sunnydalealum | (no subject)

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It's not worth the effort, at this point, to make herself firmly visible.

Instead, Meg concentrates on making her voice as loud and solid and present as possible as she zips through the building, ignoring such petty obstacles as walls and floors and extremely surprised lawyers and mentally checking off sites of battle: "All out! Everybody out!" she shouts to Wells and Spoon, and "They're coming down, get ready!" to Buffy and the others in the lobby, and "We're all done, it's time to go!" to River and Spike, and "Find the others, get out now!" to Harth and Mel, and then back to the first group again, as fast as she can.

Everyone has to hear.

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One of the humans does a double-take at Meg's brief appearance; Spike takes advantage of the brief distraction to sidestep the stake, move in close, and break the man's arm backward at the elbow.

"Sounds like time to find our coats and call a cab, love," he calls to River, over the noise.

"You heard the Slayer, ladies," says Wells to the nearest girls. "Grab Spooney's armour and boots and I'll get your backs on the way out myself."

He glances over at Spoon expectantly to see just how much he can expect from the younger werewolf at this point.

River blinks at him, apparently heedless of the fray; apparently is a key word there, given the way she manages to avoid two blows and an inexpertly flung spear in that moment's glance. (The spear would have been thrown much more expertly, but its wielder took a sword slice to the arm a few minutes ago.)

"No," she says.

"Better run."

And then suits action to words.

Since they're in a somewhat safer place Spoon takes the time to force himself back into the small, weak, fragile body that can speak to everyone else, "I'll go out last." he says quietly, when he can speak again, "Can toss one of these," a mine is lifted, "And get back to Milliways on me own. Stand out a bit, out there."

What with the naked and all.

Buffy nods at Spoon. "I think you'd better -- we're running out of anything else to throw."

Sharply, she adds "They're coming --"

The two Slayers carrying Spoon's armor and boots have to break into a run to stay clear of the advancing line.

And orderly or not, in the end the retreat has to devolve into its simplest form of Everybody Run For It.

Karine hits the door first, half-expecting it to be locked, and holds it open for the others when it proves not to be. "Come on, come on, let's go," she's shouting as they pour through.

The night outside is cold and crisp, and across the silent street there's a fence adorned with strings of colored lights.

Wells will start shoving people if he has to. There's been more than enough blood tonight as far as he's concerned, and he doesn't want any collateral damage once Spoon makes his pitch.

Spike throws the man he's holding into another of them, and sets off at her heels.

"Just need a door --"

This is taking far too long.

Back from her last whirlwind tour of the building, Meg hovers and fidgets, as much as a ghost can fidget, and tries not to look at the girl and the spreading bloodstain on the floor.

There's not much else she can do - she's not solid enough to help, not now, hardly solid enough even to distract the guards with her presence.

And of course, thanks to Wolfram and Hart, she can't go out the door.

"Oi, curls." Spoon and Meg haven't been introduced, alright? "Lets go. We get back, you find me a bloody towel or some shite."

Then he stands in all his...scarred, naked, totally psychotic "glory" and heads for the nearest inside-door thinking Milliways thoughts as hard as he can. Once it's open he holds it for Meg and lobs his mine as far back into the building as he can manage.

There's are two doors several yards down the hallways; both are closed, and possibly locked. Or possibly not.

And there's a doorway at the end of the hallway.

Unfortunately, there are also reinforcements arriving.

"I'm going after him," Wells informs the last few Slayers as he sees them out the door. "I'll come join you girls soon as I've seen him right. I promise."

And with that he bolts after Spoon at breakneck speed.

He hates to run from a fight, anyway. Running into another one makes him feel a bit better about the whole thing.

Without breaking stride, Spike bends to retrieve the spear that missed River earlier from the floor. It's a heavy length of metal, a solid weight in his grip, and he spins it expertly in his hands as they move.

River half-reaches for the first doorknob, and then spins away without touching it. Her eyes are narrowed, intent and fierce.

Setting her back to the wood instead, she fires: eleven shots (guns roaring in overlapping thunder, and the cries and gurgles of the ones who die with bullets in face and throat and spine) and then a twelfth, and then her fingers blurring to reload, reload fast before she has to grab for her sword again instead and that's soon--

Her head snaps up and she jerks sideways, but it's River who gasps this time, at the sudden meaty thud and the wickedly barbed arrow protruding from her bicep.

Spike curses under his nonexistent breath. The spear blurs in his hands, the blade wounding the two closest attackers and the butt striking a third's horned skull with an appalling crack.

It's enough to give them a few seconds' respite, and he takes it.

"Hold still, pet --" He reaches for the arrowhead protruding from the exit wound, to snap the shaft below the barb.

River swings round, small face sharp and lethal, and the gun in her unwounded hand blurs upwards--

And jerks sideways, as she catchers herself with a gasp and a swaying stagger that has nothing to do with pain or bloodloss, and the loud crack of another shot overlaps with the scream of a snaggle-fanged demon.

Her right hand tightens around the grip of the gun she's still holding, tightens and almost immediately loosens again as fresh blood wells around the arrow shaft.

He makes it quick as he can: the shaft snaps between his fingers and it's done. And all right, yes, she very nearly shot him just now, but she didn't -- and she's still firing with her other hand, and he takes a split second to admire that.

And then he spins and hurls the arrowhead with vicious force.

Spike's got a few scratches on his fingers from the barbs. The clever bugger with the crossbow's got an arrowhead in his right eye. Fair trade, he's inclined to think.

The door at their back is as good as a wall. River doesn't reach for the doorknob again.

She's too busy trying to keep the covering fire going, one-handed, enough to make up for the fact that they have next to no actual cover.

Well, it's a corridor. They tend to be short on things that would obstruct clear passage. The door, though ...

Spike backs toward it, tries the knob with one hand. Locked. Course it is. Not a reinforced lock, though, and that means --

The doorframe splinters slightly with the force of his tug, and the lock breaks, and he grins. He doesn't need to open the door all the way to know, to feel, what's on the other side of it; you can tell when it works.

"Time to go," River whispers, under the crack of wood and the shouts and screams of battle.
The hard part
She doesn't move for an instant; a heartbeat. Her head is up, her small face pale and bloody and full of a lethal glittering intensity.
is putting the gun down
And then, "Time to go," she mutters again, sucking in a sharp breath, and it sounds as if she's talking to herself more than anyone. She darts backward, through the doorway Spike's holding open, and into the infinitely quieter bustle of Milliways.

Edited 2008-02-25 05:32 (UTC)

Harth's head whips around, then he grins and gives the already-gone Meg a wave.

"Well, that's our cue to leave," he says pleasantly. "Strategy or wing it, Mel?"

Mel shrugs, and looks surprised.

"Strategy? Me?"

Amy's staring at the two Frays. "Wait, what?"

Both the zhirelin braced to fight at the abrupt appearance of the ghost; its equally abrupt disappearance has left them a bit off balance.

"Our communications are esoteric but effective," Harth says brightly to the two confused Slayers, then turns back to his sister.

"Aw, but I like cunning plans," he pouts.

Mel smiles and nods to the girls to support Harth's story, but her heart isn't really in it, because she's arguing with him.

"Yours always get thwarted," she points out. "By someone who never makes them."

Her.

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