Hmm. So far (except for Doc) we're seeing reproductions of the evil aspects of Buffyverse characters who otherwise fought on the side of good in one form or another. Is that why Dru doesn't fit but Angel and Spike might?

Warmer ... Let's just say tht all of the clues as to what's happening have been provided. There is a logic at work here, even if all of it isn't readily apparent.

Veddy interesting. Are we going to be seeing Ripper!Giles sometime soon, by any chance?

Veddy interesting. Are we going to be seeing Ripper!Giles sometime soon, by any chance?

We'll see. Giles has had a small role in this so far, but who can say?

Well, I guess I could, but that would be telling.

Part Twenty-One: Italian Interlude

Although she visited London often, Buffy Summers and her sister, Dawn, called Venice home. And on a day like today, the sun blazing down on Duomo's Square, she remembered why. Best of all? Barely a vampire in the whole damn city. Sure, she had some administrative work to do—and that whole messy affair with the Immortal ended up some drama, certainly—but for the most part, she was free to do what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it.

“So why on Earth,” she thought, “am I here in front of my house watching my ex-boyfriend’s wife rappel out of an unmarked U.S. government helicopter?”

Buffy sighed, although the realization that Giles was right behind her in that helicopter made her giggle a bit—he was a lot of things, but paratrooper wasn’t one of them. Still, Sam Finn wasn’t one to be easily alarmed.

The three of them—Giles mildly airsick—made their way into the spacious apartment, where Dawn was waiting for them--with coffee and biscotti.

“OK,” said Buffy, as everyone settled in to work. “What the Hell has you two in such a fluster? And if one of you says it’s the end of the world, I’m going to sceam.”

Giles looked uneasy. Buffy could tell that it really was the end of the world. She had a sense about these things. Sam said nothing, but instead handed her a printout of the e-mail that had been sent to her. Buffy read it with intense concentration.

“If this is true…” started Buffy, letting the sentence trail off as she considered the implications.

“Then the situation is even more dire than we thought,” said Giles.

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Dawn.

“Our friends are in deep trouble,” said Sam. “Buffy, will you help?”

Buffy looked to Dawn, who nodded at her.

“Of course,” said Buffy. “I’m ready to go now. Giles, can you look after Dawn while we’re gone.”

“Of course,” said Giles. “In the meantime, I’ll utilize the Council’s resources, see if we can find out more information.”

A few minutes later, Buffy and Sam were headed for America, leaving Giles and Dawn behind.

“So what is it?” asked Dawn. “What has Buffy and Sam so spooked?”

Giles didn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on the small wine collection Buffy had accumulated.

“Our friends do indeed seem to have been turned to evil,” said Giles. “And Riley Finn is working for a dead man.”

“Oh,” said Dawn. “So, uhm, have you had lunch?”

“There’s a lot of good eateries in this neighborhood, as I recall,” said Giles, thankful Dawn had let him off the hook.

Dawn started to reply, but she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Willow in the room, accompanied by a frail old man.

“Doc,” said Dawn, her eyes widening in the memory of the demon slicing a knife into her skin. “Small, shallow cuts.” She remembered it all to well.

“Ms. Summers,” said Doc. “Good to see you again. Gosh, I’d have never figured you’d head off to Italy. Lovely part of the world.”

Giles began to move toward the two of them, but Willow intervened.

“Immobilize,” she said, and both Dawn and Giles were frozen in their tracks.

“Heh,” laughed Willow. “These two are easy. We should go after the slayer.”

“Now, now,” said Doc. “All in good time. First, though, we have big plans for this girl.”

He then turned to Giles.

“And he could be useful too,” said Doc, “now that I think of it.”

Dawn watched as Doc gently laid his palm onto Giles’ torso. There was a flash of energy, and suddenly decades seemed to strip off Giles’ face, and his clothes seemed to morph from a sharp jumper and slacks to torn jeans and a “Who” T-shirt. His hair turned thick and spiky.

“Giles,” said Dawn, cautiously, not entirely sure that his was, indeed, still Giles.

Giles turned to look at her, a swagger in his posture that hadn’t been there previously.

“Giles? That’s my old man,” he said. “You can call me … Ripper.”

Ripper!

And poor Dawnie. . .

A vignette, for this week's Open on Sunday challenge, which is "journeys":

Big Easy

They're done in Cleveland. Kicked some seriously depressed demon ass - the whole "Sunnydale's a smoking hole" thing shook up the bad boys under the hellmouth's side doors - and finished, done.

She's got a California driver's license, a clean record thanks to Willow hacking the criminal records, and some free time. B's got the Scythe and the groupies; Faith's got vacation time.

She drives south toward New Orleans, the road spooling out before her, dropping away behind her. There's a full moon down over the bayou, and some pretty boys and girls, waiting out under the blue gum trees.

Heh. Faith SO needs a vacation! You cover a large swathe of terriotory in thise few words, Ms. Grabien!

Heh. Well, it's like I said elsewhere: I can see her out under the moon, you know? Eating raccoon stew with whole peppers in it and drinking barrel wine, chilling with the back road boys, and the moss hanging down, and something rustling in the bushes...

Another on the "journeys" challenge theme.

Trip no further, pretty sweeting... (warning: unapologetic B/A schmoop)

The message had been simple, short, to the point: Tralee, western Ireland, Saturday, churchyard. Come.

She had gone, of course; from London to Ireland is no great time or effort. She had three days. She took the train to Liverpool, with Giles showing her the old Cavern Club - something about the Beatles, he said. She left him there, took the ferry, got another train, bucketing through rain like soft kisses and hills almost too green.

Saturday, sunset. She heard the clipclop of horse's hooves, turned, and there he was, smiling, leather coat billowing, home. Journeys end in lovers meeting.

Part Twenty-Two: Long journey home

Dawn felt the familiar pull of the world spinning around here, her stomach sinking churning as the planet spun around her in flashes. One moment, she was in her apartment in Italy, and now … Giles, Willow … they stood beside the demon Doc, near-radiating evil. She tried not to look at them, instead daring to look at the world spinning around her. There was a scene playing out, as though the sky were a movie. Angel was standing in an alley, Spike beside him. Other people she didn’t know. There is an army closing in on them, a dragon circling above. At Angel’s command the four launch into battle against the seemingly endless armada before them.

Dawn tried to call out to Spike, but she knows he can’t hear her. The world stops spinning, and suddenly, they’re somewhere else—a city made of stone, stretching for as far as the eye can see. Enough light tinges the sky to see by, but no more.

“What was that,” asks Dawn, her voice barely a whisper. “Where are we?”

“That?” said Doc. “That was pretty nifty, wasn’t it? Heroes locked in eternal battle. It’s all very Valhalla. But I guess you’re too young for Wagner. Pity.”

“And where is this?” she asked, rage starting to steady her voice.

“Oh,” said Doc. “This is the Ragnarok. This is where gods come to die.”

“Dawn,” said a weak voice. Dawn turned her head to look, and saw Willow’s old boyfriend, Oz, chained to a pole. Beside him was Amy Madison, whom she recognized from Sunnydale. She didn’t know who the other woman was, or the boy chained to the stone slab. Then she realized there was a second set of shackles attched to the slab, and she began to struggle.

Giles—Ripper, whatever his name was—held her in place, preventing her from running.

“Hold still,” he said, “this is gonna be a bumpy ride.”

Xander and Faith approached, seemingly from nowhere.

“The invisible chick took off in the confusion,” said Xander, not even looking at her. “Her trail’s long dead.”

Dawn couldn’t believe how young Xander looked. It was like when they first met. And Faith looked …

“What did you do them?” asked Dawn, now livid with rage. “What did you do. Oz was watching intently. He clearly wanted to know the answer to that question, himself.

“Funny story, that” said Doc. “You see, when your sister defeated the Beast, I was pretty much at loose ends. Not much call for an aging acolyte, after all. The gods always want young converts these days. And frankly, I was rather attached to Glorificus."

Doc sat on a stone, and cupped his chin in his hand.

“But you don’t wanna know this story, do ya?”

“I do,” said Dawn.

“OK,” said Doc. “You see, Glorificus was dead, but gods don’t really die that easy. Way I figured it, if I thought long and hard about it, I’d find a way to bring her back.”

Dawn’s stomach knotted at the thought of Glory returning, her body reflexively recalling the terror of the time she held her prisoner.

“So,” continued Doc, “after a long journey across dimensions and across the Earth, I ended up making a deal with the Wolf, Ram and Hart, and they gave me access to this place.”

Doc threw his arms open wide, as though he were revealing a grand present.

“Isn’t it nice?”

“It’s lovely.”

“Aw, you’re just being nice. But anyway, this place used to belong to an elder being named Illyria, who, for various reasons, wasn’t using it anymore. And there’s a temple here where small slivers of the essence of fallen gods are retained.”

“And you can bring her back, just like that?

“Well, no actually. There’s a few things in the way of that. You might have noticed this, but there’s a few rules to bringing back the dead. It’s tricky. And dead gods? They’re the trickiest.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I'm not a proud man, so I asked around for help.”

“And who did you ask for help?”

“ That would be me,” said a new voice, and Dawn’s blood froze at the sound of it.

There beside her, her arms folded, stood Buffy, a thin, wicked grin plastered across her face.