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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"Low key," she repeats. "I like that. And -- it moves around? So the address on the card changes to show it?"

"You bet it does!" He leans in closer, raising his free hand so as to shield his mouth from view. See, this is confidentiality at its finest. Shush.

"To be honest, I'm running out of new and inventive places to book that isn't under ground. That's just taking it too far, you know?" Hand goes down. "Not to mention the added security risks with those logistics. Not my cuppa anything, if you catch my not so subtle drift."

It takes her a second, but she does catch it. (Not as long as she'd be comfortable with, to be honest.)

"I guess you never use the same place twice, either?"

Suddenly there's a shift in the air, a displacement felt only by the way your fillings start to hum. Three young adolescents approach, pale white from their tippy toes to the tops of their long-haired heads; a tall, willowy girl framed by two similarly tall and willowy boys, all of them watching Lorne and his new acquaintance with startlingly pale blue eyes. They titter amongst themselves, walking over arm in arm in arm.

"This is delightful!" One of the boys says, eyes moving from Lorne to Beth and back again, followed swiftly by the girl: "Krevlornswath has surprised us yet again." By the tone of her voice, she approves wholeheartedly.

The boy on her left scoffs, on the other hand. "I am not surprised. He is what he is."

The girl considers this, and nods. "They both are."

She looks up, glances uneasily from one to the other to the other. They look younger than she is, younger even than her little sister (and with that thought she suddenly misses Laura fiercely, painfully). And they look almost human; almost.

(Krevlornswath? she wonders briefly.)

She looks at Lorne again, uncertain, waiting for a lead.

"Introduce us!" Two of them demand, and the one left out fills in, "It is only polite."

Lorne smiles, but he's not a hundred percent happy about the Krevlornswath business. Nevertheless, he's a businessman, and the customer's always right even if he doesn't necessarily agree with them.

"Naturally, my darlings. The Triune, Emma, Emma, the Triune. The Triune govern a very particular niche of fate. Ever wonder about the technical repercussions of the Power of Three? These are the lovelies who keep that in check." He winks.

"Emma."

"Emma."

"Hmmm," the girl hums. "This is unexpected, Krevlornswath. Not only do you invite a Slayer, you speak with her as to an old friend. It so makes us wonder what will happen next, even if you do constantly belittle our demesne. We shouldn't care for you at all!"

"But it's so daring!" Left boy exclaims with a grin that is mirrored on the other boy's face. "Practically unheard of. More than enough to balance things out."

They're admiring her like she's some fascinating new plot twist on their favorite prime-time drama, and talking to Lorne like he's the writer. And she's not at all sure how he feels about that, but she can feel herself starting to bristle.

"What's so daring about it?" she asks, more to see how they'll react to her speaking than because she really wants the answer.

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."