sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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Just keep an eye on that card every now and then, he said. You'll know where to go when the time's right.

Beth's entirely aware that probably means it's magic. Which means there's any number of other things it could be doing. Which means she seriously considers not taking it home with her, in case it could be used to track her -- but the only other place she could keep it is at the shelter, and she won't do that. It'd endanger everybody else there, the ones who come in for food, the ones who work there, Peter --

She won't, that's all.

So she sticks it to the fridge with the same magnet Spike left for her back in May, and that's where it is the Monday after Thanksgiving, when she sees that it's changed. There's an address there now, in that same elegant typeface, like it's been there all along.

Aequitas. She's looked it up. Latin for justice.

It's with a certain sense of fatalism that she steps off the bus a block from the address on the card, five days later, and walks toward the building.

(It's also with the same black wig she wore that night, as a sole concession to paranoia.)

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As the unit they are, the Triune grabs one chair each from the surrounding tables, heedless of whose feelings they might hurt, and sits down. As soon as they're seated, their arms hook together as if they'd never moved out of place to begin with. "It upsets the order of things," boy on the right explains. Girl fills in, "It is unexpected. No Slayer has ever been welcome at Aequitas."

As one, they turn their heads to watch a small group of vampires surreptitiously looking their way. "Some may find it unsettling," they speak as one.

At which Lorne smiles, ever playing his part as the amicable host. "I can only hope the rest of my patrons follow your admirable example."

Beth takes a swallow of her drink to keep herself from saying anything else.

It doesn't work.

"So if you," you three she almost says, except she's not entirely sure they are three and not one mind in three bodies, "if you govern fate, how come you don't already know what's going to happen next?"

Three pairs of identical eyes slide in their sockets to settle on Beth, three heads turn in unison to face her.

"Infinite possibilities," they tell her, their three voices melting together in one complex string of sounds.

"We know where you come from," boy on right fills in. His twin continues, "We know where you come to an end."

It seems as though the girl always gets the final word. This time, it takes on an admonishing tone. "What happens in the duration is up to you. We are ever watching, ever aiming for a balance. Unfortunately, mortals are rarely geared towards balance. You always want too much and too soon; you have no patience."

Beth's lips compress, and she looks at the table.

"Yeah, that's us," she says with brittle cheer. "No patience at all."

Lorne watches Emma, gears turning in his carrot-topped head. Then, addressing the Triune. "Listen, my pearlescent pretties, why don't you go cheer us impatient mortals on from a distance? Me and Emma only just met again after a really long time no seeing... I hate to be a party pooper, but--" He smiles. "Next round is on me, how's that?"

The girl watches him with assessing eyes - after a series of tiny little eternities, she nods. Her fellow thirds smile. They know what game he's playing, Krevlornswath, but they don't mind.

"Until our paths cross yet again," girl says, standing up in perfect sync with her boys. She smooths the front of her robes and inclines her head, as do the others. As they came, so they leave. They have seen enough.

She watches them go, still deeply uneasy.

Very quietly: "Are they always like that?"

He sips his drink, watching them go. "Always have been, always will be. Cheerful for the most part. They do so enjoy spelling out my name for all and sundry, but what can I say? 'It's my name, don't wear it out'? Not likely.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah," she says, with a convincing attempt at sturdiness. "I'm okay. They were just ..."

Pause.

"Yeah," and that word's more of a sigh.

It's a silly little notion, not more than a pale imitation of an idea forming in his head, but it has him reaching out to clasp Emma's pale little hand if she'll let him.

Words. What are they good for?

Absolutely nothing, right now.

She lets him, even turns her hand under his to return the clasp. "I should probably," she starts, and stops.

Because at the nearby table, the group of vampires is getting to their feet. It's the three she noticed earlier, but with friends now -- six in all, stunningly dressed, smiling.

One smiling in particular: a tall broad-shouldered blond, who meets her eyes as he steps away from the table. He lifts a finger, points to his right eye, points at her. Stays still just long enough to make his meaning clear, then turns to head for the exit. The curly-haired woman vampire next to him blows a kiss in her direction before following him.

Beth's frozen to her seat.

One of the many benefits of acting cheery host all the time is that some people know no better than to assume that's the be all and end all of you.

Well, Lorne's got news for that clique of vamps leaving. He saw what you did there.

Watching them go from the corner of his eyes, for all intents and purposes focused on his guest, he waits for them to leave. "You probably shouldn't. Not without someone watching your back, sweetie."

"Oh god," she whispers, and it's only with tremendous effort that she keeps it from being a whimper.

"They -- you saw them?"

"In a fashion." He finishes his drink in one go. And to think he vouched for everything being fine and dandy and non threatening, now, that stings.

"Either I call you a cab, or I ask Angus to be a doll and give you a ride to wherever you want. Your call, Emma."

"I," she says, and stops.

Ask him for a weapon, advises an internal voice, calm and coolly murderous. Then spring the ambush. You can take them.

She pushes the thought away, sickened.

"...who's Angus?"

"My confidante-slash-Chief of Security and all-round nice guy." He smiles, a definite touch of fondness to his voice, despite the serious context.

"One of very few people I trust."

She considers that. Should Lorne's trust equate to hers, at this point?

If it doesn't, that same quiet voice points out, then it's get into a random cab and hope the driver isn't one of them.

In place of courage, she takes another swallow of her drink. "Thank you," she mutters. "I ... in a few minutes? If he can?"

He nods, tilting his head away as if to watch the dance floor. His wrist curls up so he can artfully rest the tips of his fingers against his cheek. If life's a game, Lorne's learned to play it, and play it well.

"Angus?" he murmurs into his cufflinks. "Car. Five minutes, coco puff. It's an emergency."

"It's --" she protests. "It's not an emergency."

"Oh, hush." He smiles, "I know that! Just don't you let Angus hear that side of the story. He hates acting chauffeur, or so he'd like everyone to believe."

Calling things emergencies, well, it facilitates certain matters.

...not that he knows what he'd normally call a five to one ambush situation if 'emergency' isn't it. Slayer mojo or no Slayer mojo.

A watery smile. "Thanks. I, I just ..." don't want to fight, the thought trails off.

She doesn't want to fight. She doesn't.

"Thanks," she repeats instead. "For, for inviting me and everything." Her smile, still fragile, is a little brighter. "Even if I wind up having to steal your Chief of Security to drive me home so I don't get ambushed -- is it weird that I'm still glad I came?"

This is Aequitas. She doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to, or Lorne'll have to have a very serious talk with someone.

He shrugs, tilting his head. His eyes glint in the dim, warm candlelight. "Would you care if I said yes? In any case, I'm sure glad you did. Hopefully, next time'll go even smoother."

They can't let those vamps win just because they're used to having the upper hand.

They might be bitchy here, but they can't be violent here -- and that's worth the risk of running into them again.

"Next time," she agrees. "I'll, I'll keep an eye on the card?"

He stands up, holding out his hand, "Just keep an eye on the card. Now let's go. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

She drains her glass and sets it down as she gets to her feet, and slides her hand into his with barely a breath of hesitation.

She feels good, somehow. Better than she has in almost a year. Longer.

Pressing a small little kiss to her pale little knuckles, Lorne then wraps her hand around the bend of his arm and escorts her to the back exit - neatly circumventing the dance floor.

"Heads up, sweetie. Angus is a big fellow, and one day, I swear you'll open your favorite dictionary and find his mugshot illustrating 'grim'. Never fear, though, he's a teddy bear. He's just not out of the closet yet."

A closet teddy bear? There are worse things to be, certainly.

Big, looming figure haloed by the streetlight outside. Leaning against the trunk of the car. Big, looming figure with horns that'd make any ram green with envy.