Czech fic part 6
The lack of a title on this fic is starting to bug me. I've got a few ideas kicking about, but none are satisfying. Any suggestions?
Five minutes later, Xander was standing in a small, shop-filled corridor approximately forty feet from the foot of the Charles Bridge, staring at a sign advertising the Museum of Medieval Torture Instruments. He was torn between disgust and morbid curiosity. The sign displayed a reproduction of wood cutting, displaying a man with a strange metal fork strapped to his neck, forcing him to hold his head up at an awkward angle.
If nothing else, the museum would probably take his mind off of crazy old homeless men and their crazy, possibly prophetic statements about mysterious girls.
He was supposed to be on vacation, dammit!
He'd tried calling Willow just after the old man had disappeared, but the woman who answered had explained, in halting English mixed with irritated Portuguese, that Willow was currently on the astral plane and not to be disturbed. He'd left a message for her to call him, but had no idea when, or if, she would get the message. Which meant he was on his own. In what just might be the beginnings of a supernatural crisis.
Torture was preferable.
He was about three seconds from braving the museum when his phone rang.
"Willow."
"Er." Giles said. "I'm afraid not."
Xander's shoulders slumped, then tensed again as yet another person in the crowded corridor knocked into him. "Giles. What do you know about strange old guys who mutter cryptic messages that sound like they're probably warnings?"
There was a pause. Xander hoped for a moment that Giles was trying to figure out how to tell him he'd gone completely insane and would be taken off watcher duty forever. He was pretty sure Giles was just taking a moment to take his glasses off.
"Good lord. Angel has arrived in Prague?"
Xander stood stock still in the corridor, his mouth hanging open. Giles sighed.
"My apologies. My humor was uncalled for." Xander could hear a smile in Giles' voice.
"No!" Xander, getting sick of being Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man, started towards the exit to the corridor. "No. Sorry. You just, um, caught me off guard."
"Not at all." Giles cleared his throat. "Now, um, would you please go into a bit more detail about your ‘strange old guys'?"
Xander rolled his shoulders under this coat as he stepped into the open air. Snow blew into his face, and he remembered he was going to buy a hat. "Old guy, singular. Who disappeared into thin air." As he explained the event to Giles, Xander used hand gestures to negotiate the purchase of a hat, any hat, from one of the many vendors that surrounded him. Though he was pretty sure he'd succeeded in giving Giles all the pertinent details, he ended up with an odd skull cap thing with ear flaps that looked like it had been cut out of one of Jerry Garcia's old shirts.
Screw it. His head was cold and his pride was shot already, what with doing the whole loud American on the cell phone thing.
". . . and, poof. No more creepy old guy. What do you think?"
Giles was silent long enough that Xander started to worry he'd lost his signal. He was about to pull the phone away and check the screen when the watcher finally spoke.
"Extraordinary."
That couldn't be good. "What?"
"Xander, I didn't call you for purely social reasons."
"You never do," Xander started pacing.
"The coven has just picked up some rather . . . strange energy readings east of Prague. The mountains along the Polish border have always been somewhat mystical in nature, but about half an hour ago, they spiked. When the readings waned again, there was . . . someone there."
Xander pulled his hat down a bit tighter onto his head. He'd wandered back onto the bridge. "What, at the coven?"
"Er, no. In the mountains. It's . . . a slayer, Xander. We have reason to believe she's in a bit of trouble."
Xander pressed the palm of his hand over his eye. "And she's waiting for me, isn't she."
"It . . . would seem so."
"Giles--"
"I'm well aware that this isn't a coincidence, Xander. I am equally as well aware that you thought you would be enjoying Prague as a vacation with Willow. Unfortunately, it would appear the world had different ideas."
Xander turned to face the river. The Madonna and her unknown saint suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. He sighed. "Yeah. Text me the details, I'll start heading to the train station now."
"I'll have Andrew, er, ‘text' directions immediately." There was another pause as both Giles and Xander took deep breaths. "So, other than fate once again deciding that you wouldn't be having the holiday you'd planned, how have you been, Xander?"
Xander smiled slightly, staring across the water at the Prague Castle. "Fine, Giles. I, um," he tugged at the braided strings dangling from the ear flaps of his latest purchase. "I bought ya a hat."
Five minutes later, Xander was standing in a small, shop-filled corridor approximately forty feet from the foot of the Charles Bridge, staring at a sign advertising the Museum of Medieval Torture Instruments. He was torn between disgust and morbid curiosity. The sign displayed a reproduction of wood cutting, displaying a man with a strange metal fork strapped to his neck, forcing him to hold his head up at an awkward angle.
If nothing else, the museum would probably take his mind off of crazy old homeless men and their crazy, possibly prophetic statements about mysterious girls.
He was supposed to be on vacation, dammit!
He'd tried calling Willow just after the old man had disappeared, but the woman who answered had explained, in halting English mixed with irritated Portuguese, that Willow was currently on the astral plane and not to be disturbed. He'd left a message for her to call him, but had no idea when, or if, she would get the message. Which meant he was on his own. In what just might be the beginnings of a supernatural crisis.
Torture was preferable.
He was about three seconds from braving the museum when his phone rang.
"Willow."
"Er." Giles said. "I'm afraid not."
Xander's shoulders slumped, then tensed again as yet another person in the crowded corridor knocked into him. "Giles. What do you know about strange old guys who mutter cryptic messages that sound like they're probably warnings?"
There was a pause. Xander hoped for a moment that Giles was trying to figure out how to tell him he'd gone completely insane and would be taken off watcher duty forever. He was pretty sure Giles was just taking a moment to take his glasses off.
"Good lord. Angel has arrived in Prague?"
Xander stood stock still in the corridor, his mouth hanging open. Giles sighed.
"My apologies. My humor was uncalled for." Xander could hear a smile in Giles' voice.
"No!" Xander, getting sick of being Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man, started towards the exit to the corridor. "No. Sorry. You just, um, caught me off guard."
"Not at all." Giles cleared his throat. "Now, um, would you please go into a bit more detail about your ‘strange old guys'?"
Xander rolled his shoulders under this coat as he stepped into the open air. Snow blew into his face, and he remembered he was going to buy a hat. "Old guy, singular. Who disappeared into thin air." As he explained the event to Giles, Xander used hand gestures to negotiate the purchase of a hat, any hat, from one of the many vendors that surrounded him. Though he was pretty sure he'd succeeded in giving Giles all the pertinent details, he ended up with an odd skull cap thing with ear flaps that looked like it had been cut out of one of Jerry Garcia's old shirts.
Screw it. His head was cold and his pride was shot already, what with doing the whole loud American on the cell phone thing.
". . . and, poof. No more creepy old guy. What do you think?"
Giles was silent long enough that Xander started to worry he'd lost his signal. He was about to pull the phone away and check the screen when the watcher finally spoke.
"Extraordinary."
That couldn't be good. "What?"
"Xander, I didn't call you for purely social reasons."
"You never do," Xander started pacing.
"The coven has just picked up some rather . . . strange energy readings east of Prague. The mountains along the Polish border have always been somewhat mystical in nature, but about half an hour ago, they spiked. When the readings waned again, there was . . . someone there."
Xander pulled his hat down a bit tighter onto his head. He'd wandered back onto the bridge. "What, at the coven?"
"Er, no. In the mountains. It's . . . a slayer, Xander. We have reason to believe she's in a bit of trouble."
Xander pressed the palm of his hand over his eye. "And she's waiting for me, isn't she."
"It . . . would seem so."
"Giles--"
"I'm well aware that this isn't a coincidence, Xander. I am equally as well aware that you thought you would be enjoying Prague as a vacation with Willow. Unfortunately, it would appear the world had different ideas."
Xander turned to face the river. The Madonna and her unknown saint suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. He sighed. "Yeah. Text me the details, I'll start heading to the train station now."
"I'll have Andrew, er, ‘text' directions immediately." There was another pause as both Giles and Xander took deep breaths. "So, other than fate once again deciding that you wouldn't be having the holiday you'd planned, how have you been, Xander?"
Xander smiled slightly, staring across the water at the Prague Castle. "Fine, Giles. I, um," he tugged at the braided strings dangling from the ear flaps of his latest purchase. "I bought ya a hat."