"But it does sound nice."

"They don't send Slayers to places like that, though," Willie went on. "You're the cops, and cops only go where there's trouble. But the thing with cops, they deal with troublemakers all the time, and pretty soon that's all they see, troublemakers. You see a demon, you expect him to be up to something, and sometime's he's just out for a latte."

Buffy blinked. "Demons like lattes?"

"Lattes?" said a new voice behind her. "Did you get the cappacino machine fixed, Willie?"

"Sorry, Clem, still down," Willie said.

Buffy turned and stared at the grinning, floppy-eared, floppy-skinned, floppy--well, floppy person. He held out a hand, still grinning.

"Hi, I'm Clem."

She shook his hand carefully. "Hi. I'm Buffy."

Clem hopped onto a stool. "We don't get a lot of humans in here. I just wanted to come up and say Hi."

"How did you know I'm human?"

He nodded at the mirror. "Refleciton, so you're not a vampire. Body temperature is human normal. But if you're not human, that's cool, too."

Willie put a glass of something in front of Clem. "Here ya go. When you expecting the guys in for the game?"

"They should start rolling in any time now."

Willie looked apologetically at Buffy. "Unless you do want some excitement, kid, you might want to be somewhere else when the poker players show up. None of 'em much like Slayers."

Buffy glared at the barkeep as Clem gasped. She'd kind of enjoyed her anonymity.

"You're the Slayer?" Clem whispered. "But you're tiny! The Slayer's this gigantic, super- powered, vamp slaying machine."

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Nope, sorry. It's me."

Clem grinned. "This is so neat! Me, chatting with the Slayer. The guys will plotz."

Buffy blinked. "You're not--scared?"

"Nah, you've got no reason to come after me, I'm not up to anything."

"Except you're a demon."

"So?" He lost some of his mellow look. "Or do the Slayers go after anything that's not human?"

She shrugged. "If they do, I wasn't told. I'm fine."

"Well, if you're fine, I'm fine." He leaned closer. "But Willie's right, some of the guys, not as civilized as some. They wouldn't understand."

"Gotcha. Willie, before I go, is there anybody in town doing the rogue demon hunter bit? Somebody's out there dusting vampires that isn't me."

Willie shrugged. "I ain't heard of nobody."

"Oh, I have!" Clem said. "There's a bunch of guys wandering aorund with crossbows and guns. They don't seem to like much of anybody." He shivered, which did amazing things to various bits of him. "Don't want to deal with a bunch like that again."

Buffy wanted to ask for more information, but Williw was starting to look truly nervous. For a moment she was tempted to see what these tough guy poker players were like, but she didn't want to get into a brawl just now.

She nodded reassuringly to Willie. "I'll be heading out then, see what's out there." She headed for the door.

Willie nodded. "See ya later, kid. Be careful!"

Clem waved. "Don't be a stranger!"

She waved back.

Demons as normal people. After meeting the Minoto at the convent, that shouldn't be such a surprise. Why hadn't she been told about the good demons? Was it some policy of the Council, that there weren't any good demons? Or had it been simply that there wasn't time, between atrocities being committed by the bad demons. And the bad humans. She didn't have time now to go through the books, learn for herself which ones were the ones to worry about and which ones were just floppy guys who liked lattes.

CLEM!!!!! Oh Connie - how perfect. So, where was he hiding the kittens?

That's great, Connie. Clem's great.

Loving Clem, connie.

erika, more, please. I love this so much.

Plei, I don't know whether I love or hate the letters TBC. I want to scream when I read the next thing and it's TBC. But then--more! TBC! Yay!

Thank you. And Deena, that's the coolest icon..."Our day begins when yours ends!" Hee.

I did write more today...more Munchness.

So, what finally sealed his fate was being an arrogant dick.Courtesy could save your life. Remember that. The part of him I hated most(apart from hurting my friends, which you know I can’t forgive, not that forgiveness is a big part of my tool kit anyway...I’m undead, why bullshit? The only people I would ever forgive were on that floor.)

The part of him I hated most was in me. Not the bigotry. But the whole “hassled by the Man” thing. The ranting...the intellectual pretensions. The mouth that writes checks my ass can’t cash.The slightly...atypical physical appearance. (Ok, he was ugly. But I’m not prepared to admit to that...I’ve admitted to sucking blood...throw me a bone, okay, babe?) Looking at him was like looking into a freaky funhouse mirror.

And I stood outside his door and blew his head off. It was quick if not clean. I didn’t torture him, though I thought about it. Although, remember, Mrs. Bernstein’s terrier only gave me about fifteen minutes. Tortures in that amount of time usually involve partial nudity, in my experience. And that, I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t leave a trace. And Sheila at dispatch owed me a favor...I’d declined to meet her sister when she was last in town.(Although, people say that enough a guy gets a complex, nu? Even if he isn’t a guy anymore.) It would’ve been funny if I could’ve breathed. Me, a conspiracy nut, starting a conspiracy. But I didn’t breathe deep for a week after Timmy put it up in red. I felt kind of guilty playing the “Don’t you trust me?” card when he was right not to.

(I say a lot of things “Trust me,” “Let’s get married.” “There’s nobody else but you, babe.” But a guy like Timmy never says anything he doesn’t mean...I think that’s how he’s so quiet. A word like trust is forever. I hated to fuck with that. I tease him, but I think he’s lucky. He kept my secret...I think he even convinced himself he believed me. My guess? Not Norman Rockwell at Chateau Bayliss. But we’re all birth survivors, huh(Damn, still got Howard on the brain. But that’s not my worst demonstration of that.)

When I get home from the rooftop, Dru is there. Darla’s not.(Which is another “Be careful what you wish for.” Because when I would hide stuff at the end of my marriages, I used to think that I would do anything to avoid that whole “Where were you?/obnoxious lie” thing. But now, I have the balls to be offended. What? Doesn’t she care?) I am deeply mentally ill.

Speaking of, Drusilla’s face lights up when she sees me, making her green eyes look amazing(although of course I have a soft spot, or maybe a hard spot.. for brown) She’s wearing a filmy white nightgown that lets me know she doesn’t have a shape like Shana. “Hi, honey.” I say.

She starts burbling away about something, not a vision, one of those creepy stories about William Somebody and “Daddy”...and who listens. But I act like I do. “Uh huh”

Then the story runs out of steam and she pecks my cheek. And the next thing I know, I’m kissing her like a man kisses a woman. She tries to,(I’m guessing here) talk dirty to me. But she uses words I’m not familiar with like “honeypot”...although of course, I get the general vicinity.

“Shh, don’t talk.”(She’s not the point, anyway. I hate to say that, but it’s true.) But it’s not really obvious to me until things heat up and I say “Oh, my God! Oh, Kay!”(Told you I was slow.)

JESUS, erika.

Thank you. I'm getting a little bothered by being able to find his motivations so easily...I wanted so much to be a *normal* person.That will never happen.

Who are those strange people wandering around offing vamps? The secret revealed!

What did demons do for fun that didn't involve brawling and trying to bring about the end of the world? Poker, apparently. She tried to imagine a place like the Bronze, but with a demon clientele. Did they have bands? D.J.s? Did demons dance?

She had a sudden image of Clem on the dance floor and couldn't decide between laughter and horror.

Angel would know about the demonic social life of Los Angeles. Cordelia had mentioned a karaoke bar they all hung out in that was run by a demon who was a friend of theirs. The world was a lot more complicated than it used to be. The First Slayer, with her fire and bones, probably never had to deal with demons who ran nightclubs and liked lattes.

Buffy stopped walking. So why hadn't anyone told her how to deal with them? Was the the only one who had noticed?

The wind shifted, and she smelled human blood again. Footsteps, two, that were trying to be sneaky.

She was near some old buildings, not far from Spike's old factory. The footsteps were following her, so she led them towards the shadows. She Slayer-crept her way around a corner and into a convenient shadowy alcove. By the footsteps, it was four good-sized people, fairly spread out.

The first man came around the corner and paused when he realized his quary was out of sight. He wasn't Initiative, unless the soldiers had traded in their camo for plain, heavy cloth pants and leather jackets. The crossbow he held was a sleek black metal and plastic number. So was the gun in the holster on his hip.

Two more men came into view, also with guns and crossbows, but not held ready to use. One of them had a bandaged arm with blood showing through. The other wore a headset, and he gestured to the first one to lower his crossbow. The first man looked around nervously but obeyed.

The man in the headset muttered something into the microphone that Buffy didn't quite here, but caught something that sounded like "Slayer". Eyes narrowed, she stepped out of hiding. They jumped when they realized she was behind them. The first one started to bring his crossbow up.

"Oh, don't you dare," she snapped. "Now, are you going to tell me who you are and what you're up to, or do I get to beat it out of you?"

"That won't be necessary, Miss Summers."

The fourth set of footsteps. Buffy whirled.

Quentin Travers of the Watchers Council leaned on a walking stick and regarded her with something approaching pleasure.

"What is the Council doing back in my town?" Buffy demanded. She looked over her shoulder at the three men with crossbows. "Is this another one of your commando squads? Like the one that tried to come after Faith?"

Travers sighed. "Yes, in a way, and no. We don't call them commandos, and these gentlemen are a bit more prudent than those with whom you had trouble in Los Angeles. You did get a formal apology for that, didn't you?"

She thought a moment. "Um . . . no. Mr. Travers, what are you doing here? Glory's settled, it's summertime, traditional quiet time in the realms of evil." She looked back again. "Why are you guys hunting vampires on your own? Is this another one of your stupid tests?"

"No, not in the least," Travers said quickly. "I do admit, we have been observing you, watching you in the field." He smiled again. "You are quite remarkable, Miss Summers. Oh, and profound congratulations on the Glory matter."

Buffy shrugged uncomfortably. "I had a lot of help."

"Yes, so I understand." Some of the pleasure faded out of Travers' voice. "We've heard various stories of the fight, terribly third and fourth hand. I'd be very grateful if we could hear it from you. And the others."

Buffy looked at the three armed men Travers had brought with him, wondering if there were any more Council goons wandering around, looking for things. Looking for stories. "Sure, the others. I don't know how much they'll want to talk about it, it was pretty hairy. But I can ask them."

"As I said, I'd be grateful." Travers stared at the ground, then visibly braced himself. "There is another major reason we're here. As I said, we've heard stories. Miss Summers, where is Rupert Giles?"

Oh, Erika, that's just icky, and good. I'm glad you like the icons.

Connie, I have one word. "Uh. Oh."