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.”

Giles?

Giles?

Not saying. All I'll say is that I created neither the character nor the setting.