Checkpoint #2 | "Lacking in Marbles" (2/2)
Title: Lacking in Marbles
Wordcount: 1386
Rating: PG
Type: gen
Chapter: 2/2
Prompt: Checkpoint #2
Chapter 1
Mr. Bright was waiting when Anya finally arrived at the Candoro Marble Company, having crashed the car twice and then nearly gotten run over by a truck.
“You’re very late, Miss Jenkins,” he admonished her, not mentioning the huge dents in the front and side of her car. “Last, in fact.”
She sighed angrily, brushing a blonde curl away from her face with impatience. “Am I out of the race?” she demanded, really wanting to kick Eve’s ass for holding her up.
“Goodness, no,” Mr. Bright assured her. “This was not an elimination round.” He pursed his lips. “There is, however, a penalty.” Anya groaned. “But for now, get a good night’s rest. You will be contacted in the morning.” He handed her a motel key.
Stupid, stupid Eve, she thought bitterly as she pulled into a parking space in front of her room and dragged herself out of the car, through the door, and over to the bed. Clutching the race phone in one hand, she lay down and settled in for a restless night.
-----
Last Week….
“Anya Jenkins?” a voice asked.
Slowly, she realized that whatever she was lying on was pleasantly cool, and somewhere above her, a fan was working. “Where am I?” she asked softly, as her vision began to return in a splotchy, starry kind of way.
“You’re in Room 147 at the Wayfarer Hotel in Key West, Florida. It is currently about two o’clock in the afternoon, on April 15th, 2007,” the voice answered. She heard something click, then the voice continued, but not to her. “There’s your proof. We can return Miss Chase to you as easily as that. I’ll leave you two alone now.” Footsteps receded. Something - a door - creaked. The surface beneath her shifted.
A voice she recognized asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though it was a rather obvious lie. Her hands clenched around the bed sheets, and she blinked a few times before pulling herself into a sitting position. Indeed, she was in a hotel room, sitting on a bed, with Angel at the foot of the bed and glaring at her. “You’re still large and glowery,” she pointed out. “Haven’t changed much, have you?” Then she noticed he was sitting in a shaft of sunlight. “Or…”
He nodded. “I’m human now.”
She raised one eyebrow. “That makes the jacket silly.”
Angel merely glowered and crossed his arms protectively over his precious leather jacket. “I need to go downstairs,” he told her curtly. As he stomped towards the door, it opened and a small, balding head poked through.
“If you don’t mind, you can go downstairs for orientation now, Mr. Angel. I’ll be there shortly; I just want a word with Miss Jenkins.” It was the voice that had told her where and when she was. ‘Miss Chase,’ he had said. Cordelia Chase? She wasn’t at the top of Anya’s People I Need To See Right This Second list. Nor, for that matter, was Angel. Numbers one through five were Xander. After that, Giles and Buffy got a mention, because they were good at explaining weird things like this, then eight through fifteen were Xander again. She didn’t have the energy to come up with anyone else after the first fifteen. Well, maybe Andrew, so she could kick him.
Once the apparently not-anymore vampire had departed, the balding man extended his hand to her. “I’m Mr. Bright.” She didn’t take the offered hand, and, somewhat chagrined, he retracted it. “I understand that this can be a bit disorienting, but I assure you, you will be up to speed fairly quickly.” He pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. “Angel seems to be under the impression that you spent that last four years frolicking around with a harp and wings in Heaven.” He smiled eerily. “But you and I both know that isn’t the case.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was a sleek, black cell phone. “You’re welcome to team up with Angel, or do this on your own.” She was about to ask what he was talking about, but he continued quickly. “Everything will be explained in great detail at orientation. It’s a race, of sorts, Miss Jenkins. First prize is thirty-two million dollars. And, for you, not going straight back to Hell.”
-----
Three Years Ago…
“Well personally, I kinda want to slay the dragon,” he said. “Let’s get to work.” He managed to swing his sword once, and then-
Lights and noise faded back slowly, and Angel realized he was lying on his back, and florescent lights were flashing by above him. Something was beeping. A woman, not Illyria or Cordy or Eve or Nina (Why would it be Cordy? a rational part of his mind demanded, Cordelia’s dead.), speaking rapidly. Her words washed over him, beginning to unscramble themselves. “Caucasian male, early thirties…” He wanted to correct her - he had only been twenty-eight when he was turned - but he found he could not muster the strength to speak. “…severe stab wound through the left lateral abdominal wall, blunt trauma to the…”
With a burst of effort, Angel managed to sit up, startling the doctors and nearly toppling the gurney.
“Sir,” the woman said, laying a forceful hand on his shoulder, trying to push him back down. “Sir, you need to-” But he pushed her away and stumbled to his feet, toppling the gurney over. The woman shouted something at someone, but Angel was stumbling away from the confused medical staff, lurching painfully down the white hospital hallway. “Sir!” the woman yelled after him, and Angel turned to tell her off - he was a vampire, he would be fine. But as he whirled around, he caught sight of a dark, rain-lashed window. His own eyes glared back at him, and as he staggered towards it, he saw the Angel reflected in the mirror move closer, too. Then, face to face with his own reflection for the first time in centuries, he collapsed.
-----
“Angel! Angel, wake up!” Angel was jerked out of unconsciousness by Eve’s voice. “Come on, Angel! We need to get out of here!”
His first thought, upon regaining consciousness, was of the considerable pain he was in. The second was that Anya was driving his car. “Oh no,” he groaned. “She’ll crash it for sure.”
Eve tugged him to his feet. “We need to get out of here!” she shouted desperately in his ear.
“Where are we?” he asked, glancing at the unfamiliar surroundings.
But they weren’t so unfamiliar after all. When he had been CEO of Wolfram & Hart, there had been a cage in the basement, where Nina had stayed during the full moon. That’s where they were. “It’s not possible…” he muttered. “Wolfram & Hart was destroyed.”
“The LA branch was destroyed,” Eve reminded him impatiently. “This must be one of the other offices.” A buzzing noise came from inside Angel’s jacket. Surprised, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the race phone. “I thought you left that in the car,” Eve said, glancing over his shoulder to see the clue.
Glaring down at the new clue, Angel shrugged. “That was Anya’s. I’ve got my own.”
“Anya!” Eve said hopefully. “Maybe she’ll rescue us.”
“I doubt it,” he told her, still staring at the clue. “She just wants to win. And now that she’s got my car…” The thought of her behind the wheel of his beautiful old convertible made his jaw clench. “…she’ll keep driving.”
“So we need to get out of here and get to where Jefferson crosses Convergence.” There was a note of panic in Eve’s voice, and her blue eyes were wide. “And I don’t even know where that is! Jefferson City, Jefferson River… Thomas Jefferson…” she brainstormed desperately, each suggestion said with less conviction than the last.
Angel put the phone back in his pocket, and stared at the bars, trying to think of how to get out of Wolfram & Hart’s basement and to a place he didn’t know before Anya, who had a car - his car - and was free from the pursuit of the most powerful law firm in the world. “This,” he decided, “isn’t gonna be easy.”
Wordcount: 1386
Rating: PG
Type: gen
Chapter: 2/2
Prompt: Checkpoint #2
Chapter 1
Mr. Bright was waiting when Anya finally arrived at the Candoro Marble Company, having crashed the car twice and then nearly gotten run over by a truck.
“You’re very late, Miss Jenkins,” he admonished her, not mentioning the huge dents in the front and side of her car. “Last, in fact.”
She sighed angrily, brushing a blonde curl away from her face with impatience. “Am I out of the race?” she demanded, really wanting to kick Eve’s ass for holding her up.
“Goodness, no,” Mr. Bright assured her. “This was not an elimination round.” He pursed his lips. “There is, however, a penalty.” Anya groaned. “But for now, get a good night’s rest. You will be contacted in the morning.” He handed her a motel key.
Stupid, stupid Eve, she thought bitterly as she pulled into a parking space in front of her room and dragged herself out of the car, through the door, and over to the bed. Clutching the race phone in one hand, she lay down and settled in for a restless night.
-----
Last Week….
“Anya Jenkins?” a voice asked.
Slowly, she realized that whatever she was lying on was pleasantly cool, and somewhere above her, a fan was working. “Where am I?” she asked softly, as her vision began to return in a splotchy, starry kind of way.
“You’re in Room 147 at the Wayfarer Hotel in Key West, Florida. It is currently about two o’clock in the afternoon, on April 15th, 2007,” the voice answered. She heard something click, then the voice continued, but not to her. “There’s your proof. We can return Miss Chase to you as easily as that. I’ll leave you two alone now.” Footsteps receded. Something - a door - creaked. The surface beneath her shifted.
A voice she recognized asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though it was a rather obvious lie. Her hands clenched around the bed sheets, and she blinked a few times before pulling herself into a sitting position. Indeed, she was in a hotel room, sitting on a bed, with Angel at the foot of the bed and glaring at her. “You’re still large and glowery,” she pointed out. “Haven’t changed much, have you?” Then she noticed he was sitting in a shaft of sunlight. “Or…”
He nodded. “I’m human now.”
She raised one eyebrow. “That makes the jacket silly.”
Angel merely glowered and crossed his arms protectively over his precious leather jacket. “I need to go downstairs,” he told her curtly. As he stomped towards the door, it opened and a small, balding head poked through.
“If you don’t mind, you can go downstairs for orientation now, Mr. Angel. I’ll be there shortly; I just want a word with Miss Jenkins.” It was the voice that had told her where and when she was. ‘Miss Chase,’ he had said. Cordelia Chase? She wasn’t at the top of Anya’s People I Need To See Right This Second list. Nor, for that matter, was Angel. Numbers one through five were Xander. After that, Giles and Buffy got a mention, because they were good at explaining weird things like this, then eight through fifteen were Xander again. She didn’t have the energy to come up with anyone else after the first fifteen. Well, maybe Andrew, so she could kick him.
Once the apparently not-anymore vampire had departed, the balding man extended his hand to her. “I’m Mr. Bright.” She didn’t take the offered hand, and, somewhat chagrined, he retracted it. “I understand that this can be a bit disorienting, but I assure you, you will be up to speed fairly quickly.” He pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. “Angel seems to be under the impression that you spent that last four years frolicking around with a harp and wings in Heaven.” He smiled eerily. “But you and I both know that isn’t the case.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was a sleek, black cell phone. “You’re welcome to team up with Angel, or do this on your own.” She was about to ask what he was talking about, but he continued quickly. “Everything will be explained in great detail at orientation. It’s a race, of sorts, Miss Jenkins. First prize is thirty-two million dollars. And, for you, not going straight back to Hell.”
-----
Three Years Ago…
“Well personally, I kinda want to slay the dragon,” he said. “Let’s get to work.” He managed to swing his sword once, and then-
Lights and noise faded back slowly, and Angel realized he was lying on his back, and florescent lights were flashing by above him. Something was beeping. A woman, not Illyria or Cordy or Eve or Nina (Why would it be Cordy? a rational part of his mind demanded, Cordelia’s dead.), speaking rapidly. Her words washed over him, beginning to unscramble themselves. “Caucasian male, early thirties…” He wanted to correct her - he had only been twenty-eight when he was turned - but he found he could not muster the strength to speak. “…severe stab wound through the left lateral abdominal wall, blunt trauma to the…”
With a burst of effort, Angel managed to sit up, startling the doctors and nearly toppling the gurney.
“Sir,” the woman said, laying a forceful hand on his shoulder, trying to push him back down. “Sir, you need to-” But he pushed her away and stumbled to his feet, toppling the gurney over. The woman shouted something at someone, but Angel was stumbling away from the confused medical staff, lurching painfully down the white hospital hallway. “Sir!” the woman yelled after him, and Angel turned to tell her off - he was a vampire, he would be fine. But as he whirled around, he caught sight of a dark, rain-lashed window. His own eyes glared back at him, and as he staggered towards it, he saw the Angel reflected in the mirror move closer, too. Then, face to face with his own reflection for the first time in centuries, he collapsed.
-----
“Angel! Angel, wake up!” Angel was jerked out of unconsciousness by Eve’s voice. “Come on, Angel! We need to get out of here!”
His first thought, upon regaining consciousness, was of the considerable pain he was in. The second was that Anya was driving his car. “Oh no,” he groaned. “She’ll crash it for sure.”
Eve tugged him to his feet. “We need to get out of here!” she shouted desperately in his ear.
“Where are we?” he asked, glancing at the unfamiliar surroundings.
But they weren’t so unfamiliar after all. When he had been CEO of Wolfram & Hart, there had been a cage in the basement, where Nina had stayed during the full moon. That’s where they were. “It’s not possible…” he muttered. “Wolfram & Hart was destroyed.”
“The LA branch was destroyed,” Eve reminded him impatiently. “This must be one of the other offices.” A buzzing noise came from inside Angel’s jacket. Surprised, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the race phone. “I thought you left that in the car,” Eve said, glancing over his shoulder to see the clue.
Glaring down at the new clue, Angel shrugged. “That was Anya’s. I’ve got my own.”
“Anya!” Eve said hopefully. “Maybe she’ll rescue us.”
“I doubt it,” he told her, still staring at the clue. “She just wants to win. And now that she’s got my car…” The thought of her behind the wheel of his beautiful old convertible made his jaw clench. “…she’ll keep driving.”
“So we need to get out of here and get to where Jefferson crosses Convergence.” There was a note of panic in Eve’s voice, and her blue eyes were wide. “And I don’t even know where that is! Jefferson City, Jefferson River… Thomas Jefferson…” she brainstormed desperately, each suggestion said with less conviction than the last.
Angel put the phone back in his pocket, and stared at the bars, trying to think of how to get out of Wolfram & Hart’s basement and to a place he didn’t know before Anya, who had a car - his car - and was free from the pursuit of the most powerful law firm in the world. “This,” he decided, “isn’t gonna be easy.”