Why She Fights (5)
Rona lay on her stomach with a cocked crossbow aimed at the land behind the Slayer Hilton. Caridad, Buffy, and Vi guarded the other three sides. Low voices chattered through an earpiece connected to a walkie-talkie. Xander had set up the night guard shifts and bought the radio equipment the second night. Really military. Rona wondered if he had even been in the army. So far, the only people the slayers had seen wandering around the camp were soldiers on patrol. Nobody without a pulse, nothing with more arms or eyes than usual. You could relax a bit as long as your senses stayed sharp and didn't fall asleep. On the radios, the slayers talked about deep stuff. Important philosophical issues that came up when the darkness bared your soul.
"--and then, as the music ends, the prince takes off his mask," Caridad said, "and it is Antonio Banderas."
"Very nice," Buffy said from her position overlooking the front, twenty feet behind Rona. "Although, take it from me, those ballroom dresses are hard to dance in."
"Been to a lot of them?" Rona asked, using a lighter to melt a marshmallow. She pinched it off between two graham crackers and a square of chocolate.
"You might say in another life," Buffy said. "The great Halloween where we really got into our costumes. Okay, Rona, your turn. Anywhere but here."
"I'm at a block party in Woodlawn," Rona said, munching her s'more. "It's a huge thing, they've brought in all the biggest names. I'm there, I'm fly, in my best threads. Then I get a tap on my shoulder from this suit who says someone wants to see me. He takes me back to the dressing rooms...and Will Smith is there, and he needs a massage!"
"Woodlawn?" Buffy said. "That's in Chicago, right?"
"South Side, represent!" Rona said.
"I have an aunt and cousins in Naperville," Buffy said, over the crinkle of a candy wrapper. "My mom and I visited--mmm, love these mini-Snickers bars!--the summer after graduation. Northwestern accepted me, but I decided to go to UC Sunnydale instead. If you need a place to stay for awhile, I can ask Aunt Arlene to--"
"Don't think I'd fit in," Rona said. Buffy wouldn't know. She wouldn't understand. "I have people I can bunk with, no problem. Hey, Vi, your turn. Anywhere but here."
"Promise not to laugh," Vi insisted.
"Part of the rules," Buffy said, "We all took solemn oaths to be non-judgey. The rules say fair game is anyone not a significant other or within three degrees of separation."
"I'm part of a rescue team," Vi said, "on the Civil Air Patrol. A plane has crashed in the mountains during winter. The helicopter can't get in close because of wind, so I volunteer to jump in. I get into the plane to check for survivors. And there is Richard Dean Anderson. I heroically snuggle close to share body warmth."
"Macgyver," Buffy said very slowly.
"Jack O'Neill," Vi said. Her sigh over the radio spoke of a deep longing. "When I saw him in Air Force dress blues, I lost my heart to him."
"A man in uniform is a wonderful thing," Buffy agreed.
"Buffy, you're up," Rona called out. "Anywhere but here."
"My usual involves a beach towel and a hunk," Buffy said. "This time-- My mom told me years ago about her honeymoon in Europe. Major into art, so she'd spend days sketching in the Louvre or the Uffizi. Other times, she would sit at a cafe. That's my anywhere. Sitting in a cafe in Roma--naturally, in the best fashion from Milan--sipping an espresso, a little nibble on the biscotti, watching the street."
"No guy?" Rona said, making another s'more. "I thought that was the point of the game."
"One will probably come along. It'd just be nice to sit and be." Buffy went quiet for a few minutes. "Rona, why did you invite me to stand guard?"
"From the time in the hospital," Rona said, chewing. "All that time in Sunnydale, you never were a part of us. I get it now, being commander and all. Only I saw you go away even from your friends, and I know you were tight with them. Seen you always on the edges today, never getting close to us."
"After some of the things I said and did," Buffy said, almost low enough that her words disappeared into the background static, "figured it might be a good idea to pull a Marcie for a while. Less generallissimo, more wallflower."
"That's the thing," Rona said. "Time we talked, I found out Xander's talk about you wasn't all hype. You're pretty fun to be around. Nice to see that."
"Rona, I take it back," Buffy said.
"What?"
"What I said about Rome and the cafe," Buffy said. "Right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than here."
++++
"You have a what?" Rona said, tongs frozen above what was called "scrambled eggs". People in line behind her in the commissary muttered at her to move on.
"It's no big." Kennedy's tray was heavy with the bacon and sausages. "Rich people back in the Gilded Age were always bringing back souvenirs from Europe. Old Masters, marbles, that kind of thing."
"When my family visited Branson," Vi said, pouring milk over her cornflakes, "we bought snowglobes and T-shirts. And fudge."
"But a castle!" Rona said, eyes wide.
"My great-great-grandfather wanted a cottage in the Berkshires." Kennedy wrinkled her nose at the eggs. "Yeah, these aren't happening for me. This coffee? Swill. First thing I do when I get back to New York is order a decent cappuccino."
"Cottages don't come with battlements," Rona said.
"It's more of a manor house," Kennedy said, carrying her plate to an empty table in the camp commissary. "A castle-ette. We're not talking Camelot here."
"I meant to ask before--" Vi said.
"Not related to them. I was named after one." Kennedy snorted. "He was a frat drinking buddy. You can tell daddy was being sentimental."
"So what's your first name?" Rona asked, buttering her toast.
"Uh. This is not for broadcast. Only Willow knows." Kennedy gritted her teeth. "Ofelia. Yeah, I know. My mom's a flake. A fun flake, though. She gave me my first glass of champagne at nine."
"I think it's a romantic name," Vi assured her.
"Read the play sometime. I don't do victim." Kennedy dug into her protein-heavy breakfast with a will. "Our family stopped using the Berkshire estate when the Hamptons became the fashion. Still, it's in the family. I used it some summers to train with my Watcher. We have stables, archery range, the works. Heck, I figure we can fit everyone into the servant's quarters no problem."
"Aw, you mean it, missy Ken?" Clasping her hands, Rona fluttered her eyes. "I's going to be in the big house? Rona no want to work in th' fields no' mo'."
"Holy crap!" Kennedy swallowed heavily. "I actually felt white-liberal guilt there for a second. Nobody in the family's ever had that, except one time my Uncle Egbert swallowed a tab of acid in the early seventies and spent Easter thinking he was a tree."
"Score!" Rona cackled. She actually got--
Wrong.
It was like ten thousand beetles were crawling under her skin. Rona had felt that only once before: under the Hellmouth when the power came. Most of the reason she had fought that hard was the screaming willies the Turok-Han had given her new slayer senses. Her lips twisted as her mouth tasted the ugly prickle of biting down on aluminum foil. Vi and Kennedy had noticed something too, knuckles white above bunched fists. Where? Where was it? She searched wildly around the warehouse that housed the commissary. Over a hundred refugees were eating at the tables. Stake, stake, dammit. No stake. It was morning, why would she need one? It must be in a dark corner somewhere, outside of the sunlight streaming through the half-open warehouse doors. Vamps could be tricky like that.
Rona locked on the two strangers walking one aisle away. In full sunlight, so not vampires. Demons. Had to be. One was a tall, dark-haired man with a bad-ass scar right across his throat. Rona didn't know men's suits from anything, but his was definitely on the high end. The woman right behind him-- The nastiness rolled right off her. That bitch looked uptown. Expensive skirtsuit, matching scarf around her neck, a black briefcase sleek enough to rip past the speed limit with a silver logo in the leather. Only, Rona had seen her dead eyes and deader smile on a pimp who used to come by the schoolyard every so often. He'd promise the girls they could make a lot of money and have a whole lot of fun. Rona hadn't fallen for it. Some of the stupider girls had. Kennedy hissed, staring at the briefcase. Not good. As one, the three slayers walked with surprising speed at the two. They were heading for the Scoobies. Oh no--
"Wes?" Buffy said just as Rona grabbed the woman's upper arm near hard enough to shatter bone.
"You know someone from Wolfram and Hart?" Kennedy slapped a hand against the man's chest.
"I see you recognize our firm's emblem." The woman's voice was friendly--all honey to hide the venom. "I wasn't aware your family used our services, Miss Drake."
"We've heard enough to keep away from you." Kennedy shook in rage...and fear. "We like our lawyers to be attack dogs, not Cujo. My W--my tutor also told me a few things."
"Could someone let me in on--" Buffy bent down to hear Mr. Giles' whisper. "Right. You're the evil lawyers--the evil evil ones, if that's possible--Angel's been fighting. Sorry, if you're out to sue me for post-apocalypse damages, all my stuff is under a crater."
"What's going on, Wes?" Xander rose, face white. "Why haven't you guys called back? And, when did you get a level in Marlboro Man?"
"Lilah," the man they called "Wes" snapped. "Leave us."
"Of course, Mr. Pryce." Lilah's smile had vipers in it. "I'm sure you'll want to catch up everyone on the new order."
"Wesley," Mr. Giles said, standing behind Buffy. "Would you mind explaining what the bloody hell is going on here?"
"It is a rather long story," Wesley said, sadness and grief colouring his words. "You may wish to sit down. I am afraid to say..."
"--and then, as the music ends, the prince takes off his mask," Caridad said, "and it is Antonio Banderas."
"Very nice," Buffy said from her position overlooking the front, twenty feet behind Rona. "Although, take it from me, those ballroom dresses are hard to dance in."
"Been to a lot of them?" Rona asked, using a lighter to melt a marshmallow. She pinched it off between two graham crackers and a square of chocolate.
"You might say in another life," Buffy said. "The great Halloween where we really got into our costumes. Okay, Rona, your turn. Anywhere but here."
"I'm at a block party in Woodlawn," Rona said, munching her s'more. "It's a huge thing, they've brought in all the biggest names. I'm there, I'm fly, in my best threads. Then I get a tap on my shoulder from this suit who says someone wants to see me. He takes me back to the dressing rooms...and Will Smith is there, and he needs a massage!"
"Woodlawn?" Buffy said. "That's in Chicago, right?"
"South Side, represent!" Rona said.
"I have an aunt and cousins in Naperville," Buffy said, over the crinkle of a candy wrapper. "My mom and I visited--mmm, love these mini-Snickers bars!--the summer after graduation. Northwestern accepted me, but I decided to go to UC Sunnydale instead. If you need a place to stay for awhile, I can ask Aunt Arlene to--"
"Don't think I'd fit in," Rona said. Buffy wouldn't know. She wouldn't understand. "I have people I can bunk with, no problem. Hey, Vi, your turn. Anywhere but here."
"Promise not to laugh," Vi insisted.
"Part of the rules," Buffy said, "We all took solemn oaths to be non-judgey. The rules say fair game is anyone not a significant other or within three degrees of separation."
"I'm part of a rescue team," Vi said, "on the Civil Air Patrol. A plane has crashed in the mountains during winter. The helicopter can't get in close because of wind, so I volunteer to jump in. I get into the plane to check for survivors. And there is Richard Dean Anderson. I heroically snuggle close to share body warmth."
"Macgyver," Buffy said very slowly.
"Jack O'Neill," Vi said. Her sigh over the radio spoke of a deep longing. "When I saw him in Air Force dress blues, I lost my heart to him."
"A man in uniform is a wonderful thing," Buffy agreed.
"Buffy, you're up," Rona called out. "Anywhere but here."
"My usual involves a beach towel and a hunk," Buffy said. "This time-- My mom told me years ago about her honeymoon in Europe. Major into art, so she'd spend days sketching in the Louvre or the Uffizi. Other times, she would sit at a cafe. That's my anywhere. Sitting in a cafe in Roma--naturally, in the best fashion from Milan--sipping an espresso, a little nibble on the biscotti, watching the street."
"No guy?" Rona said, making another s'more. "I thought that was the point of the game."
"One will probably come along. It'd just be nice to sit and be." Buffy went quiet for a few minutes. "Rona, why did you invite me to stand guard?"
"From the time in the hospital," Rona said, chewing. "All that time in Sunnydale, you never were a part of us. I get it now, being commander and all. Only I saw you go away even from your friends, and I know you were tight with them. Seen you always on the edges today, never getting close to us."
"After some of the things I said and did," Buffy said, almost low enough that her words disappeared into the background static, "figured it might be a good idea to pull a Marcie for a while. Less generallissimo, more wallflower."
"That's the thing," Rona said. "Time we talked, I found out Xander's talk about you wasn't all hype. You're pretty fun to be around. Nice to see that."
"Rona, I take it back," Buffy said.
"What?"
"What I said about Rome and the cafe," Buffy said. "Right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be than here."
++++
"You have a what?" Rona said, tongs frozen above what was called "scrambled eggs". People in line behind her in the commissary muttered at her to move on.
"It's no big." Kennedy's tray was heavy with the bacon and sausages. "Rich people back in the Gilded Age were always bringing back souvenirs from Europe. Old Masters, marbles, that kind of thing."
"When my family visited Branson," Vi said, pouring milk over her cornflakes, "we bought snowglobes and T-shirts. And fudge."
"But a castle!" Rona said, eyes wide.
"My great-great-grandfather wanted a cottage in the Berkshires." Kennedy wrinkled her nose at the eggs. "Yeah, these aren't happening for me. This coffee? Swill. First thing I do when I get back to New York is order a decent cappuccino."
"Cottages don't come with battlements," Rona said.
"It's more of a manor house," Kennedy said, carrying her plate to an empty table in the camp commissary. "A castle-ette. We're not talking Camelot here."
"I meant to ask before--" Vi said.
"Not related to them. I was named after one." Kennedy snorted. "He was a frat drinking buddy. You can tell daddy was being sentimental."
"So what's your first name?" Rona asked, buttering her toast.
"Uh. This is not for broadcast. Only Willow knows." Kennedy gritted her teeth. "Ofelia. Yeah, I know. My mom's a flake. A fun flake, though. She gave me my first glass of champagne at nine."
"I think it's a romantic name," Vi assured her.
"Read the play sometime. I don't do victim." Kennedy dug into her protein-heavy breakfast with a will. "Our family stopped using the Berkshire estate when the Hamptons became the fashion. Still, it's in the family. I used it some summers to train with my Watcher. We have stables, archery range, the works. Heck, I figure we can fit everyone into the servant's quarters no problem."
"Aw, you mean it, missy Ken?" Clasping her hands, Rona fluttered her eyes. "I's going to be in the big house? Rona no want to work in th' fields no' mo'."
"Holy crap!" Kennedy swallowed heavily. "I actually felt white-liberal guilt there for a second. Nobody in the family's ever had that, except one time my Uncle Egbert swallowed a tab of acid in the early seventies and spent Easter thinking he was a tree."
"Score!" Rona cackled. She actually got--
Wrong.
It was like ten thousand beetles were crawling under her skin. Rona had felt that only once before: under the Hellmouth when the power came. Most of the reason she had fought that hard was the screaming willies the Turok-Han had given her new slayer senses. Her lips twisted as her mouth tasted the ugly prickle of biting down on aluminum foil. Vi and Kennedy had noticed something too, knuckles white above bunched fists. Where? Where was it? She searched wildly around the warehouse that housed the commissary. Over a hundred refugees were eating at the tables. Stake, stake, dammit. No stake. It was morning, why would she need one? It must be in a dark corner somewhere, outside of the sunlight streaming through the half-open warehouse doors. Vamps could be tricky like that.
Rona locked on the two strangers walking one aisle away. In full sunlight, so not vampires. Demons. Had to be. One was a tall, dark-haired man with a bad-ass scar right across his throat. Rona didn't know men's suits from anything, but his was definitely on the high end. The woman right behind him-- The nastiness rolled right off her. That bitch looked uptown. Expensive skirtsuit, matching scarf around her neck, a black briefcase sleek enough to rip past the speed limit with a silver logo in the leather. Only, Rona had seen her dead eyes and deader smile on a pimp who used to come by the schoolyard every so often. He'd promise the girls they could make a lot of money and have a whole lot of fun. Rona hadn't fallen for it. Some of the stupider girls had. Kennedy hissed, staring at the briefcase. Not good. As one, the three slayers walked with surprising speed at the two. They were heading for the Scoobies. Oh no--
"Wes?" Buffy said just as Rona grabbed the woman's upper arm near hard enough to shatter bone.
"You know someone from Wolfram and Hart?" Kennedy slapped a hand against the man's chest.
"I see you recognize our firm's emblem." The woman's voice was friendly--all honey to hide the venom. "I wasn't aware your family used our services, Miss Drake."
"We've heard enough to keep away from you." Kennedy shook in rage...and fear. "We like our lawyers to be attack dogs, not Cujo. My W--my tutor also told me a few things."
"Could someone let me in on--" Buffy bent down to hear Mr. Giles' whisper. "Right. You're the evil lawyers--the evil evil ones, if that's possible--Angel's been fighting. Sorry, if you're out to sue me for post-apocalypse damages, all my stuff is under a crater."
"What's going on, Wes?" Xander rose, face white. "Why haven't you guys called back? And, when did you get a level in Marlboro Man?"
"Lilah," the man they called "Wes" snapped. "Leave us."
"Of course, Mr. Pryce." Lilah's smile had vipers in it. "I'm sure you'll want to catch up everyone on the new order."
"Wesley," Mr. Giles said, standing behind Buffy. "Would you mind explaining what the bloody hell is going on here?"
"It is a rather long story," Wesley said, sadness and grief colouring his words. "You may wish to sit down. I am afraid to say..."