Around Sunnydale, Sunday
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Once he'd recovered from the initial shock of being rendered literally speechless, along with what seemed like the rest of the town, Wesley's instinct to overthink everything kicked in. And he realized, in what should have been obvious all along, that this wasn't the first he'd heard about the Hellmouth being afflicted with city-wide silence. In fact, he'd heard about it just a few years ago back home -- and he remembered discussing it with Kennedy, too, who, if he recalled correctly, had confirmed that it had happened in her world as well.
Well. Obviously it hadn't been permanent in either universe. The Sunnydale population being what it was, Wesley felt confident enough in deducing that the parties who were likely responsible for it were, as it so happened, people he'd really rather not see.
Too bad.
He checked Giles' house first; no luck there. The Sunnydale High library was out for obvious reasons -- good lord, the town really didn't seem to be in a terrible rush to rebuild, did it? -- and the Bronze seemed a rather odd strategizing destination. It was only once he really thought about where a person like Giles might go if he found himself unable to speak while in dire need of communicating that he found himself wandering the university lecture halls -- equipped, as they were, with overhead projectors.
It took a lot of rooms, but finally Wes cracked open a door and spotted a familiar group of people down the stairs.
Rupert Giles
Sure enough, Giles was stationed at the overhead projector, having called a Scooby meeting somewhere where he could at least write and have the others pay attention. (Besides, he was willing to admit he rather liked standing in front of an classroom like this. He could see why Jenny had liked-- all right, best not to go there.)
In any event, he'd brought his own stereo to play spooky music. It helped set the mood. Don't you judge his teaching methods. At least he wasn't a giant bat-like alien who snacked on students.
...Or whatever.
He cracked his knuckles and placed his first slide on the projector. It read WHO ARE THE GENTLEMEN? -- or would, if it hadn't been upside down. Now it pretty much read EHT ERA OHW ?NEMELNTEG.
Close enough.
sunnydale-npc
Buffy and Willow sat in the front row -- Willow hunched eagerly over her whiteboard, Buffy holding hers to one side as she focused her attention on Giles and the screen.
As one, they frowned at the hieroglyphics Giles seemed to be trying to show them before their attention was drawn to the door as it squeaked open. The unexpected noise made Buffy grab for the stake inside her bag.
Then she recognized Wesley and released her grip.
The stake was still right by her hand, though. She hadn't completely given up on the theory he might be evil.
[*puts on dictator hat* Can the next few pings of "what are you doing here?" be Xander-Anya-Wesley-Giles-Willow? Thanks.]
Xander Harris
After his initial moment of complete BZUH?, the gesture Xander made on realizing who had entered was... pretty similar to the one Buffy would have made if she'd actually pulled that stake out of her bag.
Just in case there was anyone in the room who needed a translation, he helpfully scribbled
WTF?
on his dry-erase board.
Anya Jenkins
Oh come on, of course Anya had a front-row seat for this. First off, if this was the result of a wish, it was epic and she kinda wanted to buy the demon a drink - after she got her voice back, of course. Telling people they were stupid wasn't as much fun when you had to write it down.
She had popcorn. And a notebook with sharpie. Totally prepared for a serious briefing, guys.
And no, she was not sharing the popcorn.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
And here Wesley had hoped that the citywide silence might have affected the noise of doors squeaking, too.
He couldn't explain what he was really doing here - that would take rather a long time to get through using mime, and he didn't see Giles being terribly forthcoming with sharing the overhead projector; besides, any form of mime meant to convey that he'd taken Portalocity here from another world seemed destined to get a bit vulgar - so he waved his hands about unintelligibly for a moment before triumphantly pulling an Angel Investigations business card out of his pocket and pointing to it as if to say 'Angel sent me.'
Wasn't this only a few weeks in the timeline past when Angel had shown up to help Buffy survive Thanksgiving? Wesley thought that made a credible argument.
Then he gingerly made to take a seat. In the back, though, lest Buffy change her mind about that stake.
Rupert Giles
Giles' response to that was of the eyerolling variety, but he wasn't about to kick out extra help. Especially since, considering the voicelessness and all, Wesley couldn't exactly get snippy with them or threaten to call the Council or whatever it was he might otherwise do as part of a tantrum.
So, unimpressed though he was at the extent of Angel's "help," he wearily waved a hand to grant Wesley permission to take a seat.
Willow Rosenberg
Willow tracked Wesley suspiciously with her eyes as he took a seat, but he might be able to help! Help was good in emergencies! And, anyhow, if Giles was okay with the situation (even in an eyerolly way), she was going to be optimistic about the whole thing.
She shrugged toward Xander to express her agreement with his whiteboard then uncapped her pen, staring at the reversed slide expectantly.
Anya Jenkins
Bored now. Anya huffed silently and circled her hand in a gesture for Giles to move along. Quickly. For once.
Her popcorn was going to get cold at this rate, and the show had barely started.
PICTURES, GILES. MORE PICTURES.
Rupert Giles
YOU'D GET YOUR DAMN PICTURES.
Yes, right. Giles turned back around to the projector, where he removed the slide and replaced it with a second one. This one was even placed correctly!
THEY ARE FAIRY TALE MONSTERS.
In case they didn't get the idea, he'd included a helpful picture, which he allowed them a moment to appreciate before moving on.
WHAT DO THEY WANT
At this, he held up a finger, indicating that it was a very important point. So naturally, interrupting would just be silly.
Willow Rosenberg
It wasn't silly! It was expressing her understanding of the situation, which Giles should appreciate. Willow's hand shot up and she gestured meaningfully at her chest, miming the beating of a heart.
It was just barely possible a prurient mind might see something else, of course.
Rupert Giles
Yes, well. That didn't look inappropriate at all.
Giles got to work on changing the transparency.
HEARTS, the next slide clarified, just in case anyone had thought Willow was referring to something else.
THEY COME TO A TOWN, said the following slide, THEY STEAL ALL THE VOICES SO NO ONE CAN SCREAM. THEN...
Then... well, then this happened. And this.
Giles had gone a little crazy with the drawings, guys.
THEY NEED SEVEN, he continued. THEY HAVE AT LEAST TWO.
Xander Harris
Xander, who had not only thought Willow was referring to something else, but had actually not-vocalized that thought while Giles was looking down at the projector and got an eyeroll from Willow for his trouble, rallied to the cause now.
Of trying not to look stupid in front of someone he still had Cordy-kissing issues with. And also helping. Mostly helping.
The board that had said WTF now said HOW DO WE KILL THEM?
Buffy Summers
Buffy rolled her eyes and snorted. Only so many answers to that question, right?
She mimed staking something with an imaginary weapon.
From the looks she was getting in return, it did not read as clearly as she would have expected. People had dirty minds.
She pulled out her real stake and repeated the gesture, killing empty air good and dead.
Rupert Giles
Giles was honestly relieved by that clarification, and judging by the small, almost squeak-like exhale from the back of the room, so was Wesley.
IN THE TALES, NO SWORD CAN KILL THEM, he continued, this slide containing an illustration of a happy, unharmed Gentleman with three swords in his torso. He was even doing jazz hands, to convey how very unharmed he was.
BUT THE PRINCESS SCREAMED ONCE... AND THEY ALL DIED.
Willow Rosenberg
From the corner of her eye, Willow saw Buffy open her mouth to try to scream -- and crinkle her nose at an utter lack of success.
Well, of course that wouldn't work, but maybe something else would? Willow eagerly pulled a CD out of her bag and feigned singing -- and then what she imagined was the inevitable result of a dead Gentleman.
Rupert Giles
Giles appreciated Willow's enthusiasm, but the next slide he had prepared crushed that dream, unfortunately.
ONLY A REAL HUMAN VOICE, it read, just above a picture of an undaunted Gentleman dancing beside a record player.
For emphasis, he pointed to his throat.
Willow & Buffy
Willow sighed. It was hard to have all your best ideas shot down. She glanced over to Buffy, who was printing neatly on her whiteboard.
When Buffy held it up, it said, How do I get my voice back?. She refused to believe there wasn't anything Giles could do.
Rupert Giles
Giles just threw up his hands like someone who really wished he had some idea of what he was doing. When he tossed an expectant, if not entirely hopeful look Wesley's way and didn't get anything there either, he just refocused his attention on changing the slide.
BUFFY WILL PATROL TONIGHT, it read, beside an illustration of a somewhat... squat Buffy armed with a bow and arrow.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Wesley was fairly sure that the ensuing argument between Buffy and Giles regarding the illustration would go on for quite some time, and in any event they appeared to be done here, so he gathered up his things and hastily headed for the door.
Then on his way out, a thought occured to him, and he waved to get Giles' attention, then pointed to the slides on the projector and then back to himself. When that earned himself a nod from Giles, he hurried over, collected the slides to show the others, and then bustled out of the room.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Wesley was entirely too pleased with himself for coming up with useful information (for a certain definition of 'coming up with'), but the good news was that he wasn't able to be quite as obnoxious about it without his voice as he might under normal circumstances. The annoyingly smug expression and posture would probably give it away, though.
He sent out a mass text to everyone else whose numbers he had, requesting that they meet in a lecture hall a good distance away from the one he'd just come from. Then he lay out the projector slides he'd 'borrowed' from Giles across a row of desks for the others to comment on.
It seemed easier than trying to mime everything, at any rate.
Raven
Raven looked askance at the more gruesome slides.
Then she pointed to Karla. She was taking the story literally, and a queen might be a good as a princess, right? They just had to get her voice back.
Loki Laufeyson
Screw your miming, Loki was keeping his whiteboard forever after this. You can't stop him. He does what he wants!
Yes, she is loud. But that does not help us.
Really, if he was following Raven's logic, he would have pointed out that he was a prince of Asgard still.
Surreal SaDiablo
Surreal just gave a one-shouldered shrug and nod towards Loki.
Hey, his little writing board was right. And a Queen of the Blood was not the same as a human princess, and this wasn't the time to play guessing-games until they got it right.
There was hunting to do.
Tara Maclay
Tara seemed a little more uncertain about the suggestion than Loki or Surreal had been; she shrugged and gestured to Karla.
If she was going to be able to scream any more than the rest of them had been able to, now would be a good time to figure it out.
Karla
Karla had no problems attempting to scream. Nothing happened, however, and she shrugged at the rest of them.
If we get our voices back, I'll try again, Karla wrote. Of course, if we get our voices back, we can all try. We can have a screaming party. It'll be grand.
Then she erased it and wrote, Can we focus more on the stealing hearts aspect? People are dead. How is THAT not making news?
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Well, if you asked Wes, that last bit wasn't much of a mystery. He fumbled around for a pen for a moment, then gave up and simply pointed to a word written in marker along the side of the overhead projector: Sunnydale.
This town was the worst, guys. The worst.
Tara Maclay
Tara looked like she wanted to disagree, but she couldn't. The dead people were sad, but ... yeah.
Sunnydale. Like Fandom, only with more corpses.
Kennedy
Yep. Good ol' Sunnydale; Kennedy, who'd spent most of the presentation half-smirking over how Giles's artistic skills had clearly not improved at all between now and a couple of years ago for her, rolled her eyes in what could only be described as affectionate exasperation.
She was kind of kicking herself over not having been able to save any of the victims, irrational as it might be. Also, her continued inability to get in touch with home was starting to make her twitchy. Plus, the last time she'd been in a lecture hall on this campus was way not up there on Kennedy's list of favorite experiences ever. It all lent an extra touch of scowliness to her expression as she scribbled a message on the whiteboard she'd finally relented and gotten.
All in favor of them not making their heart quota: patrol with me tonight?
Like she wouldn't have gone on patrol anyway.
[[i delight in the rare opportunity to use this icon in location-based context.]]
Surreal SaDiablo
Surreal perked up at that suggestion, and promptly pulled one of her knives out of her boot and stuck the tip solidly in the little table-thing of her desk.
Could they leave now? Please? Because she did not do well in closed rooms being lectured at.
Sookie Stackhouse
Sookie's hand shot up, and she wiggled the tips of her fingers as they glowed pink.
She scribbled a message on her whiteboard with her other hand, then held it up. Not as useful as I'd usually be, but I can still zap things!
The Initiative
Professor Walsh had said to patrol, so they were patrolling, like you did when you were a secret government super-soldier masquerading as an ordinary college frat boy. It made sense; people were going to be freaking out over this the way they did whenever the weird was impossible to ignore, and they'd broken up more than a few fights already.
To tell the truth Graham was looking forward to being able to speak again (assuming this got resolved), just for the sake of mocking Finn forever about getting his ass stuck in the elevator.
And Forrest, too, but he could wait on that mockery since he was patrolling with the guy tonight.
Everything was chaos: if they weren't dealing with the freak-ass straitjacketed demon flunkies, it was random people getting into fights in the street. So Team Fandom Patrol was pretty noticeable. Civilians moving around like they knew how to fight? Come on. Graham caught his squadmates' attention and indicated the group, hand-signalling that they should cover him.
Those kids had no business being out here messing around with things they didn't know about instead of leaving them to the professionals.
Tony Stark
Oh, well this was totally going to end well. Tony glanced over at the guys with the whole military/SHIELD vibe going got them, then waved like he hung out in a freaky deathtrap town filled with demons all the time.
He was from New York. It might fly.
Surreal SaDiablo
Surreal noticed Tony's wave and glanced over before going back to watching the roofs of the buildings they were passing.
Men that looked like guards of some sort. Lovely. Good luck to them, and hopefully they wouldn't die if they had children to support, but that was about the amount of attention or respect she was going to give them.
[OOC: Post 3 of 5. TBC in the comments, if the patrollers want! Preplayed with the stupendous not-a-parakeet, longislandiceme, brat_inslayage, wesleynotponcy,harpy-daughter, soldtoarmenians, hoorayimrich, trigons-child, justwantsquiet, and glacial-witch. ]