Disaster
It has been six months since Wesley and I became stranded in Sunnydale of the 19th Century. Amazingly, we've managed not only to survive, but even thrive a bit.
We've become quite the blacksmiths, and much of the townspeople already look at our small business as a sign of stability in these ever-changing times.
Wesley, in particular, has become something of a model citizen in a town in desperate need of one, thanks to his being the public face on our business. Or rather, "Wes Pryce" is well-known to the community, as opposed to "Robert Giles," his silent partner.
And we might very well have inadvertently doomed life as we know it.
Wesley was doing business in town, ordering provisions and making a deposit at the bank, leaving me alone in our workshop. Normally, whatever business we have during the day dwindles in the waning hours leading to dusk, almost as if those in Sunnydale already know to be inside at sundown. So Wesley saw fit to leave to take care of our business.
Several moments after Wesley departed, I was startled to find Mayor Richard Wilkins himself standing in our ramshackle shop.
The initial impulse to simply run the man through, as I'd done many years ago in the old high school library, was suppressed only by my surprise.
We should have expected something like this to happen. Wesley, in an effort to discern whether or not Wilkins is in possession of any mystical items or knowledge that could help return us to our own time, has slowly been working his way into Wilkins' confidence as a trusted member of the community. It has been slow going, as Wilkins' paranoia is almost legendary.
It's only natural, then, to have expected Wilkins to show up unannounced.
We'd managed to keep me out of Wilkins' path to this point as a "silent partner." We'd agreed that if Wilkins should ever encounter me in our stay here, no matter how harmless the result might be, it could taint the timeline and cause serious repercussions for our present.
But now, there he stood, face to face. Oblivious to his future, though obviously with a specific future in mind.
He introduced himself jovially enough, exclaiming it was a pleasure to finally meet "Robert" in person. I felt utterly repulsed to shake his hand, though I tried to mask my revulsion as best I could.
He claimed to be looking for "Wes" to discuss some "city matters." I could tell otherwise, by the way his eyes casually glanced around our shop.
He suspects something.
What, I cannot be certain. Perhaps it was the shock of his arrival that spurred some irrational paranoia, and nothing more. But our cover as innocent immigrants might have somehow been compromised.
Along with the future.
We've become quite the blacksmiths, and much of the townspeople already look at our small business as a sign of stability in these ever-changing times.
Wesley, in particular, has become something of a model citizen in a town in desperate need of one, thanks to his being the public face on our business. Or rather, "Wes Pryce" is well-known to the community, as opposed to "Robert Giles," his silent partner.
And we might very well have inadvertently doomed life as we know it.
Wesley was doing business in town, ordering provisions and making a deposit at the bank, leaving me alone in our workshop. Normally, whatever business we have during the day dwindles in the waning hours leading to dusk, almost as if those in Sunnydale already know to be inside at sundown. So Wesley saw fit to leave to take care of our business.
Several moments after Wesley departed, I was startled to find Mayor Richard Wilkins himself standing in our ramshackle shop.
The initial impulse to simply run the man through, as I'd done many years ago in the old high school library, was suppressed only by my surprise.
We should have expected something like this to happen. Wesley, in an effort to discern whether or not Wilkins is in possession of any mystical items or knowledge that could help return us to our own time, has slowly been working his way into Wilkins' confidence as a trusted member of the community. It has been slow going, as Wilkins' paranoia is almost legendary.
It's only natural, then, to have expected Wilkins to show up unannounced.
We'd managed to keep me out of Wilkins' path to this point as a "silent partner." We'd agreed that if Wilkins should ever encounter me in our stay here, no matter how harmless the result might be, it could taint the timeline and cause serious repercussions for our present.
But now, there he stood, face to face. Oblivious to his future, though obviously with a specific future in mind.
He introduced himself jovially enough, exclaiming it was a pleasure to finally meet "Robert" in person. I felt utterly repulsed to shake his hand, though I tried to mask my revulsion as best I could.
He claimed to be looking for "Wes" to discuss some "city matters." I could tell otherwise, by the way his eyes casually glanced around our shop.
He suspects something.
What, I cannot be certain. Perhaps it was the shock of his arrival that spurred some irrational paranoia, and nothing more. But our cover as innocent immigrants might have somehow been compromised.
Along with the future.