I only remember his body language from The Gift. I will rewatch Lover's Walk, though, to re-familiarise myself with them.

There were tears in The Gift and I'm quite sure that he cried with Joyce during Lover's Walk.

And did he cry when he staked his mother?

Here we go. Turned out I didn't need her name after all.

--- Trophy

They say a prisoner loses track of their time in the cage.

They say wrong. I know how long I've been here, down to the second.

Too many days, too many moments broken down into sharp bright sections of images, passing through the halls of the high school. I used to stalk these halls; I used to own them. I was all leg and flash, all pompoms and killer quads and a dark smile. I was a lateen sail of a girl, moving down the river of team chants. I was the base of the pyramid, and its crown.

They say a prisoner forgets the faces of those who locked them up.

They say wrong. I could never forget those faces, especially the one: Amy. Starved and sweated for her existence, gave up my power and my health, for that puling, crying, milky bundle of need and lassitude. She was lazy, sloppy, no power and no kinetics. She took my youth, my strength, my movement. All she wanted was Daddy, and brownies.

And how could I forget, when I see a hundred imprints of her, passing by this glass case? A hundred imprints, a thousand, a bunch of Amys, all of them.

Once, the world was mine. Then I was imprisoned, doomed to dance in place, shrivelled tight and small and hungry, dear Hecate I'm so hungry, for blood and vigour and a moment, just one single damned moment, of having my youth and power back again. What I wouldn't give to have air in my lungs, to draw in my breath, and cheer.

They say you only die once. They're idiots.

I died once, when Buffy gave my spell back at me, and pushed me into this tiny moulded body. I died twice, when the school was destroyed, again by Buffy - she used explosives that time. The pain was unimaginable; it left me deaf, my tiny shrunken eardrums burst, and I screamed, but there was no one to hear me.

I'm about to die again. Again, this is Buffy doing it. The Slayer, slaying me, over and over and over.

There is sun coming through, not sunlight but solar power, the energy of the star, burning flesh, scouring life away. I was deaf; now I'll be blind. I wonder if I'll actually die this time, my own curse broken, free of this statue, this trophy case, free to pop out into some howling void of nonexistence, like a dead light bulb?

They say no one really wants to die.

They say wrong.

• * *

also posted at [link]

Shiver.

Damn.

I'm having an odd notion about a CWDP story.

Supposing it was the First talking to a ghost? Rather than the First talking to the living?

Supposing, for whatever reason, the First didn't realise the person they were talking to was actually dead already?

And supposing the ghost, to whom the First could do precisely diddly in the way of damage or manipulation, won the encounter and drove the First screaming in total frustration into the night?

Is that too odd? Because it could be awfully funny, and fun to write.

Who would the ghost be?

Yeah, finally a day at work quiet enough to write in. We open with Xander.

He joined Willow, Joyce, Anya, and Sister Agnes. "So. What do we tell him when the hour's up?"

"The truth," Joyce said. "The Key's not here anymore."

"He won't believe us."

Sister Agnes drew herself up. "Then he may come in and search."

"Oh, you don't want that," Anya said. "Soldiers searching for things tend to break other things."

Joyce shook her head. "And he only has our word that Dawn is the Key. He doesn't strike me as the believing sort."

Willow frowned. "But--if the Key's not here and he doesn't believe us . . ."

"If they don't offer us any harm . . ." Sister Agnes said hopefully.

Xander gave her a sympathetic smile. "I think General Gregor is definitely in the mood to harm someone."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't shot at him," Willow muttered.

"He was going to attack, Wills. Kind of a bad thing in the middle of spell casting."

"Still, you didn't have to shoot."

"True. I could have sicced Spike on him. He's certainly willing."

"Kids," Joyce said mildly. "That's not helping. Sister, do you want to offer him the chance to search? I don't know what he'll make of Savlin and the others."

"Oh, dear. But, we'll have to let him in, won't we?"

"No," Xander said.

Anya shrugged. "Of course, they'll be annoyed. Soldiers are like that. But annoyed soldiers are easier to deal with when they're outside, not inside."

Sister Agnes nodded once. "So. We know they're going to be upset. We don't want them inside the walls if they're upset. Very well."

"What if they insist?" Joyce asked.

Willow blinked. "They can't insist. They don't have any right to insist."

Xander squeezed her shoulders. "Our Willow, so trusting. Wills, they have swords and crossbows and lots of men. They think that gives them the right."

"But that's just--bad guys think like that."

"Uh huh."

"But you have that gun thing, which is nastier than a sword, doesn't that mean--" She broke off, frowning. "Oh, dear."

"Welcome to the arms race, Wills."

"I'm going to go hug Tara."

Joyce smiled kindly as Willow went to the chapel. "So. When they insist. What do we do?"

Sister Agnes looked at Xander. "You don't think we should let them in?"

"Maybe just their general. Not all of them."

"Can you keep them out?"

He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"Spike can help," Anya said.

Sister Agnes frowned up at the wall. "That's what I'm afraid of." She crossed herself. "We can only do our best and trust in the Lord. I'll speak to them when the hour's up."

"From the wall," Xander said. "Don't go outside."

She hesitated, then nodded.

"I'm hungry," Anya said, looking perplexed. "Is this a usual human reaction to fear?"

Xander went over to hug her. "Humans have lots of reactions to fear, Ahn."

"Oh, I know, but do we have time for sex? I don't think we should, not here."

Xander stared at her, blushing slowly.

Joyce cleared her throat. "Anya, there might be some food in the dining room. We didn't really finished supper. Would you help me in?"

"Oh, of course." She moved closer to help Joyce balance as she maneuvered the walker across the uneven courtyard. Joyce took a step forward, then went still. "Joyce? Are you all right? Xander, Joyce is broken again!"

Joyce shook her head. "No, I'm all right, dear, I'm sorry. I just realized where I am."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in a Mission era convent dedicated to a saint who was a demon, threatened by a small army that dates from the Middle Ages, while my daughters have jumped through an interdimensional portal in the company of a vampire. Our defense relies on another vamper, one young man with a gun, and a witch. My high school yearbook said I was the girl most likely to be boring."

Anya hugged her. "And you're with us, instead. Isn't that better?"

Xander laughed. "Yeah, Mrs. Summers. Congratulations, you're a Scooby."

Joyce smiled at him. "My highest dreams achieved." She headed to the buildings with Anya.

Xander glanced sheepishly at Sister Agnes. "Um, about Anya and what she said. I'm sorry--"

She patted his arm. "She's a lovely girl, and blessed with a simper view of life. You can always believe what she tells you."

"Oh, gosh, that's true."

"You're very lucky. Most people lie by habit. Your Anya tells the truth. No everyone can deal with that."

"She's definitely an acquired taste." He blushed again and averted his eyes from the nun's smile. "I'd better get back up there before Spike starts taking potshots at people."

"Call me when you need me."

"Right."

In the chapel, Tara avoided the shouting and the smell of magic and tried to hide under the benches. Little gray scaley feet appeared in front of her, then a small muzzle and bright eyes peeked under at her. They stared at each other, then Tara crawled out, careful of her broken hand. The little creature sniffed at the cast, then chirped at her.

"Cotton balls," Tara said. That got her an amused hiss.

She wandered around the chapel, ignoring the large demons that looked like the little one that followed her. The large crucifix made her wince, but she stood in front of the Virgin for several minutes, tracing the curves of the wooded face with delicate fingers. The little demon tugged on her sleeve. She followed him to the statue of St. Eugene.

They stared at the statue for a bit, then Tara reached out to touch the golden chalice in the statue's hands. The water in the chalice began to swirl and glow. Her small demonic companion went up on tiptoes to see in.

The glow faded to darkness, then a picture. A pretty blonde woman sat in the front seat of a car, eyes closed, head sh

The glow faded to darkness, then a picture. A pretty blonde woman sat in the front seat of a car, eyes closed, head shaking, pain knotting her forehead. The lines of her face flickered several times, but settled. The woman glared, then poked the pockmarked demon behind the wheel. "Drive faster. He's getting pushy. I think he's trying to stop us."

"Yes, most glorious."

The little lizard whimpered and fell back. Tara took her hand away. The water slowed and went still.

"Tara?"

Willow came through the doorway, looked around. The little demon ducked behind Tara, peeking around her legs at the new person.

"Hi, little guy," Willow said, crouching down. "Are you looking after my girl?" He didn't come out of hiding. She straightened and hugged Tara. "Crazy night. So this is the guy?" She studied the statue of St. Eugene, then ran a finger along the top of the chalice as she rested her head on Tara's shoulder. "Crazy night." She put both arms around Tara's waist, gazing into the still, empty waters in the cup.

Buffy hit gravel and lost Dawn's hand. She rolled to her feet. "Dawn!"

"Here," came the shaky answer. "Oh-h, he was right, that was nasty." Dawn climbed slowly to her feet. "Wow. Ick."

"Yeah."

The sky was grey-green and seemed to pulse with occasional pink flashes. Maybe day, maybe night. There was enough light to show they had landed among ruins, half collapsed stone walls that rose two or three feet. The weedy plant-line things clustered around the walls were yellowish and spiky. And they twitched, even though there was no wind.

Dawn and Buffy moved together, taking each others hands. "Shouldn't there be people?" Dawn asked. "I kind of expected people."

"I'm wondering where Giles is. Giles!"

Dawn hugged her arm. "Don't yell. You don't know what's out there."

Footsteps crunched behind a wall, and Giles came into view. He was still grinning. "Isn't this amazing? A whole new world."

Dawn shook her head. "No songs, no songs."

Buffy reminded herself that perkiness was not a capital offense. "Is everything OK? Nothing about to eat us? Where are the people?"

"Oh. Yes. Potential eating things." He actually reached up to fiddle with glasses he wasn't bothering with anymore. "I haven't seen anything threatening. Haven't seen much of anything, actually."

"Shouldn't there be people?"

"Yes, one would expect people, wouldn't one? Anya certainly wouldn't have come here on business if there were no people."

Buffy and Dawn looked at each other. "Giles, are you OK?" Buffy asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. What about you two? Was the trip through very bad?"

Dawn shrugged. "Kind of like Space Mountain, but with a nastier light show."

"And smells," Buffy added.

"And noises."

Giles nodded. "Good, not too appalling, then. All we need to do now is find a safe place to wait- -oh, how lovely!"

The girls looked up to where he was looking. On a nearby mountainside a large furry something spread out huge orange half-circle wings, then leaned forward and glided away. It didn't flap its wings, just floated.

Dawn buried her face in Buffy's shoulder. "Go home now. Go home now."

"It's not a bat, Dawnie. It's not going to come down here." Buffy glared at Giles. "It better not, anyway."

Giles watched the thing travel across the sky, fascinated.

"Giles!"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. I wonder if that's one of the people? Anyway, I found an old building around the corner that has most of its roof. It's quite empty."

"OK, let's go."

Giles lectured on what he'd observed so far, how the ruins suggested the builders were humanoid and how the path was made by something with two feet. Fortunately the building wasn't too far away. It was rather dilapidated, but was nicely empty and not very dirty.

Dawn waited for Buffy's nod, then collapsed on the dirt floor. "How long are we going to be here?"

sorry about the abrupt ending, that's where I got to and haven't picked it back up yet.

Who would the ghost be?

I'm thinking Harmony.....