(no subject)
The Powers That Be always seem to have better ideas about the ways Wes, Cordy, and I can spend our time. Wes had just gotten the paranoia demon out of my hotel (well, okay, it wasn't my hotel, but I wanted it, and I wanted some privacy for a little brooding, you know? I don't think I was the only one with that want...)
Anyway.
Cordy's whining about dust and Wes is waxing on about the demon, and the magic involved, giving us all a grand...something about what we should be impressed by when I'm speeding to a surprisingly unfashionablly overall-clad Cordelia to keep her from landing face first in mop water. Wes has my back with painkillers and water and a mind for detail as words, images start spewing from Cordy. Usually, that doesn't happen, usually we have to have the pills and the coaxing of details through deep, deep breaths, or hurried panting that we'll get going before something bad happens, but not this time. This one seems to be important and The Powers are flashing info with neon signs. Specifics this time, Very specifics.
Some kind of book, some kind of spell, some kind of talisman.
Yeah, so I'm a little sketchy on the details.
It really doesn't matter since Wes doesn't have any of them. Before either of us can say anything about checking the local magic shops, Cordy's bouncing and clapping her hands and dragging Wes along saying...roadtrip?
And they keep telling me I need to get out more.
Wes looks like he might throw up, but it looks like they're off to Sunnydale anyway. Somewhere I really don't want to think about, and thankfully both of them have the sense not to invite me along.
Left to my own devices, I start in on the hotel like a train wreck. Paint, linens, a severe dusting in the suite - the same suite I had in the '50's - so that my nose doesn't wrinkle every time I set foot in it. The place is kind of growing on me, but that also means I'm out of stuff to do and training is only keeping me satisfied for part of the day.
That's not what I meant.
Not that I'm thinking about the girl from Lorne's - Tara - because I'm not. Just because when I came back to get a little bit deeper of a reading, and all I got was a friendly pat on the shoulder and the words: 'Stick with her, you'll find your way' doesn't mean I'm thinking about her at all.
At all.
Lorne could have meant her in the figurative sense, maybe a case, or the PTB gig. He could've meant Cordy, or Buffy, or anything really. So why I'm thinking about that shy voice, I don't know.
Suffice it to say, I'm feeling a little antsy and want some ass to kick. Wes mentioned some demons that might have the talisman that we're looking for, and if I can find it, that'll cut down some of their time in Sunnydale and lessen the chances of me having to go there. I can't... Not right now. Not after... Some days I wish I didn't remember that day we had to give back. Then there are others where I cling to it like nothing else. But like I said, demons. Clangor demons. Yellow, kind of an orangish stripe with spines and nasty teeth. Wes says they come out most often at sunset. They like the romantic twillight or some such.
A contact of mine finds me a few and a day or two later, I've got them in a park, teeth slashing way too close to my duster. I snap one neck, but that only makes the other two furious. Threesome, anybody? One snags me with those teeth, and I feel a burning sensation ripping through my skin. Okay, it might have been good of Wes to mention poisonous venom. Poisonous venom is definitely bad.
No talisman, and right now I'm the one getting my ass kicked. I stumble back, stabbing at one quickly, through it's chest, not the way to kill it, but enough to get it to back off. The other scrapes my back with its teeth instead of my chest like it did before. It gets a swipe in to my leg but I get a crack in at it with my sword, and it makes the cut, but I get the kill.
And get really woozy.
Clothes are slashed, and I try to make it back to my car, but realize there's no way I can drive like this. Lorne, my fuzzy mind supplies. Caritas is nearby. I drag myself, stumbling, gasping against walls at the stabs of pain, and doubling over when I finally see the doorway.
I'm there, I think, reaching hazily for the door handle, and tumbling down the stairs as I pass out for a moment.