I'll fix it and send it back.

Great... thanks again.

Faith and Claire aren't done sitting around talking...thought there'd be plot or overt porn, but not yet.

But the surprises didn’t end there. Claire’s mom asked Faith to stay to dinner, because the world could just...like, fucking end, and there would be Mom with mashed potatoes, you know? Not like Faith, who’s had a real life, and like, a destiny(even though it didn’t work like it was supposed to, but Claire isn’t sure she even understands that story. Listening to it felt like being high. The world is in the tiny manicured hands of an ex-cheerleader named Buffy?Nuh uh. And she thought catechism didn’t make sense.)

”What’s it like?”Claire asked, after making sure her bedroom door was closed. All the way.

“Killing monsters makes me hungry and horny.”

“Uh, not that. The other part. I wish I had a destiny.”

“I don’t think about all that much, C. Not really. Life’s too hard to get all deep about it. I might as well ask why I have tits. I don’t know but I can still have fun with ‘em right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Claire bluffed, hoping Faith thought she understood.

“You’re all pink. What, don’t you say “tits” either?”

“They’re not much to talk about...”

“More than a mouthful is wasted, right?”

”Dinner!” Claire couldn’t decide if she was relieved or upset, even after Faith said “At least I won’t be hungry.”

Beginning of something new here. It doesn't have a title yet. Enjoy!

ETA: It has a name now!

Yesterday's Guitars

Part One:

There were screeching guitars streaming into her wireless earpiece, and a vampire on the other end of her short sword. “All in all,” thought Dawn, “there are worse ways to be spending New Year’s Eve.”

Of course, she could think of one, but Xander was still off doing research in Los Angeles, and she was stuck in London, trading blows with walking dead still wearing 2018’s fashion.

The vampire leapt at her, but instead of tackling her like he planned, he found himself flat on his face to her side. In one fluid motion, Dawn spun and brought the sword down, severing the vampire’s neck. It exploded in a cloud of dust.

“Little bad’s ashes,” said Dawn, to no one visible. “It’s 2023 in fifteen minutes, and I have no one to kiss.”

“Wish I could be there with you,” said Xander, whispering into her ear over the com system. “Duty first.”

“Duty sucks,” said Dawn, watching the lights of London glisten in the distance. “We could have phone sex.”

Xander chuckled.

“With Wesley monitoring this line at any moment?” said Xander. “No thanks.”

“Ah, c’mon,” said Dawn, smiling now. “It would make it exciting.”

“I’ll see you in Los Angeles in a couple of days,” said Xander, still audibly chuckling.

“Love you,” said Dawn, chuckling now too, “spoil sport.”

She clicked the direct line off, and her music resumed. It sounded like metal scraping on metal. It suited her mood. She loved London, but no one was here right now but Giles, and frankly, she wasn’t in the mood to hang with him. There was a murderer loose out there, a centuries-old psychopathic killer, and she had to stop him.

“Geez,” said Dawn. “I sound like an old TV character.”

Not for the first time, she wondered if this was what it was like for Buffy, alone on rooftops and dark alleys, spouting B-grade movie dialog to keep her teeth from chattering.”

“Buffy would probably insist it was nothing but A-grade dialog,” thought Dawn.

She came to the decrepit, gray building and tried the door. It opened easily, with a squeak. Cautiously, she entered, her sword drawn and ready. A thick layer of dust covered everything, but she could see where it had been disturbed. Someone had dragged something big through here.

Dawn knew full-well she made no noise when she didn’t want to. She knew nothing normal could know she was here. Still, she stopped a few feet from a closed door ahead of her. She stood quietly, staring at the door as though she were transfixed, her sword at rest beside her.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a feral form draped in bandages and rags leapt at where she’d be if she’s opened it by hand. Disoriented, the figure squealed and gnashed its teeth. Dawn was moving forward now, her sword raised and ready to slice as she approached. The figure was humanoid, she realized. And it wasn’t a demon. It was…

Her sword collided with the killer’s body before she finished the thought. Steel hit the killer’s bandaged frame and there was an explosion of dust. It wasn’t her man, it was a vampire.

Dawn looked into the room beyond. A teenage girl was gagged and whimpering in the corner. Mystic runes adorned the walls, and there was a permeating smell of stale blood.

“Wesley,” she said, clicking onto the emergency line. “Pavayne’s bolted. We’ve lost him. Repeat, we have lost Pavayne.”

“Understood,” said Wesley’s voice across the digital connection. “Is the victim unharmed?”

“The current one, yeah,” said Dawn, who had sheathed her sword and was cutting the girl loose with a knife. “There were a lot of others. Soon as you get a team here, I’m going to continue pursuit.”

“Yes,” said Wesley. “I think that’s imperative.”

There was silence for a moment, save the ungagged girl gasping and crying onto Dawn’s shoulder.

“And Dawn,” said Wesley, his voice low.

“Yes, Wesley?”

“Happy New Year.”

Yesterday's Guitars

Part Two:

Los Angeles, 2005: Wesley watched. It was what he did. He stood in the shadows and assessed. It was what he was trained for—sending others into combat, the fate of all humanity the ultimate stake. He’d not been eating much since his resurrection. He was sure he was paler, more gaunt. His expression betrayed nothing, but he knew his head was full of faulty wiring and the whispers of ghosts.

He wasn’t in charge. That honor fell to Daniel Osborne, “Oz,” who seemed to confidently glide through the melee surrounding him—a den of green-scaled demons with sharp, edged dorsal fins. Oz didn’t bark orders, but rather, spoke terse suggestions in a low voice, which would seem inaudible, but then, his team was somewhat remarkable.

Justine, a recently-turned slayer whom Wesley had a bad history with, stayed close to Oz. The two were an item, it seemed, and had developed a tight rapport on the battle field—one surveying the situation, the other keeping the opponents at bay. Oz could handle himself, Wesley knew, but he seemed reluctant to release the wolf he kept tethered inside, full control of it or not.

“Connor, trouble at six o’clock,” said Oz, and the young man flipped backward, foiling the demon that was looking to blindside him. Wesley and Connor also had a complicated past, but the boy seemed to find Wesley’s presence on the team more reassuring then threatening. As far as Connor was concerned, Wesley’s return from the final battle with the Circle of the Black Thorn meant that there was hope that his father, Angel, would also be returned to them. That was this team’s prime mission, and none took it as seriously as Connor.

There was a sound like timber snapping as Connor broke the demon’s arm. The monster screamed, and Connor tossed it into one of its compatriots, freeing up the last member of the team—the vampire slayer named Faith, who Wesley had perhaps the most complicated relationship with.

Faith didn’t waste any time dispatching the fighter that Connor had distracted, and instead punched its face and then its stomach, rendering it unconscious. She turned toward the remaining fighter nearest her, but it was already punching at her. Wesley watched the beast, as though it were prey, his hand drawing out his pistol silently, and without even blinking, Wesley fired on the monster before it could throw another punch. The shot didn’t kill it, but the shock was enough to throw it off guard as Faith delivered the knockout punch. There was only one left, and it raised its arms as the team converged on it.

“All right, you got us!” said the demon. “We surrender.”

“Ah, man,” said Faith. “These guys are no fun.”

“We’ll see,” said Oz, coolly. “Depends on if he’s got the Wolfram & Hart protocol files stashed here.”

“And if he doesn’t?” said Faith, smiling.

“Fun will be had,” said Oz.

He was a good leader, thought Wesley. Sharp and confidant, his team was fanatically loyal to him. Even Wesley himself—an outsider on a team of outsiders—did nothing to challenge Oz’s authority. There was only one man he’d been more willing to follow, he thought, and Oz seemed the only one capable of keeping this team moving in that direction.

The monster glanced over at a locked chest to the side. Justine caught his glance, and slid toward it.

“It’s locked,” said the demon. “I don’t have the key.”

Justine almost smiled at that—she smiled rarely, and usually only at Oz—and ripped the top off the chest with one hand. From the splinters, she retrieved a stack of computer discs, and tossed them to Oz.

“These are hot,” said Oz. “Not afraid enough of Wolfram & Hart to make a little money off them?”

“Wolfram & Hart are gone in this city,” said the demon. “I don’t know why anybody wants them.”

Oz handed the discs to Wesley as he phoned in a retrieval team for their prisoners—he didn’t mind a little blood in a fight, noted Wesley, but Oz insisted that prisoners not be killed in cold blood if it could be avoided. In that (continued...)

( continues...) way, Oz was probably the most human of the team. The rest of them, one way or the other, had killing streaks in them. Oz seemed to keep those streaks at bay by will alone.

“Will they give us clues where Angel and the others are?” asked Connor.

“They’ll give us clues to where to find the clues,” said Wesley, his voice low and even. “The keys to the first riddles. It’ll still be a long road from there.”

A gloom fell over Connor’s face. They were all impatient and edgy, thought Wesley. This team’s first mission had cost them a lot: Angel and his team were nearly in reach, and then lost to them; Amy Madison had sacrificed herself to save them all, Ethan Rayne was seemingly dead at the hands of the invisible assassin Marcy Ross, whom Oz insisted be removed from the team. And—considering the players at hand—his own return was hardly the most anticipated.

Soldiers collected the surviving demons, and the team began to file out.

“What’s next, chief,” said Faith, draping her arms around both Oz and Justine’s shoulders as Wesley and Connor lagged a few steps behind.

“Mexican,” said Oz. “Definitely Mexican. Sushi doesn’t sound good right now.”

“There’s a good place nearby, just off Olvera,” said Connor. Wesley marveled at how at home the boy felt with this group—more so than he ever did with the Angel Investigations team.

“Right,” said Oz. “lead on.”

Wesley lingered a step behind them, unsure whether he should follow. Nervously, tentatively, he did.

My usual nit-picking first pass:

Dawn was moving foreward now,

Should be 'forward' here.

Oz was reticent ...

You want something like 'Oz was insistent that prisoners not be harmed,' or better, 'Oz insisted that ....' Or, if you like the word 'reticent,' 'Oz was reticent about harming prisoners.' 'Reticent' is a synonym for 'reluctant' or 'silent,' depending on usage.

with the Angel Investigations team.”

Delete the close-quote there.

Nice work, as usual, Victor.

Fixed. Thanks!

Good stuff, Victor.