New Blood commentary, pt. 5
Jan. 24th, 2004 07:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mandolinOkay, did I say one more part? Uh, no. This commentary will wrap up with a whopping seven parts.
Not sure the reason for the Walkman here; I think it was because I'd re-watched "Beauty and the Beasts" and noted Faith's excuse for "watching" Oz.
Faith hopped up the steps to the school entrance, striding down the empty hallways towards the library. She was plugged in to her Walkman, and moved to the beat of the music, humming softly under her breath as she sauntered along. When she came into view of the library, she stopped short, surprised to see Buffy and Giles with their backs against the door. It was almost as if they were guarding the entrance. From Buffy's expression, she knew something was going on.
Switching off the Walkman, she pulled off the headphones, letting them hang around her neck. "We got a problem?"
"Sort of," Buffy answered, gesturing for her to follow. "But we know what that attack was all about."
* * *
Meanwhile, Xander and Mike are implementing the insane plan.
"You want me to do what?" Cordelia exclaimed. "Are you insane?"
The insane part: who they have to recruit to pull it off.
Mike wisely chose not to answer that question. He and Xander had caught her in the parking lot just in time to pitch Xander's crazy idea to her. Personally, Mike wasn't so sure it was a good idea himself - it was a little too risky - but he'd been outvoted. It still seemed that he'd be better off just doing it himself, although if he was caught they'd make the immediate connection to the Slayer. Cordelia was different. Cordelia hadn't been participating in most of their deliberations. Cordelia... well, Cordelia was an airhead.
The insane plan may be Mike's, but it's Xander's idea to have Cordelia pull this off.
Xander took a deep breath to steady himself. It seemed he'd been expecting such a reaction. "Cordy, you're the only one who wasn't there last night. You're the least likely to be recognized if someone sees you."
"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Cordelia went on. "You guys were just insisting that going to the Bronze meant going braindead, and now you want me to hang out there tonight?"
"Technically, the band is the problem," Xander pointed out.
"Oh?" Cordelia snapped. "The band's going to be there, of course. Any idea how I'm going to get around that?"
"You don't have to come when they're actually playing," Mike explained. "They come in to set up and warm up at 4:30. They don't affect anyone until they have an audience."
Still, she wasn't convinced. "I don't know. Don't you think people are going to wonder if I show up all of a sudden after avoiding the Bronze all week? Without an excuse?"
Most of the patrons, at this point, are so out of it that's unlikely.
Groaning, Xander swallowed his pride, literally dropping to one knee. "All right, Cordy, I'm grovelling now. Are you happy?" As she stared at him in shock, he added, "You're the only one who can pull this off. Please."
Xander, of course, relies on embarrassment rather than logic here to persuade her.
She sighed. "Get up. People are staring."
Potential embarrassment is probably more effective.
"Not until you say yes."
Cordelia looked to Mike for help. "I... think I'm staying out of this one," he decided. Crazy idea or not, getting between the two of them was probably even more insane.
As Cordelia and Xander stared at each other, locked in a stalemate, Mike's gaze wandered past the rows of cars to the clump of trees at the other end of the parking lot. Although the shadows partially concealed it, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a familiar dark figure. Sighing, he turned away. There just wasn't time to deal with that at the moment.
Random Defender appearance #6.
Finally, Cordelia rolled her eyes and tugged at the collar of Xander's shirt. "All right, all right. I'll do it. Now get up."
As he got to his feet, Xander gave Cordelia his most endearing, lopsided grin. "Thanks, Cordy. You won't regret it."
"Oh, I probably will," Cordelia answered flippantly as she opened the driver side door. "But it's better than you humiliating me."
Eh, you know she loves it. ;)
* * *
"I don't think the Bronze is a good idea tonight," Buffy announced. "We go in, we either get hooked or we get a migraine."
With her free hand, she scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. Mike's headache? How do we explain that?
Xander cleared his throat, trying not to sound nervous. "Uh, yeah, G-man, you figure out what's with Vortex Boy's head?" Mike glared at him, and Faith covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. Standing over by the railing, they were pretending to be absent. The faces Xander was making, however, made it hard to be silent. Mike took a couple index cards and a marker from the desk.
I finished this story shortly before "Hush" aired. I guess this scene was practice of sorts for that episode.
"Actually, there's a number of references to head trauma and temporary immunity to sound spells," Willow piped up.
"Yeah, I guess tripping and falling over the railing would leave a mark," Xander responded, grinning evilly.
Everyone's picking on the new guy, aren't they?
Mike held up a note. I'm going to get you for this.
Giles sighed. "Xander, please. But perhaps that concussion might have something to do with it."
"Okay, okay, but then what are we supposed to do?" Xander exclaimed. "What about Faith? She know about this?"
"Not yet," Buffy replied. "I checked around. Guess she'll show up when she feels like it." Faith smirked almost proudly at that. "Looks like Trick has a hand in this too. I think maybe some wide-range patrol could turn up a mole or two."
"Am I the only one who thinks we shouldn't ignore the Bronze?" Xander cried, overdoing the melodrama a bit.
Xander, overdoing it? No!
Willow frowned. "You saw what happened last night. They're going to expect us to try something."
"Besides, perhaps we can figure out what connection the local vampires have to this band," Giles put in.
Buffy leaned back in her chair. "I think we need to pay our old pal Willie a visit." And while they wait for me there, I'll talk to Angel.
Ack! Pre-closed caption misspelling. It's Willy, not Willie.
"I'll come," Xander volunteered quickly. "To, uh, provide backup."
"You just like seeing Buffy threaten him," Willow said.
He shrugged. "So it gives me a bit of a rush." I'm kidding, really, he wrote hastily at the odd look Buffy was giving him.
Mike stifled a laugh, then stiffened suddenly as he felt a hand on his backside. He glared at Faith, but she took no notice, looking straight ahead as if there was nothing wrong. Sighing almost inaudibly, he reached back, took her wrist and pulled her arm back to her side where it belonged. Faith caught his eye, giving him a coy half-smile.
This is one of those bits that popped into my head as soon as Faith made it clear to me that she was interested in Mike. I could just see it in my head.
Shaking his head, Mike glanced up at the ceiling helplessly. Folding her arms, Faith turned her eyes forward again, but the smile didn't fade from her face as the rehearsed conversation continued.
* * *
It was the perfect excuse.
Here we switch to the Bronze and the crazy plan.
Nick staggered towards the back exit of the Bronze, trying to carry a tall stack of empty crates. Quickly sliding around the bar, Mike caught the crates before they could fall. "Whoa, easy," he advised, taking the crates and steadying his friend. "You don't look so good."
"Yeah, thanks," Nick murmured, obviously dazed.
This late in the week, even the staff is affected.
Mike frowned with concern. "Give me the keys, Nick. I'll take these round back for you." Nick wasn't in any shape to argue, and a moment later, Mike staggered out the back exit with the crates in hand, letting the door slam shut behind him.
"What took you so long?" a familiar voice demanded. Sighing, Mike set down the crates and turned to face Cordelia, who was standing there with her arms folded and tapping one designer shoe against the asphalt.
"It's quarter to five," he replied. "Not my fault you're early. I thought you didn't want to go through with it."
She sniffed. "I just want to get this over with. I can't believe I'm doing this."
"That makes two of us," Mike muttered under his breath. "Come on." He led her over to the door on the far end, the entrance to the back room. "The band usually dumps their stuff back in here," he told her as he unlocked the door. "Should be some ID, driver's licenses, stuff like that." He checked his watch. "I've got to get back. If you're not sure you're up to this, though--"
"And have Xander gloat over it for a week? I think not." She slipped inside. "Besides, the Bronze is the only place to go in town. I'm not going to let a band named after mashed pickles ruin it."
Of course, Cordelia can't resist mocking the band's name either.
"All right," Mike sighed. "But be careful." He closed the door, leaving her alone in the dim room.
"Okay," Cordelia murmured as her eyes adjusted to the light. "If I was incriminating evidence, where would I be?"
She moved around the room, looking on empty carts and behind crates, when suddenly she spotted a swatch of purple in the dim grays of the room. On closer inspection, she discovered it to be a neon purple duffel bag stuffed behind an old desk. Beneath it was another backpack, but first things first. Cordelia grabbed the handle of the bag, tugging it from the cramped space with some effort before it came free.
"What do they keep in here, rocks?" she complained, setting it down on the floor and unzipping the duffel bag. Hurriedly, she rummaged through the contents. Her searching fingers found a couple dog-eared romance novels, a makeup bag that rivaled her own,
That's got to be one hell of a makeup bag. I just threw in the romance novels because I found it amusing Lori would carry them.
an emergency change of clothes, a couple of New Age tapes, a water bottle, and a bag of tissues.
Eventually, she found the ID's, scribbling down the names, dates, and license numbers. Ohio driver's license, issued to Franklin Kwan, age 20.
There was a reason it was Ohio, not Texas. I think I wrote up Frank's background somewhere and indicated that he moved around a lot in his teens.
New York driver's license, issued to Malik Robinson, age 32.
Which is mentioned later on.
California driver's license, issued to Molly Leary, age 16.
Not a continuity error. It's a fake.
Oregon driver's license, issued to Lori Halverson, age 27.
Also probably a fake. Picked Oregon on a whim.
Reaching into her purse, Cordelia pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and quickly scribbled down the names, birthdates, and ID numbers.
Not all in the same backpack, of course, but I wanted to move it along. Naturally, Cordelia would have to write things down; any missing items would be noticed right away.
She replaced the IDs and was about to close the bag up when she spotted the tiny notebook in the pocket.
Should have made it clearer that these were different bags.
Curious, she pulled it out, flipping through the pages. The paper was covered with bizarre doodles and sketches in purple ink. None of them made any sense at first, although the same odd loopy symbol was repeated over and over. It looked like something out of Giles' books. As the doodles progressed, however, they began to resemble diagrams, formations, positions for people to be in. It almost looked like those football plays Mitch had tried to show her, the lines and O's and X's she never understood. She puzzled over the notebook for a moment, then gave up and stuffed it into her purse before zipping up the black backpack and shoving it back into its hiding place. Good enough.
Probably thinking, "I am so not going to copy all that down." The scene that explained why Molly didn't notice its absence was cut for length.
Then the creak of the stage door reached her ears. She barely managed to stifle a squeak of fear as she whirled, half-expecting to be caught.
"...telling you, Pippi Longstocking, if I don't get a smoke soon, I'm gonna lose what little I have left!" The speaker only had the door half-open, and was leaning back towards the stage, unable to see her. If she didn't hide soon, she would have some major explaining to do.
Malik calling Lori "Pippi Longstocking" - as inappropriate and as irritating a label as you can get.
Naturally, Cordelia froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.
Instead of doing the logical thing and running for the shadows.
* * *
Malik stormed into the back room, with Frank trailing behind him. "Get my water bottle," he echoed in a mocking tone. "Do this. Do that. What, does she think I'm her personal slave?"
Trailing behind him, Frank cracked a smile, writing something on his notepad. He handed it to Malik, who read it out loud. "'It's your own fault for calling her Pippi Longstocking.' Yeah, well, Frank, she was asking for it. And you don't have to do that now. No one's gonna know back here."
Frank would have had no issues during "Hush," I realize. Also some slight foreshadowing as to why Frank is so special.
Frank did not respond, and Malik blinked and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. There was no one in sight. "Where'd we stash the bags again?"
Rolling his eyes, the bassist snatched the notepad back and strode over to the desk, yanking the black bag free. Holding it by the strap, he tossed it over to Malik before shoving the notepad back in his pocket.
The drummer caught it, barely, stumbling back a step as it slammed into his chest. "Thanks for the warning." He reached into the bag, feeling around until his fingers closed on the pack of cigarettes inside. "Here we go." Dropping the backpack to the floor, he shook a cigarette out of the pack, lighting it up. "That's more like it."
I figure he smokes so much not merely to annoy Lori, but because arguing with her all the time drives him to it.
As he took another puff, the drummer paused. "You hear that?" His companion looked at him blankly as a faint scuffling sound could be heard. "There it is again. Behind there. Go check for me, will you?"
Cordelia, stop shifting your weight!
Shooting the other man a baleful glare, Frank moved in the direction of the sound, checking behind rows of crates. He moved from row to row, finding nothing, and emerged at the other end of the room, shaking his head. Just as he was about to give up, he turned and saw her.
Fake-out! Cordelia did have the sense to hide.
Cordelia was crouched on the lower shelf of an empty cart, hugging her knees against her chest and trying to keep her designer outfit from touching anything dirty while not making any noise. An old tarpaulin was draped across the upper shelf, hiding her almost completely from Malik's view. If not for the angle, Frank wouldn't have noticed her himself. She glanced up, and their eyes locked. Recognition flashed in her eyes, which grew wide as she realized that she was in deep shit.
Seems like the proverbial "oh, shit" moment at first...
"Yo, Frank!" Malik called. "See anything?"
Frank stared at her for a few more seconds before shrugging and shaking his head.
...but this is Frank, so Cordelia's in luck. I wanted someone other than Mike to have evidence he was on their side.
He crossed back to the drummer and handed him another sheet of paper. "I am not paranoid, man," Malik protested as he stomped on his last cigarette and they headed back to the stage. "Can't accuse me of that in this town."
He is paranoid after working with Lori, but in Sunnydale it's appropriate.
The door slammed shut behind them, and Cordelia sagged in relief. Then, realizing where she was, she jumped from the cart, brushing frantically at her clothes. "Dry clean only," she muttered as she shouldered her purse and slipped out the back door. "This had better be worth it."
She nearly gets caught, and her first thought is her laundry bill. Oh, Cordelia...
* * *
Buffy opened the door a crack. "Angel?"
There was no response. Concerned, but wary, she stepped into the mansion, closing the door behind her. As it slid shut, she pulled a stake out of her pocket, moving forward slowly. She could hear a muffled groan down the corridor, and moved to investigate.
It was coming from the bedroom. Back to the wall, she eased around the corner, gripping the stake tightly. Another groan, and she stepped into the room, falling into a battle-ready stance.
Angel was in chains, slumped like a limp rag against the wall. Dropping the stake back into her pocket, Buffy hurried to his side. "Angel! What happened?"
I figured Angel would figure out what was going on and chain himself up.
He looked up at her with bleary eyes. "I - she - the Bronze--"
"Where's the key?" Buffy was casting about desperately. "I'll get you free in a second."
"No!" Angel cried hoarsely, with such vehemence that Buffy stopped and stared. "If I go, it'll get worse... it's like a drug..."
Since Lori was expecting Angel that evening, and given all the diagrams in that notebook, I think she was targeting him particularly. Vampires are not immune, and I also managed to work in the part about the music being addictive to those ensnared by it.
The situation was beginning to dawn on her. "You chained yourself up."
"I had to," Angel gasped. "I just keep slipping in and out. One minute, I need more, then the next I can't move..."
"Need what?" Buffy asked warily.
He didn't respond, and she suddenly noticed that he was shivering, despite the warm evening. My God, he looks like some kind of junkie... "Angel, listen to me! Who did this to you?"
Instead of answering, he suddenly leapt up, shoving and struggling to break free from his chains in a frenzy. Buffy jumped back in fright; the last time she'd seen him struggling like that was when he'd just returned from hell. "No," he gasped. "No, no, no..."
After a few moments, he stopped struggling, but remained tense, still trembling. "Buffy," Angel whispered. "Unlock the cuffs."
She crouched down to his level, but kept her distance. "I don't know where the key is."
"Above the fireplace." His eyes didn't seem to be focusing. "Unlock the cuffs."
"No."
Angel gritted his teeth. "Unlock the cuffs." She didn't say anything. "Let me go. I've, I've got to go."
"Angel, I'm not gonna--"
He shifted into his game face. "UNLOCK THE CUFFS!" With that, he threw all of his weight forward, trying to break the chains. Panicked, Buffy jumped to her feet again, this time falling into a defensive stance. The chains held, but Buffy could hear the creak and groan as Angel was jerked back, slamming against the wall again.
When he didn't immediately try again, she approached him cautiously, kneeling beside him. "You have to let me go," he moaned. "I need--"
Seeing that he was only somewhat subdued, Buffy cut him off with a hard slap to the face. Stunned, Angel dropped his game face, looking up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes. But this time there was actually some clarity there. "I..." he started, before inhaling deeply. He was still shivering a bit, but for the moment he was in control of himself. "Thank you."
"Angel," Buffy asked seriously, "what's going on?"
He took another deep breath before speaking. "I went to the Bronze last night around ten, but Mike said you'd just left. Then Relish showed up."
This did NOT get explained properly - which is my own fault - but the reason the band avoided the Scooby Gang was because the Slayer was likely to be immune to Lori's voice. So they couldn't suck her in.
The Slayer snorted. "Yeah, that figures."
"When they started playing..." Angel hesitated again, trying to remain coherent through his obvious fatigue. "I recognized the lead, but it couldn't be her. A daughter, or maybe -"
Buffy tentatively reached up to put a hand to his cheek. "Maybe what?"
He licked dry lips before finishing his sentence. "Maybe she was immortal."
And here I tie Lori into an old established legend. Not immortal, but long-lived...
* * *
Giles looked at the vampire without pity. At the same time, however, there was no scorn in his gaze. Although he hadn't completely forgiven Angel, he could tell that the vampire was suffering enough without the condemnation of others on top of it. He'd arrived at the mansion in time to see Angel in the throes of a withdrawal attack, and it wasn't pretty. Once Buffy had explained what was going on, Giles could tell that Angel was going through an agonizing experience. Besides, this was a serious matter.
This seems a little mild given his treatment of Angel in "Amends," but I think the fact that Buffy is there and that Angel is chained up mitigates Giles' antagonism. Besides, it's not like Angel's confronting him on his own doorstep. With Buffy around, Giles is more likely to hide his distrust of Angel for her sake.
He had come at Buffy's urging, having one less excuse not to with the library still bugged. The implications of what she had told him - and what he was seeing now - bothered him greatly. From all appearances, not even the undead were immune to the spell that Relish had cast over half of Sunnydale.
None of the others could have come, anyway. Willow's mother was still demanding quality time, so Faith was keeping an eye on Oz while Xander was keeping an eye on Faith, so to speak. Mike was working, and Cordelia was elsewhere, busy with some mad plan of Xander's.
Buffy returned from the kitchen with a cup and a bag of preserved blood. Kneeling beside Angel, she poured some into the cup, making a face as Angel drank it dry. When he was finished, he looked slightly better, yet his features remained drawn and haggard. "You - you say you believe you've seen this woman before?" Giles managed.
"It was about a month after I was cursed with my soul," Angel affirmed, remembering. "I was wandering aimlessly around Europe then; I didn't really know where I was going, and I didn't care. So one night, I reached the banks of a river - I think it might have been the Rhine - and simply threw myself in." He frowned. "I suppose I thought I could drown myself, but all I succeeded in doing was knocking myself out instead.
The date of this might be a bit off. And yes, the river was the Rhine. I culled Lori's origin from the German legend of Lorelei, a beautiful young maiden who threw herself headlong into the river in despair over a faithless lover. Upon her death she was transformed into a siren and could from that time on be heard singing on a rock along the Rhine River, near St. Goar.
Since this is the Buffyverse, of course, I hinted that the original legend was a bit off, and that Lorelei wasn't necessarily sacrificing herself in the first place. Lori is too much of a predator to have been sacrificing herself; she'd have been more likely to be trying to drown the unfaithful lover. Pity this was before "The Wish," I'm sure Anya would have had plenty to say about this. Or maybe she was involved. Who knows?
"I woke up in a room in a nearby tavern a few hours later. It turned out that a singer at the tavern had pulled me out of the river. Whenever she sang at the bar, every male there would suddenly stop what he was doing and focus on her completely." His eyes seemed to go unfocused for a moment, and he tried to slow his breathing. "I'm sorry, I--"
Shaking her head, Buffy poured some more of the preserved blood into the cup, lifting it to his lips. She was too wrapped up in the story - and too concerned about Angel - to be all that bothered by the blood. "Easy," she advised, although she was anxious to hear the rest. "Take your time."
I figured the spell would get worse the less Angel had eaten.
He drank greedily and swiftly before picking up the thread of the tale. "At first, I thought she was being generous, but she had known me for what I was when she pulled me out. Aside from the fact that she threw herself at every man she wanted to use, there was something wrong about her. I don't know what her ulterior motive was, but I didn't bother to discover it. Once she figured out I wasn't your typical vampire, she wasn't interested anymore. I left the next night."
Giles frowned. "Do you remember anything else?"
"I don't recall her name," Angel answered after a moment's pause. "I'm not sure if it's the same girl; the hair is different, but the voice... it seems almost the same. She could put any of the men she threw herself at into a trance. Which is why I left as soon as I could."
"Just the men?" Buffy wondered. "But everyone's been strung out on the music."
Angel inhaled deeply, trying to maintain his focus. "Except Mike."
"Mike is not from this reality," Giles reminded them. "Although that particular factor hasn't come up in my research, I'm afraid." He cleaned his glasses before continuing. "There are actually a number of creatures and demons - predominantly female - who employ song to drain or entrap others. Each one has different weaknesses. And although it's significant that vampires are not immune," he added, "that has only narrowed down the list slightly."
Never mind that the siren is the MOST OBVIOUS ONE on that list. :)
"Wonderful," Buffy groaned.
* * *
Screwed up the chronology a bit. This is at least half an hour after the earlier scenes; Willow has escaped from her mother and Cordelia has escaped the Bronze and gotten back to the high school. It's hard to tell, though.
"I hate meatloaf," Willow groused for the third time as she sat down in front of one of the lab computers. Its blue-white glow was the only luminescence in the dim, empty lab, casting eerie shadows on her face as she typed.
Xander grinned and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "No end to the 'quality time' kick, I see."
She almost leaned into the hug, but caught herself, straightening up a bit in her chair. "She ignores me for months, then all of a sudden wants to know everything about me. And teach herself to make meatloaf while she's at it." She shuddered at that.
And then forget about Willow until "Gingerbread." I assume she just forgot or didn't notice Willow's hair color til then.
He leaned closer, scooting the chair as close as he could to hers. "Poor Will. Always carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders."
Willow turned to look at him then, their faces almost touching. The two friends stared at one another, lost in the moment, until the door opened and Cordelia walked in, picking strands of something out of her hair. "Xander, you had to give me the dirty job, didn't you?"
Immediately, Xander and Willow pulled apart, so violently that even Cordelia noticed the chairs skidding. "How much caffeine have you had?"
And Cordelia still misinterprets the signs leading up to "Lover's Walk."
"A - a lot, actually," Xander stammered. "Did you find anything?"
She shrugged. "Got the driver's licenses, and the ID numbers. You think it's bugged in here too?"
"I doubt it," Willow replied. As Cordelia stood there, trying to remove something from her hair, Willow cleared her throat. "Names? Please?"
"Oh, right." Cordelia pulled up a chair to sit beside them. "Um... lemme find it..." She pulled the list out of her purse and handed it to Willow. Several minutes passed as the redhead hacked away. "Find anything?"
Xander was staring at the screen. "Oh, yeah."
"Malik Robinson," Willow read. "He's been convicted of fraud in three states, gambling, petty larceny, and acquitted of manslaughter. Wow, there's a whole file on this guy."
"What else?" Xander asked as Cordelia leaned over Willow's other shoulder.
Cordelia pointed. "Voodoo cult in Louisiana. He's certifiable."
Willow sighed. "Cordelia, Voodoo's a legally practiced religion. But this group..." She trailed off. "They were accused of murder, ritual sacrifices, disturbing the peace, but nothing was ever proven. Besides, this guy got out of it when he was 20."
And went on to create more havoc. I went out of my way to point out that any association with voodoo didn't necessarily mean automatic evil. I needed it to hint at Malik's usefulness to the group.
"And our next contestant is..." Xander began.
"Molly Leary.
Named for Denis Leary, of course. I felt like it. And her first name... well, there's a reason. I'll explain it when the Big Surprise rolls around and I really mess around with mythology.
A bunch of juvenile offenses, full psychiatric record, got let off because they ruled she was delusional." Willow scrolled through the data and stopped. "And according to this, she disappeared a year ago. She's only 15. No family records."
Molly remains even more mysterious than Lori. Another clue there's more to her than we think.
"What about the other guy? The bass player?" Cordelia wondered.
"Franklin Kwan. Class of '97, Lamont High School in Texas." Willow stopped. "That's it. No criminal record, nothing." She shrugged it off. "And last, but not least..."
Frank was my age. That was somewhat accidental. Texas was completely random, of course.
Xander started drumming on the table. "Drum roll, please..."
"Lori Halverson. Family deceased, accused of a couple felonies, got off of all of them." Willow frowned. "There's less on her than the bass player."
Nothing they can pin down, though.
"Well, this is helping," Cordelia commented.
Willow's eyes widened. "Wait a minute." She brought up a new file, of Lori's mother. "Check this out. Loretta Halverson." With a click, the image came up full-screen. "Look familiar?"
One Evil Villain Rule that Lori forgot: If you're nearly immortal, don't leave a photo trail. Then again, Mayor Wilkins ignored that too.
"Looks a lot like her daughter," Xander observed.
In response, Willow brought up a few more records. "And her grandma. Want to bet the resemblance goes all the way back?"
Cordelia looked blank, but Xander got it. "Yeah, if they're all the same person."
Willow grinned. "I think we've got our supernatural entity."
* * *
They took their positions on the stage deliberately, trying to make it look casual. Frank was having a harder time than usual in that respect, but fortunately the other three didn't notice as they set up. It was always the same: a triangle formation, with himself, Molly, and Malik as the points and Lori in the center. That was the position they had to start and end each set with, something that Lori had pounded into them time and time again.
More misdirection here. Lori's the focus, so she's in the center, but that doesn't mean she's necessarily casting the spell.
Tuning his guitar, he scanned the crowd. No sign of the Slayers, or the others they had come with the previous night. But the bartender, who didn't seem to be under the spell, was already there. Frank bit his lip, somewhat disappointed. He'd hoped for more. Shoving away his disappointment, he turned back to the task at hand. You had to take what you could.
And finally, Frank makes a decision.
Lori was still tuning her guitar, so Frank leaned over to Malik, reaching into his pocket for his notepad. You don't need me tonight, do you?
Referring, of course, to Lori's nightly feedings. It's also perfectly plausible that Frank would want to ditch.
The drummer favored him with a hard look. "Look, we had this talk a while ago. You gotta get used to it."
Mal, I made a deal, but I'm getting sick and tired of having to witness the feeding frenzy. I hate that shit.
"I don't know," Malik muttered. "The Slayer and her crew are out looking for vamps. If one of 'em happens our way--"
"We don't need you," Lori interrupted.
She's just tired of the arguments at this point, I think.
As the two men blinked, surprised, she turned to fix both of them with a glare. "Tomorrow night's the big one. Middle of the full moon. Everyone's going to have to be rested." Her cold gaze fell on Frank. "I still say you've got to get a backbone, but dragging you along tonight won't help that at all. You'll stay here and meet us at the back exit."
Frank didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid.
Yeah, having Lori pissed off at him isn't exactly a reprieve.
* * *
This scene was written very early on, as soon as I'd fleshed out Relish and Frank's character.
"Pretty good crowd tonight, huh?" the manager observed as Mike finished wiping down the counter.
Shrugging, Mike tossed the towel on a hook and turned to the sink. "Big crowd, you mean. Which means a big mess to clean up."
Harry yawned. "You're telling me. These guys are really packing them in, but it makes cleanup a bitch." He staggered, leaning against the counter for support.
Like I said, even the staff is feeling the effects of Relish. Except Mike, of course.
Mike frowned, getting a better look at his boss. Harry looked rather pale, and was sweating more heavily than usual. "Harry, you feeling all right? You're not looking so good."
"Naw, I'm fine." The big man dismissed Mike's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Business jumps up like this, I'm bound to lose some shut-eye. Just need to catch up on my sleep."
Typical Sunnydale denial.
For about a week, Mike finished silently. Harry was looking more than merely tired, and Mike had been seriously considering getting some of the waiters to strong-arm their boss into seeing a doctor. But none of the waiters were looking well either. Not as bad as Harry, of course, but at the end of every night the staff and patrons alike looked more and more exhausted - drained, as if the energy had been sucked out of them.
Which it probably had.
He snapped out of his reverie abruptly, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Then go home, boss. We're almost finished up here."
Harry wavered thoughtfully, looking around the empty nightclub. Mike wasn't fibbing; the patrons had long gone, and most of their trash and debris had been swept up. Almost all of the band had gone elsewhere, except for the bass player, who was leaning against the equipment, watching them curiously. "All right," he finally conceded, and Mike grinned. "But only because we're almost all done."
"Night, Harry," Mike sighed as the manager yawned, grabbed his coat and keys, and stumbled out the door into the night. Shaking his head, Mike turned to the task of washing glasses.
A tapping noise startled him, and he turned to see Frank sitting there, tapping a pen insistently against the counter. "What can I get you?"
For answer, the bass player pulled out a small notepad, wrote something on it, and turned it so Mike could see. You got a minute?
Glancing around to make sure everyone was too zoned out to pay attention, Mike nodded and leaned over the counter. "Yeah. What's up?"
Frank's brow furrowed for a moment before he picked up the pen again. Why doesn't it affect you?
You know, villains never think to ask why their special weapon or power doesn't work on one of the good guys. They always have to find out the hard way.
"Why doesn't what affect me?" Mike wondered, lowering his voice to a whisper.
The music. Lori.
Mike tried to play dumb. "She affects me, all right," he muttered. "Every time she opens her mouth, I get a headache."
Frank almost smiled before continuing. That's not what's supposed to happen.
Now they were getting somewhere. Picking up a dishtowel, Mike pretended to be wiping off the bar. Under his breath, he added, "You know what's going on, don't you?" Frank hesitated before nodding. "People getting drained - this is what's supposed to happen."
It wasn't a question. Frank grimaced. I shouldn't be telling you this. If they find out, I'm a dead man.
And Mike pretends he asked for a cup of coffee.
Mike nodded and turned to the coffeemaker, pouring himself and Frank a mug. He set the mug in front of the bass player, sliding over the creamer before speaking. "The way it's going, a few people are gonna die if this keeps up." At the startled look on Frank's face, he added, "One of the girls who hung out here? Wasn't awake enough to catch herself going down the stairs and now she's in the hospital."
Frank's only response was to stare numbly into his coffee cup.
"All these half-conscious people are wandering the streets," Mike continued. "How much longer do you think it's gonna be until someone walks into the path of a tractor-trailer? Or drives a bus full of kids off a cliff? What's it going to take for you to tell the truth?"
The young man's lip curled, and he pounded both fists on the bar with enough force to make Mike stop short. Frank was glaring at him fiercely, and Mike forced himself to return a level stare.
So much for playing it cool. I like this reaction; it works. It's a miracle the coffee cup didn't spill, though.
Finally, Frank grabbed up the pen. It's supposed to be addictive. They come, they get hooked, they pack the house, Lori drains 'em, we move on.
"Lori drains them?" Mike whispered, confused. "What does she need you for?"
It's the 90's. Bands get in the door.
That's not exactly what Mike was asking for.
With shaking hands, Frank poured in some creamer and took a gulp of coffee before continuing to write. Molly and Malik are into this stuff, too. Not me.
"Why don't you quit?"
Frank was shaking his head vehemently. Who's gonna take a bass player with no vocal cords, huh?
Mike set his coffee down, unconvinced. "Anyone who hears you play." He sighed. "Look. You can trust me. I've got some friends who can help. What's stopping you?"
For a moment, Frank merely stared at him, then let the pen slip from his fingers onto the bar. Mike's shoulders slumped in defeat, until the voice entered his mind.
This is what's stopping me.
I hope I made it clear that this was neither written nor spoken.
If Mike had been holding his coffee cup, he would have dropped it in his shock. "Wait a minute... you..."
Frank looked sheepish. It works better than pen and paper. As Mike shook off his initial shock, he explained. This was my trade-off for joining up. If I split, they'll take it back.
Something of a lame excuse at this point for sticking with them. I think the offer was tempting when it was first made, but Frank's figured out it's not worth it. I suppose he's never come across a group that could really do anything yet.
"You've got to come with me," Mike insisted. As Frank scowled, he added. "Please. You're the only chance we've got, and a lot of my friends are dropping like flies." He extended a hand.
Frank glanced over his shoulder. I don't know. If they find out...
"You expect them back soon?"
The bassist checked his watch. In about an hour.
That wasn't a lot of time. "Trust me. We'll be back in thirty minutes."
With a resigned sigh, Frank took the proferred hand and shook it. I know I'm gonna regret this.
* * *
"How is he?" Willow asked as Buffy emerged from the bedroom. Xander and Cordelia had volunteered to do Oz watch, since Xander didn't want to deal with his parents and Cordelia had promised to keep him awake. How she planned to do that, Willow really didn't want to know.
And there's no way Xander's going to want to be near Angel. Buffy wouldn't want him near Angel, either.
It also occurs to me that I forgot to account for why Faith was now free of Oz watch. Maybe Cordelia decided that she would keep an eye on Xander by her lonesome. (She's oblivious to the Willow/Xander issues, but she was aware of Xander's interest in Faith.)
Buffy sighed and shook her head. "He goes back and forth between hysterical strength and completely wasted. Right now, he's completely wasted, although he won't admit it. I finally made him lie down." She scowled. "If he goes anywhere in his condition, he's an easy mark for Trick and company. Xander could probably take him out without much trouble."
Another reason why Xander is not there.
"I wouldn't tell Xander that if I were you," Giles advised, a wry smile creeping over his features. He had several books tucked under one arm. "I've gathered some research on the supernatural entities that could do this; unfortunately, there are still a few to choose from."
Hearing this, Faith hopped up from her seat beside the fireplace. "Come on. We know Relish is behind this. Hell, we know just which one of them's the supernatural freak. Why don't we just go beat it out of them?"
Faith, of course, would choose the easiest course of action. The more violent one, of course.
"Because not all of them are out to drain Sunnydale dry," a new voice answered, and Giles turned to see Mike coming through the front door with another person in tow.
It was a minute before Buffy realized who it was. "Are you crazy?" she snapped at Mike, stepping towards the bassist.
But Mike held up a hand. "Buff, calm down. He's here to help."
* * *
The full moon was coming.
Tomorrow night, the psychic currents would be at their most potent. He had felt stronger as the nights wore on, almost enough to make his move prematurely. It might have been possible tonight.
I realized that I needed to take a moment to explain why the Defender didn't make another try for Mike - the closer we got to the full moon, the stronger he got, so you'd think he'd have an even better chance.
Yet... he'd felt the same way the night before, and had still failed. Patience, he told himself, was the key. Patience. There had been a brief moment when his chosen was alone in the alley, a perfect time to finish what he'd started. But he could only watch this time, instead of wasting all his energy. No, this had to be done at the right time and in the right place. Assuming nothing happened to the host.
Had to make a case for why the Defender almost latched onto Mike, but failed earlier.
Until then, he told himself, it was best to merely wait.
He would have his revenge in time.
At the least opportune time, of course.
That's all for now. I intend to get to bed at a decent hour tonight.
Not sure the reason for the Walkman here; I think it was because I'd re-watched "Beauty and the Beasts" and noted Faith's excuse for "watching" Oz.
Faith hopped up the steps to the school entrance, striding down the empty hallways towards the library. She was plugged in to her Walkman, and moved to the beat of the music, humming softly under her breath as she sauntered along. When she came into view of the library, she stopped short, surprised to see Buffy and Giles with their backs against the door. It was almost as if they were guarding the entrance. From Buffy's expression, she knew something was going on.
Switching off the Walkman, she pulled off the headphones, letting them hang around her neck. "We got a problem?"
"Sort of," Buffy answered, gesturing for her to follow. "But we know what that attack was all about."
* * *
Meanwhile, Xander and Mike are implementing the insane plan.
"You want me to do what?" Cordelia exclaimed. "Are you insane?"
The insane part: who they have to recruit to pull it off.
Mike wisely chose not to answer that question. He and Xander had caught her in the parking lot just in time to pitch Xander's crazy idea to her. Personally, Mike wasn't so sure it was a good idea himself - it was a little too risky - but he'd been outvoted. It still seemed that he'd be better off just doing it himself, although if he was caught they'd make the immediate connection to the Slayer. Cordelia was different. Cordelia hadn't been participating in most of their deliberations. Cordelia... well, Cordelia was an airhead.
The insane plan may be Mike's, but it's Xander's idea to have Cordelia pull this off.
Xander took a deep breath to steady himself. It seemed he'd been expecting such a reaction. "Cordy, you're the only one who wasn't there last night. You're the least likely to be recognized if someone sees you."
"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Cordelia went on. "You guys were just insisting that going to the Bronze meant going braindead, and now you want me to hang out there tonight?"
"Technically, the band is the problem," Xander pointed out.
"Oh?" Cordelia snapped. "The band's going to be there, of course. Any idea how I'm going to get around that?"
"You don't have to come when they're actually playing," Mike explained. "They come in to set up and warm up at 4:30. They don't affect anyone until they have an audience."
Still, she wasn't convinced. "I don't know. Don't you think people are going to wonder if I show up all of a sudden after avoiding the Bronze all week? Without an excuse?"
Most of the patrons, at this point, are so out of it that's unlikely.
Groaning, Xander swallowed his pride, literally dropping to one knee. "All right, Cordy, I'm grovelling now. Are you happy?" As she stared at him in shock, he added, "You're the only one who can pull this off. Please."
Xander, of course, relies on embarrassment rather than logic here to persuade her.
She sighed. "Get up. People are staring."
Potential embarrassment is probably more effective.
"Not until you say yes."
Cordelia looked to Mike for help. "I... think I'm staying out of this one," he decided. Crazy idea or not, getting between the two of them was probably even more insane.
As Cordelia and Xander stared at each other, locked in a stalemate, Mike's gaze wandered past the rows of cars to the clump of trees at the other end of the parking lot. Although the shadows partially concealed it, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a familiar dark figure. Sighing, he turned away. There just wasn't time to deal with that at the moment.
Random Defender appearance #6.
Finally, Cordelia rolled her eyes and tugged at the collar of Xander's shirt. "All right, all right. I'll do it. Now get up."
As he got to his feet, Xander gave Cordelia his most endearing, lopsided grin. "Thanks, Cordy. You won't regret it."
"Oh, I probably will," Cordelia answered flippantly as she opened the driver side door. "But it's better than you humiliating me."
Eh, you know she loves it. ;)
* * *
"I don't think the Bronze is a good idea tonight," Buffy announced. "We go in, we either get hooked or we get a migraine."
With her free hand, she scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. Mike's headache? How do we explain that?
Xander cleared his throat, trying not to sound nervous. "Uh, yeah, G-man, you figure out what's with Vortex Boy's head?" Mike glared at him, and Faith covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. Standing over by the railing, they were pretending to be absent. The faces Xander was making, however, made it hard to be silent. Mike took a couple index cards and a marker from the desk.
I finished this story shortly before "Hush" aired. I guess this scene was practice of sorts for that episode.
"Actually, there's a number of references to head trauma and temporary immunity to sound spells," Willow piped up.
"Yeah, I guess tripping and falling over the railing would leave a mark," Xander responded, grinning evilly.
Everyone's picking on the new guy, aren't they?
Mike held up a note. I'm going to get you for this.
Giles sighed. "Xander, please. But perhaps that concussion might have something to do with it."
"Okay, okay, but then what are we supposed to do?" Xander exclaimed. "What about Faith? She know about this?"
"Not yet," Buffy replied. "I checked around. Guess she'll show up when she feels like it." Faith smirked almost proudly at that. "Looks like Trick has a hand in this too. I think maybe some wide-range patrol could turn up a mole or two."
"Am I the only one who thinks we shouldn't ignore the Bronze?" Xander cried, overdoing the melodrama a bit.
Xander, overdoing it? No!
Willow frowned. "You saw what happened last night. They're going to expect us to try something."
"Besides, perhaps we can figure out what connection the local vampires have to this band," Giles put in.
Buffy leaned back in her chair. "I think we need to pay our old pal Willie a visit." And while they wait for me there, I'll talk to Angel.
Ack! Pre-closed caption misspelling. It's Willy, not Willie.
"I'll come," Xander volunteered quickly. "To, uh, provide backup."
"You just like seeing Buffy threaten him," Willow said.
He shrugged. "So it gives me a bit of a rush." I'm kidding, really, he wrote hastily at the odd look Buffy was giving him.
Mike stifled a laugh, then stiffened suddenly as he felt a hand on his backside. He glared at Faith, but she took no notice, looking straight ahead as if there was nothing wrong. Sighing almost inaudibly, he reached back, took her wrist and pulled her arm back to her side where it belonged. Faith caught his eye, giving him a coy half-smile.
This is one of those bits that popped into my head as soon as Faith made it clear to me that she was interested in Mike. I could just see it in my head.
Shaking his head, Mike glanced up at the ceiling helplessly. Folding her arms, Faith turned her eyes forward again, but the smile didn't fade from her face as the rehearsed conversation continued.
* * *
It was the perfect excuse.
Here we switch to the Bronze and the crazy plan.
Nick staggered towards the back exit of the Bronze, trying to carry a tall stack of empty crates. Quickly sliding around the bar, Mike caught the crates before they could fall. "Whoa, easy," he advised, taking the crates and steadying his friend. "You don't look so good."
"Yeah, thanks," Nick murmured, obviously dazed.
This late in the week, even the staff is affected.
Mike frowned with concern. "Give me the keys, Nick. I'll take these round back for you." Nick wasn't in any shape to argue, and a moment later, Mike staggered out the back exit with the crates in hand, letting the door slam shut behind him.
"What took you so long?" a familiar voice demanded. Sighing, Mike set down the crates and turned to face Cordelia, who was standing there with her arms folded and tapping one designer shoe against the asphalt.
"It's quarter to five," he replied. "Not my fault you're early. I thought you didn't want to go through with it."
She sniffed. "I just want to get this over with. I can't believe I'm doing this."
"That makes two of us," Mike muttered under his breath. "Come on." He led her over to the door on the far end, the entrance to the back room. "The band usually dumps their stuff back in here," he told her as he unlocked the door. "Should be some ID, driver's licenses, stuff like that." He checked his watch. "I've got to get back. If you're not sure you're up to this, though--"
"And have Xander gloat over it for a week? I think not." She slipped inside. "Besides, the Bronze is the only place to go in town. I'm not going to let a band named after mashed pickles ruin it."
Of course, Cordelia can't resist mocking the band's name either.
"All right," Mike sighed. "But be careful." He closed the door, leaving her alone in the dim room.
"Okay," Cordelia murmured as her eyes adjusted to the light. "If I was incriminating evidence, where would I be?"
She moved around the room, looking on empty carts and behind crates, when suddenly she spotted a swatch of purple in the dim grays of the room. On closer inspection, she discovered it to be a neon purple duffel bag stuffed behind an old desk. Beneath it was another backpack, but first things first. Cordelia grabbed the handle of the bag, tugging it from the cramped space with some effort before it came free.
"What do they keep in here, rocks?" she complained, setting it down on the floor and unzipping the duffel bag. Hurriedly, she rummaged through the contents. Her searching fingers found a couple dog-eared romance novels, a makeup bag that rivaled her own,
That's got to be one hell of a makeup bag. I just threw in the romance novels because I found it amusing Lori would carry them.
an emergency change of clothes, a couple of New Age tapes, a water bottle, and a bag of tissues.
Eventually, she found the ID's, scribbling down the names, dates, and license numbers. Ohio driver's license, issued to Franklin Kwan, age 20.
There was a reason it was Ohio, not Texas. I think I wrote up Frank's background somewhere and indicated that he moved around a lot in his teens.
New York driver's license, issued to Malik Robinson, age 32.
Which is mentioned later on.
California driver's license, issued to Molly Leary, age 16.
Not a continuity error. It's a fake.
Oregon driver's license, issued to Lori Halverson, age 27.
Also probably a fake. Picked Oregon on a whim.
Reaching into her purse, Cordelia pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and quickly scribbled down the names, birthdates, and ID numbers.
Not all in the same backpack, of course, but I wanted to move it along. Naturally, Cordelia would have to write things down; any missing items would be noticed right away.
She replaced the IDs and was about to close the bag up when she spotted the tiny notebook in the pocket.
Should have made it clearer that these were different bags.
Curious, she pulled it out, flipping through the pages. The paper was covered with bizarre doodles and sketches in purple ink. None of them made any sense at first, although the same odd loopy symbol was repeated over and over. It looked like something out of Giles' books. As the doodles progressed, however, they began to resemble diagrams, formations, positions for people to be in. It almost looked like those football plays Mitch had tried to show her, the lines and O's and X's she never understood. She puzzled over the notebook for a moment, then gave up and stuffed it into her purse before zipping up the black backpack and shoving it back into its hiding place. Good enough.
Probably thinking, "I am so not going to copy all that down." The scene that explained why Molly didn't notice its absence was cut for length.
Then the creak of the stage door reached her ears. She barely managed to stifle a squeak of fear as she whirled, half-expecting to be caught.
"...telling you, Pippi Longstocking, if I don't get a smoke soon, I'm gonna lose what little I have left!" The speaker only had the door half-open, and was leaning back towards the stage, unable to see her. If she didn't hide soon, she would have some major explaining to do.
Malik calling Lori "Pippi Longstocking" - as inappropriate and as irritating a label as you can get.
Naturally, Cordelia froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.
Instead of doing the logical thing and running for the shadows.
* * *
Malik stormed into the back room, with Frank trailing behind him. "Get my water bottle," he echoed in a mocking tone. "Do this. Do that. What, does she think I'm her personal slave?"
Trailing behind him, Frank cracked a smile, writing something on his notepad. He handed it to Malik, who read it out loud. "'It's your own fault for calling her Pippi Longstocking.' Yeah, well, Frank, she was asking for it. And you don't have to do that now. No one's gonna know back here."
Frank would have had no issues during "Hush," I realize. Also some slight foreshadowing as to why Frank is so special.
Frank did not respond, and Malik blinked and looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. There was no one in sight. "Where'd we stash the bags again?"
Rolling his eyes, the bassist snatched the notepad back and strode over to the desk, yanking the black bag free. Holding it by the strap, he tossed it over to Malik before shoving the notepad back in his pocket.
The drummer caught it, barely, stumbling back a step as it slammed into his chest. "Thanks for the warning." He reached into the bag, feeling around until his fingers closed on the pack of cigarettes inside. "Here we go." Dropping the backpack to the floor, he shook a cigarette out of the pack, lighting it up. "That's more like it."
I figure he smokes so much not merely to annoy Lori, but because arguing with her all the time drives him to it.
As he took another puff, the drummer paused. "You hear that?" His companion looked at him blankly as a faint scuffling sound could be heard. "There it is again. Behind there. Go check for me, will you?"
Cordelia, stop shifting your weight!
Shooting the other man a baleful glare, Frank moved in the direction of the sound, checking behind rows of crates. He moved from row to row, finding nothing, and emerged at the other end of the room, shaking his head. Just as he was about to give up, he turned and saw her.
Fake-out! Cordelia did have the sense to hide.
Cordelia was crouched on the lower shelf of an empty cart, hugging her knees against her chest and trying to keep her designer outfit from touching anything dirty while not making any noise. An old tarpaulin was draped across the upper shelf, hiding her almost completely from Malik's view. If not for the angle, Frank wouldn't have noticed her himself. She glanced up, and their eyes locked. Recognition flashed in her eyes, which grew wide as she realized that she was in deep shit.
Seems like the proverbial "oh, shit" moment at first...
"Yo, Frank!" Malik called. "See anything?"
Frank stared at her for a few more seconds before shrugging and shaking his head.
...but this is Frank, so Cordelia's in luck. I wanted someone other than Mike to have evidence he was on their side.
He crossed back to the drummer and handed him another sheet of paper. "I am not paranoid, man," Malik protested as he stomped on his last cigarette and they headed back to the stage. "Can't accuse me of that in this town."
He is paranoid after working with Lori, but in Sunnydale it's appropriate.
The door slammed shut behind them, and Cordelia sagged in relief. Then, realizing where she was, she jumped from the cart, brushing frantically at her clothes. "Dry clean only," she muttered as she shouldered her purse and slipped out the back door. "This had better be worth it."
She nearly gets caught, and her first thought is her laundry bill. Oh, Cordelia...
* * *
Buffy opened the door a crack. "Angel?"
There was no response. Concerned, but wary, she stepped into the mansion, closing the door behind her. As it slid shut, she pulled a stake out of her pocket, moving forward slowly. She could hear a muffled groan down the corridor, and moved to investigate.
It was coming from the bedroom. Back to the wall, she eased around the corner, gripping the stake tightly. Another groan, and she stepped into the room, falling into a battle-ready stance.
Angel was in chains, slumped like a limp rag against the wall. Dropping the stake back into her pocket, Buffy hurried to his side. "Angel! What happened?"
I figured Angel would figure out what was going on and chain himself up.
He looked up at her with bleary eyes. "I - she - the Bronze--"
"Where's the key?" Buffy was casting about desperately. "I'll get you free in a second."
"No!" Angel cried hoarsely, with such vehemence that Buffy stopped and stared. "If I go, it'll get worse... it's like a drug..."
Since Lori was expecting Angel that evening, and given all the diagrams in that notebook, I think she was targeting him particularly. Vampires are not immune, and I also managed to work in the part about the music being addictive to those ensnared by it.
The situation was beginning to dawn on her. "You chained yourself up."
"I had to," Angel gasped. "I just keep slipping in and out. One minute, I need more, then the next I can't move..."
"Need what?" Buffy asked warily.
He didn't respond, and she suddenly noticed that he was shivering, despite the warm evening. My God, he looks like some kind of junkie... "Angel, listen to me! Who did this to you?"
Instead of answering, he suddenly leapt up, shoving and struggling to break free from his chains in a frenzy. Buffy jumped back in fright; the last time she'd seen him struggling like that was when he'd just returned from hell. "No," he gasped. "No, no, no..."
After a few moments, he stopped struggling, but remained tense, still trembling. "Buffy," Angel whispered. "Unlock the cuffs."
She crouched down to his level, but kept her distance. "I don't know where the key is."
"Above the fireplace." His eyes didn't seem to be focusing. "Unlock the cuffs."
"No."
Angel gritted his teeth. "Unlock the cuffs." She didn't say anything. "Let me go. I've, I've got to go."
"Angel, I'm not gonna--"
He shifted into his game face. "UNLOCK THE CUFFS!" With that, he threw all of his weight forward, trying to break the chains. Panicked, Buffy jumped to her feet again, this time falling into a defensive stance. The chains held, but Buffy could hear the creak and groan as Angel was jerked back, slamming against the wall again.
When he didn't immediately try again, she approached him cautiously, kneeling beside him. "You have to let me go," he moaned. "I need--"
Seeing that he was only somewhat subdued, Buffy cut him off with a hard slap to the face. Stunned, Angel dropped his game face, looking up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes. But this time there was actually some clarity there. "I..." he started, before inhaling deeply. He was still shivering a bit, but for the moment he was in control of himself. "Thank you."
"Angel," Buffy asked seriously, "what's going on?"
He took another deep breath before speaking. "I went to the Bronze last night around ten, but Mike said you'd just left. Then Relish showed up."
This did NOT get explained properly - which is my own fault - but the reason the band avoided the Scooby Gang was because the Slayer was likely to be immune to Lori's voice. So they couldn't suck her in.
The Slayer snorted. "Yeah, that figures."
"When they started playing..." Angel hesitated again, trying to remain coherent through his obvious fatigue. "I recognized the lead, but it couldn't be her. A daughter, or maybe -"
Buffy tentatively reached up to put a hand to his cheek. "Maybe what?"
He licked dry lips before finishing his sentence. "Maybe she was immortal."
And here I tie Lori into an old established legend. Not immortal, but long-lived...
* * *
Giles looked at the vampire without pity. At the same time, however, there was no scorn in his gaze. Although he hadn't completely forgiven Angel, he could tell that the vampire was suffering enough without the condemnation of others on top of it. He'd arrived at the mansion in time to see Angel in the throes of a withdrawal attack, and it wasn't pretty. Once Buffy had explained what was going on, Giles could tell that Angel was going through an agonizing experience. Besides, this was a serious matter.
This seems a little mild given his treatment of Angel in "Amends," but I think the fact that Buffy is there and that Angel is chained up mitigates Giles' antagonism. Besides, it's not like Angel's confronting him on his own doorstep. With Buffy around, Giles is more likely to hide his distrust of Angel for her sake.
He had come at Buffy's urging, having one less excuse not to with the library still bugged. The implications of what she had told him - and what he was seeing now - bothered him greatly. From all appearances, not even the undead were immune to the spell that Relish had cast over half of Sunnydale.
None of the others could have come, anyway. Willow's mother was still demanding quality time, so Faith was keeping an eye on Oz while Xander was keeping an eye on Faith, so to speak. Mike was working, and Cordelia was elsewhere, busy with some mad plan of Xander's.
Buffy returned from the kitchen with a cup and a bag of preserved blood. Kneeling beside Angel, she poured some into the cup, making a face as Angel drank it dry. When he was finished, he looked slightly better, yet his features remained drawn and haggard. "You - you say you believe you've seen this woman before?" Giles managed.
"It was about a month after I was cursed with my soul," Angel affirmed, remembering. "I was wandering aimlessly around Europe then; I didn't really know where I was going, and I didn't care. So one night, I reached the banks of a river - I think it might have been the Rhine - and simply threw myself in." He frowned. "I suppose I thought I could drown myself, but all I succeeded in doing was knocking myself out instead.
The date of this might be a bit off. And yes, the river was the Rhine. I culled Lori's origin from the German legend of Lorelei, a beautiful young maiden who threw herself headlong into the river in despair over a faithless lover. Upon her death she was transformed into a siren and could from that time on be heard singing on a rock along the Rhine River, near St. Goar.
Since this is the Buffyverse, of course, I hinted that the original legend was a bit off, and that Lorelei wasn't necessarily sacrificing herself in the first place. Lori is too much of a predator to have been sacrificing herself; she'd have been more likely to be trying to drown the unfaithful lover. Pity this was before "The Wish," I'm sure Anya would have had plenty to say about this. Or maybe she was involved. Who knows?
"I woke up in a room in a nearby tavern a few hours later. It turned out that a singer at the tavern had pulled me out of the river. Whenever she sang at the bar, every male there would suddenly stop what he was doing and focus on her completely." His eyes seemed to go unfocused for a moment, and he tried to slow his breathing. "I'm sorry, I--"
Shaking her head, Buffy poured some more of the preserved blood into the cup, lifting it to his lips. She was too wrapped up in the story - and too concerned about Angel - to be all that bothered by the blood. "Easy," she advised, although she was anxious to hear the rest. "Take your time."
I figured the spell would get worse the less Angel had eaten.
He drank greedily and swiftly before picking up the thread of the tale. "At first, I thought she was being generous, but she had known me for what I was when she pulled me out. Aside from the fact that she threw herself at every man she wanted to use, there was something wrong about her. I don't know what her ulterior motive was, but I didn't bother to discover it. Once she figured out I wasn't your typical vampire, she wasn't interested anymore. I left the next night."
Giles frowned. "Do you remember anything else?"
"I don't recall her name," Angel answered after a moment's pause. "I'm not sure if it's the same girl; the hair is different, but the voice... it seems almost the same. She could put any of the men she threw herself at into a trance. Which is why I left as soon as I could."
"Just the men?" Buffy wondered. "But everyone's been strung out on the music."
Angel inhaled deeply, trying to maintain his focus. "Except Mike."
"Mike is not from this reality," Giles reminded them. "Although that particular factor hasn't come up in my research, I'm afraid." He cleaned his glasses before continuing. "There are actually a number of creatures and demons - predominantly female - who employ song to drain or entrap others. Each one has different weaknesses. And although it's significant that vampires are not immune," he added, "that has only narrowed down the list slightly."
Never mind that the siren is the MOST OBVIOUS ONE on that list. :)
"Wonderful," Buffy groaned.
* * *
Screwed up the chronology a bit. This is at least half an hour after the earlier scenes; Willow has escaped from her mother and Cordelia has escaped the Bronze and gotten back to the high school. It's hard to tell, though.
"I hate meatloaf," Willow groused for the third time as she sat down in front of one of the lab computers. Its blue-white glow was the only luminescence in the dim, empty lab, casting eerie shadows on her face as she typed.
Xander grinned and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "No end to the 'quality time' kick, I see."
She almost leaned into the hug, but caught herself, straightening up a bit in her chair. "She ignores me for months, then all of a sudden wants to know everything about me. And teach herself to make meatloaf while she's at it." She shuddered at that.
And then forget about Willow until "Gingerbread." I assume she just forgot or didn't notice Willow's hair color til then.
He leaned closer, scooting the chair as close as he could to hers. "Poor Will. Always carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders."
Willow turned to look at him then, their faces almost touching. The two friends stared at one another, lost in the moment, until the door opened and Cordelia walked in, picking strands of something out of her hair. "Xander, you had to give me the dirty job, didn't you?"
Immediately, Xander and Willow pulled apart, so violently that even Cordelia noticed the chairs skidding. "How much caffeine have you had?"
And Cordelia still misinterprets the signs leading up to "Lover's Walk."
"A - a lot, actually," Xander stammered. "Did you find anything?"
She shrugged. "Got the driver's licenses, and the ID numbers. You think it's bugged in here too?"
"I doubt it," Willow replied. As Cordelia stood there, trying to remove something from her hair, Willow cleared her throat. "Names? Please?"
"Oh, right." Cordelia pulled up a chair to sit beside them. "Um... lemme find it..." She pulled the list out of her purse and handed it to Willow. Several minutes passed as the redhead hacked away. "Find anything?"
Xander was staring at the screen. "Oh, yeah."
"Malik Robinson," Willow read. "He's been convicted of fraud in three states, gambling, petty larceny, and acquitted of manslaughter. Wow, there's a whole file on this guy."
"What else?" Xander asked as Cordelia leaned over Willow's other shoulder.
Cordelia pointed. "Voodoo cult in Louisiana. He's certifiable."
Willow sighed. "Cordelia, Voodoo's a legally practiced religion. But this group..." She trailed off. "They were accused of murder, ritual sacrifices, disturbing the peace, but nothing was ever proven. Besides, this guy got out of it when he was 20."
And went on to create more havoc. I went out of my way to point out that any association with voodoo didn't necessarily mean automatic evil. I needed it to hint at Malik's usefulness to the group.
"And our next contestant is..." Xander began.
"Molly Leary.
Named for Denis Leary, of course. I felt like it. And her first name... well, there's a reason. I'll explain it when the Big Surprise rolls around and I really mess around with mythology.
A bunch of juvenile offenses, full psychiatric record, got let off because they ruled she was delusional." Willow scrolled through the data and stopped. "And according to this, she disappeared a year ago. She's only 15. No family records."
Molly remains even more mysterious than Lori. Another clue there's more to her than we think.
"What about the other guy? The bass player?" Cordelia wondered.
"Franklin Kwan. Class of '97, Lamont High School in Texas." Willow stopped. "That's it. No criminal record, nothing." She shrugged it off. "And last, but not least..."
Frank was my age. That was somewhat accidental. Texas was completely random, of course.
Xander started drumming on the table. "Drum roll, please..."
"Lori Halverson. Family deceased, accused of a couple felonies, got off of all of them." Willow frowned. "There's less on her than the bass player."
Nothing they can pin down, though.
"Well, this is helping," Cordelia commented.
Willow's eyes widened. "Wait a minute." She brought up a new file, of Lori's mother. "Check this out. Loretta Halverson." With a click, the image came up full-screen. "Look familiar?"
One Evil Villain Rule that Lori forgot: If you're nearly immortal, don't leave a photo trail. Then again, Mayor Wilkins ignored that too.
"Looks a lot like her daughter," Xander observed.
In response, Willow brought up a few more records. "And her grandma. Want to bet the resemblance goes all the way back?"
Cordelia looked blank, but Xander got it. "Yeah, if they're all the same person."
Willow grinned. "I think we've got our supernatural entity."
* * *
They took their positions on the stage deliberately, trying to make it look casual. Frank was having a harder time than usual in that respect, but fortunately the other three didn't notice as they set up. It was always the same: a triangle formation, with himself, Molly, and Malik as the points and Lori in the center. That was the position they had to start and end each set with, something that Lori had pounded into them time and time again.
More misdirection here. Lori's the focus, so she's in the center, but that doesn't mean she's necessarily casting the spell.
Tuning his guitar, he scanned the crowd. No sign of the Slayers, or the others they had come with the previous night. But the bartender, who didn't seem to be under the spell, was already there. Frank bit his lip, somewhat disappointed. He'd hoped for more. Shoving away his disappointment, he turned back to the task at hand. You had to take what you could.
And finally, Frank makes a decision.
Lori was still tuning her guitar, so Frank leaned over to Malik, reaching into his pocket for his notepad. You don't need me tonight, do you?
Referring, of course, to Lori's nightly feedings. It's also perfectly plausible that Frank would want to ditch.
The drummer favored him with a hard look. "Look, we had this talk a while ago. You gotta get used to it."
Mal, I made a deal, but I'm getting sick and tired of having to witness the feeding frenzy. I hate that shit.
"I don't know," Malik muttered. "The Slayer and her crew are out looking for vamps. If one of 'em happens our way--"
"We don't need you," Lori interrupted.
She's just tired of the arguments at this point, I think.
As the two men blinked, surprised, she turned to fix both of them with a glare. "Tomorrow night's the big one. Middle of the full moon. Everyone's going to have to be rested." Her cold gaze fell on Frank. "I still say you've got to get a backbone, but dragging you along tonight won't help that at all. You'll stay here and meet us at the back exit."
Frank didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid.
Yeah, having Lori pissed off at him isn't exactly a reprieve.
* * *
This scene was written very early on, as soon as I'd fleshed out Relish and Frank's character.
"Pretty good crowd tonight, huh?" the manager observed as Mike finished wiping down the counter.
Shrugging, Mike tossed the towel on a hook and turned to the sink. "Big crowd, you mean. Which means a big mess to clean up."
Harry yawned. "You're telling me. These guys are really packing them in, but it makes cleanup a bitch." He staggered, leaning against the counter for support.
Like I said, even the staff is feeling the effects of Relish. Except Mike, of course.
Mike frowned, getting a better look at his boss. Harry looked rather pale, and was sweating more heavily than usual. "Harry, you feeling all right? You're not looking so good."
"Naw, I'm fine." The big man dismissed Mike's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Business jumps up like this, I'm bound to lose some shut-eye. Just need to catch up on my sleep."
Typical Sunnydale denial.
For about a week, Mike finished silently. Harry was looking more than merely tired, and Mike had been seriously considering getting some of the waiters to strong-arm their boss into seeing a doctor. But none of the waiters were looking well either. Not as bad as Harry, of course, but at the end of every night the staff and patrons alike looked more and more exhausted - drained, as if the energy had been sucked out of them.
Which it probably had.
He snapped out of his reverie abruptly, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Then go home, boss. We're almost finished up here."
Harry wavered thoughtfully, looking around the empty nightclub. Mike wasn't fibbing; the patrons had long gone, and most of their trash and debris had been swept up. Almost all of the band had gone elsewhere, except for the bass player, who was leaning against the equipment, watching them curiously. "All right," he finally conceded, and Mike grinned. "But only because we're almost all done."
"Night, Harry," Mike sighed as the manager yawned, grabbed his coat and keys, and stumbled out the door into the night. Shaking his head, Mike turned to the task of washing glasses.
A tapping noise startled him, and he turned to see Frank sitting there, tapping a pen insistently against the counter. "What can I get you?"
For answer, the bass player pulled out a small notepad, wrote something on it, and turned it so Mike could see. You got a minute?
Glancing around to make sure everyone was too zoned out to pay attention, Mike nodded and leaned over the counter. "Yeah. What's up?"
Frank's brow furrowed for a moment before he picked up the pen again. Why doesn't it affect you?
You know, villains never think to ask why their special weapon or power doesn't work on one of the good guys. They always have to find out the hard way.
"Why doesn't what affect me?" Mike wondered, lowering his voice to a whisper.
The music. Lori.
Mike tried to play dumb. "She affects me, all right," he muttered. "Every time she opens her mouth, I get a headache."
Frank almost smiled before continuing. That's not what's supposed to happen.
Now they were getting somewhere. Picking up a dishtowel, Mike pretended to be wiping off the bar. Under his breath, he added, "You know what's going on, don't you?" Frank hesitated before nodding. "People getting drained - this is what's supposed to happen."
It wasn't a question. Frank grimaced. I shouldn't be telling you this. If they find out, I'm a dead man.
And Mike pretends he asked for a cup of coffee.
Mike nodded and turned to the coffeemaker, pouring himself and Frank a mug. He set the mug in front of the bass player, sliding over the creamer before speaking. "The way it's going, a few people are gonna die if this keeps up." At the startled look on Frank's face, he added, "One of the girls who hung out here? Wasn't awake enough to catch herself going down the stairs and now she's in the hospital."
Frank's only response was to stare numbly into his coffee cup.
"All these half-conscious people are wandering the streets," Mike continued. "How much longer do you think it's gonna be until someone walks into the path of a tractor-trailer? Or drives a bus full of kids off a cliff? What's it going to take for you to tell the truth?"
The young man's lip curled, and he pounded both fists on the bar with enough force to make Mike stop short. Frank was glaring at him fiercely, and Mike forced himself to return a level stare.
So much for playing it cool. I like this reaction; it works. It's a miracle the coffee cup didn't spill, though.
Finally, Frank grabbed up the pen. It's supposed to be addictive. They come, they get hooked, they pack the house, Lori drains 'em, we move on.
"Lori drains them?" Mike whispered, confused. "What does she need you for?"
It's the 90's. Bands get in the door.
That's not exactly what Mike was asking for.
With shaking hands, Frank poured in some creamer and took a gulp of coffee before continuing to write. Molly and Malik are into this stuff, too. Not me.
"Why don't you quit?"
Frank was shaking his head vehemently. Who's gonna take a bass player with no vocal cords, huh?
Mike set his coffee down, unconvinced. "Anyone who hears you play." He sighed. "Look. You can trust me. I've got some friends who can help. What's stopping you?"
For a moment, Frank merely stared at him, then let the pen slip from his fingers onto the bar. Mike's shoulders slumped in defeat, until the voice entered his mind.
This is what's stopping me.
I hope I made it clear that this was neither written nor spoken.
If Mike had been holding his coffee cup, he would have dropped it in his shock. "Wait a minute... you..."
Frank looked sheepish. It works better than pen and paper. As Mike shook off his initial shock, he explained. This was my trade-off for joining up. If I split, they'll take it back.
Something of a lame excuse at this point for sticking with them. I think the offer was tempting when it was first made, but Frank's figured out it's not worth it. I suppose he's never come across a group that could really do anything yet.
"You've got to come with me," Mike insisted. As Frank scowled, he added. "Please. You're the only chance we've got, and a lot of my friends are dropping like flies." He extended a hand.
Frank glanced over his shoulder. I don't know. If they find out...
"You expect them back soon?"
The bassist checked his watch. In about an hour.
That wasn't a lot of time. "Trust me. We'll be back in thirty minutes."
With a resigned sigh, Frank took the proferred hand and shook it. I know I'm gonna regret this.
* * *
"How is he?" Willow asked as Buffy emerged from the bedroom. Xander and Cordelia had volunteered to do Oz watch, since Xander didn't want to deal with his parents and Cordelia had promised to keep him awake. How she planned to do that, Willow really didn't want to know.
And there's no way Xander's going to want to be near Angel. Buffy wouldn't want him near Angel, either.
It also occurs to me that I forgot to account for why Faith was now free of Oz watch. Maybe Cordelia decided that she would keep an eye on Xander by her lonesome. (She's oblivious to the Willow/Xander issues, but she was aware of Xander's interest in Faith.)
Buffy sighed and shook her head. "He goes back and forth between hysterical strength and completely wasted. Right now, he's completely wasted, although he won't admit it. I finally made him lie down." She scowled. "If he goes anywhere in his condition, he's an easy mark for Trick and company. Xander could probably take him out without much trouble."
Another reason why Xander is not there.
"I wouldn't tell Xander that if I were you," Giles advised, a wry smile creeping over his features. He had several books tucked under one arm. "I've gathered some research on the supernatural entities that could do this; unfortunately, there are still a few to choose from."
Hearing this, Faith hopped up from her seat beside the fireplace. "Come on. We know Relish is behind this. Hell, we know just which one of them's the supernatural freak. Why don't we just go beat it out of them?"
Faith, of course, would choose the easiest course of action. The more violent one, of course.
"Because not all of them are out to drain Sunnydale dry," a new voice answered, and Giles turned to see Mike coming through the front door with another person in tow.
It was a minute before Buffy realized who it was. "Are you crazy?" she snapped at Mike, stepping towards the bassist.
But Mike held up a hand. "Buff, calm down. He's here to help."
* * *
The full moon was coming.
Tomorrow night, the psychic currents would be at their most potent. He had felt stronger as the nights wore on, almost enough to make his move prematurely. It might have been possible tonight.
I realized that I needed to take a moment to explain why the Defender didn't make another try for Mike - the closer we got to the full moon, the stronger he got, so you'd think he'd have an even better chance.
Yet... he'd felt the same way the night before, and had still failed. Patience, he told himself, was the key. Patience. There had been a brief moment when his chosen was alone in the alley, a perfect time to finish what he'd started. But he could only watch this time, instead of wasting all his energy. No, this had to be done at the right time and in the right place. Assuming nothing happened to the host.
Had to make a case for why the Defender almost latched onto Mike, but failed earlier.
Until then, he told himself, it was best to merely wait.
He would have his revenge in time.
At the least opportune time, of course.
That's all for now. I intend to get to bed at a decent hour tonight.
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Date: 2004-01-25 01:38 am (UTC)You also have my complete sympathies over the length. Someone's asked me to do Max Force and there's way too much stuff in there for me to just do the first couple of chapters...