I'm going to be posting the first two chapters of my currently untitled Buffy fanfic here.
Please enjoy, and make comments if the mood takes you.
Murmur
Please enjoy, and make comments if the mood takes you.
Murmur
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Untitled Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic
Untitled Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic
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Untitled Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic
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CHAPTER 1
Red light glowed in the world’s cenotaph, as a weapon forged to kill monsters instead shattered the source of all hope and love. Light flared out in golden waves, fire veined in lightning, from a now empty pedestal that had once held the numinous. An old man lay on the ground, his neck snapped, his heart stopped; yet his brain still futilely tried to send messages down his broken spinal column even as he died. On the other side of the vast underground chamber lay another, a young woman. She held close to her the weapon that had dealt the deathblow to the world and she grieved. She grieved, not for the world, but for the old man and for the future. She grieved that all of her hopes had been destroyed, that the sweet joys and fierce passions that she knew could have been hers’ forever had been sacrificed. She no longer knew for what her sacrificed had been, when all around her was only loss. She was alone and she grieved for that. But most of all she grieved for the old man. Wandering, almost catatonic, was a man who was no man. This one could not see, did not want to see, the old man that lay dying at his feet. But he could smell the death, the loosened bowels and relaxed bladder. These were familiar scents to him, and the man who was no man knew without knowing that he had killed once more. Finally there was a fourth, a young man who had but one eye. He was wounded both in body and heart. He too grieved for the old man. Yet he also grieved for the young woman, and even for the old man’s killer. Though he had only one eye, he saw the world and in seeing could have only compassion. And so life would have gone on in this dying world. Without wonder in it, a malaise of the spirit would have descended upon all peoples. Though world would spin, and people would live on in it, no longer could it be said that they lived. Instead of bringing in new life, they bred. Instead of dining, they ate. Instead of dying, they stopped. Meaning had no more meaning left. For the four, though, they did not know this. All they knew was death and its consequences. Yet despite all wonder leaving this world, it did not go quietly. Nor did it leave all at once. Traces of the fire and lightning still lingered in the underground chamber. The red glow that illuminated the vast vault did not stop. Instead it grew brighter. And the fire and lightning swirled. Both these things happened so fast that none of the four could tell that it was happening at all. And then the glow went out, and the fire and lightning died. And all was darkness. And then there was light.
[*]
There was a cliff, only just inside the city limits on a technicality. The pre-dawn light made finding the dusty trail up from the small parking lot to the cliff edge difficult, even dangerous. Yet these were her instructions, and Lilah Morgan was nothing if not dutiful. Especially as disobedience would mean her death by lingering torture, resurrection and then still more torture and death. Repeat ad infinitum et nauseum. Lilah debated whether she should go back to her car and change into her jogging shoes, but discarded that notion quickly. Though hiking up a mountain trail in six-inch heels was no fun, the consequences of missing her appointment would be far worse than a twisted ankle. Those thoughts of torture and death, as always, depressed Lilah. Her own, of course, but even it being done to others sickened her. Of course it did. If she had been in any other business, worked for any other bosses, this would have been natural and right. But Lilah worked for demons. She was the cliché evil lawyer. If “The Devil and Daniel Webster” ever happened in real life, she would have been the Devil’s attorney. And she would have won, too. There were compensations for selling your soul, even if done piecemeal over years; the comfort with which she lived and the comfort she was able to provide for her family, was the main one. Whenever she saw her mother, now fully gone into her dementia and likely to spend years there, Lilah knew that her sacrifice was worth it. Instead of her mother dying in her own filth, she was instead being cared for day and night. Her mother was as happy as she could be, and loved as best as Lilah could love her. This was Lilah’s happiness, and the motivation that drove her to wield the word and the knife for her monstrous masters as they spread evil in the world. It had been early on in her legal career, a newly-minted associate at Wolfram and Hart, that she had been made aware of the true nature of the firm. She had thought that Wolfram and Hart was simply one of a number of high-profile, international law firms. Rich and influential, certainly, though there were others with far wealthier clients, and who have won bigger cases. It was strange that no one ever saw the Senior Partners. Yet still the salary, bonus package, and health insurance had been enough to fill the younger Lilah with glee and not ask any stupid questions. It had been her superior, Holland Manners, who had introduced her to the truth of the matter. From atop a murdered anonymous girl, she signed in her own blood the contract that sold the first part of herself for power. Yet she recognized, even if Manners did not, that the power he offered and she would wield was illusory. All she would be in the eyes of the Senior Partners, those monstrous, never-seen demons who proclaimed that hell was already on Earth and they its rulers, was a favored, pampered slave. She was a source of pleasure to them, and a resource to be used or wasted as their whims took them. Yet the perks of her position were such that she could never go back. Beyond the money and comforts, there were the pleasures she indulged in. Always twisted, never clean, still she teetered on the edge of addiction to those sick delights that were available to her. Even now, as the sun was just about to come up over the mountains behind her, and as painful as the walk had become, she felt a sudden jolt running from the top of her head to her loins and then back up again at the thought of her reward for a good day’s work. Yet this thought also brought with it a sour pain in her stomach, and the taste of blood and vomit in her mouth. She hoped that, given the chance, she would give all the indulgences up if she could just feel clean again. She doubted she ever would. So here she was, following cryptic commands from on high, to come to this cliff at the edge of a nowhere city, in a nowhere county, in the wilds of central California. She was to be there before dawn, and there observe as the representative of Wolfram and Hart. Further, and here things got very strange, she was to speak of what occurred to none. Not to Manners, from whom the instructions came, not to any of the other associates, not even to the Senior Partners themselves should they come to ask. Manners had seemed troubled and alarmed by this instruction. Yet nevertheless those were the words and wishes of the Senor Partners, and he dared to neither omit them nor subvert them. The sun had yet to rise fully when she came to the wide cliff. There, just before its edge, was what could have been a woman. Though she could now see her way around, it was still dark enough for Lilah to see that the woman was glowing. Not that the woman was holding a flashlight really close, not that the sun was catching her just so. Rather she was, honest to god, glowing with a pure white light like some kind of angel from a terrible gift card. The woman, who had been staring down at the city, turned at Lilah’s approach, still glowing. Despite the unearthly light emanating from her, she was dressed in a lightly embroidered gray shirt and gray dress pants, with calfskin boots. Her black hair hung to her shoulders in light waves, with her bangs framing her face. She smiled in welcome as Lilah came to stand by her. It was time to take control of the situation, and the best way to start was with first impressions. “Lilah Morgan, Senior Associate at Wolfram and Hart, PC.” She took the glowing woman’s hand and gave a firm handshake, while looking her soberly in the eyes. “Hi,” said the woman, “I’m—oh, it’s starting.” They turned then to the edge of the cliff, where a black cat appeared, suddenly and without fanfare. Almost immediately after a dog walked out from behind a scrub brush and joined the cat. The cat began to speak. Lilah wasn’t even surprised by that, jaded as she’d become to the strangeness of the world. “Well, that was a thing that happened,” said the cat, wryly. “Did not see that coming,” said the dog. It sat on its haunches and began to lick itself. “You’ve been around a while. Has this ever happened before?” “Not since the time of No-Time, when being and un-being were united,” said the cat. “This wasn’t any temporal folding or quantum leap or what have you.” “That was a good TV show. The ending didn’t make a damn bit of sense,” said the dog, interrupting. “I always liked the hologram,” agreed the cat. “And that Halloween episode was very good.” “Anyway,” said the dog, “if this wasn’t a temporal fold, then it had to have been a . . . what, restructuring?” “Reconfiguration from a prior state.” And then here the cat turned to look at the glowing woman, and the dog did the same. “With some changes, obviously.” “Yeah.” The dog resumed licking himself. In between licks, he said, “I think I detect the hand of my sister. Aunt. Counterpart. Whatever.” “Maybe. There again, maybe not. She wasn’t at the center of things, whereas your mother and father were. And while she might have the power, she has no access to it in her current state. Nor I believe would she have had the . . . presumption to do so.” “Maybe. No, you’re probably right. Still, she is human, and that means she can surprise even us, as we’ve just seen demonstrated.” The cat nodded in agreement, an odd thing to see a cat do.
“Are
you following any of this?” Lilah asked the glowing woman desperately. While she was accustomed to oblique references and gnomic pronouncements, as both a lawyer and a servant of ancient evils, this was rapidly becoming distressingly baffling. So much so that she was admitting weakness to someone. “Kind of. Not really, but kind of,” said the woman. “Think you can explain it to me?” The woman shrugged helplessly. “I think what they’re saying is that the world was destroyed and recreated, and very few people noticed.” And here the woman stared straight at Lilah, her glow intensifying. “And I think that your bosses are among those that didn’t notice.” “Oh,” said Lilah, already trying to think over the implications of that and failing. “Ahem,” said the cat pointedly, before resuming its conversation with the dog. “As I was about to say, what now? You can touch this world, much as you did in the time immediately preceding your birth. Yet now it seems that your actualization will never come, as your mother and father know the signs of your coming. And knowing, they will stop themselves before they create you.” “Will they? Well, maybe. But the reason why they were worthy of creating me was in who they were. In order to be true to themselves, almost inevitably they will start the chain of events that will lead to my creation.” “Or not.” “Or not,” said the dog, shrugging in a manner that was entirely alien to a dog’s body. “I am nothing if not patient. With the creation of existence, so too came the eventuality of its destruction and renewal. If I could wait since then, I can wait longer still. “And besides, even if it’s not my current mother and father, another will come along. ‘Into every generation, there is a Chosen One,’ and so on.” “Unless the line is cut,” said the cat. “Unless the line is cut,” agreed the dog. “But even then, one will come. If things had progressed without this re-creation, a girl would have been born some time in the future. She will have a twin, you see, one who becomes a vampire and inherits all of the memories and dreams that should have gone to the girl. They would make very good parents, I think.” “How V.C. Andrews of you,” said the cat. “Symmetry and contradiction are inherent in my creation, as dichotomy was to yours,” said the dog, again shrugging. The dog and the cat then silently watched as the sun rose fully, pulling free from the horizon. “Things have already changed,” said the cat finally. “And will continue to change.” “Even us?” asked the dog. “Yes, maybe even us,” said the cat. “But not now.” “No, not now.” “Well, then,” said the dog, as it walked away, “I guess I’ll see you the next time all of creation goes bye-bye.” “So, soon then,” said the cat. “Yeah, pretty darn soon.” The dog walked down the hill and soon enough disappeared from sight. The cat meanwhile still looked down upon the city below the cliff, as it slowly came alive for the day. Finally, the glowing woman interrupted the cat’s introspection. “It’s like you guys can’t even have a normal conversation. It’s all, ‘oh, doom and reality and creation, blah, blah.’ So pretentious.” “It sure is,” said the cat, and paused before it continued. “Have you the Destroyer’s soul?” “That’s not his name,” said the woman. “And yes. Oh, god, now I’m doing it.” The woman pressed her hands to her face in mock despair before turning back to Lilah. “You might have noticed from the whole glowing and floating gently that I’m not exactly one-hundred percent human. But you’re used to that, right?” “Right,” said Lilah. In fact, she rarely dealt with non-humans, despite being part of the Special Projects division of Wolfram and Hart. Most of her day-to-day work was in the office, reviewing paperwork and researching laws and treaties. However, as befitted an evil law firm, much of that paperwork was written on human or demon skin, in blood, and those treaties and laws were from dimensions far from Earth. But she wasn’t going to admit to anyone that she was ever unnerved by the alien deviance that made up her life. “Ghost?” “Kind of but not really,” said the woman apologetically. “That’s as close as I can get without going into way too much detail.” “Once again, ahem, but more emphatically,” said the cat. “In any case, girl, you are now free to go to your body.” “Yeah, about that,” replied the woman, “I doubt that my body would be able to handle all of . . . well, me in there. And I really don’t want to go all ‘Scanners.’ It’d ruin all my clothes.” The cat tapped a paw against her cheek in contemplation. Lilah had to resist a powerful urge to squeal in delight at the adorable sight. “You’re right about that. Messy and you’d just end up back here. No, what we’ll do is suppress your nature. It’d be difficult to do it wholly, but it is possible.” “I guess I could make some genetic modifications to myself as I enter, then compress myself down so that I can’t consciously access most of my abilities, that’d keep me from going all explodey.” “You will be, to all appearances, much as you were before you ascended.” Lilah considered that, despite the earlier snark from the woman, she too could not hold a normal conversation. Well, Lilah had seen much the same during the meetings of the Circle of the Black Thorn, the cabal which was the precursor to Wolfram and Hart and served alternatively as its controllers and rivals. The Circle was responsible for the Senior Partners’ apocalyptic plans, and as such could not help but be pompous when discussing even mundane things with each other. “Visions? Floating? Purity beam?” asked the woman. “The visions . . . yes. There will be pain, but not killing pain,” said the cat. “Oh joy. That’s something to look forward to,” said the woman as she walked towards the cliff. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Darla, would you? I have an immaculate conception to kick-start.” “She will come to you. Right now she is in Chechnya, near Grozny, indulging in her love of war. Yet the Master is even now gathering his forces and his favorite children, to prepare the field for next year’s Harvest.” “There’s no way that I’m flying to Russia before I get back into my body. Guess I’ll just have to keep the kid with me until Darla gets here. Anyway, good talk. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” With that, the woman launched herself into the sky, but not before giving them a wave and yelling back at Lilah, “I’ll have my people call your people and we’ll do lunch!” Lilah really hoped the glowing woman was joking, because that was a cliché too far. “And now we’re down to one,” said the cat. Lilah jerked her attention away from the flying woman, who was now lost in the morning sunlight. “Hello, Lilah. Did you enjoy your peek behind the curtain?” “Is that what this was?” said Lilah. From some sixth sense, possibly honed from her job experience, possibly simply something innate in her, had told her that it was the cat that had gotten her to come here. That this little black cat had the power to order the Senior Partners. And now she was alone with this thing, in the desert, and nobody knew where she was. Two things kept her in place: one was the certain knowledge that if she was going to die, here and now, there was nothing to stop that from happening. The other thing was her curiosity. The power and the wealth and comfort, coming so fast and relatively easily, had drawn her to Wolfram and Hart. But, if she were honest with herself, it was simply knowing the truth of the world, as ugly and horrific as it was, kept her at her job. Knowing all the secrets that so very few knew was intoxicating. Her curiosity may be what caused the cat to kill her, but Lilah could not do anything but stay and learn. As if reading her mind, which it in all likelihood could do, the cat smiled. “Oh yes. I thought you’d enjoy seeing my conversation, and I was right. I like you, Lilah. You are the Manichean struggle incarnate, and that makes you very attractive to me. Therefore, I shall give you a reward, which is also a punishment, which is also a test.” “What?” asked Lilah. She was confused by all of this, especially the last remark, angry at her confusion, but too frightened to let her anger show. Suddenly, between the blink of her eyes, the cat disappeared and was replaced by a little girl. She was about eight or nine, wearing a red-striped dress, her brown hair in pigtails. That made the predatory grin on her face all the more terrifying. “More power. Specifically, control over the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart.” Lilah drove back to LA, the instructions to make effective her sudden promotion frantically written down on a legal pad taken from her briefcase. Though she doubted that she could ever forget any of them. Go to the elevators in the Wolfram and Hart building and press the floor buttons in a certain sequence. Go to the White Room and talk with the little girl that acted as the Conduit to the Senior Partners. She was to tell the girl that the source of their power, that which lives in all people, commanded them to give her control over Los Angeles. And they would. Lilah was certain of that. The implications of this was buzzing in her mind, the adrenaline pumping through her so much that she felt her heart would explode. So this power was the gift, that much was obvious. And the punishment was in her position. She knew, from having done it herself, that everyone underneath would be looking to climb to the top over her dead body. Preferably that would be literally over her dead body. The struggle to keep her power and make it grow within the organization would be her punishment. But what was the test? And what did Manichean mean? And why had the little girl that was once a cat been laughing so much as she disappeared?
CHAPTER 2
Merrick quickly became lost in the labyrinthine passages, twisting and turning as they did without any apparent design, and all alike. The overwhelming crowds of screaming children, yelling parents and shrieking teenagers roared in his ears. The blinking lights nearly blinded him. He was in a California mall on a weekend, and Merrick found that he vastly preferred a vampire-infested graveyard to this. Yet this was his duty, and his calling, and hopefully the fulfillment of a lifetime’s quest. Even if he never saw a Hot Dog on a Stick, it would be too soon. And the less said about an Orange Julius, the better. He had never thought that something that sweet could be that disgusting. Still, if he was right, if he had read the signs and portents correctly, the girl would be here, now, in this place. Los Angeles, California. The mall was a large eight story structure, filled with the products of Mammon. There was even a small oil field on the site. Yet it would be here that the Chosen One would be found. Perhaps that was a sign of the world that the savior would come from this decadent mess. Merrick clamped down his shaky eagerness, and his anxiety. The Council had been horrified when they learned that none of the Potentials had been chosen upon the death of the last Chosen One. It was not unheard of, of course. Though they had the experience of millennia, the Watchers—they who watched for the Chosen One and then prepared her for her battle against darkness—were simply overwhelmed, as there were too many girls in the world, and too few people to search through them to find the right one in time. Still, they had been lucky for a while now. It had been hoped that they had gotten so proficient at finding Potentials that it would have been unlikely, if not impossible, for one of them not to have been chosen. And yet, it had happened. So Merrick had been sent to find the Chosen One and train her for combat. It was the highest honor given, to be the Watcher for the Chosen One. The Chosen One was the world’s savior, whether the world knew it or not. And she deserved to be remembered in history, even if it was only a secret history known to a few. That was the gift and the burden given to the Chosen One’s Watcher—to be their biographer until the moment of their too-soon death. In a more just world, entire religions would have been built around the Chosen One. While the normal world awaited its messiah, Merrick was one of the elect who had seen his savior fight and ultimately sacrifice themselves in the war against the world’s evil. It was this fierce, warrior nature which had given the Chosen One their other name—the Slayer. Slayer of vampires. Slayer of demons. The hunter of humanity’s predators. As soon as it was learned that the Chosen One would be found in America, the Council had sent for Merrick. He was the oldest Watcher in North America still active. Though born in England, he had spent the majority of his life in the North America—save for a tour in Vietnam. Further, he had worked with many Chosen Ones, starting with the Chosen One of the 1970s as an assistant to her Watcher. As he walked through the mall, scanning every teenage girl for the right one, he thought of Bernard Crowley, the Watcher for that first Slayer he had known. He had been devastated when his Chosen One had died, essentially entering retirement soon after. Bernard had devoted himself to raising the Chosen One’s son, Robin, in memory of his dead charge. It was common enough for the Watcher to retire upon the death of his Chosen One. Merrick could see the bonds that formed between Watcher and Slayer, intense and intimate. Oftentimes the only person that the Chosen One could confide in, could trust absolutely, was her Watcher. Teacher, trainer, guide—the Watcher pointed the Chosen One towards the enemy, and then patched them up when they returned. They were the Slayer’s only backup in the eternal battle. It was no wonder that the last Chosen One had taken her Watcher as her lover, though it had of course ended badly. He had absolutely no plans to do the same. Beyond the fact that he was much too old for her, he already had an inkling of what his Chosen One needed in a Watcher, and a lover was not one of those things. He had investigated her, along with the other Potentials that he had discovered in his quest to find the true Chosen One. Despite her seemingly sunny disposition, she held a great sadness inside her. Her parents were far too involved in their own problems, careers and social lives to be actual parents she had had to raise herself. She had done so by finding the largest crowd that she could, and emulating them in all respects. Yet despite trying to be as vacuous and flighty as possible, Merrick could see the native intelligence, will and most of all essential loneliness about her. She had the makings of a fine Chosen One. But that name was ridiculous. He could just imagine the future sniggers, as Watchers read his entry in the Watchers’ books. Yet soon enough, he was sure, they would come to respect and revere her. If Merrick had anything to do with it, everyone would know just how important Buffy the Vampire Slayer was. Now if he could only find the fool girl.
He
finally found her in front of the multiplex, four girls waiting in line and chattering away. She was a short, slight girl, with dyed blonde hair in a ponytail. She was dressed in what Merrick was sure was both expensive and fashionable clothes, but which to him was gaudy and far too sexual for such a young girl. And she was young. He was surprised at how young she looked, despite knowing all that he did about her. It saddened him greatly to have to thrust her into the war. She had not had the lifetime’s training that many of the other Potentials had. Even if she had begun to have the dreams, the lives of previous Slayers running through her mind, it would not be enough for her fight and live through her encounter with a vampire. Yet she would have to fight, even if she was not ready. She was the Chosen One and there was so little time. Evil was already in Los Angeles. And so he would had have to give Buffy what training he could, in the time that he had, and then hope like hell that it was enough. Heart pounding, his throat dry, he walked up to Buffy and made to introduce himself. Yet before he could get a word out, Buffy looked up and smiled upon seeing him. She ran over to Merrick and then hugged him. The breath rushed out of his body, as the great strength that was part of the gifts given to the Chosen One was used to crush his ribs. “Uncle Merry!” cried Buffy. Merrick could not even feel indignant at that, as he felt his internal organs liquefy under the force of Buffy’s hug. Mercifully, Buffy let go and turned back to her friends. “Guys, this is my Uncle Merry. Uncle Merry, these are the guys.” “Hi,” said Buffy’s friends, each trying to hold back a giggle at Merrick’s expense. “Listen, I know that we were going to watch a movie, but I have to catch up with my uncle, all right? I’ll see you guys later. Ciao!” With a wave of her hands, Buffy sped away from her friends, towing Merrick behind her. It wasn’t until they had turned a corner that Buffy let go of Merrick’s hand and they slowed down enough to talk. When Merrick looked at her now, Buffy’s entire demeanor had changed. Instead of a vapid, spoiled teenager, he instead saw a girl of great strength and determination. All of the potential that he had known was within her he saw manifest in her gaze. “Let’s save some time, okay? Me, Slayer. You, Watcher. Vampires are real and it’s my job to kill them,” said Buffy grimly. “Oh, also, there’s no time. That about cover it?” “Urm,” said Merrick. “Yes, that about does it. How did you . . . the dreams. You’ve been having the dreams.” “Yeah, let’s go with that,” said Buffy. “You’re right that there’s no time. You have no idea how right you are. But before we can start anything, I need to go home first. Where’d you park your car?” Buffy led Merrick out of the mall and to the parking lot, quickly weaving her way through the crowds as if they were not even there. Merrick suspected that she could have done so before she gained the abilities that came with being a Slayer. He had to walk quickly to keep up with her, and could not help bumping people as he passed. The only thing Buffy said to Merrick as they walked was, “You know, if we had the time, I would totally go ‘Queer Eye’ on you. We’re in a mall, and you definitely need new clothes.” Merrick looked down at himself—a black suit and tie, black button down, and leather shoes suitable for walking in both alleys and cemeteries. It was the same as what he’d worn, for the most part, since the Seventies. And what in the world was ‘Queer Eye’? Teenagers and their slang. Bah. He had to admit to being out of breath by the time they’d reached his car. Buffy’s only comment was that she was shocked that it could pass a smog check. Merrick said nothing, only patted his 1976 Dodge Dart police package affectionately. If there was one thing that being in Southern California was good for, it was making it much easier to find replacement parts for his car. “Okay, so I’m assuming you know how to get to my house? Good, we’re going to need to pick up some things and I have to leave my parents a note,” said Buffy as she buckled herself into the passenger seat. “Also, what gear do you have on hand?” Merrick spent a few moments cataloguing materiel, most of it of the sharp and pointy variety. She seemed utterly disinterested in the training equipment, saying only that training would come later. He had not had time to unpack, so all of it was in his trunk. It was hell on mileage and his car’s suspension. He had been planning on offloading all of it to a suitable training area, perhaps an abandoned warehouse or factory, but it seemed that his Slayer had other ideas. “You do need training. You may feel invincible, but you can only go so far with the inherent strength and reflexes that your Slayer abilities give you. Even the skills you witnessed in the dreams are not truly yours, not until you have trained your body to do what your mind commands,” said Merrick. He was glad that Buffy was taking her responsibilities so seriously, but he also knew that overconfidence led to the death of many a Chosen One. “Like I said, it’ll have to come later. There’s just no time,” said Buffy.
Before
Merrick could say anything in response, they had arrived at Buffy’s home. It was a typical Los Angeles house, built in an eye-watering mixture of architectural styles that combined to say both tasteless and affluent. As soon as Merrick stopped the car on the street, Buffy jumped out and ran to the house after telling him to pop the trunk. It was only five minutes later that Buffy came back, carrying four large bags. She was not, however, alone. Merrick watched with shock as the Slayer dropped the bags into the trunk and got back into her seat by his side. A few moments later, the back seat opened and a girl got in. She was perhaps ten years old, with straight auburn hair that fell to her shoulder blades, dressed in t-shirt, jeans and a denim jacket. Shaking off a sudden wave of dizziness, Merrick turned to Buffy. “Why is your sister here?” he demanded. “Because I need Dawn with me,” said Buffy. “Our parents aren’t home, and I’m not leaving her alone.” “Besides,” said Dawn, in a bright voice, “you’ll need someone to watch your back. What if a vampire zooms in behind and grabs hold of you, forcing you to commit suicide before he can torture you for information about Buffy?” “Dawn!” barked Buffy. “She knows?” said Merrick, horrified. “Yep,” said Dawn. “Vampires and demons and magic and keys and all kinds of stuff.” “Please stop doing that, Dawn,” begged Buffy. Dawn laughed in response. Merrick, meanwhile, was thinking furiously. This was obviously a fait accompli; there was no chance that the Chosen One would obey an order to leave her sister behind. He could try to convince her that it was the right thing to do, that it would be too dangerous to have her follow where they would be walking, but he had a nagging suspicion that this would be futile. And so Merrick tried manfully to ignore Dawn and get back to the business at hand. He succeeded for the most part. “What now? I want you to start training immediately, but you obviously have other plans.” “My school. I have a vampire king to slay,” said Buffy grimly. “Oh, but first a trip to the hardware store. There’s one on the way.” “You know about Lothos,” said Merrick. Buffy nodded in response. “And you know that Lothos is at your school?” “Underneath it,” said Buffy. From the corner of his eyes, Merrick considered Buffy. “You have dreamed the deaths of the Slayers that Lothos had killed?” “Yeah. The medieval barmaid, the Hong Kong prostitute,” said Buffy. “The others.” “Yes, dozens of Slayers. No other vampire has ever killed so many,” said Merrick. “And you would face him now, freshly called and untrained?” “I have things to do,” said Buffy firmly. “Such as?” Buffy would not answer, only looked out the window in silence. Dawn too remained silent. As they walked through the Home Depot, a large hardware chain store, Merrick considered his Slayer. As a Watcher, he had helped to train most of the Slayers of the past thirty years. Of those, five had been killed by Lothos. The horror, the rage, he had felt had nearly crippled him. So to send this girl out to fight him so soon terrified him. Yet the others had been trained, had been prepared as well as anyone could make them. Still they had died by Lothos’ hands and teeth. Buffy—he would have to get used to her ridiculous name—walked with the same determination that had been so clear on her face. Further, beyond the natural grace that came with being a Slayer, there was a power and coordination that came with training. Whether it was her cheerleading, or her childhood gymnastics training, Buffy knew how to use her body as an instrument. But would she know how to slay? In the heat of the moment, when the terror and blinding speed and unnatural horror of the situation confronted her, would she panic and die? Or would she overcome the animal instinct to hide from fear and attack? Merrick would have liked to have eased her into the life of the Slayer. He would have first demonstrated how a vampire rises, and how a vampire kills. He would have staked one in front of her, to show a vampire truly dies. Then he would have begun training her in the killing arts that a Slayer had to know. Only then would he have even considered sending her to slay Lothos, and that only because Lothos was obviously hunting her. Yet Buffy was determined to kill Lothos now. Merrick knew enough about Slayers to know that, once they committed themselves fully to a course of action, nothing could sway them from it. It seemed that with the strength and prophetic abilities, the Slayer also had superhuman stubbornness. Watchers over the years had tried various methods of dealing with this mulishness. Some Watchers crushed it out of the Slayers with brutal, Prussian-style training. Others manipulated the Slayer to redirect that stubbornness towards the eternal war. Thankfully, most of that determination was directed outward, against the world, and not towards their Watcher. This was particularly true of those Potentials who had been trained since birth by their Watcher. Merrick had planned, when the issue came up, to work around Buffy’s stubbornness through mockery. Yet that tact required a certain, even if brief, familiarity towards each other borne from the training he would give. Yet now the situation was reversed. Instead of him guiding her, the Slayer was guiding her Watcher. Right now she was guiding him through an aisle filled with farming equipment. She placed four small wood axes in the shopping cart, and replacement wooden handles for rakes. It was after they left the hardware store, loaded with the makings of weapons, that Merrick came to his decision. It was looking at his Slayer, at the way in which she had carefully weighed each wood axe for their balance, which did it. When he came to California, Merrick had expected that it would be Buffy who would have to trust him. She would have had to have trusted him that vampires were real, that she was the Chosen One, and above all else that she could kill Lothos. That would have been their relationship—she would be trusting him with her life. Now, though—now things were very much the opposite. He would have to trust that her sense of mission was such that it could not wait for any training. He would have to trust that she would survive where so many others had died. He would have to trust that she knew what she was doing. He would have to trust Buffy. It was a struggle, if a silent one made on the drive towards Hemery High School. But in the end, he came to his decision. Buffy was his Slayer, and he was her Watcher. That was a sacred bond, one which he would not betray by second-guessing her. Even if it meant his death, and more importantly even if it meant her death, he would follow. She was the Chosen One, and that meant everything. “Done,” announced Dawn. This had been all that she’d said since they had left the hardware store. In the back seat, she had spent the drive using one of the wood axes to sharpen the wooden poles into spears. It had made a mess, leaving wood shavings and chips everywhere, yet even in the short drive the girl had managed to make four spears, five feet in length. They were light enough for the child to use them in combat—a prospect that Merrick dreaded—yet strong enough to pierce through the chest of a vampire and reach his heart. Instead of being a sharp cone, the points at the center of the mass and thus making for truer aim when thrown, the spears had been carved so that its point was at an edge. This made the spear stronger than it would have had the spear point had been in its center. That Dawn knew this without having to be told, and further that she expected to use to spears in close combat rather than as missiles, told Merrick something. He was not sure what, other than that Dawn too expected and was prepared for combat. And even that much was disturbing. Who were these girls? It was a question to be answered another time. “Good,” said Merrick. “And just in time.” He pulled the car into the parking lot of Hemery High School. It was a sprawling campus, dominated by a three-story high main building. The large gymnasium, to the rear of the campus, was where Buffy said that Lothos had his lair. Apparently the gym’s basement doubled as a water and power substation for the campus and was rarely visited, even by teenagers looking for out of the way places to do whatever depraved things teenagers did these days. It was a spring Saturday, and so no one was on campus except for a security guard or two. Yet they were nowhere to be seen. Buffy made to open her door, but Merrick stopped her. It was time to show her how crazy a Watcher could be. “Everybody have their seatbelt on? Good.” Merrick revved his engine and jumped the curb. He drove through the large arch that led to the rear of the school, driving through the chain link fence’s locked doors with a high-pitched cracking squeal. Dodging past benches and potted plants that lined the exterior hallways, he drove across a grass field and then stopped in front of the gym’s locked doors. As they got out of the car, Merrick took the time to appreciate the tire tracks and churned grass that was behind them. There had always been a childish side to him, one which still delighted in petty vandalism—especially of institutions. He rarely indulged it, but for the sake of surprising and delighting his Slayer, he would do so. Shock and terror would forever be a part of the Slayer’s life, but that made happy surprises all the more necessary. They counteracted the numbing effect that the horrors of the world could inflict upon the Slayer. “We could do doughnuts in the football field, if you want,” said Dawn. “We could,” said Buffy wistfully. Then she looked at the sun and shook her head. “No time. The sun’s almost down.” “You mean it’s almost . . . twilight?” said Dawn, grinning madly. Buffy grimaced but said nothing. It was surprisingly easy to get into the basement levels of the gym. Buffy had suggested that they chop a hole through the gym floor using one of the axes, but Merrick had, just in time, spotted a locked utility door before Buffy had kicked in the gym’s main doors. Deciding to use flashlights instead of turning on the main lights, Buffy led the way down to the basement and then from there to the tunnel that Lothos had dug for himself. It had been hidden behind a huge metal cabinet, which would have taken vampire, or Slayer, strength to move. Buffy had gone to it almost immediately, after a moment of staring at the ceiling and presumably orientating herself. Buffy walked in front, an axe in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Behind her was Dawn holding one of the long spears. Bringing up the rear was Merrick. He was carrying a crossbow, fully cocked and ready to be loosed. It was a modern crossbow, making it easier to cock than its medieval counterparts. Yet still he doubted he’d have time for more than one shot. Then he’d be down to fighting with a stake in his left hand, and a pistol in his right. He’d found that, though a gunshot did not kill a vampire, it did shock and even weaken them enough to be staked far more easily than would otherwise. He was an old man, after all, and not a super-powered teenager. The tunnels had been, at first, illuminated by battery-operated electric lamps—the kind that you would get for camping. The warm yellow glow, however, had soon been replaced by wooden torches set into the earthen walls of the tunnels by brackets. Buffy and Dawn took the time to stare at the wooden torches, utterly befuddled by them. Merrick nudged Buffy, who shook herself out of her cognitive stutter to walk on. It was not long before they came to a large chamber. It was about two stories high, shored up by thick wooden beams. At the center of the chamber was a throne, upon which sat Lothos. He was of average height, with long reddish-blonde hair that hung both loosely and in woven braids down to his chest. He wore a white silk shirt, ruffled at the collar, and a long red wool coat. Around his neck hung a gold necklace with uncut emeralds set in it. In all, he looked like a handsome man of middling years. Yet he was also one of the most powerful vampires in the world. There were perhaps older vampires, though none were completely sure how old Lothos was. And those old vampires were no longer able to hide their demonic nature behind their human faces, always monstrously bestial in their visage. Yet Lothos was able to do so. However when he showed his true face, his demonic face, instead of turning into a snarling, twisted wreck that still retained some of its human nature, Lothos’ demon face was like that of a wolf, or a dog, a hairless long snout stretching outward to tear and maul rather than the normal vampire’s simple bite. His eyes were closed, and he looked to be sleeping sitting upright. Yet as soon as Buffy fully entered the chamber, his gaze locked upon her. They all stopped as Lothos languidly stood up. “It has been a long time since one of you has sought me out,” said Lothos. He spoke with a trace of a Continental accent, though it was difficult to pinpoint precisely. “I admire your bravery, Slayer.” “Yeah, hi,” said Buffy. She then threw an axe at Lothos. With a laugh, he plucked it out of the air. Yet even as his hand grasped the handle, Buffy was at his side, chopping at him with another axe. Lothos barely managed to dodge the blade as it sliced through where his neck had been. With a snarl, the vampire pushed the Slayer from him. Buffy tumbled to the ground a few feet from Lothos, but quickly sprang back up to attack. She met Lothos in midair, as he had been lunging after Buffy, looking to pin her down and kill her. They grappled briefly, she trying to decapitate him even as she landed kick after kick in his ribs, while he tried to stab her with his monstrous claws. Each failed and both separated from each other with a jump.
Merrick
was amazed by Buffy. He had known intellectually that the Chosen One knew what to do, having seen her preparations on the way to the gym. Yet a part of him had not truly believed that she knew how to do what she did. Always the Slayer needed to be trained, as their bodies could not follow through on what their instincts and their dreams told them were possible. Further, it was through training that new possibilities, unique to the particular Slayer, could be discovered and made a part of their own individual style. Yet here he was seeing a newly-called Slayer, in her first battle, fighting like a veteran. Oh, with his long years of experience as a trainer, Merrick could already see areas in which Buffy needed improvement. She was not as strong as she could be, nor as fast. Her agility was admirable, yet she did not utilize it nearly enough. Yet she was brave and cunning. Her initial move of distracting Lothos with the thrown axe was audacious, and had nearly worked. Buffy was a Slayer that came along . . . perhaps never. Merrick would have continued analyzing the fight, even as his heart was in his throat, when he felt the slightest itch at the back of his mind. He jumped up and felt the merest touch upon his ankle. Looking down, he saw a hand reaching up from the loosening dirt floor. More hands began bursting out of the ground, as vampires began to dig themselves out of makeshift graves. “Buffy!” shouted Dawn, as she dance away from the rising undead. Merrick took the time to admire how unafraid the girl sounded. “Minions!” “Bit busy! You got this?” yelled back Buffy, even as she dodge a swipe from Lothos and returned it with a slice of her axe that took a bloody chunk from his side. “Yeah, no problem,” said Dawn. She stabbed downward with her spear and the vampire beneath her turned into dust, its skeleton briefly visible and illuminated by the fiery pyre of his combusting flesh. Merrick quickly loosed a single crossbow bolt into an emerging vampire, and then began shooting at the rest with his pistol. After a pair of shots hit a vampire in the chest, with them staggered with pain, he followed up with a stake to the heart. In all, he and Dawn killed at least seven vampires between them in a few minutes. Yet there were perhaps a dozen more left, more cautious now but entirely free from their graves and thus able to maneuver. Merrick and Dawn moved back towards the tunnel entrance, with Dawn stabbing at any vampire that came too close and Merrick reloaded his pistol. Meanwhile Buffy was having trouble with her own vampire. Her left arm hung loosely by her side, as blood dripped down from her shoulder. Her right eye was swollen almost to the point of uselessness. Yet she continued to fight, even if she was noticeably slower. Lothos was not untouched, of course. His side continued to bleed, and he had lost nearly all of the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand was entirely gone. Lothos jumped into the air and floated there near the ceiling, beyond Buffy’s immediate reach. She merely stared up at him, but not before casually beheading a vampire that came too close to her. Then Lothos swept down from the ceiling, his right hand scoring a deep cut across Buffy’s jaw and neck. Lothos swept down again, only to miss as Buffy rolled to the ground and chopped down with her axe, cutting off a foot. Lothos howled in rage and pain. “Getting to be a little ‘Boxing Helena’ there, Lothos,” said Buffy, panting. “Ew!” cried Dawn as she staked a vampire with her spear. Screaming, inarticulate with fury, Lothos flew toward the tunnel, barreling through the lesser vampires. He swept aside Dawn’s spear and knocked her into the side of the tunnel. He grabbed Merrick by the neck with his remaining fingers and lifted him up. Merrick, choking, tried to bring the stake down on Lothos’ back. Before he could do so, however, Lothos had his teeth in his throat and clamped down. Merrick howled in pain. He had known, ever since his father had introduced him to the truths of the world, that this was the way he would die. Even during Vietnam, in that rotting, hellish jungle, he had known that he would not die in that war. It was in the true war, the eternal war between good and evil, that he would fall. Still, in the heartbeat between Lothos starting to feed on him and his death, Merrick took his pistol and fired into the vampire’s chest. What strength he would have gained from Merrick’s blood would now be used to heal the bullet wounds, and hopefully it would be enough damage for the Slayer to finish him off finally. Merrick, his thoughts racing as his blood drained from him, regretted that he could not have been Buffy’s Watcher for longer than those hours since their meeting at the mall. He would have been a good Watcher, he thought, teaching her all the things that a Slayer needed to know. Not just how to fight, but how to live. That the mission of the Chosen One was for life’s sake, and that living was the ultimate victory for good against evil. The world grew dim, and he felt time slowing. Yet for some reason there was no pain. The terrible pressure that had been at his throat was gone. In its place was a brief heat upon his face, like the summer sun, and then something like feathers and snow. The air smelled of ash, like a fire pit at a camp site. He had gone camping with his father many times, and they would always cook over an open wood fire. Merrick missed his father, and hoped to see him again soon. 
I am interested in your message and would like to subscribe to the newsletter. Also, Chibi-Dawn, Scooby Companion of the Noble and Most Ancient Martial Order of the Broomhandle and Dustbuster is adorable.
So, Lilah knows the world ended and got remade, and is now in charge of the LA region. Does this mean Eeevil is also going to be stepping up its game? Incompetent, she never was, and even if she doesn't know what happened or who's involved, she's excellently placed to investigate and apply influence. -- "Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows
Sorry, but distracted by your icon picture. Is that supposed to be a vampire-fighting Valkyrie?
Anyway, thanks for your comment. Chibi-Dawn is adorable, but like all Buffy-characters she will be dealing with ANGST soon enough. Lilah does know the world ended and got remade, but frankly I'm not sure how much she cares. That is to say, I don't know yet what plot-significance her knowledge will have. I had witness the conversation between the cat and Twilight for a few reasons, such as 1) needed a POV character; 2) needed to have Lilah put in charge of LA as part of her character-arc and to continue the themes that were in the Angel tv show; 3) someone to react to exposition. Lilah to me falls under the same archetype as Katherine Madigan in DWII, which was so prevalent in the 80s: the hotshot, ambitious corporate woman--powerful and attractive. Possibly with big hair, shoulder pads, and liable to slap someone into a pool. Lilah, like DWII's Katherine, does have her "good" side but that doesn't maker her a good person. How competent will she be? Well, that all depends on what her goals are. -Murmur
The avatar pic is, as labeled, the VF-14 Vampire, as seen briefly in Macross Plus Movie Edition and an omake attached to one episode of Macross 7, since it's what the enemy mecha are based on in that series. A different (rather ugly) version was later created for the Macross M3 video game which is considered canon, but I vastly prefer this type and redrew the faint, tiny sketches found in Shoji Kawamori's Macross Design Works and FZ-109A art so some good line art would exist. They've been posted here and
-- "Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows
at the Macross World Forums, and will appear at the Macross Mecha Manual web site when the owner gets around to it. The quad chest lasers would probably handily combust any vampire they hit, but 50ft mecha in general are ill suited to fighting beings a tenth their size. Well, I suppose the Protodeviln counted as spirit vampires, but the power imbalance goes the other way with them... Anyway, it's a contemporary of the VF-11 that saw service in more frugal colony fleets as the AK-47 of variable fighters.
-- "Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows
Ah, sweet Macross 7. I keep on meaning to write at least a nano-step with Doug being empowered by Song Energy and standing up against a protodevlin wave motion gun blast.
Anyway, Dawn does make weapons out of household items. It's been seen in the series that vampires are particularly vulnerable to wood through their hearts, so much so that a fall upon a wooden fence would pierce their chest despite it not being particularly sharp. I figure that one of the costs of their magically-enhanced corpse bodies is that it is even weaker against wood (and I suppose wood products like particle-board) than a normal human body, at least in the chest and ribs area. It's part of the vampire curse, like sunlight. So with that in mind, having Dawn--a little 10 year old girl, remember--armed with a weapon that would keep an enemy at some range makes sense.
Any normal human, knowing vampires are in the offing, should want to use a weapon that lets them strike from out of arm's reach, and preferably also used like a staff to break kneecaps first to keep superspeedy leeches from lunging inside effective range and make it easier to hit a relatively small target like the heart. For someone with limited strength, the ability to thrust with a two handed grip could also be significant. Plus it sounds cooler than "Knights of the Stake and Pail" - that's more like a
-- "Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows
bulemic barbecuers than vampire hunters! I'm king of hoping also that having tried the cold cuts and seeing them implode the first time around, Buffy will stick to dates with a pulse. One of the more cynical but vaguely plausible explanations I've seen for Buffy's constantly worse decisions was syphillus eating her brain, caught from one of the centuries old bedmates... of course, it's more the fault of the series law that Murphy was a rosy-eyed optimist and if nothing is wrong you're missing something.
-- "Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows 
Indeed.
Especially once Doug gets through his head what the plot is really going on in M7. Once you come to this realization, all the goofy stuff suddenly makes perfect sense. Especially if Doug gets there after having remembered Usagi and the Sailor Moon step. You see, Basara Nekki.... -- Sucrose Octanitrate. Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode. |
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