Ficlet for Giles-Shorts: Arrival (Rated G)
For giles-shorts, theme: Disappearance and Return.
Title: Arrival
Character: Giles
Rating: G
Continuity:BtVS Season 6, “Bargaining, Part 1”.
Summary: A vignette as Giles arrives at Heathrow International Airport.
Length: ~ 490 words.
Disoriented and bleary-eyed, Giles let a single thought, a lone guiding principle-sleep (and perchance, not to dream)-direct his movements, following the throngs of people exiting his flight past one checkpoint to another. He yearned for the comfort and privacy of his own bed, but the cross-Atlantic flight had so drained him for his utter failure at scraping even one decent nap that he thought that any bed would do. Good thing, really, that his brain was half shut-down already to register the scandalous implications of that thought.
Recorded security reminders of a ridiculously calm voice played from loudspeakers overhead, and mingled with boarding announcements of a more urgent tone. People and machines spoke near him, over him, to him, at him, and he barely forced out courteous responses that should’ve been automatic, to both the human and the inanimate speakers, erring on the side of caution lest he make the wrong call. Watch your step, queue on the left for nationals at Immigration, please have your passport out, proceed to baggage claim carousel #11, you’ll need your color-coded baggage ticket, use the blue exit at Customs if you have nothing to declare, but check at Customs enquiry point should you have any questions about prohibited goods...Sleep seemed very far away, but everyone and everything had advice and directions for him on navigating the maze that was Heathrow International Airport. Which, after departing from the down-right provincial Sunnydale Airport, felt like the size of a whole city.
Giles briefly wondered, while waiting in another obligatory queue, whether an entire civilization could survive within the glistening white walls and slippery linoleum of the towering spaces, a too-bright shrine to modern travel, humming with rows of tubes of fluorescent lights. Signage for the food court seemed to support that scenario. He let himself be hustled through one hurdle after another, running on fumes by this point.
Xander, no doubt, would have compared the multi-step experience to upleveling in a video game. Giles, however, thought he finally understood the tortment of Purgatory. Only everyone else seemed to think they were all participants in a foot race.
He was home, for all intents and purposes, yet he felt scarcely at home. His was not the proud return of a triumphant warrior, resembling instead a shamed desertion after a desperate loss. He felt all of an injured animal with his tail between his legs, limping into a dark hole in order to lick his wounds in private.
Giles weighed his transportation options. Normally, he would have phoned ahead to have a Council car brought to greet him. But he was not yet ready to deal with the likes of Quentin Travers. He was going to need his energy replenished, his armor locked in position, before resuming battle stance at the Council Headquarters for debriefing. The Underground seemed an unnecessary test in his condition. A taxi, then. To a clean bed at the nearest hotel.
Title: Arrival
Character: Giles
Rating: G
Continuity:BtVS Season 6, “Bargaining, Part 1”.
Summary: A vignette as Giles arrives at Heathrow International Airport.
Length: ~ 490 words.
Disoriented and bleary-eyed, Giles let a single thought, a lone guiding principle-sleep (and perchance, not to dream)-direct his movements, following the throngs of people exiting his flight past one checkpoint to another. He yearned for the comfort and privacy of his own bed, but the cross-Atlantic flight had so drained him for his utter failure at scraping even one decent nap that he thought that any bed would do. Good thing, really, that his brain was half shut-down already to register the scandalous implications of that thought.
Recorded security reminders of a ridiculously calm voice played from loudspeakers overhead, and mingled with boarding announcements of a more urgent tone. People and machines spoke near him, over him, to him, at him, and he barely forced out courteous responses that should’ve been automatic, to both the human and the inanimate speakers, erring on the side of caution lest he make the wrong call. Watch your step, queue on the left for nationals at Immigration, please have your passport out, proceed to baggage claim carousel #11, you’ll need your color-coded baggage ticket, use the blue exit at Customs if you have nothing to declare, but check at Customs enquiry point should you have any questions about prohibited goods...Sleep seemed very far away, but everyone and everything had advice and directions for him on navigating the maze that was Heathrow International Airport. Which, after departing from the down-right provincial Sunnydale Airport, felt like the size of a whole city.
Giles briefly wondered, while waiting in another obligatory queue, whether an entire civilization could survive within the glistening white walls and slippery linoleum of the towering spaces, a too-bright shrine to modern travel, humming with rows of tubes of fluorescent lights. Signage for the food court seemed to support that scenario. He let himself be hustled through one hurdle after another, running on fumes by this point.
Xander, no doubt, would have compared the multi-step experience to upleveling in a video game. Giles, however, thought he finally understood the tortment of Purgatory. Only everyone else seemed to think they were all participants in a foot race.
He was home, for all intents and purposes, yet he felt scarcely at home. His was not the proud return of a triumphant warrior, resembling instead a shamed desertion after a desperate loss. He felt all of an injured animal with his tail between his legs, limping into a dark hole in order to lick his wounds in private.
Giles weighed his transportation options. Normally, he would have phoned ahead to have a Council car brought to greet him. But he was not yet ready to deal with the likes of Quentin Travers. He was going to need his energy replenished, his armor locked in position, before resuming battle stance at the Council Headquarters for debriefing. The Underground seemed an unnecessary test in his condition. A taxi, then. To a clean bed at the nearest hotel.