sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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Still no signal from Meg. By this time she should have shown up, even if everything else has run into a wall. Especially if everything else has run into a wall.

Twenty Slayers and two werewolves can't stay unnoticed for long. They're not inside the Somebody Else's Problem field yet. At least the winter weather means nobody will look askance at their long heavy coats -- but it's a gamble that nobody will be able to tell they're all concealing weapons under them.

Buffy's pacing back and forth in a slow prowl, shaking her head. "Something's gone wrong," she says flatly.

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No, indeed. This is going to take some work. Wells growls under his breath and looks to Buffy. "Need a hand getting her out of the way?" he says. "I've never seen how fast you lot heal from a major wound."

"Fast," she says tersely. "Not as fast as you."

A little louder: "Who's hurt? Anyone missing?"

Most of the rest of the assault team has made it to the cover of the felled tree by now, and there's a quick whispered count-off.

In the middle of the knot of fighters, an extra figure has appeared - wavering and see-through, before getting a slightly firmer grip on her outlines.

Meg glances over at the wounded, including Faith, for a brief moment, almost fades back out in her distress, and then pushes herself back into visibility and focuses her gaze strictly on Buffy.

"I'm sorry I couldn't - there was some kind of field," she explains, hasty and breathless, the words tumbling over each other, "I couldn't get out of the building - the rest are here, from Milliways, we couldn't wait. They're about to start the ritual upstairs -"

"So that's what the problem was," says Wells, looking up. "Fucking hell..."

Buffy's jaw tightens.

"Are any of our people up there yet? The other teams?"

Meg nods, and then, apparently unsure as to how visible the gesture is, says aloud, "They are - I don't know how they're doing, I came to look for you - but you'll want to catch up as soon as you can."

"Find out," Buffy says. "And get back to us as soon as you can. You're the only line of communication we've got now."

Kennedy scoots up next to them. "Everyone's accounted for," she says to Harry. "No deaths, a couple of serious injuries. At least three of us--" she looks uneasily at Faith, and finishes "-- out of the fight."

"Good. good," says Wells, who'd been worried. He glances over his shoulder, then back to Buffy. "I'm thinking from the sound of things that the upstairs bunch is gonna need backup, once we've got our wounded as close to safety as we can manage. End this fast and we've got a better chance of getting them home all right."

Meg's been waiting to leave until she hears this; now she nods again.

"I'll tell them you're coming - listen for me if you can't see me," she says, and blinks out.

Wells looks around a moment, and his eyes fall on Spoon's still-furry form.

"Oi, Spooney," he calls. "How d'you feel about being the decoy again?"

Spoon's ears perk forward and his jaw drops into a happy-canine smile. It would probably go over better if his teeth weren't bloody. "Aowghhh." he agrees contently.

Wells grins- not a nice thing at all- and looks to Buffy. "Seems to me that if he gets there first we've got a better chance of picking off the defenders, so long as we beat the silver-carriers to the punch," he says.

Buffy nods shortly. "Leah, Marina, you're with me guarding the wounded." Her lip curls a bit as she says it; hanging back is not her preferred place in a fight, and it rankles. "Kennedy --"

The other Slayer nods back. "We got it."

And grins at Harry. "Right, Sarge?"

"Too fucking right," Wells agrees. "Right- Spooney, you're on point; the rest of you, shift it, they're gonna need us up there."

Spoon nods, rolls onto all fours, and then bursts out of the relatively safe position like a sprinter headed for the finish line. He's not going for clean kills right now, that's what the girls behind can do. Spoon is going for maximum chaos, which means that scratches, bites, or picking people up and using them to hit other people. Whatever he can do, he's going to do. He'll heal anything not either instantly fatal or silver-related, and he's counting on the Slayers to keep the silver from killing him.

There is something very primal and satisfying about causing chaos instead of limiting himself to clean kills. Spoon is going to have to talk to Wells and Father Anselm about this, later, he dully knows.

Mostly he knows that he's coated in blood, most of it isn't his own, and it feels good to be doing what he's doing.

Really, really good.

Nobody's really doing clean kills right now. The object isn't to kill the enemy, it's to keep them occupied.

It's hand to hand, tight and churning and messy.

Three of the zhirelin are sideslipping the main fight, heading for the toppled tree, with the clear intention of taking out the minimal cover.

They're welcome to try. Wells knows the girls have their orders, so they don't need him in his current position. They need him where he can do the most good- between the fighters and the ones who're going to be giving them trouble.

Let's see if he can beat those girls to the tree, then, shall we?

Buffy's seen them coming.

You know what's fun about cheap tree ornaments? They shatter beautifully on impact if flung at high speed.

There's a barrage of red and gold spheres coming at the zhirelin, like some bizarre reinterpretation of a snowball fight.

This is a good time for Faith to make a 'returning-to-wakefulness' noise, right?

Well, regardless of whether or not it is, that's what she just did.

".....What.....Buffy?"

Waking up from being stabbed and seeing Buffy standing over her brings back not-so-good memories, but hey, they're past that.

Right?

"Where's the Yuppie Princess?"

That would be Kennedy.

"Fighting," Buffy answers briefly, and pulls another ornament off the tree to throw.

Oo, this one's pointy.

The girls have a clearer run, but Wells is capable of some genuinely frightening bursts of speed when he has a mind to. Before he tried to run four minute miles, after all, his life depended on just how quickly he could cover the hundred meters and get out the door.

Someone's gonna get punched before they get to a point where they can do any actual destroying.

Spoon is in the thick of the mess, wounds opening and closing as fast as they're made. He managed to pick up a fairly short and light something at one point or another and is using it to beat its buddies. Equal parts weapon and shield! Rock!

The something's allies aren't amused, and are trying to get near enough to take the wolf down with silver.

Unfortunately for them, the wolf's allies have other ideas.

Meanwhile, Harry's ringed by the three zhirelin who were going for the tree.

The one in front has a rather nasty bruise rising on her face from his punch, but is still on her feet. She spits blood to one side, works her jaw a moment, and bares her teeth at him. "Didn't your ma ever tell you it ain't polite to hit girls?"

"Christ Almighty, are you ever barking up the wrong fucking tree," says Wells, almost laughing. 'Almost', because the lifelong habits of a football hooligan mean a high speed low, sweeping kick meant to get the girls off their feet, or at least off balance.