January 17th, 2007. World without a Sunnydale. Several midnights.
Midnight in London
When the clock turned over, nothing happened that most people would notice. No alarm buzz heard round the world that a million slapping hands couldn't find the snooze button for. Just maybe, if you were the type of person who listens to things really hard, and there wasn't a lot of traffic noise in the background, you heard a tiny, rusty ~click~.
Or if your name was Robin Wood and you were the type of person who was up late glancing at a bank of computer monitors in between chapters of a novel that was disturbingly better than the cover would imply, you might blink when a little red dot appears along the edge of the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S. A little red dot that wasn't there a minute ago, and..... didn't replace any of the little red dots already scattered across the continental maps on each screen.
You'd probably double check the numerical count at the bottom of the nearest one, just to be sure, and blink again when it confirms that yes, it's increased by one.
Or was that two? No, one. No...
When the dot at the rightmost edge of the U.S map starts shimmering, and then for a second the map itself glows, that'd be about when you reached for the phone. Then muttered under your breath as you remembered that the person who designed this damned system has been hanging out on the astral plane since just after breakfast by Sao Paulo time, and isn't expected back before Thursday.
__
Midnight in L.A.
"Know what's fun?"
"Hi, Xander."
"What's fun is when you just get off a 13 hour flight from Sydney, walk up to the gate to present your ticket for a connecting flight, and they tell you sorry, no, you're not going to London, you're going to D.C."
"I know. Here's the de--"
"With a transfer in Chicago. And you have ten minutes to grab your bags and get to the other gate before that flight takes off. That bagpipe-like noise you hear would be my lungs failing to cope with two suitcases, one carry-on, one laptop bag and a stalled-out peoplemover while trying to talk to you at the same time, by the way."
"So can you play Scotland the Brave, or do you not take requests?"
"Only if you squeeze me in the right places, and you keep swearing you're straight. What's up, Robin? The three and a half minute version would be good, since that's about when they'll make me shut off the phone."
"New Slayer."
"No, that was the three and a half second version, and lacks relevant details like why the hell Jonathan isn't playing Scotland the Brave right now. East Coast's his run."
"He's got a full plate, and this one's weird. It's a new Slayer."
"Crap."
"No, that's just it. No crap. Nobody died. There's just suddenly a new one. Or maybe two."
"Two?"
"It's hard to read; the system keeps going wacky. It's got something to do with Buffy's scythe."
"She okay?"
"She's fine, relax. I talked to her a couple hours ago. So's the scythe. But Willow's location spell's tied to it."
"Yeeeeah, known that for going on three years, and now we're back to using up the available airtime before air time."
"Near as we can tell without Willow around to say if we're right or there's just crickets in the server again, it's trying to say this new girl has another scythe. And that's throwing all the readings off the charts."
"...Unless it's the crickets."
"Unless it's the crickets. So we need somebody to go in, scout the situation out, maybe spend a while figuring out what this girl is before trying to get her back here."
"I don't do long-ter--"
"I'm not talking about buying a condo, Xander. A week or two, maybe. Less if it turns out to be an easy job."
"Or crickets."
"Or crickets."
"You owe me. Two weeks, max, and if she doesn't want to go by then, she doesn't want to go. And that's the gate."
"Have a good flight. Get some sleep. I already e-mailed you the reports, so you'll have as much detail as I do, once you get there."
{pause}
"On the plane. I'll believe the sleep part when I snore it if the weather on the last one was anything to judge by. You guys want me to get to wherever she is before I faceplant, you'll probably have to spring for a car."
"I can do that. Luxury stretch Toyota's okay by you, right?"
"If it's got somebody not me behind the wheel and doesn't run through the courtesy of his two feet, I'm---"
Please turn off all electronic devices and cellular telephones at this time...
"---good."
__
Midnight over Ohio
When the clock turned over, nothing happened that most people would notice.
Unless they were sitting directly in front of the kid with the light-up sneakers who was less interested in his Game Boy than he was in kicking the seat in front of him to make them light up.
Over.
And over.
And over.
If you were Xander Harris, you might've been humming Scotland the Brave and trying to match it up with the percussion. Just to pass the time.
Oh yeah. Lots of sleep.
[OOC: And you can now find Xander here, at needsaparrot]
When the clock turned over, nothing happened that most people would notice. No alarm buzz heard round the world that a million slapping hands couldn't find the snooze button for. Just maybe, if you were the type of person who listens to things really hard, and there wasn't a lot of traffic noise in the background, you heard a tiny, rusty ~click~.
Or if your name was Robin Wood and you were the type of person who was up late glancing at a bank of computer monitors in between chapters of a novel that was disturbingly better than the cover would imply, you might blink when a little red dot appears along the edge of the Eastern Seaboard of the U.S. A little red dot that wasn't there a minute ago, and..... didn't replace any of the little red dots already scattered across the continental maps on each screen.
You'd probably double check the numerical count at the bottom of the nearest one, just to be sure, and blink again when it confirms that yes, it's increased by one.
Or was that two? No, one. No...
When the dot at the rightmost edge of the U.S map starts shimmering, and then for a second the map itself glows, that'd be about when you reached for the phone. Then muttered under your breath as you remembered that the person who designed this damned system has been hanging out on the astral plane since just after breakfast by Sao Paulo time, and isn't expected back before Thursday.
__
Midnight in L.A.
"Know what's fun?"
"Hi, Xander."
"What's fun is when you just get off a 13 hour flight from Sydney, walk up to the gate to present your ticket for a connecting flight, and they tell you sorry, no, you're not going to London, you're going to D.C."
"I know. Here's the de--"
"With a transfer in Chicago. And you have ten minutes to grab your bags and get to the other gate before that flight takes off. That bagpipe-like noise you hear would be my lungs failing to cope with two suitcases, one carry-on, one laptop bag and a stalled-out peoplemover while trying to talk to you at the same time, by the way."
"So can you play Scotland the Brave, or do you not take requests?"
"Only if you squeeze me in the right places, and you keep swearing you're straight. What's up, Robin? The three and a half minute version would be good, since that's about when they'll make me shut off the phone."
"New Slayer."
"No, that was the three and a half second version, and lacks relevant details like why the hell Jonathan isn't playing Scotland the Brave right now. East Coast's his run."
"He's got a full plate, and this one's weird. It's a new Slayer."
"Crap."
"No, that's just it. No crap. Nobody died. There's just suddenly a new one. Or maybe two."
"Two?"
"It's hard to read; the system keeps going wacky. It's got something to do with Buffy's scythe."
"She okay?"
"She's fine, relax. I talked to her a couple hours ago. So's the scythe. But Willow's location spell's tied to it."
"Yeeeeah, known that for going on three years, and now we're back to using up the available airtime before air time."
"Near as we can tell without Willow around to say if we're right or there's just crickets in the server again, it's trying to say this new girl has another scythe. And that's throwing all the readings off the charts."
"...Unless it's the crickets."
"Unless it's the crickets. So we need somebody to go in, scout the situation out, maybe spend a while figuring out what this girl is before trying to get her back here."
"I don't do long-ter--"
"I'm not talking about buying a condo, Xander. A week or two, maybe. Less if it turns out to be an easy job."
"Or crickets."
"Or crickets."
"You owe me. Two weeks, max, and if she doesn't want to go by then, she doesn't want to go. And that's the gate."
"Have a good flight. Get some sleep. I already e-mailed you the reports, so you'll have as much detail as I do, once you get there."
{pause}
"On the plane. I'll believe the sleep part when I snore it if the weather on the last one was anything to judge by. You guys want me to get to wherever she is before I faceplant, you'll probably have to spring for a car."
"I can do that. Luxury stretch Toyota's okay by you, right?"
"If it's got somebody not me behind the wheel and doesn't run through the courtesy of his two feet, I'm---"
Please turn off all electronic devices and cellular telephones at this time...
"---good."
__
Midnight over Ohio
When the clock turned over, nothing happened that most people would notice.
Unless they were sitting directly in front of the kid with the light-up sneakers who was less interested in his Game Boy than he was in kicking the seat in front of him to make them light up.
Over.
And over.
And over.
If you were Xander Harris, you might've been humming Scotland the Brave and trying to match it up with the percussion. Just to pass the time.
Oh yeah. Lots of sleep.
[OOC: And you can now find Xander here, at needsaparrot]