(no subject)
It'd been a very long time since he'd had the luxury of sleeping in late or lazing about, and his body was out of the habit. He sat up with a jerk and took stock of the scene while he tried to work the twinge out of his back. He was surrounded by dark wood, tall shelves, ancient books. He had clearly fallen asleep over his work.
He also, most likely, had a great deal of ink on his face. The paper where his cheek had been resting was smudged rather badly.
He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and picked up his glasses. Three days, and not a sign of a break in his research. He checked his watch -- yes, definitely morning -- and began gathering up the notes and papers and tucking them tidly into the slightly battered and rather overstuffed attache case at his feet. No doubt he had a dozen telephone messages waiting for him, and possibly an email or two if he could bring himself to boot that blasted machine Willow made him use.
He made an irritated sound, already prepared for trouble with the computer. Every time he wanted to do something simple, that thing defied him. Perhaps it was possessed. He paused in his packing and considered that. If it were possessed, an exorcism was in order. Something with burning and a great deal of holy water, guaranteed to destroy the internals of whatever electronics it touched. Suddenly quite cheered at the concept, Giles shouldered the strap of his bag and moved for one of the study carrels. Best to be behind a closed door when he started cursing at the laptop.
True to his suspicions, his laptop emitted an evil-sounding hiss when he booted it, and no matter what he tried he couldn't get it past the log-on screen. He glared at it as he propped his cell phone between ear and shoulder, digging in his bag for his flask of holy water. "Willow? Yes, it's making a terrible sound. No, of course I've tried rebooting it. It wasn't even on..." He flicked holy water at the screen, just to make himself feel better.
The smoke, growl, and shimmy of the image on the screen stopped him dead in his tracks. "Willow? I have a theory. Yes. Possession, probably demonic." He sat through her laughter and described what he'd done, flicking water at it twice more and leaning in so she could
hear the growl. "Yes, I think 'uh oh' is an appropriate sentiment. Could you do me a favor? I think you have my only copy of a papal tome... of course I'll hold on."
He was in the process of setting up the circle when the phone crackled. The laptop lay in the middle of a pentagram, tipped with candles; he'd ringed it with salt, too, and he had a censor burning, casting smoke across the quietly vibrating machine. So he missed the first bit of static, with his eyes on the symbol he drew in ash on the lid of his machine. But he didn't miss the sudden blat of a warning signal, and the dissolving of the signal into static and noise. "Willow?"
He looked up into the suddenly open sky and squinted against a few drops of rain. The laptop now rested on a small outcropping rather than his table; it helpfully burst into flame, and he yelped and upended it into the sand to put it out.
He nearly tripped and kicked out as the fire went out. His attache case ever so helpfully tipped over on the uneven ground and tried to dump its contents on his feet.
"... bugger."
He also, most likely, had a great deal of ink on his face. The paper where his cheek had been resting was smudged rather badly.
He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and picked up his glasses. Three days, and not a sign of a break in his research. He checked his watch -- yes, definitely morning -- and began gathering up the notes and papers and tucking them tidly into the slightly battered and rather overstuffed attache case at his feet. No doubt he had a dozen telephone messages waiting for him, and possibly an email or two if he could bring himself to boot that blasted machine Willow made him use.
He made an irritated sound, already prepared for trouble with the computer. Every time he wanted to do something simple, that thing defied him. Perhaps it was possessed. He paused in his packing and considered that. If it were possessed, an exorcism was in order. Something with burning and a great deal of holy water, guaranteed to destroy the internals of whatever electronics it touched. Suddenly quite cheered at the concept, Giles shouldered the strap of his bag and moved for one of the study carrels. Best to be behind a closed door when he started cursing at the laptop.
True to his suspicions, his laptop emitted an evil-sounding hiss when he booted it, and no matter what he tried he couldn't get it past the log-on screen. He glared at it as he propped his cell phone between ear and shoulder, digging in his bag for his flask of holy water. "Willow? Yes, it's making a terrible sound. No, of course I've tried rebooting it. It wasn't even on..." He flicked holy water at the screen, just to make himself feel better.
The smoke, growl, and shimmy of the image on the screen stopped him dead in his tracks. "Willow? I have a theory. Yes. Possession, probably demonic." He sat through her laughter and described what he'd done, flicking water at it twice more and leaning in so she could
hear the growl. "Yes, I think 'uh oh' is an appropriate sentiment. Could you do me a favor? I think you have my only copy of a papal tome... of course I'll hold on."
He was in the process of setting up the circle when the phone crackled. The laptop lay in the middle of a pentagram, tipped with candles; he'd ringed it with salt, too, and he had a censor burning, casting smoke across the quietly vibrating machine. So he missed the first bit of static, with his eyes on the symbol he drew in ash on the lid of his machine. But he didn't miss the sudden blat of a warning signal, and the dissolving of the signal into static and noise. "Willow?"
He looked up into the suddenly open sky and squinted against a few drops of rain. The laptop now rested on a small outcropping rather than his table; it helpfully burst into flame, and he yelped and upended it into the sand to put it out.
He nearly tripped and kicked out as the fire went out. His attache case ever so helpfully tipped over on the uneven ground and tried to dump its contents on his feet.
"... bugger."