This is Pittsburgh? part 2
Title: This is Pittsburgh?
chapter 2
Author: nightshift1116 (LJ kaerdie1)
Rating PG-13
Crossover: Buffy/Elfhome novels
Synopsis: Buffy uses the "W-word" after a date disaster and finds herself in a different place with a new look.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is done for my own entertainment and the entertainment of others. I make no money from this work of fanfiction. Joss Whedon owns Buffy and Wen Spencer owns Elfhome.
They led Buffy to a Rolls-Royce and Windwolf motioned for her to go inside. “Uh, I think maybe I’ll find my own way,” she waffled, not wanting to offend but wary of getting in the car with that many guys with swords-even if they were only made of wood. She looked around frantically, but they had her surrounded. “Maybe if you could point me to the nearest decent hotel?” she offered. She still had a Council Visa, it should work any place that took credit cards.
“Child, I am not going to hurt you. If you did not recognize me, I am Viceroy of this region and there is a war going on. It is not safe for a double to be on the streets. I do not recognize your clan or I would return you immediately.” Buffy wasn’t sure what he meant by clan or double. She wasn’t a demon and she wasn’t Scottish. Those were the only two references to clan she could come up with. The double thing? She had no clue. The war part was a little freaksome, but hopefully that was him trying to stay in character.
One of the blue bodyguard guys pulled out a strip of paper with weird writing on it and put it on the only clean spot on either arm while she was distracted. Nothing happened that she could see. “Okay, so what the hell?” She was getting more and more annoyed at the stupid questions and the pushy tall elf-guys and everything was drying and getting stickier and stinkier.
“It was a spell to see if you had oni blood.”
“No, I think this was a Pavrell demon. Unless the blood washes out of these jeans, then it’s probably a Pavarui. Kind of a demon cousin. But they’re usually not so stinky.” Then she remembered her last encounter. “Oh crap! Now I’m going to have purple hair until I can find a decent stylist again.”
Windwolf looked at her in confusion. “I meant your blood.”
“Am I bleeding? I thought it missed me completely.” She looked at herself, cringing at the mess. “Nope, not mine. I have red blood. One hundred percent California human, here.” She shrugged.
Windwolf blinked in surprise. “Are…” He restarted, “Let me take you to the hospice. They have a bathing room and clothing.”
Okay, well, she’d stayed in hospices before. Not much privacy, but at least they were cheap. She must be somewhere in Europe, it was mostly hotels or motels in the States. If she was lucky, maybe she’d get the name of a good hotel or B&B from one of the staff and she could switch reservations to there. “No funny business,” she warned.
“I would not think of it,” he stated. The entourage (she really had to stop thinking of them like that, but that’s what they acted like) put down a cloth on the back seat and she slid in, grateful that she wouldn’t have to worry about wrecking the leather seats. The head entourage guy started talking to Windwolf in excessively polite very fast non-English. Windwolf replied. More not quite argument, then a firm quiet reply. Entourage guy glared at her and set himself up like a frustrated watchdog.
“So…um…how far to this hospice? And do they take credit cards, because I don’t have that much cash on me.”
“Not far and you will not be charged for anything.”
“I can pay for it myself. I’m grown-up independent woman Buffy here. If I knew where this place was you wouldn’t even have to drive me.” One of the other entourage guys said something and the rest of them looked at her with varying degrees of amusement. “And did anyone ever tell you guys it’s RUDE to talk about people when they can’t understand what you’re saying?” She gave them the full weight of her Senior Slayer who was Extremely Unhappy glare. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
They pulled up to a large building and the entourage popped out and did this weird ‘official bodyguard’ thing, then opened the doors to let Buffy and Windwolf out. “Okay, thanks for the ride. I can check in from here. Cya, bye!” No such luck-still surrounded. Windwolf led her to the entrance, where one of the bodyguard guys was holding the door.
“I wish to make sure you are uninjured and treated well. Not all of the hospice staff speak English and I do not wish to have any…misunderstandings.” She rolled her eyes and walked in, somewhat embarrassed by all the purple goo.
The staff really jumped to attention when Windwolf came in, and several of them surrounded them. Main bodyguard guy was jabbering to the boss looking lady in something not-English. Buffy was still trying to figure out what country she was in without sounding like a total head case. She thought maybe playing ditzy American tourist might help. “Soooo, what other language does the hospice staff speak?”
Windwolf gave her a blank look. “Elvish of course,” he stated. Buffy’s knees buckled in shock and she was stopped from hitting the floor by rude comment guy, who scooped her up and carried her to the biggest bathtub area she had ever seen. There were showers, little tubs, and what looked like a really nice spa tub that was HUGE. Hospice boss lady and two of the blue guard guys followed them, having a serious discussion the whole time.
“The staff will bring you clothing,” he said in English. “Do you require help bathing?”
“Uh, nooo. I’m good-not hurt at all. Just…privacy. I need it. Lots of…Buffy alone time to get all the goo out. Um…not alone time in a sexual alone time way…just…you know what? Um, just go.” She made a shooing motion. “Everyone. Watch the door if you really think you have to. I’ll figure out all these…wait…shampoo, soap, and towels?” He showed her where everything was and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. There wasn’t even a window; there were skylights and just the one door. Buffy started stripping down and stepped under one of the showers. She kept a towel very close since she was not sure how much time they’d give her before half a dozen of them came marching in.