She Came All The Way from America, cont. [4]
Death by Chains
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Scholastic Assistance Services, Balmoral Shopping Centre
15:23, Friday, March 29, 1996
"You're what?" Buffy blinked, a little blankly. "You're who the what now?"
"They gave you the 'one girl in every generation' speech, eh?" realised the crazy woman with the long dark-auburn hair and the faint Russian accent, her expression not unkind. "It's very Star Wars, gives a nice 'Chosen One' kind of feel to things, but there's a few problems with it. For starters, it skips a lot of really important details."
"You might be going a little fast, there, Taz," Misha noted dryly. "Give her a second to catch up."
"I... but... how?" the blonde finally managed.
'Taz' motioned for her to take her seat again, then flashed Misha an impish smile and quite deliberately draped herself across his lap, hooking one arm over his shoulders for balance and seemingly oblivious to the alarming creak from their plastic chair. (For his part, Misha caught Buffy's eye and gave her a helpless microshrug — tinged with a hint of smugness — before steadying his wife with both arms around her waist.) After a split-second's hesitation, she glanced at Giles and beckoned him over with a jerk of her head, waiting until all were seated before resuming. "Technically speaking, you're my replacement. There's a lot of politics and other bullshit around it, but the short version is, the British Council of Watchers have spent three years making an absolute dog's breakfast of 'running' the show out here. Back in November, they finally realised it, took a look at how hard it'd be to actually fix the whole mess, and decided it'd easier to just start fresh with a new Slayer."
Meaning me, clearly. "What do you mean, 'start fresh'?"
Taz unzipped the sleeve-pocket on her black aviator jacket, pulled out something that rattled, and backhanded it across the table. Buffy's reflexes absently snatched it out of the air, and she glanced down to look at it: a plastic vial, holding several mangled copper-and-grey lumps. "As 'retirement packages' go, four bullets in the back wouldn't have been my choice," the redhead observed sardonically. "Not that our 'employers' asked me beforehand. If they had, I would've warned them not to hunt what they can't kill."
"Some bastards just have to learn the hard way," Misha shrugged. "Rule One of Slaying: 'Dying is bad: don't do it.' Corollary to Rule One: 'If some bastard does kill you, take a breath, walk it off, then hunt him down and return the favour. See how he fucking likes it.'"
"But, since the Poms stuffed that up like they have everything else since March of '93, here I am, and here you are. And someone at the Council decided to actually put their brain in gear for a few minutes and make the best of things: they decided this" a handwave at the general situation "gave them a unique opportunity. Normally Slayers get trained by Watchers, and by-and-large they do an okay job — especially if you ask them! — but someone who can teach a Slayer the job from a first-hand perspective? That's a little less common."
"I'm... still stuck on the whole 'two Slayers at once' thing," Buffy admitted, giving the cuddling couple a baffled look. "I... how?"
"Killing a Slayer can be easy, or hard, but in my case, the trick is making sure I stay dead," Taz shrugged. "How'd I manage the Lazarus trick? I'm not telling!" she sing-songed at Giles.
"But she was dead, at least briefly, and that... led to your, uh, Calling, Miss Summers," Giles added.
"Oh," was all the blonde could manage to that. After a moment, she brightened. "But hey: if you're already here, and all up-to-speed with the local creature-features, you guys don't need me to do the Slayage thing. So, um... bye!" She all but bolted out of her chair, started to turn for the door —
"D'you mind returning my 'retirement package' before you go?" Taz asked with deceptive casualness.
Buffy froze and looked down at her hand, still holding the vial. Looked at the four bullets within.
"Don't worry: I'm sure the Council will arrange yours before the start of Second Term," Misha added meaningfully.
When the Californian looked up again, it was to give Giles a glare that held murder of its own. "You mean you people would —!"
"Oh, he wouldn't be the one to pull the trigger," Taz shrugged. "I doubt he even knows the people who would; they keep those things separate for exactly this kind of reason. 'Plausible deniability,' it's called. No, whoever arranges for you to meet with a mischief will be some 'renegade Watcher', someone 'acting on their own', 'against protocol and without official orders'." The acid on those phrases would have burned through plate steel. "That's who it was with me, after all."
"You have to understand, this 'apprenticeship' thing is a last-minute jerry-rigged idea, and not something they're married to — especially with how they feel about Taz being even vaguely involved, much less actively influencing a new Slayer." Misha shifted his wife in his arms a little. "There's a lot of people who don't think this 'mistress-and-apprentice' thing can actually work; there's a fair few who want to make sure it doesn't. And if you walk out that door, you'll be giving them the perfect excuse to either get a new Slayer to replace you and try again, or just 'cancel' the whole thing as a bad idea."
"I'd be interested in learning how you know so much about the Council's internal politics," Giles noted thoughtfully.
"'Get used to disappointment'," the younger man returned immediately, not even glancing his way.
15:23, Friday, March 29, 1996
"You're what?" Buffy blinked, a little blankly. "You're who the what now?"
"They gave you the 'one girl in every generation' speech, eh?" realised the crazy woman with the long dark-auburn hair and the faint Russian accent, her expression not unkind. "It's very Star Wars, gives a nice 'Chosen One' kind of feel to things, but there's a few problems with it. For starters, it skips a lot of really important details."
"You might be going a little fast, there, Taz," Misha noted dryly. "Give her a second to catch up."
"I... but... how?" the blonde finally managed.
'Taz' motioned for her to take her seat again, then flashed Misha an impish smile and quite deliberately draped herself across his lap, hooking one arm over his shoulders for balance and seemingly oblivious to the alarming creak from their plastic chair. (For his part, Misha caught Buffy's eye and gave her a helpless microshrug — tinged with a hint of smugness — before steadying his wife with both arms around her waist.) After a split-second's hesitation, she glanced at Giles and beckoned him over with a jerk of her head, waiting until all were seated before resuming. "Technically speaking, you're my replacement. There's a lot of politics and other bullshit around it, but the short version is, the British Council of Watchers have spent three years making an absolute dog's breakfast of 'running' the show out here. Back in November, they finally realised it, took a look at how hard it'd be to actually fix the whole mess, and decided it'd easier to just start fresh with a new Slayer."
Meaning me, clearly. "What do you mean, 'start fresh'?"
Taz unzipped the sleeve-pocket on her black aviator jacket, pulled out something that rattled, and backhanded it across the table. Buffy's reflexes absently snatched it out of the air, and she glanced down to look at it: a plastic vial, holding several mangled copper-and-grey lumps. "As 'retirement packages' go, four bullets in the back wouldn't have been my choice," the redhead observed sardonically. "Not that our 'employers' asked me beforehand. If they had, I would've warned them not to hunt what they can't kill."
"Some bastards just have to learn the hard way," Misha shrugged. "Rule One of Slaying: 'Dying is bad: don't do it.' Corollary to Rule One: 'If some bastard does kill you, take a breath, walk it off, then hunt him down and return the favour. See how he fucking likes it.'"
"But, since the Poms stuffed that up like they have everything else since March of '93, here I am, and here you are. And someone at the Council decided to actually put their brain in gear for a few minutes and make the best of things: they decided this" a handwave at the general situation "gave them a unique opportunity. Normally Slayers get trained by Watchers, and by-and-large they do an okay job — especially if you ask them! — but someone who can teach a Slayer the job from a first-hand perspective? That's a little less common."
"I'm... still stuck on the whole 'two Slayers at once' thing," Buffy admitted, giving the cuddling couple a baffled look. "I... how?"
"Killing a Slayer can be easy, or hard, but in my case, the trick is making sure I stay dead," Taz shrugged. "How'd I manage the Lazarus trick? I'm not telling!" she sing-songed at Giles.
"But she was dead, at least briefly, and that... led to your, uh, Calling, Miss Summers," Giles added.
"Oh," was all the blonde could manage to that. After a moment, she brightened. "But hey: if you're already here, and all up-to-speed with the local creature-features, you guys don't need me to do the Slayage thing. So, um... bye!" She all but bolted out of her chair, started to turn for the door —
"D'you mind returning my 'retirement package' before you go?" Taz asked with deceptive casualness.
Buffy froze and looked down at her hand, still holding the vial. Looked at the four bullets within.
"Don't worry: I'm sure the Council will arrange yours before the start of Second Term," Misha added meaningfully.
When the Californian looked up again, it was to give Giles a glare that held murder of its own. "You mean you people would —!"
"Oh, he wouldn't be the one to pull the trigger," Taz shrugged. "I doubt he even knows the people who would; they keep those things separate for exactly this kind of reason. 'Plausible deniability,' it's called. No, whoever arranges for you to meet with a mischief will be some 'renegade Watcher', someone 'acting on their own', 'against protocol and without official orders'." The acid on those phrases would have burned through plate steel. "That's who it was with me, after all."
"You have to understand, this 'apprenticeship' thing is a last-minute jerry-rigged idea, and not something they're married to — especially with how they feel about Taz being even vaguely involved, much less actively influencing a new Slayer." Misha shifted his wife in his arms a little. "There's a lot of people who don't think this 'mistress-and-apprentice' thing can actually work; there's a fair few who want to make sure it doesn't. And if you walk out that door, you'll be giving them the perfect excuse to either get a new Slayer to replace you and try again, or just 'cancel' the whole thing as a bad idea."
"I'd be interested in learning how you know so much about the Council's internal politics," Giles noted thoughtfully.
"'Get used to disappointment'," the younger man returned immediately, not even glancing his way.