G'day all. Part 13 is chomping at the bit to get read, but it'll have to wait until I get the latest batch of replies out of the way.
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hahler - Ask, and ye shall receive, hahler. I'm glad you're enjoying the ride. The idea that anyone is enjoying this gives me a warm, squiggly feeling in the pit of my stomach. Or is that food poisoning?
What's wrong with Willow? Did you actually expect an answer?
Sorry, mate. I'm too much of an evil little SOB to do that.
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AntigoneUnbound -
Hello yourself, even better scribe. No need to apologize about being late. The fact that you give me any feedback at all just puts a stupid cheesy grin on my face.
Yep, Willy was great, though he kind of just vanished on the show didn't he? I think he last appearance was in season 4 when Riley was going barmy due to withdrawal from Walsh's super soldier formula. If he wasn't in that, the last episode I remember him in was The Zeppo. Anyhow, he's pretty much screwed any way he looks.
I'm glad Willow's mental processes worked for you, and her little uncharacteristic bursts of anger are supposed to off putting. I have to agree with you about the idea of not being in control of yourself being terrifying. I suppose that's one reason I don't drink. I don't like the idea of being out of control of my own actions and thoughts.
Ah yes, the spavined mule demon. Well, they get a name this chapter, and will be making further appearances. As for the origin, well I didn't have anything particular in mind, I just wanted them to talk in an interesting manner, and the spavined mule comment just came to me and I had to put it in.
Now Mary, are you offering me the wood chipper to put Isiah into, ala Fargo, or are you offering it to Isiah himself? Cause, god knows what that psycho would do with it.
Glad you're enjoying the story, Mary, and to be honest I'm having just as much fun writing it.
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grimlock72 - Hi there, Grimmy.
I'm glad the banter worked for you, and a little more information on who Buffy and Xander found is forthcoming.
So, you have a theory, huh? Care to share? You're spot on about the scoobies habit of not sharing when they should. What can I say? They're all flawed people, but likable all the same. It's the people who don't make mistakes you have to worry about.
Tara does indeed have the right to decide what she is going to worry about, but I personally believe Willow's mistake is a common one. We all want to protect the people we love to one degree or another, and sometimes we tend to take that instinct too far.
So, you want Nameless and Isiah to both go down in a mutual blaze of glory, showdown on main street style? Only problem with that scenario is how much collateral damage they cause before they go down.
Isiah sounds British? Fancy that, because he is.
So, lingering suspicion over the poor helpless Timothy. Honestly, Grimmy, I wouldn't have thought you knew me well enough to realize I can't be trusted.
Or is he just a red herring?
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DarkWiccan - Hello there, DarkWiccan, and welcome.
Don't sweat not leaving feedback before now. I'm just chuffed that people read this in the first place. Feedback is just a nice bonus, but thanks for your kind words. I appreciate them, and await any insights you care to make with anticipation.
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Miss Kittys Ball O Yarn - G'day, Emms. Okay, the discrepancy between page numbers is probably due to the fact that I write this formatted slightly differently than I post it here. Which means that every time I post a chapter I have to go through the whole thing reformatting it. Not my brightest idea, I'll admit, but by gum it's the way I started and I'm sticking with it, come hell or high water.
I gotta say, how can I not like someone who scampers?
And your signature? Bloody hilarious, mate.
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Well, that's it for replies, so on to the update. I hope everyone is doing well out there in this crazy world we all call home.
Bye for now,
Paul.
**********
Title: At Any Cost
Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula
Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )
Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.
Disclaimers: Honestly, does anyone ever read this legal crap? Cause I still don't own nada ... blah blah blah.
Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforeseen consequences.
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.
Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.
Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.
Thoughts are in
italics.
The story so far ... Buffy and Xander have discovered Willy's extra curricular activities as Nameless' unwilling flunky, and have thus learned his name, such as it is. On the other hand however, is the fact that Nameless expected this, and isn't worried in the least. Meanwhile, Tara has had a little bonding session with their new neighbor over their shared loss of their respective mothers, and Willow's mysterious illness has taken a turn for the worse. A turn she plans to conceal. Finally, the new vamps in town have learned of Nameless, and are making plans to either recruit him, or deal with him in a permanant manner ....
Part 13.Tara eased the front door shut, wary of accidentally waking anyone, especially Giles, who was still trapped in the unfortunate situation of sleeping on the couch. As it turned out, her concern was unneeded; Giles was already awake and deeply involved in a conversation with Buffy.
Tara stepped forward lightly, with the intention of leaving both Watcher and Slayer undisturbed by her presence. That intention was quickly quashed when Giles raised his head and blinked at her owlishly.
“Tara, good morning,” he greeted the blonde warmly, if a touch distracted. “I didn't realize that you were up yet.”
“Good morning, Giles,” Tara replied, also returning Buffy's greeting wave and smile. “I've been up for a while now. Willow had an early class, and I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk.”
Giles' brow furrowed in concern. “You went out for a walk? On your own?”
“Well, I did consider inviting Buffy to come with me, but she seemed kind of comatose at the time,” Tara stated slyly, casting a lop-sided grin in the Slayer's direction. “What's the problem?”
“I'm not sure of the wisdom of going out alone at this current juncture in time, Tara. Especially given your particular ... er, involvement in the events that brought me back to Sunnydale.”
Tara felt a chill run through her at the Englishman's words.
I wish Giles would stop bringing that up. It makes me feel ill every time it gets mentioned, and goddess knows it upsets Willow no end. Regardless, Tara swallowed the irritable comments bubbling up inside her before they escaped her lips.
I know he's worried about me, but ...“It's daytime, Giles, and it's not like I was wandering down some alley. I can look after myself.”
“Daylight only precludes the likelihood of vampire attacks, Tara. There are still uncounted demons that could attack during the daytime. And ... and with this warlock running around doing ... lord knows what, it's a doubly risky proposition being out by yourself.”
“Giles, I a... appreciate your concern but ... I've been one of the s.. scoobies for a while now,” Tara stated nervously, biting her lip at the appearance of her stutter. “I know what to do if I'm attacked by a demon.”
“Tara, the seer at the coven ...” Giles began, and Tara felt her shoulders begin to automatically tense up. To the blonde's surprise, Giles was cut off in mid sentence by a stern faced Buffy.
“Giles, lay off the whole 'prophesied to die' angle, will you?” Buffy snapped. “Can't you see how much you upset Tara every time you start up on that?”
“What? Tara ... I didn't mean ...”
“Yeah, well, every time you say that, it's giving her the creeps, right Tara?” Tara opened her mouth to reply, but Buffy ploughed straight on without waiting for an answer. “Take it from someone who knows, Giles, it's never fun to hear that you're supposedly fated to die.”
“Yes, I .. I realize that Buffy, and I certainly never intended to imply ...”
“Intended or not, Giles, you're implying all over the place, and quite frankly it's creeping all of us out. Nothing is going to happen to Tara.”
Tara hugged her arms across her chest, unsettled by the wave of emotions sweeping over her, her face sweeping back and forth between Buffy and Giles like she was a spectator to a particularly intense tennis rally. The blonde witch was simultaneously glad of Buffy's support, touched by her concern, and upset that she was causing contention between the Slayer and her Watcher.
“Do you think I want anything to happen to Tara, Buffy?” Giles snapped back, visibly insulted. “Of course I don't.”
Giles' eyes darted to Tara, taking in the awkward body language that subtly screamed out how uncomfortable the blonde currently was, and his expression eased. “Tara, I am truly sorry if I have caused you any distress. That was never my intention. I ... I simply want to ensure that nothing does happen to you. To any of you.”
An uneasy silence descended upon the three, all of them glancing awkwardly at the others, unsure of how to proceed. Grateful as she was for Buffy's vigorous defense of her feelings, Tara couldn't shake the feeling that the true cause for Buffy's outburst was another, underlying issue. One that had been festering for a while, but still wasn't ready to come to a head of its own accord.
Someone has to say something. Otherwise, we'll still be here when Willow gets back.“Giles?” Tara offered softly, and Giles turned to regard her with a grateful expression. “We are all being careful, but we can't live our lives in fear, or the bad guys have already won. After all, we haven't made Xander or Anya move in here, have we?”
“Ahh ... no,” Giles replied, smiling wryly. “As is amply evidenced by the fact that I retain any scraps of my sanity.”
“And the fact that none of us have punctured their own eardrums,” Buffy added.
The three of them exchanged embarrassed glances, and shifted awkwardly. Finally, Tara couldn't stand the tension-laden atmosphere any more. “Does anyone want some breakfast?”
Buffy and Giles both nodded, thankful for both the offer, and the distraction it provided them from the tense nature of their current situation.
“I'll help,” offered Buffy, positively leaping to her feet.
“I think I'll make myself a cup of tea,” added Giles, also rising, though at a more restrained pace, and followed as Tara led the way into the kitchen.
**********
I slowly walked the circle in widdershins direction, letting the blood trickle from my clenched fist onto the carefully proportioned line of salt and sand that marked the spell's boundary. The words I spoke were sharp edged and somehow wrong on my tongue, a language no human voice was supposed to speak.
I ignored everything else around me; the midday sun beating down upon my shoulders, the gentle caress of the light breeze, the chirping song of the birds. None of it mattered, only the magic. A misstep here could be disastrous, to me and every other living thing for miles. The constant presence of the Hellmouth, like a swirling vortex of negative energy on the astral plane, did not make my task any easier.
The amount of energy I was channeling into the ritual was by necessity immense, enough to burn the spark of magic clean out of a careless user. I finished walking the circle's perimeter, and as the final drop of my blood fell upon the sand and salt mixture, I felt the magic pulse as the circle flared into existence in the ether, even as the physical markings in this more mundane dimension flared brightly and burned away. The spell's final few words suddenly tasted bitter and acrid on my tongue.
I slump, able to show my exhaustion now that the spell was finished. With a thought, I triggered the second sight of my eye-construct, and critically regarded my handiwork. To the naked eye, it was little more than a space of vacant earth. To my second sight, however, it was so much more. The spell took the form of several dense levels of shimmering runes, burning and sparking with arcane energy, forming a circle twenty feet in diameter. Similar lines arched upwards at regular intervals, forming a dome above the circle.
A shaky breath escaped me. It was done. My lips drew back in a snarl of triumph.
Let's see someone use Proserpexa's temple to destroy the world now. We'll see how much they enjoy spontaneously combusting from the inside out.It was such an unassuming location, the ground atop Kingman's Bluff. The grass was thin and patchy, featureless but for a handful of small trees and shrubs. It hardly seemed a location capable of ending the world. But that was exactly what it was. Or rather, the sunken temple hidden beneath the ground was.
My spell removed the threat posed by the temple's very existence, or at the very least postponed it. It was, in essence, a booby trap for anyone who sought to raise, or use the temple, and would grant them a swift and painful death. The spell itself was bound into the energy of the earth itself, and should, in theory, last until our sun went supernova. Since that event would destroy the earth anyway, that seemed more than long enough.
I supposed that someone gifted enough in magic could attempt to break my spell, but I am nothing if not inventive. I had woven a countless number of safeguards into the spell as I had cast it, and anyone who tried to undo it would find themselves in any number of difficult, and fatal, situations.
Releasing my second sight, I turned to regard the town of Sunnydale, spreading out to the north, south and east. To the west lay the vast expanse of the ocean, seemingly mild on the surface, but bound to be swirling with life beneath.
Everywhere I looked, the simple beauty inherent in nature could be found, but it did not touch me. Very little did any more. Once, I had been as moved as anybody else by the glory of a sunrise, the delicate majesty of a blooming flower, the sweet song of the birds. But no longer.
Where another person might see a garden, I saw terrain to be evaluated and studied in the event of combat. Where another person might see a blossoming flower, I saw a plant to be identified, to determine if it could be used in a spell, made into a poison or antidote. Where another person saw a group of playing children, and saw both a precious resource, and the essence of their own future, to be protected at any cost, I saw potential targets.
I was well aware that the twisted way in which I viewed the world was just another symptom of my monstrous state, a by-product of the mind-set into which I had forced myself. At times, when I allowed myself, I mourned the loss of my ability to appreciate beauty. But I did not regret it. I could not regret it, not when weighed against what it was I sought to achieve. I had sacrificed much more than my sense of aesthetics to get where I was today. I would sacrifice everything I am to fulfill my goals.
So I stand here, surrounded by nature's beauty, and it does not touch me. Perhaps, if I survive, I can learn once more to appreciate such things, relearn what it is to be human. But until my plans are complete, necessity dictates that I remain a monster.
**********
“Shouldn't we wait for Willow?” Tara questioned, glancing between the other scoobies. It didn't feel right to her for there to be a scooby meeting without the redhead being present, when even Anya was here, even if the ex-demon had been vociferously protesting the potential lost revenue as she scratched at her wrist cast.
“You or Buffy can fill her in later, Tara,” Giles gravely informed her. “Time may well be an issue, and I'm loathe to leave the discussion of what we've discovered until later.”
“What
we discovered, G-man?” asked Xander snidely. “I don't remember seeing you scrounging through the remains of a burnt out warehouse last night.”
“Yes, Xander,” Giles sighed, sounding like a long suffering parent dealing with a particularly petulant child. “We are all aware of the sacrifice of your precious time, and greatly appreciate it. And would you please stop calling me that.”
“I know!” Xander exclaimed with a grin. “All that time I could have spent sitting on the couch watching carto ... I mean, action movies, just wasted. Totally wasted.”
“Such a loss to the world,” Giles muttered beneath his breath. “But my point was, you and Buffy weren't the only ones to find something.”
“We weren't? Giles, did you pull your nose out of your books and actually do something besides get hit in the head?”
“That doesn't happen that often,” Giles mumbled, with an aggrieved glare at Xander, who remained completely oblivious. “But no actually. I somehow managed to see past my nose to the words in the books, and found out where those runes on the bank vault originated.”
“There are words in books now?” came the inevitable quip from Xander. “When did that happen?”
Giles pointedly ignored Xander's attempts at humor, and opened his mouth to continue, but Dawn beat the watcher to the punch.
“Hyriault!” proclaimed the teenager proudly. “He's from Hyriault!”
“Really?” Anya asked, her interest peaked. “That's interesting.”
“You're familiar with it, Anya?” Tara quietly enquired, torn between a desire to know the origins of the creature they were facing, and the desire to avoid what had the potential to become another one of Anya bizarre reminiscences.
“Oh, I've never been there myself, I've just heard about it. It's pretty hard to get to.”
“Umm ... what exactly are we talking about here?” asked Xander. “Is this some place on earth, like outer Mongolia or the south of France? Or we talking 'We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto' territory?”
“No, Xander,” answered Anya, her tone making it clear that she considered her former-fiance an imbecile for asking. “Hyrialt is a demon dimension, and not one of the nicer ones.”
“There are nice demon dimensions?” exclaimed Dawn.
Anya beamed, delighted by a chance to show off her greater
knowledge. “Oh yes! Some are quite pleasant.”
Tara grimaced slightly. “Please don't start up on the world filled with nothing but shrimp again.”
“I would never do that, Tara! I remember that you're allergic to them, and I would hate to make you physically sick.”
Tara smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Anya.”
“Oh, it's my pleasure, Tara. I find the sound and smell of a person being sick make me quite nauseous myself,” Anya annouced, and Tara struggled to keep her now-awkward smile from sliding off her face.
Giles cleared his throat meaningfully. “If we might perhaps get back on topic here?”
“Right. Well, Hyriault is famed for the skill of its magic-users, so it's not so surprising that this new threat has come from there.”
“You knew about this place, Anya?” Buffy interjected, astounded. “And you didn't tell us about it?”
“What am I, psychic?” Anya shot back. “There are hundreds upon hundreds of demon dimensions out there, if not thousands! How was I supposed to know that he had trained in Hyriault?”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Hyriault, Anya?” Giles asked.
“Well, I know the geography and climate aren't very hospitable, but that's about it. What did you learn?”
“Not much other than what you yourself have disclosed, Anya. The fact that Hyriault is ruled over by a benevolent dictator is about all I can add.”
“Go team research! Let's see you and Xander top that!” Dawn challenged with a confrontational smirk at her sister.
“We got a name,” replied Buffy sweetly, and Dawn's face fell.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our troublesome Sabrina ... that's not right. Who's a famous magic-using guy?” Dawn perked up, and opened her mouth to offer a suggestion. “Other than Harry Potter, Dawn Patrol.”
“Merlin?” offered Tara.
“How about Gandalf?” suggested Dawn, still pouting from Xander's earlier refusual to consider Harry Potter characters.
“Or Marmaduke?” Slowly, the rest of the scoobies turned to stare at Buffy, apart from Giles, who was regarding the entire discussion with resigned bemusement. Buffy glanced at each of them in turn, a picture of wide-eyed confusion. “What?”
“I think you mean Mandrake, Buffy,” Tara suggested, fighting back a grin.
“Pfft! Mandrake, Marmaduke. What's the diff?”
“Not much, Buff. Only that one is a magician ... and the other one is a cartoon dog!” answered an appalled Xander.
“As fascinating as this discussion is, I do seem to be drifting into a self-induced coma as a defense mechanism, so might we return to the matter at hand?” intrupted Giles, his voice dry enough that it shouldn't be allowed near a naked flame.
“Sorry, G-man,” Xander apologized, choosing to blithely ignore Giles' decidedly unsubtle wince. “We got swept up in the moment. Now, where was I?”
“His name is Nameless,” stated Buffy, ignoring Xander's expression of mock-hurt as she stole his thunder.
“Nameless?” muttered Dawn, looking less than impressed with her sister's revelation. “What kind of a name is that?”
“The name of someone who's watched 'Hero' one time too many?” Xander suggested.
“The name of someone with something to hide,” Tara suggested softly, and Giles turned to favour the blonde with a proud smile.
“I believe Tara has hit the nail on the head, as it were. I believe Nameless is most likely an alias. Which begs the question: why does he need to use one in the first place?”
“Because it's someone we know? Or used to?”
Giles and the other scoobies turned sharply to face Tara, concern evident on their faces.
“You don't think ...” Dawn began, voice quiet with shock. “But who could it be? Willow and Tara are really the only ones we know with the whole magical mojo thing going on.”
“There's also Amy,” Buffy added, “But I doubt it could be her. Not all that long ago she was busy with the whole being a rat thing. I don't think she'd have had time to go to this higher-vault place.”
“That's Hyriault, Buffy,” Anya interjected, happy to be the one doing the correcting for a change. Buffy just shrugged it off. Pronunciation wasn't the biggest thing on her mind at the moment.
“So, does any of this help us much, Giles? Or are we just slightly less in the dark than we were earlier?”
Giles shifted awkwardly, and scowled. “I'm rather afraid it's the latter, Buffy. We still don't know enough to form a workable plan yet. But, on a brighter note, the information we have gathered may well lead to other, more fruitful avenues of investigation.”
“Meaning what now, Giles?” Xander asked with a pained expression. “Care to dumb it down for those of us who consider
themselves lucky to have graduated high school?”
“It may give us further leads, Xander.”
“Check. Gotcha.” The group subsided into a worried silence, as each of the scoobies descended into their own personal, mental line-ups of potential suspects. Then Xander spoke again, wincing as he did so at how loud his voice sounded in the somber quiet. “Does anyone have an idea what one of these further leads might be?”
Giles looked up with a thoughtful air about him. “Buffy, where did you and Xander come across this information?”
“Huh? Oh, we checked out that burned out cannery you sent us to, and I found this scruffy demon lurking around. After a little 'persuasion' she ...”
“She?” Xander intrupted. “I thought it was a he?”
“What? No way! Didn't you hear that disgusted noise she made when I asked if she was a guy?”
“Yeah! But I thought that was disgust at you needing to ask. It was definitely a guy!”
“You're delusional, Xander.”
Giles coughed pointedly, and Buffy and Xander caught the Watcher's silent point.
“Anyway, whatever gender Lickspittle is ...”
“Say what?” Dawn blurted, snickering. “The demon's name was Lickspittle? Seriously?”
“'Fraid so, Dawn. Anyway, Lickspittle told us that the cannery had been the site of some sort of demon summit, about this Nameless guy.”
“What about him?” Tara asked.
“Apparently, Nameless has declared war on the demons as well, and they were meeting to talk about what they were going to do about him. But he got to them first, sealed them inside and burned down the building with them trapped inside.”
“How did this Lickspittle character know Nameless' ... err ... name?” queried Giles.
“Oh, he didn't. But he knew that Willy was collecting information for Nameless, and well ... let's just say that Willy folded like a house of cards.”
Giles smiled like the proverbial cat who got the cream, and Buffy regarded him in confusion. “We may well be able to use this to our advantage. Pass disinformation to Nameless through Willy, and lure him out into the open.”
Buffy nodded happily. “Sounds like a plan. But I'll leave the details up to you. I need to get ready for my low-paying, menial, yet completely fulfilling job slinging greasy meat-like substances.”
“So, I can go back to the Magic Box now?” Anya asked hurriedly, bounding eagerly to her feet. “I might be able to catch the end of the lunchtime rush.”
On that note, the meeting ended, and most of the scoobies scattered, each to their own personal endevours. Even as Tara made her way upstairs to fit in a bit of studying, she heard a dull thump in the dining room, followed by Xander's voice.
“Check this out, Giles,” he annouced proudly.
“It's a brick ...”
**********
I found myself at odds, for the first time in a very long time. Willow was ensconced in a lecture, Tara was secure at home, and the rest of the scoobies were in no danger. There was no immediate threat to be countered, no visible enemy to kill. There was no step of my plans that could be continued at this point in time, so I was left with nothing to do. It was unsettling.
For reasons I could not explain, I found myself called towards the park where I had spied upon the witches only the other day. So it was that I found myself sat stiffly on a park bench in the warm sun, surrounded by life and beauty, and feeling utterly alien to it all.
I stared into the distance, letting the bustle of life flow over me. A plethora of sounds blended together into a cacophonic song, the shrieks of children at play blending with the chirrips of the birds and the murmured conversations of passers-by. On a whim that seemed unfathomable to me, I unleashed my empathic talent, let it flow free, and instantly found myself drowning in a sea of emotion.
With the full scope of my empathy unfurled I could feel everything that everyone in the park could feel, from the exercise high of the joggers to a child's pain at a skinned knee. Once, I would have been lost, cast adrift in the experiences of others, rudderless and uncontrolled. But I learned a long time ago how to keep myself centered through the maelstrom of sensation my empathy engendered. That skill allowed me to sit there unmoving as I experienced a lifetime's worth of emotion.
Love, joy, happiness and peace streamed through me, like I was a sieve sifting the emotional gold from the dross. I ignored the pettier emotions; greed, irritation and despair held little attraction for me. At this moment, I wanted to remember what it was to be something other than a monster, a murderer. I wanted to experience everything that the witches represented to me. For a brief, shining moment, I wanted to forget my pain, and every dark, ugly part of me that had been born from it.
“Hello, mister!”
I shuddered, shocked out of my borrowed emotional high by the bright, cheerful voice. I slammed shut the doors on my empathy, leaving me feeling empty and scoured clean, but clear-headed and aware. Power blazed through me, a hairsbreadth from erupting in aid of defense or attack, as I sent my awareness ranging outward, seeking any sign of attack.
You damnable, idiotic fool! Never let down your guard, never relax, never be at peace! Have you forgotten what is at stake?!My raging gaze swept the park, seeking whoever it was that had been able to pierce my glamours, to be able to even notice me, let alone speak to me. I blinked in surprise when I found it was a young girl with long golden hair, and a puzzled expression.
Fay?“What's wrong?” she asked, wide-eyed. I smoothed the snarl from my face before remembering that she wouldn't even be able to notice it. She was seeing my discomfort through my aura, something much harder to hide. It was disconcerting to converse with someone I couldn't really lie to. I had lived cloaked in deception and misdirection for so long now that I was hard pressed to do otherwise.
“Ah... you just ... er ... you startled me, Fay,” I finally managed to respond.
Oh, very smooth. Imbecile. The big, bad warlock, thrown off balance by a small child.The cupid's bow of Fay's mouth tugged down in a frown. “How did you know my name?”
“I heard your mother call it out the other day.”
Fay nodded, and her frown vanished and was replaced immediately by a smile so bright that it almost made me want to recoil. “Whatcha doin'?” she drawled, plopping down dramatically on the bench beside me, completely ignoring my look of disbelief and begining to wriggle excitedly on her seat.
“Sitting,” I replied curtly. “Alone.”
Fay, of course, decided to blithely dismiss my pointed dismissal and gave no sign whatsoever of leaving. “Why are you alone? Why don't you go be with one of your friends?”
I sighed, admiting defeat. I supposed I could have forced her to leave, but even if I did not care to admit it, I enjoyed the novelty of being around someone who did not fear or hate me. “I don't have any friends, Fay.”
She regarded me with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. “Don't be silly. Of course you have friends.” Fay stated this with such certainty that I imagined she could not comprehend even the idea of someone not having any friends.
“No, I don't.”
Fay frowned, her small forehead creasing in thought, and I awaited her next comment with both amused dread and a perverse anticipation.
“I'll be your friend,” she finally offered, beaming as brightly as if she had solved world hunger.
I blinked in surprise. I was not expecting that. I don't what it was that I had been expecting, but it wasn't that. “Why would you want to do that?” I asked, my tone heavy with disbelief.
“Why wouldn't I?” she countered. “Everybody should have a friend.”
My lips twitched in a cruel parody of a smile. “Not everybody deserves a friend, Fay. Some people deserve to be alone.”
“No they don't,” Fay stated firmly, apparently unwilling to even consider the idea that anyone could be beyond redemption. I, more than anyone, know better, but I don't push my point. I'm willing to let the girl keep her innocence. She'll lose it soon enough on her own.
I decide to try another tack. “Why would you want to be my friend, Fay?”
“You're interesting,” she informed me sweetly. “You need a friend, you don't treat me like a baby, and you always look different.”
“What?” I growl, my eyes narrowing, but Fay seems unconcerned by my show of temper.
“I can't see you properly. Your face is slippery, but it looks different.” Fay hesitated briefly. “I ... I think it's different, anyway. It's hard to tell.”
My ire eased; she can't pierce the glamour I hide behind. She is simply noticing the changes in the faces that the concealing illusions are giving me.
“You think that is enough for you to want me as a friend?”
“Yuh huh,” she declares with a precise nod, and I shake my head in dismay.
She is far too trusting. And far too innocent to become involved with a monster like me.“I am not a nice man, Fay. I am a very bad man indeed. The kind of person that no little girl should be friends with.”
“It's up to me who I'm friends with,” she insists defiantly.
“I can say the say, Fay,” I shoot back, smirking.
Gods above and below, I'm having a battle of wills with a child. And judging by her expression, she isn't overly impressed with my argument. “I doubt your mother will approve of you attempting to befriend me.”
Fay frowned, her cherubic face scrunching up in thought. “Mommy thinks that you're a bad man, but she donesn't know you.”
“Neither do you,” comes my rebuttal. “You don't even know my name.”
“So tell me,” she insists, beaming from ear to ear. “Then we can be friends.”
“No. On both counts,” I snap back.
I have to end this. I cannot let this child think she is my friend. Everything in my life inevitably withers and dies, and I have far too much innocent blood on my hands already.
I rise sharply to my feet, and lean over her menacingly. “Leave me be, girl. Or I will show you just how bad a man I can be.”
She stares at me somberly, but I still cannot sense any fear within her. “You're mean,” she informs me, and I can't argue with her assessment.
Without saying another word, I turn and limp away. Before I had even covered a few feet's distance, I heard her speak softly.
“But I still like you.”
I show no sign that I have heard her. I don't turn around, respond, or even slow my pace. But I did hear her.
Then you are a fool. And so am I.**********
It was late evening by the time Willow returned from campus, and her earlier nausea had passed, only to replaced with a ravenous hunger. The redhead had given a half-hearted greeting to Giles as she entered, and received a likewise distracted welcome in response since the Watcher was engrossed in another massive tome.
Willow scurried into the kitchen, despositing her book bag and laptop on the counter and immediately turning to raid the fridge. To her delight, she found a plate heaped with brownies, and Willow nearly jumped for joy. Wasting no time, she snatched the plate, tore off the covering and shoved one of the heavenly treats wholesale into her mouth.
The redhead's eyes closed as her tastebuds dissolved into paroxisms of gastromonic ecstasy, and Willow had barely swallowed before she devoured a second brownie. Willow moaned in delight, and opened her eyes to find her partner standing before her, smiling delightfully at Willow's display of childlike enthusiasm.
“You certainly look like you're enjoying those, sweetie,” Tara teased gently. “Were you planning to leave any for the rest of us?”
Grinning guiltily, Willow shook her head, and crammed a third brownie into her mouth, which was still filled with the second. Tara giggled at the sight her lover presented; mouth smeared with chocolate, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, and her emerald eyes heavily lidded in a fashion that Willow generally reserved for the throes of passion.
“Willow, if you keep sucking those down at this pace, you're going to be so full of sugar that you'll be buzzing around the house all night.”
Willow tried to respond that Tara would have to find some way to keep her busy, but her mouth was so full of chocolately goodness that her words came out as an incomprehensible garbled mess rather than cheeky inuenndo. Tara's giggles deepened into fully fledged chuckling.
“I thought you were going to have dinner on campus, sweetie?” the blonde asked when she finally got her amusement under control.
“I did,” Willow replied, as she finally finished swallowing her last mouthful. “But I'm still ravenous. Which is where the snackage comes in.”
“How about I make you something less likely to rot all your teeth, Willow?” Tara offered, removing the plate fromWillow's grasp, even though the redhead was reluctant to relinquish her claim.
“But ... chocolate-y goodness, Tara!” Willow pouted, her lower lip jutting out an impressive distance.
Tara just shook her head slowly, a loving smile on her lips. “Adorable. You're just so adorable.”
“Does that mean you'll give me back the chocolate?” Willow asked hopefully, but Tara's smile widened, and she shook her head. Willow's pout threatened to reach epic levels. “But ... I'm adorable!” she mock-wailed pitiably.
“Yes, you are,” Tara replied, sweeping Willow into a tight embrace. Willow snuggled into Tara's soft curves, and a sigh of total contentment escaped her throat.
“But you still aren't getting any more chocolate.”
**********
Aaron Collier muttered a curse as the terrorist shredded him with automatic fire. “Where's some freakin' cover fire guys?” he mumbled as he respawned. “I am so sick of dying already.”
A soft rap at his front door distracted his attention from the television screen, and a simulated death cry signaled his death for the second time in as many minutes. Aaron hurled down the Xbox controller in disgust, and hauled his lanky frame out of his lounge chair.
“This had better be important,” Aaron grumbled as he ambled over to answer the door. “Or someone is gonna get their ass ...”
Aaron's voice trailed off helplessly as he regarded the exotic beauty standing on his doorstep, like a wet dream brought to life. Long, flowing black hair and olive skin, combined with an certain undefinable quality gave the woman an air of mystery that Aaron found utterly captivating. A fact he made obvious by his eloquent greeting.
“Um ... er ... hi?”
The woman's sensuous ruby-red lips curved in a grateful smile. “Oh, thank you. My car's broken down, and I was wondering if I could come in and use your phone?”
The sound of her voice, low and sultry, with an enticing spanish accent, made Aaron's eyes bug out and his mouth gape open. The woman eyed him hopefully, then with a growing sense of awkwardness as Aaron continued to oggle her silently.
“Hello?” she finally asked, sounding as if she were about to bolt, and Aaron blinked as if slapped in the head. His cheeks flushed in embarresment, and he just about leapt backwards in his hurry to clear the doorway.
“Oh yeah ... um, sorry?” he stammered. “Please, come in.”
The woman smiled gratefully, and stepped gracefully over the threshold. Aaron turned and pointed to the telephone in his living room.
“You can use ...”
His voice disolved into a muted shriek of agony as the woman pounched on from behind, wrapping one hand over his mouth and yanking his head to one side before ripping out his throat with teeth that had become razor-sharp fangs. As she guzzled at the blood gushing from the ragged wound, all Aaron could think was,
this is nothing like the games.
**********
Annette Raleigh didn't even look up as she opened the door. All her attention was focused on the conversation she was currently engaged in through her cordless phone.
“Oh I know. She's a total skank, I can't understand what he ever saw in her. Anyway, my pizza just arrived, so I gotta go. I'll talk to you later?”
With a final farewell to her friend, Annette hung up and began to rummage in the pocket of her jeans. “Sorry about that. How much do I owe you?” she asked, still not looking up.
“I was thinking everything, pet,” replied a deep, baritone voice in a broad, English accent.
Annette finally raised her head, and her eyes widened in fear. Standing before her was the largest man she had ever seen, with a flat, blank face dominated by an impressive handlebar mustache. Aimed at her head was a massive, Dirty Harry-style revolver, yet even it seemed small in the Englishman's meaty fist.
“Go on then, love. Invite me in, or I'll have to shoot you in the face.” His voice was flat and emotionless, as if this were an everyday occurrence for him.
Annette gaped at him, frozen in fear, unable to move or even think coherently. The Englishman sighed, and cocked his pistol. The harsh, unmistakable sound made Annette jump in fright, and she took a couple of wavering steps back.
Her mind shouted for her to run, to slam the door, to scream for help, to do
anything. But Annette could do nothing but stare at her assailants weapon, hypnotized by the muzzle pointed at her. A muzzle that with every second more closely resembed a cavernous abyss.
“C.. come in,” she finally managed to stammer in a wavering whisper. The immense man stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him without removing either his eyes or his weapon from Annette's form.
“There's a good girl,” he growled, voice rumbling up from deep within his barrel chest. “For that, I'll kill you quick.”
He advanced on her menacingly, and all her frantic begging only brought a smile to his face, as if it were music to his ears.
**********
Katie Davis hauled back the door with all her might, the door knob seeming massive in her small hands. The eight year old girl regarded the immaculately dressed gentleman standing on her doorstep with intense curiousity. The man smiled charmingly, and inclined his head politely.
“Good evening, young lady. It is truly a rare pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I inquire as to whether your father is home?”
Katie nodded, fascinated by the stranger's cultured accent. “Yes, he's home. Do you know him?”
“Indeed, my dear child. We work together, you see, and I just had a question that I needed him to answer. Since I was in the area, I thought I might drop by and see your lovely home. May I come in?”
Katie nodded, and stepped back, dragging the door further open as she went. “Sure. He's just inside. I'll take you to him.”
With a grateful smile, he stepped inside and turned as he shut the door behind him. When he turned around, Katie was leading the way down the hall, and he followed her, a jaunty whistle on his lips.
“Let the games begin,” Isiah murmered happily to himself as he slipped into his vampiric game-face.
To be continued ...
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.
by hahler » Wed Oct 19, 2005 7:59 am 
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Hehehe definitly liked the choclatey goodness part tho i picture tara kissing off the extra chocholate left over on her lips 
. Thirdly, he more than likely knows who would use it... so that conflicts with his appearant desire to protect Willow (or does he only care for Tara perhaps??).
good work
So many things going on in your story and so many red herrings! The BB is being just too unfathomable, Isiah and co. throwing the plot into confusion, and where the H*LL does the baby with the vampires come into things? Not to mention Katie stuck in a drywall somewhere. Plus Willow seems to have recovered from whatever spell Nameless put on her but I don't believe we can stop worrying about that. 
