her hands that touch the keys evoking emotions that are at once raw, throbbing agony to hear and yet oddly gentle, soothing to the soul. Buffy hears her friend Xander inhale sharply as the woman is revealed, and with good reason. She is in a word, beautiful. Her flawless pale skin offsets her dark eyes and ruby red mouth. About her shoulders tumbles a wild mass of hair, it’s blackness haloed in a burgundy sheen. Her outfit is simple, a long hunter green velvet dress, drapes about her and spills out onto the floor. At her feet sprawls a large silver ruffed wolf who’s green eyes are fastened on Angel. On top of the piano, a black cat lays elegantly, it’s green eyes are also fastened on Angel. The intensity of their gazes cause Buffy to shiver, it’s as if these creatures knew who and what Angel is. As Buffy notices all of this, the music reaches it’s soul wrenching climax and then there is silence. Wrenching her gaze from the stage Buffy looks up at Angel and says to him quietly, “who is she Angel? At least tell me that.” Angel looks down slowly at her and in a pain edged whisper replies, “She is the one who gave me back my soul at the command of the Romany. She is the one who brought me again into this world as close to a human as a vampire can be. She is called Tallulah, the memory maker. She is more to me than you can even guess.” As the last words leave his mouth, he turns his back on Buffy, on the once again tinkling music and flees the Bronze. He never sees the shock registering on Buffy’s face, never sees the woman at the piano smile sadly as she watches him leave. ******** ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Megan Lee" Subject: BUFFYFIC: Tallulah (part 2 of 10 parts more or less) Date: 08 Oct 1997 16:40:40 PDT Disclaimer: I do not own any of the regular Buffy characters they are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and the WB channel. I do claim ownership of those characters that live out their lives in my imagination and on my computer, like Tallulah and Company. The song "Die with Me" is property of the band Type O Negative. Please do not sue me, because I am already very much in debt. Thank you. 8o-) Tallulah based on the Television Series Buffy the Vampire Slayer ********* “Hey Buff, what was all that about? Did Angel get a little frisky with you?” a slightly mocking voice breaks into Buffy’s shock. Shaking her head slight she looks over to see her friends Xander and Willow watching her. Xander is leaning into Willow, an arm thrown casually around her shoulders, a smile on his face, eyes guiless. Beside him with her arm around his waist and trying to not fall over, Willow stops smiling. She has noticed that Buffy is genuinely disturbed, and her eyes darken with concern. “Buffy what is it?” she asks. Still shaking her head Buffy, replies softly in a hurt edged voice to Xander’s previous question, “No he wasn’t getting frisky. He ... he said that the girl on the stage was someone out of his past. That she was the one who made him human.” Xander’s eyes widened as he grasped the meaning in Buffy’s words. “That.. that would make her a ... a ... help me out Will, what’s the word I am looking for?” he asked desperately. Speaking at the same time Willow exclaimed, “But that would make her a witch! And she’d be at least a hundred years old by now!” Raising his eyes to the ceiling Xander breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you Willow, that was the word I needed.” He gave her a quick hug to tell her no harm should be taken by his sarcastic words. “Yeah, really, that’s what she’d be and that’s how old she’d have to be. But unless my Slayer senses are bugging out on me now, they are also telling me that she is also a vampire. A very powerful vampire.” Buffy replied, her tone dry. “A Vamp? Man, why are all the beautiful girls of the supernatural kind?” Xander exclaimed. Behind them, the object of their scrutiny gets up from the piano, steps gracefully over the wolf and goes up to the microphone. “Good Evening everyone. My name is Tallulah and I want to thank you for having us here.” her voice was rich, sophisticated, the slightest accent burring through her words. Behind her other members of the band came out onto the stage, carrying the various implements of their instruments. “We have a few songs of our own, although we are still at the stage where covers of other band’s songs are a major part of our repetoire. We hope you do not mind. For our first song we would like to do, is a song by Type O Negative, called “Die With Me.” Behind her, a tall man with a guitar started to strum at the stings, the chords forming a rich backdrop to the words. His voice is soothing, plaintive, singing of a last wish that will never come true. “Now like a bird She flew away To Chase her dreams Of books and praise Still I miss her Yeah I miss her Since she’s gone...” Over the music, Buffy turned to her friends and said “Let’s go see Giles. He might have a clue as to what is going on. Then again maybe not.. but I need to get out of here.” Grabbing her purse and leather jacket Buffy started for the door. Xander looked at Willow and they both shrugged. “To the library it is then... Hey Buff wait up!” They raced after her. Behind them the band played on, the singer asking plaintively “If this time were the last time Could I hold you all life long? Since this time is the last time Can I hold you all night long? Still I miss her Yeah I miss her Since she’s gone” ******** “Are you sure that the woman who supposedly changed Angel is a witch and a vampire?” Giles asked his disbelief plain on his face. “Hello Giles! I know what my senses tell me, and I don’t see how an ordinary woman could have changed Angel like that without some help from her magical friends!” Buffy exclaimed in exasperation. They were gathered in the library, she, Giles, Willow, Xander and Jenny Calender. The glow from the overheads bathed them all in a ruddy glow. Giles sat at a table piled high with various tomes of vampire lore and prophecies. His hair is all mussed up and he is wearing his normal apparel of rumpled slept in clothing. Beside him Jenny and Willow sit scanning the Internet on two different computers for any accounts of vampires who might also be witches. Xander sprawls in a chair, a book on one knee as he looks over Willow’s shoulder, and pays scant attention to the conversation, which is in it’s 4th go around. “Why don’t you believe me?” Buffy asked, throwing her hands up in the air as she paced the room. “It’s not that I don’t believe you Buffy, it’s just that... well... I have never in my life heard of such a thing happening. I haven’t seen it any of the books I have read. I just want to make sure we have all the facts before we start thinking too hard.” “Oh, and when has that stopped you before?” Giles just looked over his glasses at her. “To quote you.... ‘that was harsh.’” Sitting back he ran his hands through his hair, making it stand further out on end. “Rupert,” Jenny said quietly, as she looked up from her computer. “You may be wrong about there never being any record of such a being. I just got an email from a good friend of mine, Snugglebunny,” Xander broke up in laughter over the name, repeating it over and over. Giving him a cold look Jenny went on, “she is faxing over a copy of an old diary she has. Her great grandmother was in a romany clan, and in it she writes of a young woman who’s skin was pale, lips blood red, hair like ebony, who lived with her clan.” “Hmmm sounds like Snow White to me.” Xander stated deadpan. “Mirror mirror on the wall who’s the fairest of them all.” He suddenly cackled like the Disney witch from the movie. Elbowing her friend sharly in the ribs, Willow said “Cut it out Xander. You’re not helping.” Just then the fax machine beeped loudly. Rushing over to it, Giles started to fight with Buffy over the possesion of the document. Jenny walked over calmly and snatched the paper from their grasping hands. “I will take that, thank you very much. Hmmm these are the recipes I asked for. Oh good. The next fax will be the one you would like to see Rupert.” As if on cue, the fax machine beeped again. Giving his young charge a stern glare, Giles gently took the sheaf of papers from the machine and started to scan. He began to pace, his face growing very stern, as he concentrated on the old text. “Ah, I believe this is what we were looking for....Supposedly this woman was traveling about alone when the clan picked her up and allowed her to travel with them. Oh wait she wasn't completely alone, she had two companions, a large dog and a black cat,” turning suddenly Giles looked at Buffy. “Didn’t you say that there was a wolf and a cat on the stage tonight?” Nodding with her eyes on the floor, Buffy tried hard to block out the memory of those eyes. Looking up she met Giles’ gaze. “They were really weird Giles, they both had green eyes, and all the while they just stared at Angel as though they knew exactly who and what he was.” “Hmph. Well this may well be the same woman. Snugglebunny’s great grandmother writes of her as having a lot of power, and that she only wished to go out at dusk. Hmmm. It also states that there was a trouble in another clan and the woman went to solve it. She returned with a young man, who left several days later. The great grandmother describes him as the most beautiful man she had ever seen.” Buffy breathed in slowly and then exhaled, “Angel.” “So it would seem.” “I’ve got to talk to him. Now, tonight.” Grabbing her jacket, she turned to Xander and Willow, “Please, stay here. I want to see him alone.” “No prob Buf. I think there is a banana split calling my name.. how about you Willow?” Xander turned to his best friend bopping her lightly on the head with his book. “Sure. Take Care Buffy.” Willow managed to get out before she started to tickle Xander. “Thanks guys....” Buffy started for the door, her pace quick, agitated. Giles took a step after her..”Buffy..” Looking back at him, Buffy smiled and said “Yes, Giles, I know. Be careful.” Then she was gone. ********* On a hill top across town, Angel stood looking up at the stars. ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: Little Buffy Movie Section! Date: 09 Oct 1997 18:25:53 -0700 The Summers family is adding a new room to their Little Buffy house for "Little Buffy's Movies"! It's a small list of movies now (at five), but it's bound to grow. You can find it by clicking on "Little Buffy's Recreation" at: http://www.wco.com/~cybrpaws/lilbuffy.html As a little sample, I include item #5 below, because both the movie and TV episode that inspired it were just released and aired respectively: 5. KISS THE BOYS (and make them shrivel) - A centuries-old Peruvian mummy (Tiffani Amber Thiessen) just wants to be like any other normal high school girl. But in doing so she leaves in her wake a string of desiccated boyfriends like so many emptied juice boxes in a high-school lunchroom. The local slayer (Ashley Judd) is baffled as to how to recognize and terminate Little Miss "Candy from the Andes" before she strikes again. And the danger is closer to home than she realizes! Her only hope lies in Xander Harris (Morgan Freeman), "the boy who got away." Lisa Keeper of Little Spike's "Bite Me Elmo" Doll ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Lisa Rose Subject: BUFFYFIC: Violent Night Date: 10 Oct 1997 15:00:55 -0700 The 13th (gotta love that number!) and final installment in "Little Buffy's Christmas Songs" VIOLENT NIGHT (To the tune of "Silent Night") Violent night, unholy night! Watch your back, classmates bite 'Round blonde Slayer, thrust after thrust Vampires perish in poofs of bright dust Sweep them up if you please Sweep them up if you please Violent night, unholy night! Young vamps run from this fight. Scattering clouds say she's got the Right Stuff Willow and Xander scream "Way to go, Buff!" Come on and face her, it's cool Come on and face her, you fool Violent night, unholy night! Joyce's kid gets it right Stakes flash brightly, her crossbow it sings Feel the peace that a good slaying brings! Creeps, you picked the wrong town Creeps, come turn sandy and brown (Lyrics copyright 1997 by Lisa Rose) http://www.wco.com/~cybrpaws/lilbuffy.html ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: dalton.spence@hwcn.org Subject: BUFFYFIC: Fwd: Fanzine: This is not a threat!! Date: 11 Oct 1997 10:52:12 -0400 (EDT) This reply has also been sent to the newsgroups. On 9 Oct 1997 23:29:50 GMT in the alt.tv.buffy-v-slayer newsgroup, vampslyr13@aol.com (VampSlyr13) wrote: > Okay, it seems that you all took my threat of a Buffy fanzine as a joke. I > AM > NOT JOKING! :) I am planning on publishing a Buffy the Vampire Slayer > fanzine. However, it will only work if you all contribute! If anyone has > any, or would like to write stories, poems, essays, or draw pictures to > contribute, that would be great! My only request is that it has not been > published previously anywhere else, in print or on the 'net. > You can email me at vampslyr13@aol.com for more details or to contribute. > Also > looking for ideas for a title. > Micki Nice idea, Micki. I hope no one minds, but I'm forwarding this message to the buffy-beta and buffyfic mailing lists. I know you want *unpublished* fanfic, but I'm sure that some of the authors who post here will be willing to whip something up just for you. ;-)= -- +-------------------------------------------------+ | Dalton S. Spence, B.Sc. | | Home Page: http://www.hwcn.org/~ag775/home.html | +-------------------------------------------------+ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: perridox@enteract.com (Perri Smith) Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Stranger (1/8) Date: 11 Oct 1997 22:55:28 -0500 (CDT) This is part of the Chaos challenge that got started over on the Sunnydale Slayers list, to retell episodes from the point of view of someone other than Buffy. Chris Kamnikar started it with her stories 'Mad Moon in Scorpio' and 'Shadow of an Apocalypse' (blatent plug), so I got into the act. This would be 'Angel', from the POV of everyone's favorite redhead, Willow. This story (and the two mentioned above) are archived at http://www.enteract.com/~perridox/SunS/. Thanks to my beta readers, Lizbet, Chris, Dianne, Catherine, Tina, and the SunS. Dedicated to Chris, who finally has her revenge for my endless nagging about 'Prophecy Girl'; to Tina, who had absolutely *no* objections to endlessly re-watching 'Angel' to catch the dialogue we didn't already have memorized; and to Leslie, just because she appreciated it. If you recognize the dialogue, Mutant Enemy owns it, like they own all of the characters I'm using without permission. Anything you don't recognize is mine. The Stranger by Perri Smith Copyright 1997 "In lone and silent hours, When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness... Have I mixed awful talk and asking looks With my most innocent love, until strange tears Uniting with those breathless kiss, made Such magic as compels the charmed night To render up thy charge ..." -- Percy Byshe Shelley ***** For Chris, who finally has her revenge for my endless nagging about 'Prophecy Girl'; for Tina, who had absolutely *no* objections to endlessly re-watching 'Angel' to catch the dialogue we didn't already have memorized; and for Leslie, just because she appreciated it. If you recognize the dialogue, Mutant Enemy owns it, like they own all of the characters I'm using without permission. Anything you don't recognize is mine. The Stranger by Perri Smith Copyright 1997 "In lone and silent hours, When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness... Have I mixed awful talk and asking looks With my most innocent love, until strange tears Uniting with those breathless kiss, made Such magic as compels the charmed night To render up thy charge ..." -- Percy Byshe Shelley Willow Rosenberg had been fifteen years old the first night she stepped inside the Bronze. It had been the first night of freshman year of high school, and she and Xander and Jesse had had to spend most of the day collectively working up their courage before they could hand over their money and walk past the bouncer at the door of the teen club. It had been one of the great 'coming of age' moments of her life, for all that she'd spent most of her nights there holding down a seat at the bar, watching Jesse try to hit on Cordelia, and Xander try to hit on anything female and reasonably cute. Except Willow, of course. That had all changed when Buffy Summers moved to town. From that first night, when Buffy had ignored Willow's 'loser' status and stayed to talk -- and later saved Willow's life when she took Buffy's advice a bit too close to heart -- the Bronze had actually become a fun place to be. Willow didn't have to sit alone anymore; Buffy was there, ready to join her in commenting on the cute guys, teasing Xander, and discussing life, slaying, and everything. And if vampires occasionally wandered through now, looking for a midnight snack -- well, that was what being a Slayerette was all about. It wasn't such a bad deal. Of course, not every night was fun and games. Like tonight. Xander was off trying to pick up someone else's girlfriend, and Buffy might as well have been a million miles away, even if she was sitting just across the table, playing with her drink. She'd stirred herself earlier to use her Slaying talents against the cockroaches, and racked up enough free drinks to last the trio all night, setting a new Bronze record in the process. But at the moment, even the air of revelry around them wasn't enough to drag her back to the here and now. Willow gave it one more shot. "Ah, the Fumigation Party," she said as cheerfully as possible, pitching her voice to carry over the music. Buffy didn't seem to hear her; Willow continued determinedly. "It's an annual tradition - the closing of the Bronze for a few days to nuke the cockroaches." The only response was a distracted, "Oh." Willow shook her head, caught between amusement and a bit of worry. "It's a lot of fun," she told Buffy pointedly. "What's it like where you are?" The teasing apparently penetrated at last; Buffy blinked and focused on Willow's face for the first time. Willow smiled tolerantly at her bud, who had the grace to laugh at herself. "I'm... sorry. I was just... thinking about things." Among teenage girls, that particular inflection had only one meaning. "So, we're talking about a guy?" Willow asked knowingly. Buffy made a face. "Not exactly a guy. For us to have a conversation about a guy, there'd have to be a guy for us to have a conversation about." She paused, looking confused. "Was that a sentence?" Willow got the idea; it wasn't like they hadn't had this conversation a million times before. "You lack a guy." Buffy sighed and looked down at her half-melted Coke. "I do. Which is fine with me, most of the time. But..." Her voice trailed off and Willow nodded sympathetically. "What about Angel?" she asked carefully. This was tricky territory with Buffy, who generally either claimed to *really* hate her mystery man, or lapsed into detailed and poetic descriptions of his eyes. Which were pretty worthy of poetic description, Willow admitted, at least from the one time she'd seen Angel up close. "Angel?" No, not one of the poetic nights; if anything, Buffy looked more depressed. "I can just see him in a relationship. 'Hi honey, you're in grave danger. I'll see you next month.'" "He's not around much. That's true." "But when he is around..." Buffy's eyes got dreamy, and Willow tried to hide her grin. It was going to be a poetic night after all. "...it's like the lights dim everywhere else. You know how it's like that with some guys?" "Oh yeah," Willow sighed, letting her eyes trail back to the dance floor. She knew where Xander was, as if he was wearing a homing beacon only she could sense. It had been like that for a couple of years now, ever since the day when she'd looked up and discovered that her life-long friend was also cute, funny, and all-together perfect for her. She lived in hope that someday he'd realize the same thing -- but she wasn't counting on it. At the moment, the only thing Xander seemed to be aware of was Annie Vega, and shortly thereafter, Annie's boyfriend, Dino. Willow shook her head in disgust as Xander backed off so fast he almost ran over Cordelia, but couldn't stop smiling at him, even as a little, wistful jab of pain poked at her heart. He was even cute when he was being an idiot over another girl. Xander escaped from Cordelia with what must have been a pretty good parting shot for once, judging by the evil glare she sent at his back. "Boy, that Cordelia's a regular breath of vile air," he commented as he retreated to the safety of Willow and Buffy's table. "What are you vixens up to?" Willow shrugged. "Just sitting here watching our barren lives pass us by. Oh, look. A cockroach." She closed one eye to aim better, and stomped. Cockroach floor pizza. Who said Slayerettes never got to do any of the dirty work? Xander was less than impressed by her feat. "Whoa, let's stop this crazy whirligig of fun. I'm dizzy." Buffy almost laughed, changed it into a sigh, and got up. "All right, now I'm infecting those nearest and dear to me. I'm going to call it a night." "Oh, don't go," Willow protested. "Yeah!" Xander echoed her with way too much enthusiasm for Willow's taste. "It's early. We could, um..." he groped for something, anything, to say *other* than what he really wanted to say, which would involve close bodily contact if Willow was any judge. "...dance," he finally finished lamely. To Willow's somewhat guilty relief, Buffy wasn't pursuaded. "Raincheck? Good night." She left and Xander slumped at the table, staring after her with puppy dog eyes. Willow was torn between hitting him for being so dense and hugging him because he looked so adorable when he was being pathetic. She settled for offering him the squished contents of the bottom of her shoe. "Want a free drink?" He looked pained and shoved it away, slumping even lower with his chin on his fist. Willow rolled her eyes and gave up. It was going to be one of those nights. ***** Sure enough, Xander spent the rest of the evening sulking, and since no cute guys ever hung around looking for Willow, she escaped after another hour, retreating to the safety of her computer and her on-line friends. Even that wasn't much solace, though; she kept winding up staring at the picture of her and Xander on her desk next to the computer, and slipping into improbable, but highly entertaining, fantasies, involving kissing, and hugging, and declarations of unending love, and kissing.... After the third or fourth one of those, she flipped off her monitor in disgust, and flopped onto her back on the bed for a good, long bout of self-pity. She didn't indulge very often, but this seemed like as good a night as any. "It's not fair," she informed her battered old teddy bear. "I mean, I know it's not Buffy's fault; she can't help being gorgeous, and strong, and exciting, and generally Xander's dream come true. I'm just boring old Willow, no excitement or mystery about me." She tucked her teddy bear up under her chin, and rolled onto her side to gaze at the picture of her and Xander again. Jesse had taken it in ninth grade, on the annual zoo trip. She didn't remember why she and Xander had gotten into the wrestling match, she just remembered that it had been more or less a draw. "I'm glad I'm not the Slayer and all; I *really* don't want Buffy's job. I just wish *my* job was a little more exciting than Research Girl." She sighed. "Maybe then Xander would remember I'm alive." She sighed again, then kissed her bear on the head and forced herself to get up and get ready for bed. Thankfully, she didn't dream of Xander *or* vampires that night, just a good, old-fashioned 'trapped on stage and didn't learn the words to the song' nightmare. No problem. Perri I *am* the Buffy Evangalist! NatPacker-*-Horsechick-*-Pretender-*-Cohenhead-*-DDEB2-*-AGA-*-SunS-*-CoJ "I'm putting a collar with a little bell on that guy." -- Xander ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: perridox@enteract.com (Perri Smith) Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Stranger (2/8) Date: 11 Oct 1997 22:55:49 -0500 (CDT) See disclaimer in part 1. The Stranger (Part 2) by Perri Smith Copyright 1997 ***** Willow had been intending to track Buffy down the instant she got to school, to see if her friend's mood had improved any. Before she got the chance, she found the normally *emphatically* anti-morning Slayer bouncing next to her locker, her face glowing and her eyes bright. "I got attacked by some really heavy-duty vampires last night," she announced gleefully. Willow's eyebrows went up; this was generally considered a Bad Thing. "And you won?" she guessed, opening her locker and starting to trade out books from her backpack. Biology, English, demonology, history.... "I'm assuming you won or we probably wouldn't be having this conversation. Well, unless Giles knows how to run a seance or something. Which he probably does, 'cause he's Giles." Willow realized she was babbling and stopped, but it didn't matter, since Buffy wasn't listening anyway. "There were three of them," she was saying enthusiastically, "really big and tough, too. They backed me up against a fence and I was sure I was totally toast!" This still didn't sound like cause for celebration. In fact, Willow was getting sick to her stomach at just the description. She stared at her friend, backpack dangling, forgotten, from one hand. "Buffy! You could have been killed! Why is this good?" "Because," Buffy looked deeply smug, "I was rescued." Someone rescuing the Slayer instead of vice versa. Concept. "By?" Willow asked cautiously. Then realization dawned. Cat with a canary smile, glowing eyes, color in the cheeks, bounce in the step.... "Angel?" If possible, Buffy's face got even brighter. "Yes!" "Oh, wow!" Willow closed her locker and leaned against it, wide-eyed and ready to hear all of the gory details. Which Buffy was more than happy to supply. "He came from out of nowhere. I thought it was all over and then, boom, there he was! He grabbed one of them by the hair and just pulled him away from me! I shook loose of the other two, and he kept the third one off me. Until he got slashed in the ribs," she remembered, her face darkening a bit. "That wasn't quite as cool." "Angel got hurt? Is he okay?" "Oh, he's fine." Better than fine, if Buffy's sappy, lovesick smile was anything to go by. "We made it to my house and I bandaged him up, then I was afraid to let him leave so he spent the night in my room." Buffy said the last part incredibly casually; Willow's jaw dropped another inch. "In your *room*? For real?" "For *totally* real!" Buffy dropped the nonchalant facade again in her enthusiasm. "Oh, Willow, he was so sweet! We talked a little bit, and he told me I was pretty, and then he went to sleep -- he's so *cute* when he's asleep!" Willow laughed at her friend, ignoring a faint stab of envy. Buffy looked so in love, and Angel seemed like such a cool guy. He'd helped with the vampires, and saved Buffy's life, and everything, and the fact that he looked like something out of a romance novel didn't hurt. "It sounds like you had a pretty terrific night." "Yeah." Buffy sighed, wrapping her arms around her books and leaning back against the lockers, staring happily at nothing in particular. She was totally gone. "Have you told Giles about the vampires who attacked you?" Willow asked, trying to keep *some* perspective, although what she really wanted to do was drag Buffy off to a corner for a blow-by-blow description of every second spent alone with Tall, Dark and Mysterious Guy. "I think he'll probably want to know." Buffy dragged herself back from the land of daydreams. "I woke up in the middle of the night and remembered to call him. Got him up around midnight; he was kind of, um, incoherent. But he said he'd work on it." "Did you tell him about, um...?" Buffy made a face. "Not yet, but I guess I'll have to. Angel makes him kinda nervous; Giles *hates* it when anyone has more information than he does about *anything*, especially vampires. " "And...?" Willow prompted; Buffy had the look that meant she was leaving something out. "And I'd kind of rather not tell him how close a call it was," Buffy admitted. "He tends to wig, and I don't want to stay after school for another practice session. Angel's staying at my house today so he can recover, and I don't want to, you know, leave him alone for too long. When he's wounded and all." "Better safe than sorry," Willow agreed, with a conspiratorial smile. Buffy smiled back, the two of them understanding each other perfectly. "Sorry about what?" The male voice popping into a such a girl moment surprised both of them, and almost got Xander flattened. "Hey, don't beat up on me," he defended himself, as Buffy lowered the fist she'd raised instinctively. "I didn't do it, whatever it is." Fortunately, both girls were now in too good of a mood to really let him have it. "Good morning, Xander," Buffy greeted him cheerfully, as if she hadn't just almost decked him. "And of course you didn't do anything, silly, except for sneaking up on us." "Oh. Well, good." Xander looked a little baffled, but recovered quickly, opening his locker and searching its terrifying depths -- for a textbook, Willow hoped, or he was going to flunk another math test fifth period. "So, what are we talking about?" "Coming to the library as soon as possible; at least, you should be." Another male almost bit the dust, and Willow fought back a giggle at the look Buffy's face as she realized it was Giles this time, and once again lowered her arm. The near miss last night must have Buffy's nerves more on edge than she thought, Angel or not. "You've got to stop doing that!" the Slayer told her Watcher with exasperation. "Sorry." He didn't look it, but then, Giles never did. He *did* look like he had been mainlining tea; there was a cup in his hand and it wasn't clean."I may have found some information; can you escape homeroom?" "If you write us passes, no problem," Buffy shrugged. "Lead the way." They trailed along behind Giles to the library, which was empty, as usual. The students at Sunnydale High avoided the place religiously -- or maybe they were just avoiding Giles, who had a tendency to eye anyone invading his domain with more than a little hostility. Except the Slayerettes, of course... well, most of the time. "So, what've you found out?" Buffy asked, boucing by the shelves, too wired to sit still. Willow elected to sit on the table, the better to hear the good parts. Xander roamed. "I believe I've discovered who your assailants were," Giles said over his shoulder, as he retreated into the stacks. "By the way, you neglected to tell me how you escaped their clutches." Willow and Buffy exchanged looks. Busted. "Well, I kind of had help," Buffy said reluctantly. "Angel showed up and sort of... gave me a hand." "Angel?" Xander straightened up so suddenly Willow was afraid he'd hurt himself. "Weird Guy was around?" "Yes, *Angel* was around." Buffy sounded a little miffed at the insult, never mind that she habitually referred to Angel as worse. "He was really great, Giles; he took on those vampire thugs without even flinching, even when he got hurt. I took him home to take care of him last night and he was all bloody and... um...." Willow had been frantically signalling her during the last part of the gushing, but Buffy didn't realize she'd said too much until it was too late. She shut up anyway, looking guilty. Fortunately, Giles had no more response than a raised eyebrow. Xander, on the other hand, looked close to having a conniption. "He spent the night in your room? In your bed?" "Not *in* my bed, *by* my bed," Buffy clarified impatiently. "That is so romantic," Willow sighed. Unable to resist, she asked what she *really* wanted to know. "Did you, uh.... I mean, did he...?" Buffy looked *incredibly* smug. "Perfect gentleman." Wow. Maybe Angel really *was* the perfect guy. Willow hoped so, for Buffy's sake. Willow's less-than-perfect-but-still-adorable guy looked even more unhappy than before. "Buffy! Come on, wake up and smell the seduction! It's the oldest trick in the book!" "What? Saving my life? Getting slashed in the ribs?" Buffy was starting to sound less than amused. Out of love or stupidity, Xander persisted. "Duh! I mean, guys'll do anything to impress a girl. I once drank an entire gallon of Gatorade without taking a breath." He looked proud of himself, and Willow admitted, "It was pretty impressive." And it had been, for about five minutes. "Although later, there was an ick factor." Which was putting it mildly. That party had ended on a *really* disgusting note, and Elizabeth Shay hadn't been all that impressed to begin with. "Can we steer this riveting conversation back to the events of last night?" Giles interrupted dryly, returning from the stacks with one of his ancient books in hand. Buffy sat down and Willow slid around on the table to face him as everyone shut up and paid attention, more or less. "You left the Bronze last night and were set upon by three unusually virile vampires. Did they look like this?" "Yeah." Buffy frowned down at the page Giles handed her and Willow craned her neck to see. Even Xander stopped sulking long enough to peer over Buffy's shoulder. "What's with the uniforms?" Willow studied the book upside down. The vampires pictured there seemed to be wearing Klingon uniforms. They would have looked silly if it wasn't for the menace glowing from their eyes, even in the pen and ink drawing. Definitely the bad guys. "It seems you encountered The Three," Giles told Buffy. "Warrior vampires, very proud and very strong." "How is it you always know this stuff?" Willow demanded. It got really frustrating sometimes, always having to have everything explained when she was used to being the one handing out the information. "You always know what's going on. I never know what's going on." Giles looked at her with a slight edge of irritation. "Well, you weren't here from midnight until six researching it," he pointed out, taking another long sip from his tea. Willow shrank back a little. "No. I was sleeping." He nodded as if that settled it -- which it did -- and returned to business. "Obviously, you're hurting the Master very much," he told Buffy, taking off his glasses and polishing them with his handkerchief in one of his habitual gestures. He looked younger without them, and much more tired. "He wouldn't send The Three for just anyone. We must step up our training with weapons." Buffy nodded, looking resigned, and Willow made a sympathetic face. Giles was getting predictable. So was Xander, actually. "Buffy, you should stay at my house until these samurai guys are history." Buffy turned on him with a 'what the heck are you bibbling about?' expression and Xander hurriedly added, "Don't worry about Angel, we'll look around your house and tell him to get out of town fast." I just bet you will, Willow thought, rolling her eyes at Buffy, who rolled hers in return. Boys. Xander was so jealous of Angel he couldn't stand it; he'd *love* an excuse to get rid of Buffy's mystery man for a while. Giles had apparently missed the whole thing. "Angel and Buffy are not in any immediate jeopardy," he said thoughtfully, replacing his glasses. "Eventually, the Master will send someone else. But in the meantime The Three, having failed, will offer their own lives in penance." "And on that cheerful note," Buffy said hastily, standing up and retrieving her bag, "it's about time for first period. Giles, can you give the cut slips for homeroom to Willow? I have to, um, be... somewhere." She headed for door at top speed, but wasn't quite fast enough. "As long as one of the places you have to be is here after school for training," Giles called after her. She slowed to a walk, her shoulders slumping, and turned around to argue. Giles wasn't having any of it. "I mean it, Buffy," he said sternly, before she could say a word. "Right after class." "But..." "Buffy, this is your life we're talking about." Giles had the look on his face that none of them bothered trying to argue with anymore, the serious 'It's for your own good and that's the end of it' look. They ignored that look sometimes, but they didn't argue with it. "If you won't train to protect yourself, then think of protecting those around you. Such as Angel, perhaps?" Ouch. Willow winced on Buffy's behalf; talk about hitting someone where they lived. Buffy looked simultaneously wounded and rebellious, then gave it up. "All right, Giles, I'll come right after sixth period. Promise. But I need to be home in time for dinner." "You will be," Giles assured her, before he was distracted by his book again. Buffy left, looking unhappy; Xander trailed behind her and Willow waited for Giles to look back up. "Um, Giles?" she said after a very long moment; he started as if just being reminded of her presence. All too used to being forgotten, she patiently asked, "Excuse slips? For homeroom? So Buffy doesn't wind up in detention instead of practice?" Giles wasn't the only one who knew how to make a point. "Ah. Yes." He blinked rapidly and put the book back down, careful not to lose his place. He had to search through his desk to find the excuse slips -- why, Willow didn't know, since he had to use them practically every day to get either Buffy or Willow out of class -- and finally retrieved a stack of the forms from beneath two grimoires, a box of tea and a silver-hilted knife. He scribbled his illegible signature at the bottom of three of them; Willow accepted them, then retreated to let him get back to his research as first-period bell rang. As she left the library, he was already heading back to his office, reading as he walked and muttering something to himself under his breath. She hoped he didn't run into a wall or anything. Perri I *am* the Buffy Evangalist! NatPacker-*-Horsechick-*-Pretender-*-Cohenhead-*-DDEB2-*-AGA-*-SunS-*-CoJ "I'm putting a collar with a little bell on that guy." -- Xander ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: perridox@enteract.com (Perri Smith) Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Stranger (4/8) Date: 12 Oct 1997 19:17:49 -0500 (CDT) See disclaimer in part 1. The Stranger (Part 4) by Perri Smith Copyright 1997 ***** The morning was more or less a total waste, but Willow hadn't expected anything else. She paid enough attention during history and biology to cover for Buffy, who was still in a daze; Willow had to drag her off to the girls room between classes to talk. Buffy was bouncing between total, shocked disbelief, and equally shocked attempts at rationalization, babbling everything about the previous evening more or less incoherently . Willow listened silently, letting her friend vent enough to get her through the next class. She had to leave her in Xander's hands for third period, though; Buffy had her free period then, but Willow suspected she'd spend it anywhere but the library. Xander, of course, had no problems with cutting class to keep an eye on Buffy. Computer science, usually Willow's favorite part of the day, seemed to drag on forever. Ms. Calendar caught her staring off into space at least twice during the period, and stopped to ask if anything was wrong. Her teacher looked so concerned, Willow almost found herself spilling it all, but caught herself at the last second. "No," she lied, "nothing's wrong." Ms. Calendar looked completely unconvinced, but didn't push. "All right," she said calmly, "but if you need to talk to anyone about whatever's not wrong, you know where I am." Willow attempted a smile. "I know. Thanks." Ms Calendar studied her with knowing, sympathetic eyes for another long moment, then went off to look over Dave's shoulder at his current project. Willow tried to bury herself in programming, but found herself staring off into space again within a few minutes. It just seemed so unbelievable. She remembered the first time she'd seen Angel, that night at the Bronze when he'd come to warn Buffy about Fork Guy, as they still called the nameless clawed vampire Buffy had killed. He'd been hovering in the doorway, dressed in stark black and white and looking nothing like the super-annoying smart aleck Buffy had described in vivid (and irritated) detail. He'd looked serious, and intense... and alone, even in the crowd of people. Maybe that was why Willow had instinctively liked Angel -- even from across the crowded dance floor, she'd seen her own loneliness reflected in his dark, shadowed eyes. Then he'd given Buffy his jacket, settling it carefully around her shoulders to make sure she hadn't gotten cold, and won Willow's romantic heart over forever. And then there'd been the look he'd worn when Buffy had kissed Owen in front of him at the Bronze a few weeks later..... Why would a vampire give the Slayer his jacket, much less the cross he'd given her at their first meeting, the one Buffy almost never took off? Why would he care when she kissed another guy? Why would he warn her, why would he protect her from his own kind? It made no sense, none at all. She'd *liked* Angel, and Buffy was in love with him. They couldn't both be that wrong about him; it just wasn't possible. "Willow?" Willow jolted, then looked up guiltily at Ms. Calendar, who was looking down at her with worried eyes. "The bell just rang. You might want to try to get to fourth period sometime before lunch." "Oh. The bell. Right." Willow saved her program, retrieved her disk, then bolted for the door before her favorite teacher could ask any more questions Willow couldn't answer. ***** She made it to the library before Xander and Buffy did at lunch, and found Giles pouring over a stack of books, as usual. He didn't even look up when she came in, just gestured towards a smaller stack at the edge of the table -- the books written in modern English that the Slayerettes could be trusted to read without missing anything or hurting the book. Giles' faith in them had its limits. Willow obeyed his silent order, pulling up a chair and taking the first book off the top of the stack. Someone's handwritten manuscript, yellowing paper bound into faded, patterned leather. She skimmed a few pages, without much interest. "Have you found anything yet?" "Not yet." "Oh." Another few pages. "Nothing about Angel, in any of these books?" "Not that I've discovered." "Oh." A few more pages. "Giles?" He sighed, and put his book down to look at her. "Yes, Willow?" Now that she had his attention, she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Finally, she asked the question she'd been asking herself all day. "Giles, does Angel have to be a bad guy? I mean, are you sure he is?" Giles sighed again, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. They were bloodshot from too much research and too little sleep. "I... wish he weren't, Willow -- for Buffy's sake, at least. I know she is fond of Angel and she.... Well, he has, perhaps, given her reason to be. As he has given you, I gather?" Willow blushed under his entirely-too-perceptive gaze, looking back down at her book. "But he *is* a vampire, and Buffy's emotions, like yours, may be clouding her judgment. A Slayerer cannot afford that luxury, nor can a Watcher. We must assume Angel is like the rest of his kind." "So all vampires are alike?" Willow persisted. "They're all the same?" "No, of course not," Giles said with more than a little exasperation. "They are individuals, but individual demons. And they are all evil." "How can you be sure?" Willow asked in a tiny voice, without looking up from her book. "How can you *know*?" It took Giles a long time to answer. "Because I *must* know," he said finally, turning his glasses over in his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "Because to assume otherwise, against all evidence to the contrary, would be risking the Slayer on nothing more than wishful thinking. And because I would far rather it was Buffy's heart that was broken than Buffy herself." Willow couldn't really think of anything to say to that. He was right, after all. Fortunately, Buffy and Xander chose that moment to come into the library, Xander talking a blue streak about nothing in particular in a transparent attempt to distract Buffy, who, judging by the far-off look on her face, wasn't distracting. "Any luck?" she came out of it enough to ask Giles. "None to speak of," he answered quickly, putting his glasses back on as if to hide any emotions he might be feeling. "Although I may have thought of a new approach. If you will begin looking through the pile by Willow...." He handed Xander a heavy volume before Xander could figure a way to wriggle out of having to actually read, and Buffy began leafing through another book by herself as Giles headed for the stacks. Not that it was going to do much good; she was looking at the pages, but not really focusing. Willow tried to think of words to comfort her friend, but what could she say? 'Gee, I'm sorry your boyfriend turned out to be a vampire?' She pulled a Giles and buried herself in her research, instead. ***** "Here's something at last," Giles announced barely half an hour later. Willow restrained a giggle as Xander jumped in surprise; at least the guys were scaring each other now, instead of her and Buffy. "Can you please warn us before you do that?" Xander asked the Watcher edgily. Giles ignored him. "There's nothing about Angel in the texts, but it suddenly occured to me that it's been ages since I read the diaries of any of the Watchers before me." "That must have been so embarrassing," Willow thought out loud, still dwelling on the romance of it all. "When you thought he had read your diary, but then it turned out he hadn't, but then he felt the same way..." Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying and looked up guiltily. Giles looked impatient, Xander looked... unhappy. "I'm listening," she finished in a very small voice. Giles went back to his book. "There's a mention some 200 years ago in Ireland of Angelus, 'one with the angelic face'." "They got that right," Buffy muttered. Xander coughed, and everyone looked at him. "I'm not saying anyt ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: perridox@enteract.com (Perri Smith) Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Stranger (3/8) Date: 12 Oct 1997 19:17:25 -0500 (CDT) See disclaimer in part 1. The Stranger (Part 3) by Perri Smith Copyright 1997 ***** Giles didn't allow the Slayerettes to attend Buffy's training sessions. He claimed that the fewer of them that were around school after hours, the less conspicuous they would be. Willow suspected that Giles just didn't want them to see how easily Buffy could beat him up. So Willow actually made it home in time for her own dinner, and realized how long it had been since that happened when her parents both greeted her appearance at the dinner table with looks of shock. "Excuse me, miss, you look a lot like my daughter," Mr. Rosenberg teased. "Except that it's been so long since I saw her, I'm not sure what she looks like any more." "Very funny, dad," Willow grinned sheepishly as she shoveled spaghetti onto her plate. "I was here just last week." "That recently?" her mom said with mock surprise. "And here you are again, without Xander. I was beginning to think you two were joined at the hip." Oh, I wish, Willow thought gloomily, keeping her smile on with an effort. "I think his mom was ordering pizza tonight; he didn't want to miss it." Her mom took salad and passed it on. "You know, honey," she said thoughtfully, "Xander really has turned into a very good-looking young man, and such a nice boy, too. Have the two of you ever thought of, I don't know, going out? Or whatever they call it these days?" Willow choked on a bite of garlic bread. "Um, no, Mom," she answered truthfully. "We've never thought of that." *She* had, but that wasn't a we. "We're just friends." "Too bad," Mrs. Rosenberg sighed. "I think the two of you would be a cute couple." Willow blushed furiously and concentrated on wrapping spaghetti around her fork in perfectly straight and even layers. Her mom took the hint and let the subject drop. She'd been half-expecting a call from Buffy to emote over Angel, but after the dishes had been done, her homework finished and all of her e-mail answered, there was still no word from the Slayer. *Oh well,* she sighed mentally. *I'm sure she'll tell me all about it tomorrow.* *One of these days, I really need to have something to tell her.* ***** Willow waited eagerly next to the curb until Buffy's mom dropped her off the next morning. "So, what happened?" she started to ask, before taking in the drained, exhausted look on Buffy's face. It was such a contrast to the energetic, happy Slayer of the day before that Willow stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly scared. "Buffy? What's wrong? What happened? Did The Three show up again?" "The Three?" Buffy smiled strangely, then started to chuckle, an odd, scary laugh with absolutely no humor. "No, they didn't show up. There was... another vampire problem, you could say." "I could?" Willow was totally lost now. "Buffy, you look like you saw a ghost. Did Angel do something? Did another vampire come after you? Tell me what happened!" Buffy's face twisted and for a second, Willow thought she was going to lose it right then and there. Fortunately, Giles showed up before the Slayer could start screaming and/or crying -- Willow wasn't quite sure which one it would have been. "Buffy, are you all right?" he asked, hurrying down the sidewalk towards them. He looked even more nervous than usual, at least until he gave Buffy a quick once-over and determined that, yes, she was all right, physically at least. Willow still didn't know about the mental part. "Why wouldn't Buffy be all right?" Xander asked from behind Willow, who was too focused on Buffy to even jump. There was something very wrong here, she was sure of it. "I'm fine," Buffy told them unconvincingly. " I'm fine, I just... had a really bad night." "I imagine so," Giles said, not without sympathy. "Discovering Angel's true nature must have been rather a bad shock, especially under... well, under the circumstances. You're sure he didn't hurt you? A vampire in your house, in your room...." "He didn't hurt me!" Buffy sounded like she was saying it for about the tenth time. "Honest, Giles, he just... fanged out, then bailed when I started screaming, like I told you." Willow was still stalled back at Giles' half of the conversation, seeing her own dawning shock reflected on Xander's face. They must have heard that wrong. Giles and Buffy couldn't possibly be talking about what she thought they were talking about. "Angel... is a vampire?" "Apparently so," Giles answered her absently. "Buffy, did he say anything, do anything...?" "No!" Buffy started walking towards the front doors; wandering, actually, as if in a daze. The Slayerettes trailed along beside and behind her. "I told you, Giles, he just.... Oh, God, this isn't happening. " "Angel's a vampire?" Willow couldn't quite get past that part. Vampires were Bad Things -- mean and vicious and scary. Angel was cool; he helped *fight* vampires, and gave Buffy his jacket, and made Buffy's face light up with happiness. He *couldn't* be a vampire, there was no way. But Buffy's heart-broken face left no doubt. "I can't believe this is happening," she repeated, going up the front steps towards the school. "One minute, we were kissing, and the next minute.... Can a vampire ever be a good person?" she suddenly demanded, whirling on Giles. "Couldn't it happen?" Giles looked taken aback. "A vampire isn't a person at all," he stuttered slightly. "It may have the movements, the memories, even the personality of the person it possessed, but it's still a demon at the core. There is no halfway." Willow mentally deciphered his sentance. "So, that'd be a no, huh?" she concluded unhappily. "Well, then, what was he doing? Why was he good to me?" Buffy asked no one in particular, sinking to one of the stone benches outside the school as if she didn't trust her knees to hold her up any more. "Was it all some part of the Master's plan? It doesn't make sense." She was looking to Giles for answers, like always, but it was Xander who carefully lowered himself to the bench next to her. "All right," he said, very deliberately, "you have a problem and it's not a small one. Let's take a breath, and look at this calmly and objectively. Angel's a vampire. You're the Slayer. I think it's obvious what you have to do." At that moment, Willow wanted, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life, to hit Xander. He'd recovered from the shock, all right, and jumped right in with both feet in his mouth to try to get rid of his 'rival'. But he didn't know Buffy's feelings, Willow instantly corrected herself, with a surge of guilt. He couldn't know. And Xander *really* hated vampires, ever since Jesse.... So he couldn't know what he was saying, he was just being... practical. Logical. Right. Xander looked up at Giles for confirmation; both of the girls looked up to him begging for a denial. Giles couldn't quite look Buffy in the eyes. "It is a Slayer's duty," he confirmed reluctantly. "I mean, I know you have feelings for this guy," Xander rushed on, "but it's not like you're in love with him, right?" Willow didn't have to hit him this time; Buffy's face said it all. Even Xander, who'd been trying really, really hard to pretend Buffy's fascination with Angel was a passing, unsignificant thing, couldn't miss the deep, tragic emotions written in her eyes. "You're in love with a vampire?" he demanded loudly. "What, are you out of your mind?" Just a little bit too loudly, as it turned out. "What?" They swung, more or less in unison, to see Cordelia staring down at them with wide, traumatically shocked eyes. Xander gaped, then tried desperately to cover. "Not vampire," he fumbled, looking back at Buffy. "How could you love an umpire? Everyone hates them!" Willow winced, sure the game was up; even Cordelia wasn't going to believe anything that lame. Fortunately, Cordelia was now staring past them, with other things on her mind. "Where did you get that dress?" she demanded of a girl walking across the lawn, wearing the ehing," he said defensively. "I have nothing to say." Giles shook his head and got back to business. "Does, ah, Angel have a tattoo behind his right shoulder?" Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's a bird or something." "*Now* I'm saying something," Xander blurted. "You saw him naked?" Everyone ignored him this time. Willow could have told him how Buffy had bandaged Angel's ribs after he'd been injured (since she'd been told the story in repeated, moment-by-moment playback), but it was more fun to let him stew. "So Angel's been around for a while," she said instead. Giles considered. "Not long for a vampire; 240 years or so." "240." Buffy shook her head ruefully. "Well, he said he was older." "Angelus leaves Ireland," Giles continued as he sat down, having apparently decided to ignore all side comments, "and wreaks havok in Europe for, well, several decades. Then, about eighty years ago, a most curious thing happens." Giles paged ahead in the diary, searching for something. When he found it, he continued, "He comes to America, shuns other vampires, and lives alone. There's... no record of him hunting here." And Giles sounded really puzzled by that. "So, he *is* a good vampire," Willow blurted, unable to stop herself. Buffy looked so unhappy, any hope was a Good Thing. "I mean, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being someone one's maiming and killing, and one being someone who's, um--" Words failed her. "--not." "As I said, there's no record," Giles confirmed dubiously. "But vampires hunt and kill; it's what they do." "Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly," Xander said. "He could have fed on me," Buffy pointed out. "He didn't." "Question," Xander said grimly. Willow would have been proud of his concentration and clear thinking if she hadn't been so very suspicious of his motives. "A hundred years or so before he came to our shores -- what was he like then?" Giles took his glasses back off, as if to make it easier to look Buffy in the eyes. "Well, like all of them. A vicious, violent animal." Buffy swallowed, her eyes wide and haunted. Willow bit her lip, fighting back her own sinking heart. Those words didn't seem to apply to Angel, didn't fit with what she'd seen in his dark, lonely eyes. Vicious? Animal? It just felt so *wrong*. Perri I *am* the Buffy Evangalist! NatPacker-*-Horsechick-*-Pretender-*-Cohenhead-*-DDEB2-*-AGA-*-SunS-*-CoJ "I'm putting a collar with a little bell on that guy." -- Xander xact same tank dress Cordelia had on. "This is a one-of-a-kind Todd Oldham. Do you know how much this dress cost?" She left the Slayerettes without a backwards glance to catch up to and attack the girl who dared to have the same taste in clothing as the diva of Sunnydale High. As Cordelia's harangue trailed off into the distance, Buffy tried to smile. "Think we have problems," she said wryly. "Well, in point of fact, we do," Giles reminded her carefully. "We'll need to find out whatever we can about Angel. Just in case." "He wouldn't hurt her, would he?" Willow protested instinctively. "I mean, he hasn't before, like Buffy said, right?" "We can't take the chance," Giles said. "Whatever he is and whatever his motives, Angel knows far too much about Buffy; we must attempt to even that score." Homeroom bell rang even as he spoke; he looked at his watch and sighed. "I'll need all of you in the library at lunch; I'll do what I can until then. You had better get to class." They got up reluctantly, no one particularly enthusiastic about sitting through classes when they were having a (much more interesting) crisis. Giles headed for the library, and Xander and Willow flanked Buffy as they walked to homeroom, lending her as much moral support as they could. Perri I *am* the Buffy Evangalist! NatPacker-*-Horsechick-*-Pretender-*-Cohenhead-*-DDEB2-*-AGA-*-SunS-*-CoJ "I'm putting a collar with a little bell on that guy." -- Xander ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: sah Subject: BUFFYFIC: ADMIN: List rules Date: 13 Oct 1997 09:49:47 -0400 Welcome! This list is for fiction related to "Buffy The Vampire Slayer," both the TV series and the movie. 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Jill Kirby (jtkirby@mcs.com) & Sharon Himmanen (romana@mindspring.com) Listowners, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fiction List buffyfic@xmission.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: VQRW76A@prodigy.com (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (1/6) Date: 13 Oct 1997 19:17:02, -0500 Author's Notes: Due to popular demand (and a mental breakdown on my part) here's the Ms. Calendar version of "Prophecy Girl", with extra dialogue and scenes we didn't see onscreen--including what happened at Spring Fling. As per usual, I'm not making money off this, the characters and Sunnydale belong to Joss Whedon the Insane, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Sandstar, Warner Bros., and this is intended in the purest spirit of admiration to the show. TYK's to Cath for making me think about another story until this one untangled itself, Perri & Dianne & Lizbet for beta'ing, and Perri for the opening idea. I can never write 'til I can find the first line.... and one last thank-you-kindly to the Sunnydale Slayers, who saw it first. Comments desired, wanted, needed, at vqrw76a@Prodigy.com "Shadow of an Apocalypse" by Christina Kamnikar copyright 1997 The e-mail sat there and glared at me. > Subject: Prophecy's fulfillment > Date: Thurs, 14 May 1997 05:37:00 -9:00 (PST) > To: List (see attached) > From: Brother Luca > > Time is speeding. The Chosen One must be warned; the Anointed One is > already preparing Himself. All signs indicate that Aurelius's Doom > has already come to pass, and we are all in danger! > > Perhaps all we can do is ready ourselves for the inevitable.... If > anyone has news of the fulfillment of this prediction, any tidings at > all, please inform as soon as possible. > > Yours in hope, > > Brother Luca > Abbey of St. Anselmo > Cortona, Italia > frerejacque@stanselmo.cortona.IT "Cheerful." Sunlight shone into my bedroom, illuminating the books that had spilled onto the floor during the previous night's earthquake, and the stain next to my bedstand that came from keeping a cup of coffee there, ready to mainline two seconds after I wake up. I made a face at the computer screen, wishing I could laugh at the e-mail that Cameo had forwarded to me (as had five other people) before she left town. But it was only the capper on what had been a steadily growing string of not-so-subtle hints from the Beyond. Sunnydale was heading for another catastrophic spiritual car wreck, and I was stuck dealing with it alone. Again. Cami had taken off for the Mojave the night before, along with several of my other fellow local Pagans. The coming weekend was supposed to be a pretty significant astronomical convergence, and they'd wanted a good view of the proceedings from out in the desert. I'd have loved to have gone with them, but I'd gotten roped into agreeing to chaperone the high school Spring Fling because I hadn't ducked out of the Teachers' Lounge fast enough. "Ms. Calendar. I believe you have yet to act as an Student Event Supporting Participant this year," had been Principal Snyder's exact words, and while I was busy going "hunh?" he'd grinned sadistically and clarified, "Chaperone. Be sure to wear something appropriate to the upcoming dance, won't you? You don't have to provide your own escort, of course. I'm sure Coach Galway will be happy to accompany you, since he is going to act as your partner," then breezed out before I could do more than gape at him, too stunned to find a comeback that wouldn't get me fired. //The day I attend a dance with Galway the Insane is the day I sign up for the Psychic Friends Network! Or better yet, go to work for them!// So instead of camping in the clean air and quiet, I was going to have to face hordes of teenage pretensions and hormones, not to mention a possible Apocalypse. On the same night. //Then again, it's not like there's much difference between your average Prom and the end of the world as we know it....// Reams of information, weird happenings, vague warnings, and I still didn't know *what* to expect, though. It was going to happen soon, maybe even within the next few days---but what was it? What kind of Armageddon was the world facing? And what could I possibly do about it? I stuck out my tongue at Henry V, then groaned, knowing what was coming next and dreading it. //Time to bite the bullet, Nikki. You've been putting it off long enough. You don't have any more options. If you want to know what's going on...// I was going to have to corner Snobby and try to get him to share info. It would be like pulling teeth. Worse. Pulling a secured file from the I.R.S. databanks would be easier than getting the truth out of Rupert Giles, close-mouthed Brit librarian and weirdness expert. He'd try to avoid the questions, I'd try to pin him down, we'd get into an argument, insults would be hurled, and I *still* might not know any more than I had to begin with. I cursed under my breath, pulling on my work clothes and gathering together my files with a bad attitude toward the day already. The attitude didn't get any better when I realized I was putting on lipstick at the stoplight. Some women wear makeup to conceal flaws, or exploit assets; some wear it to turn themselves into strangers. But when I wear makeup---and I mean more than the bare minimum, because eyeliner and mascara and lipstick don't come naturally to me---it's warpaint. Going into a situation where I want some armor, or to at least know that I look my most fabulous even if I'm screwing up, I pull out the blush and the pencils. When I'm feeling especially edgy I start putting on lipstick before I even know what I'm doing. Early conditioning is a pain, sometimes. He shouldn't be able to do this to me. You would think---if life were simple, and logical---that after sharing an uncommonly weird experience such as exorcising a demonic entity from cyberspace, that two people would become friends. Bond, or something. It wasn't as if Rupert and I couldn't be civil, given a chance. We'd even run interference for each other a couple times since the Moloch incident, especially when Snyder had been on the warpath about some new brilliant bit of administrivia. But I still hadn't gotten a decent explanation out of Rupert about the source of his arcane knowledge. In fact, he'd avoided discussing anything slightly paranormal with me with the same determination that he avoided learning more than was absolutely required about the computers in the library. Which didn't mean we hadn't had a couple of knock-down-drag-out arguments about various interpretations of the rules of magic, paganism, and the uses of computers. Rupert Giles is no more of a pushover than I am, despite the stutter and that bone-deep politeness. Maybe that's why I respect him. And why being deliberately shut out of something that meant as much to him as it did to me hurt a little bit. The man had some direct pipeline to occult answers and he had no intention of sharing it. I *knew* that another bizarre incident had happened two weeks before---the nightmares I had for three days straight _couldn't_ have been ordinary, and more than one of my friends had the same kinds of nocturnal terrors at that time. I could feel in my gut that Rupert knew what the cause was; but when I called him on it later, he refused to discuss it. Refused, as in "leave it alone, you're better off not knowing, Calendar" a statement which made me furious at his presumption and sparked a frigid silence between us broken only by chilly exchanges of courtesy. It was time to set all that aside, though. Holding a grudge while the end of the world was approaching could only be classified as major-league suicidal idiocy, at least if I wanted to do anything to prevent it. The first chance I had, I headed for Rupert's private sanctuary, hoping to beard the librarian in his den. The library was a wreck after the earthquake, with shelves collapsed against each other, books everywhere, and major cracks climbing up the walls and threading across the floor. //Poor Snobby. His first earthquake in California, and it has to be a 5.5 with an epicenter in Sunnydale....// Rupert was on phone when I walked in, looking as wrecked as his surroundings. The usually meticulous Brit had loosened his tie, unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, opened his shirt neck, and his hair was standing on end; he was rumpled, crumpled, spindled, folded... and tired, if I was any judge. Possibly even scared? The last quality kept me from knocking on the door and warning him that I was there, as I took a second just to study him while he held an intense conversation on the phone, oblivious to my presence. "I-I need to see you... No, I realize that... Come after sundown. Good.... I'll see you then." Giles hung up the phone with a click, then just sat there, utterly still, his face drawn with weariness while I tried to guess what could make him look that unhappy and tense. The last time it had been that bad... I pushed memories of Moloch away and spoke up, causing Rupert to jolt with alarm even though I kept my voice level and non-threatening. "You know, that outfit looks just like the one you wore yesterday. Only wrinklier. Were you here all night?" I asked, sounding more concerned than I'd meant to. "Sorry, uh... I'm not really up to socializing just now." The abruptness of his statement was backed up by the rough edge to his accent---but I couldn't give him a break because of one night's lack of sleep. "Something's going on, Rupert, and I'm guessing you already know what it is." I walked into his private office and he stood up, his body language becoming even more guarded and wary than before. "What do you know?" From his taut expression, Snobby hadn't believed for an instant that I was talking about school business, or one of the students, or life in general. //At least we're skipping the denial part of this discussion... That's encouraging.// "Well, I have been surfing the Net, looking for unexplained incidences. You know people are always sending stuff my way, they know the occult's my turf. Here is the latest." I sorted through the folders of clippings and print-outs I'd brought along, then cleared my throat and started reading articles at random. Rupert paced around the office, head down, avoiding my eyes. "A cat last week gave birth to a litter of snakes." The Brit continued to pace, not reacting with either the fear or denial that would have been any other person's response. His face showed no change from the pinched weariness I'd come in on. "A family was swimming in Whisper Lake when the lake began to boil. And Mercy Hospital last night, a boy was born with his eyes facing inward." I put the file down, and kept my voice steady and low with an effort. "I'm not stupid. This is Apocalypse stuff. Throw in last night's earthquake and I'd say the end is pretty seriously nigh." "I don't know if I can trust you." Doubt and hope seemed to be having it out in Rupert's mind, and I couldn't tell which one was going to win. So I pushed, not willing to be brushed aside like I'd been two weeks before. And not willing to leave Snobby alone in another situation like Moloch's return, no matter what. "I helped you cast that demon out of the Internet. I'd think that merits *some* trust." Giles nodded apologetically to me, his eyes reflecting tired agreement behind his glasses. "Look, I'm scared, okay? Plus, I've got this crazy monk emailing me from Cortona about some Anointed One---" "The Anointed One?" His voice rose with the first shock he'd shown since I walked in. "He's dead!" "Someone's dead?" Rupert took off his glasses, obviously impatient, wrinkling his brow as if he had a headache. "Who is this monk?" "A Brother Luca... something? Keeps sending out global mailings about a prophecy---" //Not good. This is not good. What's going on---// "I need you to talk to him, find out all he knows---" Giles was finally focusing on the here-and-now, but that wasn't any help when I had no idea why. "Look Rupert, you haven't told me jack, so what's with the orders?" "Just do it!" I'd forgotten how scary Snobby could be when he got intense; the whip-edge to his voice softened from an urgent command to apology as his eyes pleaded. "I'll... explain, later." "You'd better," I said grimly. //I'll cut you some slack for now... but I'm not letting you off the hook indefinitely.// I gathered my folders together and stalked out of the library before I could say something regrettable. //Find Brother Luca, get some answers from him, give 'em to Snobby, and I'll finally find out what's up. It better be worth it....// Of course, if it wasn't worth it, then maybe there wouldn't be an Apocalypse. Maybe the worst I'd have to deal with on Saturday night would be avoiding Coach Galway and being bored out of my mind at the Spring Fling. //Right, Nikki. You should be so lucky.// * Comments to vqrw76a@prodigy.com Christina }|{ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: VQRW76A@prodigy.com (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (2/6) Date: 13 Oct 1997 19:22:10, -0500 For disclaimers, see Part 1. Comments appreciated at vqrw76a@Prodigy.com "Shadow of an Apocalypse" (2/6) by Christina Kamnikar Copyright 1997 Four A.M. I was still wide awake. I didn't want to sleep. But the later I stayed up, the more I wished I'd gone with Cami to the Mojave. What was I trying to prove, anyway? The Net was quiet--- ominously, so, after weeks of warnings and intensifying strangeness. I hadn't been able to track down Brother Luca yet, either. What time was it in Italy; around noon? Another hour, maybe, and then I'd go to bed. That would give the good brother enough time to get done with lunch, or compline, or whatever, and answer my queries. _If_ he answered them. I stared at Henry V blankly as I automatically surfed from site to site, not really registering the places I was visiting, preoccupied with the possibilities that Rupert had staunchly refused to clear up. Why couldn't he have been more specific? Why wouldn't he just *tell* me what was going on? Okay, I knew the answer to that one, he'd come right out and said it: he didn't entirely trust me. Which was unfair. // Did he think I'd share the news of what was coming with CNN? He should know better. He should know by now that I take the supernatural as seriously as he does. He should know I wouldn't do anything reckless or stupid.// It was quiet, except for Henry's hum as he did another search on the phrase "Anointed One"; dark in my bedroom, except for the tensor lamp above the printer and the moonlight leaking through the window. I sipped my cup of cooling coffee and finally admitted my worst fear: that nothing _could_ be done, that Rupert was trying to shield me or to give me something to keep me occupied and sane while our time ran out. I didn't really believe that, though. Giles's desperation when I mentioned the prophecy to him had been too real, his focus too narrow for him to have been concocting a wild goose chase for my sake. Which still didn't mean I could help. Or that Rupert could do anthing about it either, even if I finally got the information he wanted. //Maybe there's nothing either of us - any of us - can do.// The prophecies coming over the lines for the last few days had been so doom-laden and vague--- //Face it, we could all be dead, or worse, before you have a clue why.// Horrible thought. I tried to push it away, but it kept coming back, like the nightmares from two weeks before. I believe in Powers that a lot of people laugh at or fear without reason. I know that the Divine is real, and present, because I can feel it inside of me, and sometimes see it in cyberspace, on sites set up for freedom of speech, or to aid the public, or in the way people reach out to strangers, welcoming them into a new world. But I'm not psychic or gifted with any extraordinary powers, and I don't have access to the kind of knowledge that can be used to fight avatars of the Dark on their own terms. What did I think I could accomplish, searching the Net for something I might not recognize if I found it? The digital clock on my bedstand read 5:24 AM. Nothing had arrived from Brother Luca. Sunlight was trying to filter its way through my blinds. Have you ever stayed up to see the sun rise, just to be sure that it would? It was like that.... I still didn't have any answers. But for no rational reason, the despair I'd been fighting lightened enough to let me crawl under the covers and set the alarm for six hours. Hopefully, mail from the mad monk would be waiting for me when I regained consciousness. Then I could confront Snobby with the Wicked Witch's broom he'd sent me off to find; and he'd have to tell me the truth. If there was no way to avert the end, I wanted to know about it. There were a lot of things I wanted to do before I died. But if there was a way--- it might be a losing fight, but I'd prefer to go down battling. Might as well die doing something I loved. > < > < > @ The buzzer sounded on my alarm clock, jarring me awake with a curse. My head ached. I stumbled over to the computer and checked my e-mail two seconds later. Nothing. Okay, it wasn't nothing. There was an ad from hottgirls.com, inviting me to tour their website of male and female hard bodies; two notes from friends who'd just discovered the web and wanted to tell me how much fun they were having; and various articles forwarded to me from around the globe, confirming that yes, the end was getting too close for comfort. But nothing from Brother Luca. Disappointed didn't cover it; I was starting to get panicky. //Hate waiting, hate feeling helpless, useless....// Ruthlessly, I sat on the anxiety clawing at my insides and forced myself to do normal things: eat lunch, take a shower, get dressed in "appropriate" chaperone attire for the evening's Spring Fling. Until I knew otherwise, life was going on, and I couldn't ignore it yet. Feeling human, although still far too keyed-up, I spent the afternoon e-mailing and searching, hoping for some electronic crumb of information about Brother Luca. All the indications were that he'd disappeared from the Net, and the outer world too; no one knew where he was. Not his account administrator, not his abbey, not even the Papal Legate's office. Finally, around five or so, one last global post from him dropped into my mailbox, from a public access terminal in Rome. TO: List (see attached) FROM: Brother Luca (frerejacque@cafe.dante@rome.IT) DATE: Saturday, May 17, 1997 23:59:32:00 (-9) RE: Prophecy Context > To all who hope: Isaiah 11:6. The time is now. > > God help and bless the Chosen One. Pray this is enough. > > Yours in the Light > > Brother Luca Grinning in relief, I dialed Rupert's home number, sure he would be poring over his "volumes" in search of what Brother Luca had shared with me on-line. I hastily yanked down my copy of the King James Bible while the phone rang in my ear, flipping through to look up the pertinent quote. //Hmmmmm... out of context, I'd say that sounds even odder than usual...// "Giles here," sounded abruptly in my ear as I fumbled with the receiver. Rupert seemed more stressed than the day before, and I again wondered how he was sleeping lately. "Rupert? It's me. I'm coming over there, I found something I have to show you---" "Ms. Calender, have you seen the news?" Stressed wasn't the right word, really; Snobby sounded grim, which stopped my babbling and made my stomach tighten in anticipation before I even processed his words. "Um, no, should I have?" "You might want to sit down...." "Tell me." My throat had gone dry at those words; it was too much like he'd sounded when he'd told me that Dave was dead, strangled and hanged on Moloch's orders. This was worse. "Four students were found dead in the school's A/V room this morning. I'm afraid Willow---" "_No_!" //No, not again, not Willow---// "No, no, I meant---forgive me. Willow is fine, fine." He sighed, bleakness seeping into his voice as he went on. "As fine as anyone can be, who just found the exsanguinated corpses of her classmates a few hours ago. She and Cordelia Chase were the first on the scene, and it was--- disturbing, especially for someone of Willow's sensitivity. And Cordelia evidently knew one of the boys well...." "Oh my Goddess." //Four...// "We have to *do* something! We have to stop this, somehow, there has to be---" "I quite agree." The quiet rage in his voice echoed the sick, angry plunge my stomach took when he imparted the news. He gave me a minute to recover, then continued. "The police left half an hour ago. I'm afraid there's rather a lot I must do... and, well... very little time. I may need... 'backup', I believe you Americans call it?" The desperation was back in his voice, along with the pleading. "Could you meet me? At the library? Soon?" "I'm there. See you in twenty." I hung up the phone before he could say anything else, overwhelmed. And furious. //Not without a fight...// Whatever it was, whoever was pushing for the Apocalypse, was not going to get it without a fight. * Christina vqrw76a@prodigy.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: VQRW76A@prodigy.com (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (4/6) Date: 13 Oct 1997 19:21:03, -0500 For disclaimers, see part 1. Comments hoped for! at vqrw76a@prodigy.com "Shadow of an Apocalypse" (4/6) by Christina Kamnikar copyright 1997 Giles was still out cold when the phone rang. I dithered for a second, then answered it, trying to put a smile in my voice, hoping it wasn't another crisis. //Please, let it be someone trying to renew a book...// "Sunnydale Library." "Miss Calender?" It was a teenage voice, a familiar one I couldn't put a face to, sounding surprised. I frowned. "Yes, this is Miss Calender. Who is this?" "Uhhh... this is Xander Harris." I blinked, then placed him finally---Willow and Buffy's friend, the one who had been involved during the Moloch nightmare. //How much do you know, kid?// I wondered. "I was looking for Mr. Giles? Could I talk to him?" "Not at the moment, Xander. He's sort of..." I looked down at Rupert, who was murmuring and starting to come around, and I kneeled next to him, placing an icepack on his jaw as he blinked up at me. "Not feeling well. Could I take a message?" "Not feeling well," the teen repeated, his voice getting tighter. "But he's alive, right?" //That answers *that* question.// "He's just a little indisposed. He's fine, really---" "Is Buffy there?" Xander demanded, increasing my discomfort with the situation. "Noooo," I said slowly, supporting Snobby as he struggled into a sitting position. He groaned in pain, looking around for his glasses, and I hissed at him, "Lie back down, Rupert. You're going to hurt yourself---" "Listen, I called because Willow was really worried about Buffy," Xander was saying, sounding like someone trying to remain