sunnydalealum | Entries tagged with slayers

They're standing side by side, at an approximation of attention, backs straight, heads high.

(It's not as though they've been prisoners on the farm. They've had the run of the place; they've had trips to town for the asking, free time to spend however they like; they've had the option of going home anytime. Just say the word.)

Compared to the original hearing, this one's mercifully brief. The Council has already discussed the matter. They've each been given a chance to make a statement.

(They talked about it one night, the three of them, in whispers in their darkened bedroom. They could quit, and go home, and just ... be on their own. No more Council authority; no more fighting evil. Essentially the same deal Beth Lehrer got, only without being stripped of their powers. They'd be watched, of course, but ... )

Sara speaks a little longer, Tricia barely at all. Their statements are all more or less the same: we're ready to come back to the fold.

(In the end there really wasn't any question.)

Mr. Giles pronounces their sentence over, and welcomes them back to active Slayer duty.

And Jordie smiles.

There's no question of guilt. In either case. Only of ( sentence... )

August 2, 2007

People don't usually hire Kev to do ( protective surveillance.... )

( They've trained for this. )

( The Search for Oswald )

In the apartment, Beth sits huddled in an armchair that feels far too big for her, clasps her hands tightly in her lap and tries to stop shivering.

"I know them," she says, her voice hollow.

Historically, as a rule, the funeral of a Slayer has been a quiet affair. On occasion there have been families to make the arrangements, but most of the time, the parents and (if any) siblings have long since lost all contact with their daughter, whether deliberately or not. The Council has always seen to it that the Slayer is given a decent burial: a hardwood box, and six feet of consecrated ground, and someone to say the words, and the Watcher as sole mourner.

This, like so many other things since the Call, has changed.

It's the first time they're all back together again in over a year, the women who came to Sunnydale as Potentials and fought the First Evil there as Slayers. Caridad and Chao-Ahn, Rona and Vi and Shannon, half a dozen others. Many of them died in the battle at the Hellmouth ... but Kennedy is the first of them to have died since then.

So they're here, and so are newer Slayers who had Kennedy as their first combat instructor, and field Slayers who had her as their team leader. And so are at least one ex-lover, and at least one current one. About four-fifths of the Slayers are in somber black; the rest are in equally somber white.

Kennedy's parents and her half-sister are here somewhere too, in the crowd. Buffy and Giles are talking to them.

Soon someone's going to stand up front and start the memorial service.

It's early January, and warm for this time of year in these latitudes.

Wells is inside the building, in one of the interminable Council meetings.

Spoon is outdoors, which is probably better for everyone.

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.

It's a bigger room, this time. The better to fit two dozen zhirelin in addition to the sorcerers themselves.

The conference room setup this time is much hastier, at Emma's orders. The table's been upended against the wall instead of removed entirely; the blood in the spell diagram is still tacky. Everything's in place, including the two most vital components: the real Kshaartian mandrake, and the Scythe.

Emma's trying hard not to pace as the two red-robed apprentices bend to light the first candles, as the priests in their darker robes begin chanting.

We're in the homestretch. Go. Go. Go.

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?"

Gossip spreads pretty quickly in any women's dorm.

No one's seen Beth Lehrer since lights-out last night, and she wasn't at breakfast this morning. It's still early yet, but ... it's not like there are a whole lot of places she could have gone.

By ten o'clock, speculation's running rampant: maybe she went home for Christmas after all is the commonest suggestion, though without telling anybody? does make that seem less likely. It's not quite reached the level of worry yet.

Things have been hectic at Wolfram & Hart over the past few days.

It's kind of understandable that there hasn't yet been opportunity to get anyone in to reglaze the broken window in one of the twelfth-floor conference rooms. There's been cardboard and heavy canvas tacked down over it with tape, against the weather, and for the moment that's all.

It's not as though it's a security risk, after all. The window's twelve stories up, and there's no fire escape nearby.

A door to elsewhere has opened in the heart of Wolfram & Hart's stronghold, and it's letting in one hell of a draft.

The security guards are discovering, right about now, that their internal alarm system isn't working. And neither are their walkie-talkies. Or anybody's cellphone.

It's really kind of impressive how well they're rallying in the absence of any contact with each other or their own command.

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.

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?"

June 8, 2005, 6:30pm

( A job? )

The Warehouse (Angel's HQ)
May 27, 2005, 11:30pm

The van pulls up into its regular spot (the one protected by a low-level Do Not Notice Me spell, courtesy of Jonathan). Doors open and slam shut again, and five figures collect on the curb and start up the sidewalk for home, with the easy relaxed walk of a good night's work done.

It's Spike who first notices, and points to alert the others: there are lights on inside the building.

"Just because you don't pay the power bill," Gunn mutters.

"Wasn't me, mate," Spike returns, a little louder.

Angel raises a hand for silence, staring intently at the dim light in the window. There's a shadow moving inside.

Midtown
Offices of Wolfram & Hart
May 26, 2005, 10:30am

Beth looks around the elegant office lobby uneasily, sidestepping a trio in business suits (two men, one woman) hurrying past her toward the elevator at the rear, as Brianna leads her toward the security desk. "Hey, Alan," she says cheerfully.

"Morning, Ms. Walden," says the uniformed young man behind the desk with a pleasant smile. "Signing in a guest?"

"Yeah. It's on B Clearance. Emma wants to meet her." Brianna says it casually enough, but Alan's eyebrows go up and he looks at Beth with a shade more respect.

"Very good. Could you please sign your name here?" He hands Beth a pen, and adds "And just fill in by invitation under Purpose of Visit."

Lower Manhattan
May 24, 2005, 11:48pm

The problem with late-night extracurricular ( ... )

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A Few Key Sunnydale Alum

Entries tagged with slayers

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A Late-Night Liaison

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