sunnydalealum: (Emma Baldwin)
It's five-thirty at the offices of Wolfram & Hart New York, and the regular workday is winding down.

Some people, of course, don't leave till much later, even under ordinary circumstances.

Which these are decidedly not.

"I'll need as many of you on guard as I can get." Emma's walking fast as she speaks, coming down the hall from her office, her heels clicking on the hallway floor. Brianna, soft-footed in sneakers and carrying an incongruous guitar case, keeps pace on her right; a handful of others trail in her wake. "All of you, ideally. Start calling now, and let's see if we can get everyone in by eight, start things rolling by nine -- Ajani?"
sunnydalealum: (Emma Baldwin)
Last night there was a late-night phone call, about this. This morning there's a lengthy meeting in Emma's office.

Brianna shakes her head: no, she wasn't able to get the other woman's name. She spoke English. No identifying regional accent. When Emma pulls a series of photos out of the archives, Brianna studies them intently. I'm not sure, she says. The light was bad. It could be her. Maybe.

Later today, those same photos are projected onto a screen at one end of a conference room full of zhirelin.

Her name is Dana, Emma tells them. A zhirel from Los Angeles, abducted and abused by a psychopath as a small child. She was in an institution until last year, when her abilities manifested; the staff there didn't know how to deal with her. She broke out of her cell, overpowered two doctors and an orderly, and escaped. The LA branch of Wolfram & Hart located her and tried to bring her in, but representatives of the Watchers' Council showed up and took her out of their hands by force.

She hasn't been seen since, until last night.



(There are things about this encounter that don't quite match up. Some of the things the girl said, for instance -- caff and call, what's that about? But the transcription of the surveillance video from Dana's medical records (retained in Wolfram & Hart's joint archives) makes Brianna nod repeatedly: She talked like that. Not those exact phrases, but ... that's how she talked.)



Around the table, they're all watching intently: two dozen young women, ranging in age from nineteen to thirty, wearing street clothes or business casual or workout gear. All of them look sober. Some of them look angry.

(One of them is not like the others.)

"If you see this girl, do not approach her." Emma's winding up the briefing. "And report it in immediately.

"Are there any questions?"
sunnydalealum: (Giles)
There was a note in her inbox this afternoon: Please see me after your last class. -Giles.

When she comes to his office, this time there's nobody there but him and Ms. Harkness.
sunnydalealum: (Default)
The Head's office is crowded this evening. Catherine Harkness is sitting opposite his desk, her beringed fingers steepled; Robin Wood is standing by the window, in a stance subtly reminiscent of parade rest; and Willow Rosenberg is leaning against the edge of the desk, frowning fiercely down at the manila folder she's reading through.

Mr. Giles himself is seated behind his desk, stirring a cup of tea. He glances up as the door opens.

"Ms. Ryder. Please come in."

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January 2011

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