Learning the Ropes (5-6/8)
Title: Learning the Ropes
Author: Bruttimabuoni
Rating: PG-13
Character: Giles, Watchers, OCs (and a mystery guest star)
Sections: 5 and 6 of 8
Word count: ~3300 in total
Descent
Rupert was alone in his room. Packing. What else was there to do? Council protocol dictated Watchers should not engage with known hazards beyond their competence, and he‘d amply proven his unfitness to deal with their current danger. No doubt a team would come down and seek the killer. No doubt they would fail. Jess would be buried in her home town. Her parents, nice people, dedicated to the cause, would mourn her. They’d believe she died for a purpose and no one would be cruel enough to explain the pathetic unnecessary waste.
What happened to a Watcher who lost his charge? Back to the Council, he assumed. On such a short assignment he probably wouldn’t merit compassionate leave, even. So more research. Prophecy sifting. Logging. Cross-referencing. While Jess decomposed quietly in Sussex.
A knock interrupted his downward-spiralling thoughts, thank the lord.
“Can I come in?”
“Hello Daphne.”
He knew subconsciously that something was wrong. A note in her voice had hardened, sharp and jagged. It scratched at the edges of his perception. Yet he beckoned her in. No Watcher should be such a fool.
She smiled, reached out to put a chilly tender hand on his once more. That pretty face remained entrancing, but his danger senses were twitching now. “I’m sorry, Mr Giles, but please don’t call me Daphne anymore. It’s a good name for disguise; tends to bashfulness. But now I’m done with hiding.”
Quietly. “You can call me Darling.”
He blinked. Had he misheard? “Darling?”
“I‘m afraid not. That‘s Darla.” She smiled. Her face changed, shivered horribly and freed her demon. “Quite a different matter, Mr Giles.”
He went for a stake, never far away in a Watcher‘s chambers. Even one as cluelessly naïve as he’d proven.
“Not tonight, Rupert Giles. You’re coming with me. My key to power.”
It took mere seconds for tiny Darla to overpower him. He was half-stunned, bound and tossed into the back of a waiting car.
Watcher’s mental notes 29 October 1984 10.10pm
Betrayed and captured.
Just like Jacie.
*
Trepidation
Giles awoke in another bed. A small, familiar, cell. He was back at Council Headquarters. In the condemned cell, trussed like… like a Slayer-vampire awaiting execution.
Any hope he was merely dreaming dissipated as Darla shifted, just out of his line of sight.
She spoke with a giggle in her death-cold voice. “Welcome back, Rupert Giles. I’d apologise for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid it’s likely to get worse before we let you go. One way or another.”
Rupert struggled pointlessly against his bonds as Darla moved closer. She looked delectably demure still, sipping from a glass of sparkling champagne, presumably pilfered from the Council‘s ample cellars. “What on earth is the point of this? This is the most dangerous possible place for a vampire. And why did you have to kill Jess?”
“My Master has been thinking. He’s had a lot of time for that lately.” Darla half-smiled, explaining no further. Rupert was sure he could see a flash of fang between those pretty pink lips. He shuddered, trying to conceal his revulsion. “One of the things he’s thought about is Slayers. Such a pesky menace, keeping this whole institution going, keeping us hidden. So. How do Slayers work? How might we get rid of them? We thought it was time to find out.”
She leant forward, so close he would have felt her breath if she had any. A faint tut escaped her, one delicate finger wagged. “Making yourself vulnerable like this, we appreciate it so much. The same old families, the same old schools. What could have been easier than infiltration? And you, so very young and tender and in need of friendship. I was almost bored, it was so easy. And you’re going to help me some more. But meanwhile, I have work to do before my brethren arrive. We‘re going to get inside this place, top to bottom, gut it, fillet it, swallow it whole.” Darla paused, suddenly self-aware.
“I‘m sorry. I must be hungry.” Those should have been chilling words to leave him with. But Rupert, between recent betrayal, loss and imminent collapse of his belief system, couldn’t spare much attention for a mere threat to his survival. He had very little expectation of seeing the dawn.
She hadn't spared a sentence for Jess, who had been utterly insignificant in the greater scheme. Too many dead girls to count, if it succeeded.
For now, though, Rupert had only two.
Watcher’s Mental Notes 29 October 1984 11.58pm
It’s Jacie’s bed.
Don’t be absurd, she was here for barely ten minutes before the end.
You mean when you killed her.
It’s no one in particular’s bed. Merely a cell. For necessary restraint, no more.
But isn’t it fitting that you returned here?
*
The final two sections are here
Author: Bruttimabuoni
Rating: PG-13
Character: Giles, Watchers, OCs (and a mystery guest star)
Sections: 5 and 6 of 8
Word count: ~3300 in total
Descent
Rupert was alone in his room. Packing. What else was there to do? Council protocol dictated Watchers should not engage with known hazards beyond their competence, and he‘d amply proven his unfitness to deal with their current danger. No doubt a team would come down and seek the killer. No doubt they would fail. Jess would be buried in her home town. Her parents, nice people, dedicated to the cause, would mourn her. They’d believe she died for a purpose and no one would be cruel enough to explain the pathetic unnecessary waste.
What happened to a Watcher who lost his charge? Back to the Council, he assumed. On such a short assignment he probably wouldn’t merit compassionate leave, even. So more research. Prophecy sifting. Logging. Cross-referencing. While Jess decomposed quietly in Sussex.
A knock interrupted his downward-spiralling thoughts, thank the lord.
“Can I come in?”
“Hello Daphne.”
He knew subconsciously that something was wrong. A note in her voice had hardened, sharp and jagged. It scratched at the edges of his perception. Yet he beckoned her in. No Watcher should be such a fool.
She smiled, reached out to put a chilly tender hand on his once more. That pretty face remained entrancing, but his danger senses were twitching now. “I’m sorry, Mr Giles, but please don’t call me Daphne anymore. It’s a good name for disguise; tends to bashfulness. But now I’m done with hiding.”
Quietly. “You can call me Darling.”
He blinked. Had he misheard? “Darling?”
“I‘m afraid not. That‘s Darla.” She smiled. Her face changed, shivered horribly and freed her demon. “Quite a different matter, Mr Giles.”
He went for a stake, never far away in a Watcher‘s chambers. Even one as cluelessly naïve as he’d proven.
“Not tonight, Rupert Giles. You’re coming with me. My key to power.”
It took mere seconds for tiny Darla to overpower him. He was half-stunned, bound and tossed into the back of a waiting car.
Watcher’s mental notes 29 October 1984 10.10pm
Betrayed and captured.
Just like Jacie.
*
Trepidation
Giles awoke in another bed. A small, familiar, cell. He was back at Council Headquarters. In the condemned cell, trussed like… like a Slayer-vampire awaiting execution.
Any hope he was merely dreaming dissipated as Darla shifted, just out of his line of sight.
She spoke with a giggle in her death-cold voice. “Welcome back, Rupert Giles. I’d apologise for the inconvenience, but I’m afraid it’s likely to get worse before we let you go. One way or another.”
Rupert struggled pointlessly against his bonds as Darla moved closer. She looked delectably demure still, sipping from a glass of sparkling champagne, presumably pilfered from the Council‘s ample cellars. “What on earth is the point of this? This is the most dangerous possible place for a vampire. And why did you have to kill Jess?”
“My Master has been thinking. He’s had a lot of time for that lately.” Darla half-smiled, explaining no further. Rupert was sure he could see a flash of fang between those pretty pink lips. He shuddered, trying to conceal his revulsion. “One of the things he’s thought about is Slayers. Such a pesky menace, keeping this whole institution going, keeping us hidden. So. How do Slayers work? How might we get rid of them? We thought it was time to find out.”
She leant forward, so close he would have felt her breath if she had any. A faint tut escaped her, one delicate finger wagged. “Making yourself vulnerable like this, we appreciate it so much. The same old families, the same old schools. What could have been easier than infiltration? And you, so very young and tender and in need of friendship. I was almost bored, it was so easy. And you’re going to help me some more. But meanwhile, I have work to do before my brethren arrive. We‘re going to get inside this place, top to bottom, gut it, fillet it, swallow it whole.” Darla paused, suddenly self-aware.
“I‘m sorry. I must be hungry.” Those should have been chilling words to leave him with. But Rupert, between recent betrayal, loss and imminent collapse of his belief system, couldn’t spare much attention for a mere threat to his survival. He had very little expectation of seeing the dawn.
She hadn't spared a sentence for Jess, who had been utterly insignificant in the greater scheme. Too many dead girls to count, if it succeeded.
For now, though, Rupert had only two.
Watcher’s Mental Notes 29 October 1984 11.58pm
It’s Jacie’s bed.
Don’t be absurd, she was here for barely ten minutes before the end.
You mean when you killed her.
It’s no one in particular’s bed. Merely a cell. For necessary restraint, no more.
But isn’t it fitting that you returned here?
*
The final two sections are here