Fact vs. Fiction
Wesley and I have been in the 19th century for almost two months now. We've not yet managed to figure a way out of our predicament.
I must say, life in what is colloquially known as "the Old West" is quite different from what we have become accustomed to through television and film. I must admit to having never been a true fan of the American Western growing up as a boy in London. Granted, I was exposed to things of a more mystical nature growing up, so my interests leaned more toward Shakespeare and Doyle than L'Amour. I never spent an afternoon playing "cowboys and Indians," fun as it may have looked been.
However, in what little exposure I had to such ideas, I'm hard-pressed to reconcile the world of fiction with the world of fact that we are now confronted with. Life here is much more of a struggle, more ruthless than what someone like Roy Rogers portrayed.
And it's much, much dustier, as well.
With our resources limited and the duration of our stay here unknown, Wesley and I have used the money procured from the Mayor to establish a small business on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Of course, such an operation had to meet with approval from the Mayor, which met with understandable disdain from Wesley.
However, the meeting went well, and Wesley and I are now working as blacksmiths, one of the few occupations that had not already been filled in Sunnydale. Fortunately, both Wesley and I have a fair amount of equestrian knowledge from our upbringings in England that we can put to use here. And as we were able to procure a building with a small loft, our immediate needs look to be taken care of.
There seems to be a steady traffic through Sunnydale at this point in her history. Most tend to pass directly through on their way north to Sutter's Mill in search of their fortunes. Some tend to be one manner or another of uncouth frontier barbarian. Occasionally, Wesley and I spot a demon, concealing itself from the general populace, and we chuckle grimly how things will change over the next hundred years in this city.
Unfortunately, while our survival seems to be secure for the time being, our return to our own time appears muddled.
Contact with the Council in this era is almost impossible to consider. Any correspondence with them could possibly taint the timeline. Not to mention they'd probably have both Wesley and I institutionalized for such a supposedly far-fetched explanation. Which would be ironic, given the matters the Council deals with on a regular basis.
Sunnydale itself is not an asset, as it has hardly grown beyond being a rough-and-tumble frontier town at this point in its history. The Hellmouth is still active, yes -- thankfully, less so than in our own time -- but none of the resources used to combat its evil are in place as yet. No Magic Box, no mystical texts...nothing to aid our return.
With one possible exception.
Surely Mayor Wilkins will have in his possession some kind of ancient text, given his knowledge of the Hellmouth. It may be an assumption, but it is a reasonable assumption, given his...history.
But even if he is in possession of such a text, there is no guarantee it will hold the key to our salvation.
I'll need to discuss this with Wesley. If he agrees the risk is acceptable, our first step will be to ascertain if the Mayor is indeed in possession of anything that could possibly help us. If not, then the idea is moot.
Regardless, I believe we'll need to act soon on our own. Given our time spent here already, it's reasonable to assume that those left in our present have been unable to locate us...
...or that there is no one in our present to try to locate us.
Either of which is a most sobering thought, indeed.
I must say, life in what is colloquially known as "the Old West" is quite different from what we have become accustomed to through television and film. I must admit to having never been a true fan of the American Western growing up as a boy in London. Granted, I was exposed to things of a more mystical nature growing up, so my interests leaned more toward Shakespeare and Doyle than L'Amour. I never spent an afternoon playing "cowboys and Indians," fun as it may have looked been.
However, in what little exposure I had to such ideas, I'm hard-pressed to reconcile the world of fiction with the world of fact that we are now confronted with. Life here is much more of a struggle, more ruthless than what someone like Roy Rogers portrayed.
And it's much, much dustier, as well.
With our resources limited and the duration of our stay here unknown, Wesley and I have used the money procured from the Mayor to establish a small business on the outskirts of Sunnydale. Of course, such an operation had to meet with approval from the Mayor, which met with understandable disdain from Wesley.
However, the meeting went well, and Wesley and I are now working as blacksmiths, one of the few occupations that had not already been filled in Sunnydale. Fortunately, both Wesley and I have a fair amount of equestrian knowledge from our upbringings in England that we can put to use here. And as we were able to procure a building with a small loft, our immediate needs look to be taken care of.
There seems to be a steady traffic through Sunnydale at this point in her history. Most tend to pass directly through on their way north to Sutter's Mill in search of their fortunes. Some tend to be one manner or another of uncouth frontier barbarian. Occasionally, Wesley and I spot a demon, concealing itself from the general populace, and we chuckle grimly how things will change over the next hundred years in this city.
Unfortunately, while our survival seems to be secure for the time being, our return to our own time appears muddled.
Contact with the Council in this era is almost impossible to consider. Any correspondence with them could possibly taint the timeline. Not to mention they'd probably have both Wesley and I institutionalized for such a supposedly far-fetched explanation. Which would be ironic, given the matters the Council deals with on a regular basis.
Sunnydale itself is not an asset, as it has hardly grown beyond being a rough-and-tumble frontier town at this point in its history. The Hellmouth is still active, yes -- thankfully, less so than in our own time -- but none of the resources used to combat its evil are in place as yet. No Magic Box, no mystical texts...nothing to aid our return.
With one possible exception.
Surely Mayor Wilkins will have in his possession some kind of ancient text, given his knowledge of the Hellmouth. It may be an assumption, but it is a reasonable assumption, given his...history.
But even if he is in possession of such a text, there is no guarantee it will hold the key to our salvation.
I'll need to discuss this with Wesley. If he agrees the risk is acceptable, our first step will be to ascertain if the Mayor is indeed in possession of anything that could possibly help us. If not, then the idea is moot.
Regardless, I believe we'll need to act soon on our own. Given our time spent here already, it's reasonable to assume that those left in our present have been unable to locate us...
...or that there is no one in our present to try to locate us.
Either of which is a most sobering thought, indeed.