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."

About time somebody did something about Vamp!Giles....

Spine shivers Connie.

"As I said, we've heard stories. Miss Summers, where is Rupert Giles?"

iiiiieeeeeeeee!

Wow, Connie. "icky but good..." Um, thanks? :) I heart John Munch, Love's Bitch, who's sometimes not man enough to admit it.

More Munch...but I have no idea how I'm gonna resolve this. Less than none. Munchkin shocked me.

Dru would hardly have to be Gloria Allred to want my nads in a jar at this point...it’s my worst nightmare times about five. I cannot believe I did that, not the least of which because Drusilla is the most beautiful homicidal maniac I’ve ever been with.
And she has that thick lustrous hair that she also wears long, like You Know Who.(Maybe if I don’t say her name, the thoughts will go away. But then again, if I say “Don’t think about horses,” what pops in your head. Seabiscuit, right?) And if Dru does want the jewels, it’s not like she has a ton of superego holding her back.

Well, guys, I say to them, what a long strange trip it’s been. Thanks for everything and for nothing.Felicia is gonna get her wish. Felicia had short spiky hair like yours, except dark. I told myself it was what I liked. But while part of my brain is eulogizing my testicles, another is still stroking Dru’s hair and fantasizing. That’s right...in some ways, I’ve learned nothing. I grab Dru’s old fashioned hairbrush(and not only cause it’s heavy enough to make a weapon, huh? ) and run it through her hair a few times wondering where she goes when she sits quiet like that. I’ve known people who paid gurus tons of money to learn that kind of stillness.
Honest to God, I thought Kay was my friend. Yeah, I’ve thought about her sexually. She’s really gorgeous, and ready for anything...how could you not? You’ve talked to her for a few hours...I bet you’re not a Kinsey 0 anymore...Are you blushing? I’m really not in the squad anymore, am I? But we’re not friends. Partners, siblings, each other’s favorite dirty thought(I’d like to fuck her till she quivers) And yet we drive each other insane. But we aren’t just friends. Maybe we never were friends.

I stop brushing midstroke. “Naughty, naughty, Munchkin.” Dru says. “The game’s not over yet.”

Good going, Einstein, I think, discovering your forbidden love in front of the fucking psychic with the long pointy teeth. And the enclopedic knowledge of how to make a guy scream, in every way possible.Cause there are places on me that would respond to Eva Braun, if she was gentle enough. “Ok, Dru. But this is pretend. Just pretend. And I tie her hair in a bun, with a few wispy parts that look like they are fighting to break free. So sexy.