Yeah. Or him looking at those steps he used to bound around on and you can see he thinks "Oh, crap."I love InterrogationGod! Pembleton, of course, but they breezed through the stroke...I think making it hard would've made Mary's marital unhappiness more believable, and... well, enough about that.

In the City Part Twelve: Dredging up the past.

There was one thing on God’s green Earth that Riley didn’t want to do at this moment, and that was to go running to Buffy for help. Nonetheless, his fingers were dialing her number as soon as he reached the phone.

“Buffy,” he said, urgently. "It’s … yeah, I know what time it is there … No, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t …’

Oz watched impassively—arms folded, leaning against a support beam. From the beginning, he’d figured this whole scheme was a disaster. But Faith … gone bad again. There was a spark of panic electrifying his spine. He’s seen what she could do.

“I’m telling you Buffy, it was … What do you mean she’s not in America? When did you see her last? …. Two months? … Well a lot can happen in …”

Oz hit a button on a counsel, and green lights flittered to life. Green for advance team, red for full staff. He hated to admit it, but this super spook business was actually kind of agreeing with him – for a while, at least.

He looked at Riley: not really panicking, but hyperactively practical. They didn’t really know each other—Oz knew he had wife somewhere. A government agent, like himself. He knew Riley and Buffy used to be an item.

Buffy was obviously not swayed. Riley slammed down the receiver.

Amy woke with a start as the buzzer erupted. She tried to lay back down, to ignore it, but she knew better.

“So much for an early night,” she thought, quickly rising and grabbing a pair of sweats from where she’d kicked them off. The buzzer pounded in her ears. “Damnation,” she thought. “The money’s god at this gig, but this? This is …”

She wasn’t alone in the room.

“Illuminate," she intoned, waving an open palm in a semicircular arc. The room exploded with light, and there stood Willow. Her hair black as a velvet painting, the veins showing through her translucent skin.

“There’s this thing,” said Willow, taking one step toward her. “It’s like an itch—hovering right there at the base of my neck.”

Amy was frozen with fear. Whatever was up with Willow, it was dangerous. Amy could see the aura of power that was pulsing through her. The tiny woman in black standing in front of her was a veritable nuclear reactor.”

“Y’see,” said Willow, edging even closer. “All I need to do is get you out of the way. Just snap your neck, right here, and …”

And there was a crash as Justine came barreling through the door, her fist connecting with Willow’s jaw in a rain of splinter. Willow slammed backward into the wall.

“Ow,” she said, steadying herself. “That really hurt! Bitch!”

Justine threw another punch., this time to the stomach.

“Burn,” said Willow, and suddenly Justine’s clothes combusted. Amy tried to cast a spell to shield Justine from any more attacks, but to no avail. Justine fell screaming to the floor.”

“We have a good deal of catching up to do,” said Willow, confidently—but not today. Today’s message is, “get the fuck out.”

And with that, Willow was gone.

snarf-guggle.

*blink*

kizzowitz.

I have no English. Need more story.

I love that!

Was it Willow? Or was it Memorex?

Was that Willow? Was that Faith in the previous chapter?

Hmmm. Certainly looks like them. They each caused some destruction and minor property damage. Hmmm...

I should write more of this, shouldn't I?

Was that Willow? Was that Faith in the previous chapter?

Dude, if you don't know ...

I should write more of this, shouldn't I?

Nods vigorously. (gets headache)

Dude, if you don't know ...

Heh. Oh, I know. I'm just having fun. Trust me, it gets weirder from here.

I should write more of this, shouldn't I?

t nods continously

kerzizzle tangerdobul

t drools

spaggle

t waits

In the City
Part Thirteen: Interludes in Dead Cities

The city stretched for miles. As far as he could see, and he could see far. His eyes were sharper than one would think.

No one came here—or at least, no one came here often. And what visitors there were, came from very, very far away. The stillness was as terrifying and captivating as the architecture—mile upon mile of stone arches and pillars, some rising miles into the ashen-black sky.

The man rested his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle. Gershwin tune, he figured. Couldn’t remember the name. “Amazing how songs just spring to mind, sometimes, isn’t it?” he said aloud. Not that there was anybody here to hear him.

The man wandered the empty streets until he found the temple—a gargantuan, Gothic thing. He’d seen towns smaller than this place. He stopped to wipe his glasses, straighten his tie. It’s not like there was anyone inside to impress—not anymore, anyway. But still, a holy place was a holy place, he reasoned. And soon … soon…

“I'd like to add his initial to my monogram,” he began to sing, lightly, finding the tune as he stepped into the building. “Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?” He laughed—it was hardly a hymn, after all. But it would do.

This place was chilly, no doubting it. Even if there were a sun shining down to warm the stones, he doubted it could get warmer. This was, after all, a place where Gods came to die.

Diamonds and gems were imbedded in the walls, but there was so little light that they barely glistened at all. Cautiously, he pried one from its socket, and inspected it for flaws—of which he knew full well there were none.

“There's a somebody I'm longin' to see,” he sang, a smile spreading across his face. “I hope that he, turns out to be … Someone who'll watch over me.”