Slayers that aren't Buffy, huh? This is not a drabble, and old, but I never finished the story, and I think I'm going to this week, so...

”In the city there’s a thousand things I want to say to you…” -The Jam

Part One: Afterward

This was not her city.

Up and down the alleyway, small bonfires burned. She’d run for miles, it seemed, block after block engulfed in flame. She ventured from the shadows to the street, where men wept openly, with their heads in their hands.

They had lost something. She had lost something.

She was surrounded by small sobs. The sound of shrieking echoed from all directions. She pushed forward. Cars were overturned. Someone had tossed a lit trashcan into an electronics store. Forward. The windows of a Mexican restaurant exploded into a million shards. Forward. Someone was firing bullets into the air. Forward.

Stop. She was suddenly still. Beyond her, beyond the mass of humanity filling the street, beyond the flame and shattering glass, she heard a scream, saw a woman dragged into the alley’s shadow.

Without another thought, she was running toward the alleyway, pushing past the parade of misery, leaping over the bonfires.

Vampire, she thought, and the word seared into her brain. She scarcely recalled the previous days, now, where she’d not thought the word at all. She’d been at peace for a moment, but that was then. Now, there was the hunt.

She hit the shadows and followed the sound of screams. The girl was kicking and flailing her arms. There were three of them, struggling to hold her down. Why were they having such trouble?

She didn’t stop to think, her fist instead plowing into one of their faces. She heard bone being crushed, she thought, and blood was leaking from its head. Forward, she thought, and swung her leg into another one’s midsection. She heard ribs crumple, she thought. She heard it gasp for breath. Why is it gasping…

“You’re. Human,” she said, and realized it was the first words she’d said out loud in days. The third man leaped at her, smashing a beer bottle down on her head. She fell to the ground. Her head felt wet. She heard the girl scream again, saw the other two stagger to their feet.

“Human,” she said again, as their blows began to pound on her, as the light began to twinkle out. “Human.”

And then it was black. And then she saw something, an army of monsters beneath the earth, an army of women standing fast against them. She saw an axe being passed from hand to hand. She looked into the axe’s glimmering surface, and saw herself reflected in the blade.

Her eyes snapped open then, and with new energy, she flipped upward to her feet, her fists connecting again with her assailants. She heard one fall, then spun and swung. She heard his skull fracture. As her vision returned, she saw him fall.

Her eyes were clear now. She saw the third attacker stumble back against the wall. He was blubbering. She sneered at him.

“Don’t… don’t hurt me,” he said, and she could see him clearly now, see how small he was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl huddled against the wall, frightened out of her mind.

She looked at the man again, and without a word, she kicked him hard in the head. She didn’t bother to check if he was still breathing.

She stooped down to look at the girl, her face stained with tears, her whole body quivering with fright.

“Are you all right,” she asked, feeling her mind clear for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

“You… You were incredible,” said the girl, and she realized the girl was a bit older than she thought. Maybe fourteen. “Who… who are you?”

She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure. So much had happened.

“My name’s Justine,” she said. “I’m here to help.”

Victor, I remember that piece!

A second drabble:

Amanda Lisle #2 (age 17, Oxford, late 1960s)

On a long June evening, Rupert takes me on an illicit pub crawl.

They must know I'm underage; everyone knows Rupert's father. Yet no one runs us off, or tells a proctor.

Rupert's drinking half-pints. The stuff smells wretched to me. But he's talking about his father, my Watcher, saying things he wouldn't normally say, horrible things, about his father's distaste for me, his desire for a Slayer who isn't a witch, isn't beyond his control.

"Hullo, Ripper. Is this Amanda?"

I look up at a sorcerer. Everything in me stiffens as he holds out a hand.

"I'm Ethan Rayne."

Victor, I remember that piece!

Yeah, when I started it before, it wasn't working, but now I think I have a place to go with it.

Which is good, as I always liked this bit..

And I can totally see Giles' dad being like that.

I had fun writing Giles Sr as a raging evil control-freak stick up the arse prat.

And making him an evil watcher.

Well, the new thing doesn't have a name, but here's part two:

Part Two: Don’t Let’s Start

Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He could feel the soldier’s stare boring into him, although the man’s face betrayed nothing. Giles put his glasses back on and focused on the map adorning his wall, which had become increasingly covered with colored stickpins.

“What you’re proposing is out of the question, Agent Miller,” said Giles, not meeting the young man’s gaze. We have a heavy responsibility. To the world, not just to the United States. Our resources are … stretched thin.”

Giles sighed and finally turned to look at the soldier standing rigidly in front of his desk.

“And of course, you understand, we don’t have an easy relationship with the organization you represent.

“Used to represent,” said Agent Miller, matter of factly. The Initiative’s been closed for years.”

“As you say,” said Giles.

“And you didn’t have a good relationship with the Watchers Council, either. Sir.”

Giles flinched at that, and looked to Buffy and Xander, sitting off to the side, for support.

“He has a point,” said Xander, shrugging. Buffy, however, was less blasé about the whole affair.

“She tried to kill him,” she said, her voice subdued, but Giles could tell she was getting upset.

“Well, yeah,” said Xander, but who hasn’t?”

Buffy shot him a look that could shatter steel, but Xander just smiled. She turned her attention back to the soldier.

“Graham, you know if I could help you, I would, but this…”

“We’re not asking you for much,” said Graham, his voice softening. “Tactical advice. Sharing information.”

“And in return...” said Giles, coolly.

“We, likewise, share information.”

Graham removed a small stack of files from his briefcase, and set them on the desk. The names on the files sang like headstones:

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” deceased;
“Charles Gunn,” missing in action;
“Winifred Burkle/Illyria,” deceased/missing in action;
“William the Bloody, aka Spike, Real Name Unknown,” missing in action;
“Angel/Angelus, Real Name Unknown,” missing in action.

“Everything we know about the Wolfram & Hart affair,” said Graham.

Giles, Buffy and Xander exchanged looks. The disappearance of Angel and his team had weighed heavily on them. And here was someone—someone more or less trusted, if not a friend—offering them information.

“But this … plan,” said Giles, spitting out the last word as though he hesitated to call it that, “this woman…”

“She’s resisted your efforts to bring her into the council,” said Graham.

“Yes,” said Giles. “She wants nothing to do with us. And what do you propose to offer her?”

“Closure.”

Victor, check your bold tags, please.

And damn, this sounds like fun. Lilah?

And damn, this sounds like fun. Lilah?

All will be revealed. heh, heh, heh...

...or Harmony? Or possibly Eve?

Yes, I'm thinking Eve.....

More or less trusted, though, doesn't sound like Eve.

I'm thinking Lilah. They'd comment on Harmony (and not take her seriously)

Hey, look! It has a title now!

In the City
Part Three: In From the Cold

The moments perched above the alleyways hovered like a magician’s card trick. Time hovered impossibly, the moments blending into one. It could be hours, minutes. She couldn’t tell.

Then time snapped like an elastic band, and she was moving before her conscious mind registered what was happening. When reflecting upon it later—and she always reflected upon it later—she’d swear she never heard the screams until after she was moving.

The woman had fallen to the ground, her arms raised ineffectually above her as the vampires clawed at her. Her voice was raw from screaming, so raw that sound was no longer emerging from her mouth, but that didn’t stop her. She screamed silently while the monsters glowered. She was still screaming when the first monster dissolved to dust in front of her.

The second vampire turned to face Justine.

“Well,” he said, “looks like this will be exciting after all.”

Justine said nothing. The vampire’s fist came barreling toward her, and she blocked it effortlessly with her arm. Spinning, her leg kicked out, the impact near shattering the monster’s knees.

With another fluid motion, the stake thrust through the vampire’s heart.

She felt she should say something witty, some expression of triumph, but all there was here, she thought, was emptiness and dust. Her eyes fell on the woman.

“You OK to get home?” said Justine, without much feeling.

“Ye…yes,” said the woman. “My God… that thing.. you saved me.”

“Go home,” said Justine, turning and leaving. “Stay out of the dark.”

Justine stepped back into the shadows.

“Good advice,” said a voice, pleasantly, behind her. “It’s not safe.”

Justine swung around, ready to fight. Behind her stood a short young man, his hair dyed bright blue, in jeans and a bowling shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets, and Justine could tell immediately he wasn’t looking for a fight. Still, she kept her distance.

“Easy,” said the man. “I’m a member of the hair club for humans, just like you.”

Justine thought absently about her hair then, realized how matted it must have become. For the first time in ages she realized how filthy she must be.

“Who are you?” she said. “Are you from the Council? I told them …”

“No,” said the man. “I’m not Council, although I know ‘em.”

“Then who are you?”

“Oh. Name’s Oz. I’m just here to talk.”

Oz knitted his brow in concern.

“And, maybe, we should get some real food in you.”

The door of them walked to a nearby diner. At first the staff bristled at Justine’s presence, but a smile and the slipping of greenbacks kept everything mellow. Justine remarked on how the man seemed to exude mellowness, as if the world simply calmed down around him.

She plowed through a salad and a burger with Oz not really saying much of anything before she finally spoke. And when she told her story, she told all of it, as best as she could remember—she found it odd how many details seemed to be missing. Oz didn’t flinch a bit.

When she finished Oz took another sip of coffee, and then folded his arms on the table.

“Rough story,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve gone through a world of hurt. Regret any of it?”

“Some,” she said. “None of it. It’s hard to say.”

“I get that,” he said. “How long have you been out here alone?”

“I thought you said you weren’t from the Council.”

“I’m not. I’m just doing a few favors for a friend.”

“I can’t take their ‘sacred destiny’ bullshit. I’ve done destiny. I’ve seen what a crock the prophecies are. I’m not buying what they’re selling.”

“But you still slay vampires…”

“Yes.”

“Well, here’s the offer. No sacred calling. No destiny. Just a paycheck, food and a place to crash.”

Justine watched Oz’s eyes. She had questions burning at her, but for the first time in a year, maybe more, she didn’t feel like her sanity was teetering on the edge. She sipped her coffee.”

“This friend,” she said. “What did he do to get you to play errand boy?”

“Saved my life a few years back.” He then seemed to re-evaluate that sentence. “Well, tried to. Close enough.”

Justine’s eyes were locked on the man, now. The things she’d done and seen were terrible, and he didn’t even blink at them.

“I’m not going to say it’ll all be pleasant,” he said. “Quite the contrary. A lot of it’ll suck. They’re pretty upfront about that.”

Justine pondered. Just that second, going back into the cold sounded less than appealing.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m in.”