(no subject)
New York City
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
6:15pm
It's mid-fall and the nights are getting longer; enough that you notice. Especially when you work with people who can't go outdoors (much) when the sun's up.
Breakfast at Angel's headquarters is a haphazard affair, and a leisurely one on the evenings when there isn't a crisis on. Two vampires and three humans, in various stages of wakefulness, wandering in and out of the kitchen; coffee, bacon, fried eggs, chocolate-flavored cereal, cold pizza, pig's blood microwaved to a comfortable 98.6. The most chipper voice in the room is coming from the TV screen.
Andrew carries his cereal bowl from the counter to sit down on one end of the ratty couch. Jonathan gets up from the couch's other end, without looking at him, and retreats to the table; it's habitual by now, routine, and Andrew turns his attention to the TV with scarcely a pang. The newscaster is wearing blinding lip gloss and a bright smile. For a moment he finds himself imagining her as an alien from Planet Cheerful.
The other end of the couch creaks as Gunn sits down, with a glance that Andrew ignores in favor of his cereal. Angel takes the armchair, hands cupped around his mug, wearing a distant expression that might mean he's brooding or might mean he's not quite awake yet.
"Next," says the newscaster, her smile shifting into a studied expression of concern and alarm, "are college exams putting too much stress on our children? A shocking new study from campuses throughout the city suggests that the answer," dramatic pause as an inset panel unfolds and floats to the foreground, "is yes. Join us after the break for...."
It's shaky, poor-quality footage, probably amateur: two EMTs wheel a gurney out of a doorway and onto the sidewalk, as the camera view jostles to get closer. Strapped down to the gurney is a young man in his mid-twenties, tossing his head, lips moving ceaselessly.
For a moment the newscaster's voice pauses, and the sound track of the film cuts in, and Andrew jerks upright in his seat and grabs for the remote control to turn the volume up. Too late: the footage folds away to reveal the news studio, camera angle slanting away as the commercial break music filters in.
Both Gunn and Angel are looking at him funny. It's Angel who says "...Aaand what was that?"
"That was Sulcaric." Andrew thumbs the mute button and stares at the now-silent screen. "He was speaking in Sulcaric."
By the time the news comes back on, Andrew's got the TiVo recording. The audio of the footage clip is slightly longer this time, but he has to play it back half a dozen times to copy down the kid's babbling phonetically and compare it to his syllabary.
"... and that's either the possessive or the interrogative jeh," he mutters, pencil scratching away, "and possessive wouldn't make sense in context, so that's what are you doing ... except wait, no, tulk, that's past tense. What did you do..."
"So how come it's a big deal that this kid's speaking Sulwhatsit?" Gunn's leaning to read over his shoulder.
"Sulcaric." It's Jonathan who says it, from the other side of the table. "It's an ancient demonic language. Older than any known civilization in this dimension, human or demon. Not many people can read it. Almost nobody speaks it, outside of a few very rare rituals."
"And those weren't ritual phrases," Andrew adds. "So unless Columbia University's suddenly got a demonology department...."
"Then that wasn't just an ordinary nervous breakdown," finishes Jonathan. This has become routine too; they can still work together, and that's the only reason neither one of them has moved back to the Slayers' Academy. By now the rest of the team is used to it, and no one comments on the fact that the two of them avoid each other's eyes even while finishing each other's sentences.
Angel frowns. "So what was he saying?"
"I don't have it all yet, but ... there's one thing he repeats, three or four times. What did you do to me." Andrew taps the paper and looks up, sober. "He's saying what did you do to me."
Two hours later
The palely glowing figure peers down at a screen to her left, invisible at this end of the connection. "Yeah, I see what you mean. That definitely doesn't look like just exam stress."
"With brains like yours, did you ever even have exam stress?" There might be a touch of envy in Jonathan's voice, but it's good-natured.
Willow laughs. "Are you kidding? I freaked out about tests all the time. Ask Xander."
"So any idea what could cause that?" Angel taps a finger on the tabletop. "Because we're drawing a blank here."
"That's a tricky one," she agrees cheerfully. "I thought for a minute it might be a translation spell gone wrong, but something about that doesn't feel right."
"Besides, we checked out the rest of the news story," Andrew says. "This isn't the only student breakdown in the city by a long shot."
"No, just the one that looks best on telly," adds Spike.
"Yeah, the others aren't dramatic enough," Jonathan agrees cynically, consulting his notes. "We're looking at, um ... 'increasing lapses of concentration and both short- and long-term memory, followed by extreme physical fatigue and depression, and finally a catatonic state.' So far nobody's raving except this one guy."
"But it's happening all over," Andrew finishes. "Most of them at Columbia, but there's been a few at Hunter, NYU, maybe more we haven't found yet."
Willow chews her lower lip. "Yeah, but ... how likely is it that they're all connected?"
"How likely is it that they're all happening at the same time and they're not connected?" Gunn counters.
"What's bugging me is the Sulcaric," says Andrew. "That's high-level stuff. You don't learn Sulcaric unless you're (a) translating some seriously arcane spells, or (b) reading Sulcar writings on other demon civilizations. Either way it means this guy was in the business."
"Wait, wait." Angel holds up a hand. "Writings on other demon civilizations?"
"Sulcar demons are researchers," Andrew explains. "Scholars. Sometimes one of them, or a group of them, will pick some other demon society and study them over centuries. Kind of like ... really, really long-lived anthropologists. So some of their texts are really useful, if you're studying the history or properties of a given kind of demon."
"There's no chance this guy actually was a Sulcar demon?" Willow's running through the video again. "In disguise as a human? There was this girl at UC Sunnydale...."
"Could've been a bodyswap," Gunn suggests. "Demon wakes up and finds himself in a human body, it might look a lot like that. You said he was saying what did you do to me?"
"Ooh, you've got it translated already?" Willow perks up. "Can you send it to me?"
"Most of it," Andrew says. "There's this one word I can't quite make out. It's either leenand, which means forest, or l'ihlenn, which means ... delayed. And neither of those makes a lot of sense in context."
"Mm. Can you hang on a second? I'm gonna try and get Ms. Harkness in on this." Willow's image turns away from them, and blurs slightly with the lapse of her concentration; her lips move, but none of them can hear what she's saying.
(Six notes into "The Girl From Ipanema," Angel pinches the bridge of his nose and says without looking up: "Andrew? Stop that.")
"Guys?" Willow's back, looking a little bemused. "Ms. Harkness says she doesn't know why you're asking us when you've got the world's foremost expert on Sulcaric literature right there in your city."
"Wait, really?" Andrew leans forward. "Who?"
"His name's Professor Ulbrich, Victor Ulbrich. And check this out: he's tenured at Columbia."
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
6:15pm
It's mid-fall and the nights are getting longer; enough that you notice. Especially when you work with people who can't go outdoors (much) when the sun's up.
Breakfast at Angel's headquarters is a haphazard affair, and a leisurely one on the evenings when there isn't a crisis on. Two vampires and three humans, in various stages of wakefulness, wandering in and out of the kitchen; coffee, bacon, fried eggs, chocolate-flavored cereal, cold pizza, pig's blood microwaved to a comfortable 98.6. The most chipper voice in the room is coming from the TV screen.
Andrew carries his cereal bowl from the counter to sit down on one end of the ratty couch. Jonathan gets up from the couch's other end, without looking at him, and retreats to the table; it's habitual by now, routine, and Andrew turns his attention to the TV with scarcely a pang. The newscaster is wearing blinding lip gloss and a bright smile. For a moment he finds himself imagining her as an alien from Planet Cheerful.
The other end of the couch creaks as Gunn sits down, with a glance that Andrew ignores in favor of his cereal. Angel takes the armchair, hands cupped around his mug, wearing a distant expression that might mean he's brooding or might mean he's not quite awake yet.
"Next," says the newscaster, her smile shifting into a studied expression of concern and alarm, "are college exams putting too much stress on our children? A shocking new study from campuses throughout the city suggests that the answer," dramatic pause as an inset panel unfolds and floats to the foreground, "is yes. Join us after the break for...."
It's shaky, poor-quality footage, probably amateur: two EMTs wheel a gurney out of a doorway and onto the sidewalk, as the camera view jostles to get closer. Strapped down to the gurney is a young man in his mid-twenties, tossing his head, lips moving ceaselessly.
For a moment the newscaster's voice pauses, and the sound track of the film cuts in, and Andrew jerks upright in his seat and grabs for the remote control to turn the volume up. Too late: the footage folds away to reveal the news studio, camera angle slanting away as the commercial break music filters in.
Both Gunn and Angel are looking at him funny. It's Angel who says "...Aaand what was that?"
"That was Sulcaric." Andrew thumbs the mute button and stares at the now-silent screen. "He was speaking in Sulcaric."
By the time the news comes back on, Andrew's got the TiVo recording. The audio of the footage clip is slightly longer this time, but he has to play it back half a dozen times to copy down the kid's babbling phonetically and compare it to his syllabary.
"... and that's either the possessive or the interrogative jeh," he mutters, pencil scratching away, "and possessive wouldn't make sense in context, so that's what are you doing ... except wait, no, tulk, that's past tense. What did you do..."
"So how come it's a big deal that this kid's speaking Sulwhatsit?" Gunn's leaning to read over his shoulder.
"Sulcaric." It's Jonathan who says it, from the other side of the table. "It's an ancient demonic language. Older than any known civilization in this dimension, human or demon. Not many people can read it. Almost nobody speaks it, outside of a few very rare rituals."
"And those weren't ritual phrases," Andrew adds. "So unless Columbia University's suddenly got a demonology department...."
"Then that wasn't just an ordinary nervous breakdown," finishes Jonathan. This has become routine too; they can still work together, and that's the only reason neither one of them has moved back to the Slayers' Academy. By now the rest of the team is used to it, and no one comments on the fact that the two of them avoid each other's eyes even while finishing each other's sentences.
Angel frowns. "So what was he saying?"
"I don't have it all yet, but ... there's one thing he repeats, three or four times. What did you do to me." Andrew taps the paper and looks up, sober. "He's saying what did you do to me."
Two hours later
The palely glowing figure peers down at a screen to her left, invisible at this end of the connection. "Yeah, I see what you mean. That definitely doesn't look like just exam stress."
"With brains like yours, did you ever even have exam stress?" There might be a touch of envy in Jonathan's voice, but it's good-natured.
Willow laughs. "Are you kidding? I freaked out about tests all the time. Ask Xander."
"So any idea what could cause that?" Angel taps a finger on the tabletop. "Because we're drawing a blank here."
"That's a tricky one," she agrees cheerfully. "I thought for a minute it might be a translation spell gone wrong, but something about that doesn't feel right."
"Besides, we checked out the rest of the news story," Andrew says. "This isn't the only student breakdown in the city by a long shot."
"No, just the one that looks best on telly," adds Spike.
"Yeah, the others aren't dramatic enough," Jonathan agrees cynically, consulting his notes. "We're looking at, um ... 'increasing lapses of concentration and both short- and long-term memory, followed by extreme physical fatigue and depression, and finally a catatonic state.' So far nobody's raving except this one guy."
"But it's happening all over," Andrew finishes. "Most of them at Columbia, but there's been a few at Hunter, NYU, maybe more we haven't found yet."
Willow chews her lower lip. "Yeah, but ... how likely is it that they're all connected?"
"How likely is it that they're all happening at the same time and they're not connected?" Gunn counters.
"What's bugging me is the Sulcaric," says Andrew. "That's high-level stuff. You don't learn Sulcaric unless you're (a) translating some seriously arcane spells, or (b) reading Sulcar writings on other demon civilizations. Either way it means this guy was in the business."
"Wait, wait." Angel holds up a hand. "Writings on other demon civilizations?"
"Sulcar demons are researchers," Andrew explains. "Scholars. Sometimes one of them, or a group of them, will pick some other demon society and study them over centuries. Kind of like ... really, really long-lived anthropologists. So some of their texts are really useful, if you're studying the history or properties of a given kind of demon."
"There's no chance this guy actually was a Sulcar demon?" Willow's running through the video again. "In disguise as a human? There was this girl at UC Sunnydale...."
"Could've been a bodyswap," Gunn suggests. "Demon wakes up and finds himself in a human body, it might look a lot like that. You said he was saying what did you do to me?"
"Ooh, you've got it translated already?" Willow perks up. "Can you send it to me?"
"Most of it," Andrew says. "There's this one word I can't quite make out. It's either leenand, which means forest, or l'ihlenn, which means ... delayed. And neither of those makes a lot of sense in context."
"Mm. Can you hang on a second? I'm gonna try and get Ms. Harkness in on this." Willow's image turns away from them, and blurs slightly with the lapse of her concentration; her lips move, but none of them can hear what she's saying.
(Six notes into "The Girl From Ipanema," Angel pinches the bridge of his nose and says without looking up: "Andrew? Stop that.")
"Guys?" Willow's back, looking a little bemused. "Ms. Harkness says she doesn't know why you're asking us when you've got the world's foremost expert on Sulcaric literature right there in your city."
"Wait, really?" Andrew leans forward. "Who?"
"His name's Professor Ulbrich, Victor Ulbrich. And check this out: he's tenured at Columbia."