Which like paranoia tends to vanish among elders as it is just expected behaviour.
[Buffy/WoD] What is Normal?
- Thread starter Ellf
- Start date
Chapter 5.3: Dining out
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Sanctuary it may have been, but to the California socialite she'd been before Sunnydale, the apartment that the Jester Prince had arranged for her was still more than insulting. Luckily, she hadn't much need to stay within it once the sun was down again, but it still irked her. Perhaps the jester felt so insecure in his power base that he needed to exercise what little influence he had on an easy target. He'd find her not so easy in the coming days. Princes and crowns and courts of downs. Fear the enemy and the cheese will be fine.
Right. Cheese. Why was it always cheese? I wear the cheese, it does not wear me.
At least she'd slept okay this time. She only vaguely recalled her dreams this time. Something about a giant coffin and an explosion. Maybe that girl on the beach knew something, some sort of prophecy, but she'd had enough of those. Find the seer's eye and pluck it out. Glass is novel and forms are here. The One Who Sees needs an eyepatch.
"Xander's not real," Buffy muttered. Probably. Merrick was though, and vampires were. Sunnydale, however, wasn't. Not as far as she could tell or research. Still, if she was stuck in Santa Monica in the meantime, she'd have to deal. Kitten has claws that reach far. He flirts with danger and changes with the seasons.
Part of that dealing would be meeting up with Wesley, someone who clearly hated Kindred with how he looked at her. She'd have to be careful around him. He could expose the masquerade, and there was no way she wanted to deal with the fallout from that. Killing him wasn't an option either. His contract likely extends post-mortem. They always did meddle with things.
As she drained a blood pack, she made another mental note to get a mug and a microwave. If she wasn't going to be getting it fresh from the vein, at least she could warm it up some. Pig's blood, as distasteful as it sounded, could also be easier to obtain than fresh human blood, in bags anyway. She just had no clue how satisfying it would be. Besides, it wasn't like it was all too hard to lure a person to a dark alley where she could have her way with them. Kine are little Happy Meals on legs. All too eager to give up to the Kiss.
Glancing at a clock, Buffy grimaced. It was time. She locked up the apartment. Not her apartment. The apartment. Until she was certain that the Jester didn't have his own way to get in, it would never be hers. Paranoid? Maybe. But something was rotten in the City of Angels, and she intended on finding out what before it bit her undead ass. The first step was dealing with this demon, and the first step for that was to find out what Wesley knew. Watchers were always more books than brains. Or was that books than brawn? Brawn than books?
The diner was only just down the street, and it had that retro 50s chic that so many diners tended to have these days. Disgusting. Not like any of them had even been around for the 50s. Well, maybe that one guy in the corner had, but he looked like he was older than Angel and still human. Since it was a seat yourself diner, Buffy took a seat at the corner where she could watch both doors. Twos. Kine do things by twos. Two doors, two floors, two hands, two feet, two eyes, two ears. One mouth, one heart, pumping delicious vitae.
A heavyset Hispanic woman in a waitress uniform approached her table, set a mug down, and poured coffee out of a silver carafe. She seemed beleaguered to Buffy, possibly overworked, but then again, Buffy recalled working in a place like this once. She knew the difficulties. Just a single snap and it's over. No one comes for you, no one seeks your end. No one is killing you, but who is no one?
"Need anything, sweetie?" She had kind eyes. Buffy could just pluck them out and place them on something that you placed eyes on. A doll, maybe? Okay, that was probably the crazy talking. No eye plucking from the nice lady. Even if her name was Irene. Maybe it would be I plucking?
"Just the java is good, for now," Buffy said, her eye traveling along the woman's neck. How easy it'd be to just dig her fangs in, drink deeply, but no. They were too in public, and she didn't want another round with Wesley's gun. In America, you have the right to bear arms. Yet for some reason, nobody has thought to arm bears.
"Mm-hmmm," said the woman. "Just you then?"
"The watchful one will be along shortly. He will want pie," said Buffy as she frowned. Pie sounded unnaturally disgusting right then, but human hunger had no place for her anymore. Mrs. Lovett's meat pies, naturally full of blood!
"Right. I'll let him know you're over here if I see him," said the waitress.
"Your kindness abounds, ream of eyes," Buffy said, and she settled herself back in the booth. "I mean, thank you, Irene." She really needed to get that under control if she could. Sure, it was funny to see the reactions when she was properly descriptive, but she didn't want to scare people off most of the time. Humans scared too easily. Let the wrong ones in.
"Mm-hmm," Irene said as she walked away. Hopefully Wesley wouldn't take too long. She wanted to get started on this Hyperion thing, and then she could hopefully figure out what it was that she needed to talk to this Nest guy for. Maybe she could wheedle more information from the daughters of Janus about Sammy too. She always was a fan of her turtle. It's too bad that Cindy Lou flushed it.
Wait, that wasn't quite right. It had died, and Sammy's parents flushed it. Buffy had held her friend as she was upset. Right?
Buffy tapped a spoon against her coffee glass. Maybe it would be more appetizing if she added some sugar. She made a small face and grabbed a few packets.
"You won't be able to drink that, love," Spike's voice settled in near her ear. "Not with what you are. You lot are different from us at good old Sunnyhell. Still got your soul, your spark, Slayer."
"Not now, Spike," Buffy murmured as she opened a packet.
"Pft. Not like these other wankers in here can hear me," Spike said, and though she refused to look, she could easily picture the blond vampire waving his hand dismissively. "Young Watcher Wesley might have a bit of a chance, but he's still a ponce."
"Drusilla saw you," Buffy said.
"Dru's as barmy as you are, love," Spike said with a laugh. "It's one of the reasons I love her."
Buffy dumped the sugar packet in the coffee and then grabbed another packet as the door to the diner opened and in walked Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Walked perhaps was too strong a word, as the man seemed to be heavily weighed down. He dragged a bulky-looking satchel in, straining only slightly less than the Wesley she remembered would have. There had to be books in that bag. It just made sense. Imagine if all the books in the world fit on a single point. Now put that point on a whale. And have that whale eat a puppet.
Making eye contact with him for a second, Buffy turned back to her sweetening of coffee. She'd moved on from sugar and now had the substitutes. Consuming this cup started disgusting to her, and she suspected now it would be far more so. Blood is sweeter than the sweetest wine. Apple of the vine, human and kine.
Wesley finally sat down in the chair across from her and he dropped the satchel to the ground with a loud thump. "You could have helped me, Miss Summers."
"Buffy," she said. "Not Miss Summers. Let's not associate the family of summer to the Kindred of now. Please, watcher-man."
"Very well, Buffy," Wesley said, and Spike laughed as he appeared behind him. She paid the blond vampire no mind. "Your informant about the Hyperion seems to have good sources."
"One does, but to know the mind of the other is to invite madness and badness," Buffy said, dipping a hand down to grab another packet. "So, what's the what and how do I kill it?"
"Upon my research into the Hyperion's… phenomena in the past and present," Wesley said as he reached into his bag. "I have determined a likely culprit. It isn't your typical demon."
Buffy's lips quirked. The Fallen have Fallen and are eating the sky. May they pluck out the sun and eat the moon lest it turns red.
Wesley pulled a tome from his bag as large as any she recalled researching from in Sunnydale and at least as old. The bound pages were pristine with next to no yellowing at the edges, but that probably came from the fact that the pages were lined with some sort of metal. It probably wasn't gold, but judging from how Wesley held the book, it was valuable to him. Life and knowledge are special things. Kine hoard when they should share and share when they should hoard. They live so we might eat.
"Not one of the Fallen, then, Wesley?" Buffy asked.
"Not precisely, no." Wesley opened the book. "Judging purely from the historical accounts that I was able to dig up today, the demon there is similar to a spirit of sorts. In that it is incorporeal. It is what is known as a Thesulac demon or spirit. It feeds off of the paranoia and pain that it can cause."
"Incorporeal? Bloody hell, Slayer. Unless you've got some sort of mojo wrapped up in that pale mad head of yours, this might be beyond you." Spike took a puff on his cigarette. "All this just to get that ponce prince's task done."
"What will be done must be done," Buffy said, unsure if she was responding to Wesley or Spike. "How do I kill it?"
"In all honesty," Wesley said as he opened the book to a page. "You can't. Not directly without bringing it to the material plane first."
"How?" Buffy asked. "Ask nicely? Please, mister Demon, I would like to fight you and then feast on your entrails!" And play hopscotch and jump rope with them! Mages might work better.
"I doubt very much that you would want to eat the demon," Wesley said. "Especially given your kind's… dietary restrictions."
"He knows you too well, love," Spike said with a grin. "Can't even enjoy Weetabix in your blood. For shame."
Buffy just gave the both of them a look. To Wesley it probably just looked like she was glaring at him. Fears and paranoia can fill a thought and mind. Adjust your expectations to make sure you fill your plate.
Wesley held up his hand in a mock-surrender. "The books don't go into too much detail about the Thesulac, but one thing is agreed upon. There are two ways to get rid of such a creature. The first is to let it have its fill. The second is to eliminate its food source. In either case, the creature will leave."
"Oh, brilliant!" Spike exclaimed. "Let's do the second. It'll be really good for you. I mean, the first would be fine too, but blood and violence are blood and violence."
"But how do we kill it?" Buffy asked. "The beast hungers and feeds. Without a food source, it will seek one anew."
"Like I said before, Buffy, we can't. Not without a way of making it solid," Wesley said. "However, there is something that can be done. If an item that has witnessed enough fear and paranoia were brought before someone with certain abilities, it would likely be possible to bind such a demon."
"Trap it?" Buffy asked. Who you gonna call?
"Precisely. Such a demon would be vulnerable to bindings just like a ghost or other spirit would," Wesley said. "I even have contacts that would be able to do this for me. We would just need to get something from within its hunting grounds."
"We?" Buffy asked. "What we?"
"If you think that I trust a vampire to go in there alone and retrieve the correct item, you're madder than I thought you were." Wesley adjusted his glasses. "And, I suppose, I'm still your Watcher. Vampire or not."
Buffy pursed her lips. "I could very well kill you in there."
"You could," Wesley said. "But I'm not what you need to worry about most, Buffy."
"He's right, Slayer. There's one thing you haven't considered yet. Don't blame you though, the poof didn't think about it either when he got his Hyperion." Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a drag on the cigarette, he blew it in the Watcher's face. Not that Wesley seemed to notice.
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, once more addressing the both of them.
"Oh, it's just a simple question I have. You did say that your source said the demon was still in the hotel, correct?" Wesley asked, and Buffy nodded.
"It's a good question, love," Spike said, and then his voice joined with Wesley's.
"If the original attacks were in the forties, and the demon is still there, what has it been feeding on all this time?"
Alice? Alice? Where are you Alice? Did they take you? Off with their heads!
Wonderful. Simply wonderful.
Right. Cheese. Why was it always cheese? I wear the cheese, it does not wear me.
At least she'd slept okay this time. She only vaguely recalled her dreams this time. Something about a giant coffin and an explosion. Maybe that girl on the beach knew something, some sort of prophecy, but she'd had enough of those. Find the seer's eye and pluck it out. Glass is novel and forms are here. The One Who Sees needs an eyepatch.
"Xander's not real," Buffy muttered. Probably. Merrick was though, and vampires were. Sunnydale, however, wasn't. Not as far as she could tell or research. Still, if she was stuck in Santa Monica in the meantime, she'd have to deal. Kitten has claws that reach far. He flirts with danger and changes with the seasons.
Part of that dealing would be meeting up with Wesley, someone who clearly hated Kindred with how he looked at her. She'd have to be careful around him. He could expose the masquerade, and there was no way she wanted to deal with the fallout from that. Killing him wasn't an option either. His contract likely extends post-mortem. They always did meddle with things.
As she drained a blood pack, she made another mental note to get a mug and a microwave. If she wasn't going to be getting it fresh from the vein, at least she could warm it up some. Pig's blood, as distasteful as it sounded, could also be easier to obtain than fresh human blood, in bags anyway. She just had no clue how satisfying it would be. Besides, it wasn't like it was all too hard to lure a person to a dark alley where she could have her way with them. Kine are little Happy Meals on legs. All too eager to give up to the Kiss.
Glancing at a clock, Buffy grimaced. It was time. She locked up the apartment. Not her apartment. The apartment. Until she was certain that the Jester didn't have his own way to get in, it would never be hers. Paranoid? Maybe. But something was rotten in the City of Angels, and she intended on finding out what before it bit her undead ass. The first step was dealing with this demon, and the first step for that was to find out what Wesley knew. Watchers were always more books than brains. Or was that books than brawn? Brawn than books?
The diner was only just down the street, and it had that retro 50s chic that so many diners tended to have these days. Disgusting. Not like any of them had even been around for the 50s. Well, maybe that one guy in the corner had, but he looked like he was older than Angel and still human. Since it was a seat yourself diner, Buffy took a seat at the corner where she could watch both doors. Twos. Kine do things by twos. Two doors, two floors, two hands, two feet, two eyes, two ears. One mouth, one heart, pumping delicious vitae.
A heavyset Hispanic woman in a waitress uniform approached her table, set a mug down, and poured coffee out of a silver carafe. She seemed beleaguered to Buffy, possibly overworked, but then again, Buffy recalled working in a place like this once. She knew the difficulties. Just a single snap and it's over. No one comes for you, no one seeks your end. No one is killing you, but who is no one?
"Need anything, sweetie?" She had kind eyes. Buffy could just pluck them out and place them on something that you placed eyes on. A doll, maybe? Okay, that was probably the crazy talking. No eye plucking from the nice lady. Even if her name was Irene. Maybe it would be I plucking?
"Just the java is good, for now," Buffy said, her eye traveling along the woman's neck. How easy it'd be to just dig her fangs in, drink deeply, but no. They were too in public, and she didn't want another round with Wesley's gun. In America, you have the right to bear arms. Yet for some reason, nobody has thought to arm bears.
"Mm-hmmm," said the woman. "Just you then?"
"The watchful one will be along shortly. He will want pie," said Buffy as she frowned. Pie sounded unnaturally disgusting right then, but human hunger had no place for her anymore. Mrs. Lovett's meat pies, naturally full of blood!
"Right. I'll let him know you're over here if I see him," said the waitress.
"Your kindness abounds, ream of eyes," Buffy said, and she settled herself back in the booth. "I mean, thank you, Irene." She really needed to get that under control if she could. Sure, it was funny to see the reactions when she was properly descriptive, but she didn't want to scare people off most of the time. Humans scared too easily. Let the wrong ones in.
"Mm-hmm," Irene said as she walked away. Hopefully Wesley wouldn't take too long. She wanted to get started on this Hyperion thing, and then she could hopefully figure out what it was that she needed to talk to this Nest guy for. Maybe she could wheedle more information from the daughters of Janus about Sammy too. She always was a fan of her turtle. It's too bad that Cindy Lou flushed it.
Wait, that wasn't quite right. It had died, and Sammy's parents flushed it. Buffy had held her friend as she was upset. Right?
Buffy tapped a spoon against her coffee glass. Maybe it would be more appetizing if she added some sugar. She made a small face and grabbed a few packets.
"You won't be able to drink that, love," Spike's voice settled in near her ear. "Not with what you are. You lot are different from us at good old Sunnyhell. Still got your soul, your spark, Slayer."
"Not now, Spike," Buffy murmured as she opened a packet.
"Pft. Not like these other wankers in here can hear me," Spike said, and though she refused to look, she could easily picture the blond vampire waving his hand dismissively. "Young Watcher Wesley might have a bit of a chance, but he's still a ponce."
"Drusilla saw you," Buffy said.
"Dru's as barmy as you are, love," Spike said with a laugh. "It's one of the reasons I love her."
Buffy dumped the sugar packet in the coffee and then grabbed another packet as the door to the diner opened and in walked Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Walked perhaps was too strong a word, as the man seemed to be heavily weighed down. He dragged a bulky-looking satchel in, straining only slightly less than the Wesley she remembered would have. There had to be books in that bag. It just made sense. Imagine if all the books in the world fit on a single point. Now put that point on a whale. And have that whale eat a puppet.
Making eye contact with him for a second, Buffy turned back to her sweetening of coffee. She'd moved on from sugar and now had the substitutes. Consuming this cup started disgusting to her, and she suspected now it would be far more so. Blood is sweeter than the sweetest wine. Apple of the vine, human and kine.
Wesley finally sat down in the chair across from her and he dropped the satchel to the ground with a loud thump. "You could have helped me, Miss Summers."
"Buffy," she said. "Not Miss Summers. Let's not associate the family of summer to the Kindred of now. Please, watcher-man."
"Very well, Buffy," Wesley said, and Spike laughed as he appeared behind him. She paid the blond vampire no mind. "Your informant about the Hyperion seems to have good sources."
"One does, but to know the mind of the other is to invite madness and badness," Buffy said, dipping a hand down to grab another packet. "So, what's the what and how do I kill it?"
"Upon my research into the Hyperion's… phenomena in the past and present," Wesley said as he reached into his bag. "I have determined a likely culprit. It isn't your typical demon."
Buffy's lips quirked. The Fallen have Fallen and are eating the sky. May they pluck out the sun and eat the moon lest it turns red.
Wesley pulled a tome from his bag as large as any she recalled researching from in Sunnydale and at least as old. The bound pages were pristine with next to no yellowing at the edges, but that probably came from the fact that the pages were lined with some sort of metal. It probably wasn't gold, but judging from how Wesley held the book, it was valuable to him. Life and knowledge are special things. Kine hoard when they should share and share when they should hoard. They live so we might eat.
"Not one of the Fallen, then, Wesley?" Buffy asked.
"Not precisely, no." Wesley opened the book. "Judging purely from the historical accounts that I was able to dig up today, the demon there is similar to a spirit of sorts. In that it is incorporeal. It is what is known as a Thesulac demon or spirit. It feeds off of the paranoia and pain that it can cause."
"Incorporeal? Bloody hell, Slayer. Unless you've got some sort of mojo wrapped up in that pale mad head of yours, this might be beyond you." Spike took a puff on his cigarette. "All this just to get that ponce prince's task done."
"What will be done must be done," Buffy said, unsure if she was responding to Wesley or Spike. "How do I kill it?"
"In all honesty," Wesley said as he opened the book to a page. "You can't. Not directly without bringing it to the material plane first."
"How?" Buffy asked. "Ask nicely? Please, mister Demon, I would like to fight you and then feast on your entrails!" And play hopscotch and jump rope with them! Mages might work better.
"I doubt very much that you would want to eat the demon," Wesley said. "Especially given your kind's… dietary restrictions."
"He knows you too well, love," Spike said with a grin. "Can't even enjoy Weetabix in your blood. For shame."
Buffy just gave the both of them a look. To Wesley it probably just looked like she was glaring at him. Fears and paranoia can fill a thought and mind. Adjust your expectations to make sure you fill your plate.
Wesley held up his hand in a mock-surrender. "The books don't go into too much detail about the Thesulac, but one thing is agreed upon. There are two ways to get rid of such a creature. The first is to let it have its fill. The second is to eliminate its food source. In either case, the creature will leave."
"Oh, brilliant!" Spike exclaimed. "Let's do the second. It'll be really good for you. I mean, the first would be fine too, but blood and violence are blood and violence."
"But how do we kill it?" Buffy asked. "The beast hungers and feeds. Without a food source, it will seek one anew."
"Like I said before, Buffy, we can't. Not without a way of making it solid," Wesley said. "However, there is something that can be done. If an item that has witnessed enough fear and paranoia were brought before someone with certain abilities, it would likely be possible to bind such a demon."
"Trap it?" Buffy asked. Who you gonna call?
"Precisely. Such a demon would be vulnerable to bindings just like a ghost or other spirit would," Wesley said. "I even have contacts that would be able to do this for me. We would just need to get something from within its hunting grounds."
"We?" Buffy asked. "What we?"
"If you think that I trust a vampire to go in there alone and retrieve the correct item, you're madder than I thought you were." Wesley adjusted his glasses. "And, I suppose, I'm still your Watcher. Vampire or not."
Buffy pursed her lips. "I could very well kill you in there."
"You could," Wesley said. "But I'm not what you need to worry about most, Buffy."
"He's right, Slayer. There's one thing you haven't considered yet. Don't blame you though, the poof didn't think about it either when he got his Hyperion." Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a drag on the cigarette, he blew it in the Watcher's face. Not that Wesley seemed to notice.
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, once more addressing the both of them.
"Oh, it's just a simple question I have. You did say that your source said the demon was still in the hotel, correct?" Wesley asked, and Buffy nodded.
"It's a good question, love," Spike said, and then his voice joined with Wesley's.
"If the original attacks were in the forties, and the demon is still there, what has it been feeding on all this time?"
Alice? Alice? Where are you Alice? Did they take you? Off with their heads!
Wonderful. Simply wonderful.
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
The hotel was such a lovely level. I mean, I hated it because I can't deal with horror for anything, but it was great to reinforce how big bad Vampires aren't alone out there or the biggest badasses around after you'd been having fun beating up normies.
- Location
- Germany
That's on the first time playing the game.
Second and later is when you see that the pathetic little ghosts can't do more than some harmless traps and try to scare you.
The only point that keeps reminding you that there are bigger badasses around is the Werewolf.
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Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Of course, neither are going to precisely go as they did in the game. Things are different here.
esotericist
A Weary Hand
- Location
- Lacey, WA
Better than shrimp?
That's actually one of the more ominous asides in this update, from where I'm sitting.
Forward-looking planning? Buffy? Malkavian Buffy? This is probably the most surreal thing so far.
Can control? Probably yes. Worth the effort? Probably no for the vast majority of the time.
I'd like to hope that even if Wesley doesn't believe in Buffy having any morals or goodness remaining, he might eventually acknowledge that she has something akin to principles she's making an effort to stick to.
To the best of her admittedly limited ability.
This is what prisoners are for. Horriculture.
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
Well, I did get killed by a falling elevator and burned by some bursting pipes the first time, so 'harmless' is up to debate. Obviously you can dodge the traps the second time but that's because you're a time-traveling cheat, not because the traps are harmless.
I can safely say after replaying the game several times, and reading various stuff online about that level, it still creeped me out. More than the Werewolf.
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
The werewolf starts out kind of frightening, but once you've spent a few minutes crouching in the trolley car, it just becomes a dull wait for daylight.
Of course, later, I found out I wasn't supposed to just wait in the trolley car that would take me back until it was time to go.
esotericist
A Weary Hand
- Location
- Lacey, WA
I've got a friend who absolutely cannot progress past Santa Monica in the game because of the hotel. It wigged him out so severely that he couldn't even consider completing it. For myself, I'm normally not too stressed out by 'jump scare horror' stuff, but until I actually understood that there's little real threat in the hotel, yeah, it kinda put me on edge.
It's honestly a very well done sequence, but you're right not to try to rehash that. A text representation of that experience wouldn't really bring much of value to the table. Doing something else (and pulling from your other source material in the process) is definitely the right call.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Yeah, you're supposed to crush the werewolf in the Observatory's dome. Tricky, but worth the effort. And other werewolves can deal with the corpse you left behind and the damage to the Observatory; serves them right for not keeping that one on a tighter leash.
The best part of the Ocean House mission is standing in the memory room. Being able to stand unharmed in the sunlight again, even if it's only a memory of light...
There's also a lost part of Grout's mansion - at least one mod restores it - where you can find your way through a maze to a chapel of some sort. Strangely, even though it's night outside, there's a beam of sunlight in there. There's an item in there, but be careful; unlike the Ocean House, this is REAL sunlight, and it WILL cause Aggravated damage if you stand in it.
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Grout's house will be fun in this story. Because unlike the tapes in canon, the tapes here will be about Buffy.
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
They probably should have made it so the wolf could chase you into the car, then. Or maybe he could and it was my use of Obfuscate that threw him off. Anyway, I'll have to try actually dealing with him next time I play through Bloodlines.
Nice. I kept hoping for personal information about my Malk when I went through that section.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
For those who never played, here are Grout's tapes in canon.
- It is quite peculiar the happenings I've been made to witness from my supernatural longevity. I'm thinking of one unfortunate phenomenon in particular of unique interest to my station both as a professional and as a sufferer of this vampiric condition. It seems the stream of time has begun to erode the moorings of my chosen course of study, for the methodologies that gave birth to psychology are slowly disappearing. I find myself in an era that overlooks the physical component of psychological pathology time and again in favour of the sophistic practices of Freud. Phrenology, dactylpintalism, and the rest of the old guard is fallen by the wayside, its champions all silenced in death with my unique exception. Would that I could make my voice heard again, although it may be suspicious should I return to popular medical discourse fifty years after my apparent death. No, better that I continue my studies into the psychoses in secret. One day may I hold up my own cure as validation of the methods. I am confident no cure for my condition or that of my beloved wife lies within our figurative minds waiting to be unlocked by the correct combination of memories recovered from our childhoods. And I'm most certain that it has nothing to do with the relationship between myself, my parents, and my genitals. Sorry, Sigmund, but I choose to stay my course. In time, too, may your star fade and disappear.
- Another unfortunate casualty to tide of time: insane asylums. I lament their loss not only as brokerage houses for the breadth and depth of human psychosis, but also I shall mourn the disappearance of that peculiar environment present only in an insane asylum. That palpable atmosphere of blistered brains and churning bowels, the odiferous melange of freely flowing bodily humours, that gently rolling cacophony of distant sobs and screams, the muttered cursing of perceived enemies and the blissful gurgling of the lobotomized like a new-born babe discovering the sky. I shall still find test subjects as surely as I find bloody sustenance in the night, but this climate, I fear, will never be replicated.
- Often I reflect with great regret on the missed opportunity that was my infector. Had I been conscious after the attack, I could have stopped the orderlies from locking her in a roaming pen. What I would give for just one interview, a few simple questions of the plague ridden woman who met her end that dawn. Of course there is no guarantee she would have been any more helpful than my current crop of test subjects. Muling wretches! Few could be called 'enthusiastic'. Given the nature of the tests, I cannot expect the same fervor from all, but a modicum of cooperation would be appreciated. Animals! The one called 'John' went so far as to gnaw off his arm and escape into the floor boards like some feral rodent. I still hear him scurrying about at night, he must be making an atrocious mess in there.
- My studies proceed at a languid pace. I'm mired in a foul anguish as my wife's illness advances. My subjects grow restless without proper supervision, but I cannot pull myself back from this black depression. How many nights I've wasted now gazing from the tower walk, pondering the frailty of existence.
- After decades of solitary studying into this affliction, I have learned that it is by no means mine alone. Indeed, the city is homed to an entire society of similarly afflicted individuals with whom I've only recently made contact. They are an understandably standoffish sort, by and large, but I have been able to confirm with them that the condition is indeed vampirism which apparently comes in a multitude of strains, each with a spectacular set of symptoms such as invisibility and even a sort of lycanthropy. Through numerous official interactions with the governing body of this secret society, I have concluded that their fundamental understanding of the vampiric condition is woefully lacking and mired in suspicion and pseudo-religious dogma that would make a Turk balk for its strictures. Indeed, they seemed impressed with my studies and the eloquence with which I was able to present them. Apparently the typical suffer of my particular strain of vampirism is far from the vanguard of the King's English. So impressed were they that they even offered me an office in their government, a rather high office by the sound of things. I believe I shall accept. If nothing else, it should provide a lofty vantage point from which to observe the breadth of epidemiology of the afflictions so that I may move more expeditiously toward a cure.
- I have accepted the role of 'Primogen' for clan 'Malkavian', the dreadfully winsome label applied to the particular strain of vampirism I suffer. So named for some supposed vampire father figure of old; more poppycock grown from a backwoods culture that seems interminably drawn to children's tales and the fiction of Victorian romance when it should concern itself with the science behind their suffering. No matter, for I have taken this office for no greater reason than to advance my research. I must make mention however that even among my would-be peers in this governing body of vampires, the level of paranoia and superstition is frightening! Their intelligence is not the question, no indeed; as they courted me for this appointment, I had to suspect that their overtures were hand-tailored to what must be my obvious infatuation with reason, for the devil would do well to have such honey-tongued tempters. Even so I could not help to notice the dressing of language the vampire leaders chose for their siren song. Whether it is born of habit, from addressing their unwashed ill educated subjects, or from their own deep-seated beliefs, their linguistic flourishes belie a faith in superstition over the providence of empirical reason that must be an all-pervasive theme in this society of darkest night. Damn it all now, I'm doing it, too!
- As I expand my dealings with the vampire government, I have encountered a disturbing new symptom of this affliction. Frequently, in conversation, I will hear voices emanating from other vampires, voices that are not their own, but which seem to have insight into their lives beyond what I could gather from simple conversation. These voices seem to echo from deep within my fellow vampires, and I cannot be certain if this symptom belongs to my strain of virus or theirs, for the voices are various and inconsistent. I dare not mention this symptom to my vampiric peers, for they have proven themselves true predators to whom I could be lured to reveal any sign of weakness. Indeed, these voices have counseled me against confessing their presence, and until I can confirm their source, I will listen. The information the voices have given me ranges from curious to frightening. The latter case is especially true of one powerful vampire whose name I shall not commit to recording in the interests of self preservation.
- The voices have increased in frequency and direction of late. They have begun to stay with me long after conversation has ceased and are serving as quite a distraction. I fear others are beginning to notice my preoccupation at the vampire gatherings. I'm thinking again of the particular vampire of whom I spoke previously, who I dare not name for my growing fear. If the voices are to be believed, then my caution is warranted, for they speak of his blackest crimes both past and future. More than once I have seen the suspicion in his eyes and heard the distrust in his voice when speaking with me! The fear must register on my face as it is all I can do in these moments to keep from crying out in chorus with the voices!
- I am no longer safe - I know it! The voices have proven themselves authentic, and I have withdrawn from the vampire society entirely. My absence will no doubt draw attention, but I could no longer hold my fragile composure around the ravenous eyes of my vampire peers, especially not from him! The voices compelled me to make what I fear is a Faustian bargain, but I had to, for their demands are constant and merciless. I have secluded myself within the mansion. I know he will strike out at me. He will go to any length to achieve his ambitions, and he knows that I know! I have taken precautions to protect my beloved wife. A cure will have to wait until our immediate safety is guaranteed. The mansion was constructed with security in mind, but at that time I was not privy to the full range of vampire capabilities! The voices echo in the twisted corridors of my psyche, dark whisperings of a macabre formless menace the approach of which portends an end, an end to all of this!
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SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
Oh, there's definitely some interesting stuff there, but when he started talking about how he was the Malkavian Primogen, I was hoping it would turn out he had something to do with my Siring or, at least, my Sire.
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Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Hmm... Do you think he's good enough to hide from that Kuei-jin bitch Ming Xiao long enough for Buffy to find him - without Xiao then killing Buffy? And don't forget that Bach shows up and torches the place...
Chapter 5.4 Hyperion Part 1
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
The Hyperion Hotel. In another world, another life, this would be the headquarters of Angel Investigations, where a vampire helps the helpless and the rich and famous for a modest but reasonable fee. Here? Buffy wasn't even sure whether she should be helping the dark Daughter of Janus with this place or not. Angel wasn't exactly Angel here. The Toreador, Liam, had been nothing like her Angel or even Angelus, but perhaps he more resembled the kine he'd been before being granted eternal life. Without centuries of guilt to atone for, he really seemed more a lout. Licentious and true. He bites less and barks more, much like a puppy dog. Sit Ubu, sit. Good dog.
The Hyperion Hotel, in her world, sat in the heart of Hollywood, but here, it was located directly on the ocean. It still had a California Spanish deco style, standing approximately six stories high. Several windows were boarded over on the first floor, and the windows of the fifth looked broken still. A chain-link fence with a "No Trespassing" sign wrapped around the hotel, keeping the way to the beach blocked.
Buffy stood just outside a sewer drain on the inside of the chain link fence, staring not at the hotel in front of her but at her soaked-in-sewage shoes. "We should have just come through the fence. I could climb it, break the lock."
"But then someone would suspect that we were here," said Wesley, chidingly. He might not have trusted her, but he was willing to work with her here. She supposed that was a good thing, even if there was the chance he'd be dead weight. Which, of course, was why he was the one carrying most of the weapons. To be dead weight or to be the rogue demon hunter. Hunters and Watchers and players and Slayers. The time has come.
"My shoes," Buffy said, and she shook her head. "These are my shoes."
And they were screaming obscenities about the sewage they'd had to go through, but Buffy felt that little tidbit would be a little much for the Watcher. Her left shoe had one heck of a vocabulary too. The right was just a copycat. Wait. That was silly. Shoes do not talk.
"Hush," she hissed at her shoes.
"Fuck off, lady, you try walking through that stuff." Buffy stomped her left foot down. "Ow!"
"What are you doing?" Wesley asked.
"Shutting up a problem," Buffy said. "Shall we go in, Watcher-man?"
Wesley just looked at her. She knew that he didn't trust her because of what she was, but at the same time, he needed her because of what else she was. Slayer. Vampire. Together, we make such beautiful pictures, Figura mea. I chose well.
"Very well," said Wesley after a minute. "You first."
"Ah, the grand old tradition of the Watchers," said Buffy. "Watching. Seeing. Being. One who watches. Not the One Who Sees, for that's someone else, but watching, that you can do."
"What?"
Buffy waved a hand, brushing him off. She didn't even know where some of that came from, but it rang true nonetheless. She led the way to the front door of the Hyperion. Strangely, there was no condemned notice on the building. She tried the door, jiggled it a little, and then pulled lightly.
"Locked." Buffy said. "It would seem that—" Buffy frowned, stopping her talking.
"Are you quite all right?" Wesley asked, clearly not super worried, other than perhaps wondering if the insane vampire was going to do something crazy. Which, to be fair to Wesley, she wasn't the bastion of sanity she once was. If she ever was that. Sanity is fleeting. When we must be meeting. Round the world and home again. That's the sailor's way. Faster faster, faster faster. There's no earthly way of knowing, which direction we are going. There's no knowing where we're rowing, or which way the river's flowing.
Buffy held up a hand. "Fine. Just… give me a minute. Mind's all wiggy and screwy. Need to focus."
Wesley pursed his lips. "Did your contact not give you a key to this place?"
Buffy snapped her fingers. "Damn. Knew I left something behind." She fell back into a loose stance. "Guess we'll be using alternative entry methods."
Breathing in and out with air she no longer needed, she spun around and delivered a full-strength kick to the door. Her foot slammed through the lock, splintering the door inwards and pulling it off its hinges. Slayer strength combined with vampire. Perhaps. If the Daughter of Janus had an issue with it, Buffy'd demonstrate one on her. Count the splinters. One. Two. They fit together as one, but come apart as two. Janus is light and dark. Creamy and crunchy. Salty and sweet. Dualities, Buffy.
"I suppose that is one way of handling things. Lead the way, Buffy," Wesley said, leveling the shotgun he'd brought with him. He didn't quite point it at her, but she knew that he'd just as easily shoot her as something else. She'd probably survive the first shot, but it'd be painful.
"Fine." Buffy stepped into the hotel, and a pressure settled over her senses. The lobby itself was fairly open. Chandeliers, broken ones, hung above a tiled floor that was beautiful once. The front desk looked as if someone had taken an axe and started chopping. Arches decorated every doorway, and stairs very visibly led up to the second level where rooms were. She remembered rooms being on the first floor too, but those were further back. The key thing here would be to explore, figure out where things happened, what things happened. She knew that the demon had caused many humans to die here. Many people to die here. People. Not kine. Kine or divine this time for mine.
Wesley stepped into the lobby after her, and despite his animosity, Buffy was glad that she wasn't going to be alone here with her own thoughts. Sure, Spike would probably have kept her company, but the company of a hallucinatory vampire wasn't exactly the best. Better than nothing, sure, but not the best. You will never be alone again, little one. We will always walk with you.
Wait. Was that a short joke? Did the voices in her head just make a short joke?
"It looks safe enough," said Wesley. "Dilapidated, sure, but nothing clearly demonic in origin. In the lobby, at least."
"That's why we have to look around, Wesley," Buffy said chidingly. "It's here somewhere."
Wesley glared at her as if to say that he knew already. Which made sense. Watchers knew a lot, but Buffy knew more than him here. She knew the layout of the hotel as she'd been to the Hyperion before, a few times. Admittedly, it was in her own mind… or maybe alternate universe. Whatever it was, she knew where to go to start searching.
The first-floor's hall should have been fully carpeted, but the carpets were old and decrepit, eaten away by time rather than wear. The wallpaper had yellowed, peeling off the walls as the glue too rotted away. Therese likely would do some renovations once she was sure everything was clear. Watch for flying saucers.
Wait. Were her voices talking about aliens now? Buffy took a few more steps down the hall. She started to turn to look at Wesley, but then she ducked down. A spinning vase slammed into a closed door and shattered. Underneath the vase was a simple small plate that had landed more or less intact. A saucer. Her voices had been literal. She let out a small laugh.
Wesley looked at her. "I believe I don't want to know."
"Maybe," she said. Flying saucer. She snorted again. "Let's try the room."
Wesley stepped aside, and she placed her hand on the door's handle. As she turned it to open the door to the hotel room, the walls around her changed. Lights came on, wallpaper became good as new, as did carpet. She opened the door to the room, and inside, she could see… she could see….
Gertrude dug through the suitcase. How dare he? How dare Milton do that to her? She knew what he was going to do, now that she knew. It was inevitable. He had that history. Violence wasn't uncommon for someone who came back from the War. Gertrude had tried to help him. How dare he spurn her for that Millicent?
Oh, she knew what she was going to do. She pulled out the stub-nosed revolver and brushed her short red hair out of her face. She knew what she needed to do. She'd make sure that Milton never had the chance to snub anyone else again. Never ever.
She heard the creaking of the door. It could only be one person. She aimed. She fired.
Buffy blinked, and the vision was gone, leaving only the room and a pair of bloodstains on the carpet and the queen-sized bed within. This room felt like it should have been locked. Locks are no bar to my call.
That… was different. The woman had been young, dressed in a flapper dress with a bonnet. Her hair had been the color of Willow's and she was so worried that someone named Millicent was stealing her man, that the man was cheating on her. Buffy remembered how she'd felt when Riley was going to vampires to be fed upon, and it wasn't half as bad as what she'd felt through Gertrude's eyes.
A frayed rope hung loosely from a rafter in the ceiling. No body sat below it, but lights flickered off and on for a second. The shadow of a woman hanging plastered itself on the wall. Buffy made a tsking sound and stepped into the room properly. It was cold enough that even she felt it.
"I say," Wesley said as he followed her in. "This Thesulac might not be the only issue the hotel has."
"Ghosts," Buffy agreed. "Victims taken by the paranoia. Shotguns, handguns, hangings, and death. The hotel has seen worse days, but better ones too."
Run and catch. Run and catch. The lamb is caught in the blackberry patch.
Okay, Dru. Buffy really didn't need that sort of insight at the moment. She needed to figure out how to deal with this.
"It's not here, Buffy. We should try elsewhere," said the Watcher. Buffy agreed, turning to leave.
The body hung there from the rope. Gertrude's decaying body hung there, neck bent to the side and a sickening wide smile on her face. It took all of Buffy's inner strength to not scream in surprise. "Do you see her, Wesley?"
"Yes, I see her," said the Watcher. Which meant that unlike Spike, this wasn't a hallucination brought on by her lack of sanity. Wonderful. Dreams and screams and playing memes may make things obscene.
"Good to know," Buffy said.
Gertrude's arm crookedly raised, and the hanging woman pointed out of the room at an angle. Maybe she was trying to tell Buffy to get out, or maybe she was pointing Wesley and her the right direction. The problem was, Buffy had no real way of telling. It all boils down to trust. Does the ghost want you to die, or is the ghost repeating something it's done a thousand times before? Will you shoot the Watcher? Will you eat him?
Wesley backed out of the room, and Buffy followed.
"She pointed," Buffy said, as she started down the hallway.
"Do you always follow that sort of thing?"
"Well, we're here to find a demon-y thing, and the ghost lady is a part of it," Buffy said, making sure Wesley was following her. She carefully stepped over a piece of debris on the floor. "Assuming it's not a trap, this is the way we should be going. Even if it is a trap."
"Interesting," Wesley said. "You do not seem to have changed much from Merrick's diaries."
Buffy stopped suddenly and snatched a flying candelabra out of the air, spinning it in her hand. "Oh, I've changed quite a lot from then." She carefully displayed her fangs. "As you well know, Watcher-mine."
He's going to shoot you. Try to kill you. You embody that which he has been raised to hate. Snap his neck, leave him here. Feed upon him. You know that you must.
"Yes. Quite," said Wesley as she watched his trigger finger twitch. Guns. She never liked them as a human, but she could see the use of them then and now. Time and place for every weapon, and when dealing with Kindred, humans needed to be armed the best they could. Of course, dealing with demons was much the same… except when the demon was noncorporeal. It was obvious who he'd brought the gun to deal with. If he felt he needed it. Little sticks with shooting fire. Firewands of doom. Some spit fire slowly. Some spit fire rapidly.
Okay. Those were her voices. What was the other one? It tried to pass itself off as a thought of hers. Sure, she knew that Wesley was probably fighting every instinct he had to just kill the vampire and be done with it, but that didn't mean she needed to kill him. She definitely didn't want to kill him, and the only way she would do anything to the Watcher was if he was threatening her in some way. Even that wouldn't be killing.
"It knows we're here, I think," Buffy said. "Buzzing. It's buzzing. Like an annoying little bee that just needs to be smacked. We're new food to it. New and dangerous."
"And am I food to you?" Wesley asked, the tone of his voice slipping toward anger. "That you would drag me to this place. Take me some place secluded, wear the form of my Slayer and have the unmitigated gall to taunt me before killing me?"
Wesley cocked his shotgun, using the slide, and Buffy raised her hands.
"I have no intention of killing you, Wesley." Slowly, Buffy turned toward him. The Englishman aimed the barrel of his shotgun at Buffy, and she completely kept her hands visible. She placed the candelabra down lightly on a nearby counter. "My teeth will stay far away from your throat."
"So you say," Wesley said. His gun didn't even waver. Was he really unable to notice what was going on, or did he have his own motives? "You brought me here for a demon."
"You brought you here," Buffy said. "I just wanted an explain-y, and then you decided that you were all willing to go John Rambo and come with me."
"You are a vampire. I can't trust anything you say," said Wesley.
Buffy was tempted to close her eyes in frustration, but instead she took a careful step closer to the Watcher. "You're crowded. The nasty voices are telling you not to trust me. The demon is telling you not to trust me. Don't listen to it, Wesley."
"You're going to try and kill me. If I don't kill you first," said Wesley. Hooks into his mind like bait and a fish. Just need to tug and tug and release. Trust. Fun. Release his worry.
Buffy frowned. That one sounded a lot more personal to her, and with a slight blink, she realized there was something she could do. "I'm able to ignore it for a reason, Wesley. I can tell it isn't me or mine. It's just another voice. Telling you what it's telling me."
"I should kill you, monster," said Wesley. His trigger finger twitched again, as if he were trying to stop himself from shooting her. So that was why she hadn't had the scatter or slugs embedded in her. He couldn't bring himself to fire. Follow-through. It's all about follow-through. Just hold the clubs, wiggle your hips and swing. But remember to follow through.
"No," Buffy said, reaching within herself. The one way she could do this, force the influence away, would make her feel guilty. Still, she needed to do this, for Wesley's own sake. "You don't want to shoot me. You want to shoot the demon that's over there!"
Buffy pointed, and Wesley swiveled his gun, letting out a bout of laughter. He fired, shooting through a wall, and he fired again. "Oh, yes, die demons die…. DIE ALL DEMONS!"
"Bloody hell, Slayer," said Spike, his cigarette smell entering her nose. She couldn't see him at the moment. "I think you drove the man barmy."
Barmy. That… could work. Maybe.
The Hyperion Hotel, in her world, sat in the heart of Hollywood, but here, it was located directly on the ocean. It still had a California Spanish deco style, standing approximately six stories high. Several windows were boarded over on the first floor, and the windows of the fifth looked broken still. A chain-link fence with a "No Trespassing" sign wrapped around the hotel, keeping the way to the beach blocked.
Buffy stood just outside a sewer drain on the inside of the chain link fence, staring not at the hotel in front of her but at her soaked-in-sewage shoes. "We should have just come through the fence. I could climb it, break the lock."
"But then someone would suspect that we were here," said Wesley, chidingly. He might not have trusted her, but he was willing to work with her here. She supposed that was a good thing, even if there was the chance he'd be dead weight. Which, of course, was why he was the one carrying most of the weapons. To be dead weight or to be the rogue demon hunter. Hunters and Watchers and players and Slayers. The time has come.
"My shoes," Buffy said, and she shook her head. "These are my shoes."
And they were screaming obscenities about the sewage they'd had to go through, but Buffy felt that little tidbit would be a little much for the Watcher. Her left shoe had one heck of a vocabulary too. The right was just a copycat. Wait. That was silly. Shoes do not talk.
"Hush," she hissed at her shoes.
"Fuck off, lady, you try walking through that stuff." Buffy stomped her left foot down. "Ow!"
"What are you doing?" Wesley asked.
"Shutting up a problem," Buffy said. "Shall we go in, Watcher-man?"
Wesley just looked at her. She knew that he didn't trust her because of what she was, but at the same time, he needed her because of what else she was. Slayer. Vampire. Together, we make such beautiful pictures, Figura mea. I chose well.
"Very well," said Wesley after a minute. "You first."
"Ah, the grand old tradition of the Watchers," said Buffy. "Watching. Seeing. Being. One who watches. Not the One Who Sees, for that's someone else, but watching, that you can do."
"What?"
Buffy waved a hand, brushing him off. She didn't even know where some of that came from, but it rang true nonetheless. She led the way to the front door of the Hyperion. Strangely, there was no condemned notice on the building. She tried the door, jiggled it a little, and then pulled lightly.
"Locked." Buffy said. "It would seem that—" Buffy frowned, stopping her talking.
"Are you quite all right?" Wesley asked, clearly not super worried, other than perhaps wondering if the insane vampire was going to do something crazy. Which, to be fair to Wesley, she wasn't the bastion of sanity she once was. If she ever was that. Sanity is fleeting. When we must be meeting. Round the world and home again. That's the sailor's way. Faster faster, faster faster. There's no earthly way of knowing, which direction we are going. There's no knowing where we're rowing, or which way the river's flowing.
Buffy held up a hand. "Fine. Just… give me a minute. Mind's all wiggy and screwy. Need to focus."
Wesley pursed his lips. "Did your contact not give you a key to this place?"
Buffy snapped her fingers. "Damn. Knew I left something behind." She fell back into a loose stance. "Guess we'll be using alternative entry methods."
Breathing in and out with air she no longer needed, she spun around and delivered a full-strength kick to the door. Her foot slammed through the lock, splintering the door inwards and pulling it off its hinges. Slayer strength combined with vampire. Perhaps. If the Daughter of Janus had an issue with it, Buffy'd demonstrate one on her. Count the splinters. One. Two. They fit together as one, but come apart as two. Janus is light and dark. Creamy and crunchy. Salty and sweet. Dualities, Buffy.
"I suppose that is one way of handling things. Lead the way, Buffy," Wesley said, leveling the shotgun he'd brought with him. He didn't quite point it at her, but she knew that he'd just as easily shoot her as something else. She'd probably survive the first shot, but it'd be painful.
"Fine." Buffy stepped into the hotel, and a pressure settled over her senses. The lobby itself was fairly open. Chandeliers, broken ones, hung above a tiled floor that was beautiful once. The front desk looked as if someone had taken an axe and started chopping. Arches decorated every doorway, and stairs very visibly led up to the second level where rooms were. She remembered rooms being on the first floor too, but those were further back. The key thing here would be to explore, figure out where things happened, what things happened. She knew that the demon had caused many humans to die here. Many people to die here. People. Not kine. Kine or divine this time for mine.
Wesley stepped into the lobby after her, and despite his animosity, Buffy was glad that she wasn't going to be alone here with her own thoughts. Sure, Spike would probably have kept her company, but the company of a hallucinatory vampire wasn't exactly the best. Better than nothing, sure, but not the best. You will never be alone again, little one. We will always walk with you.
Wait. Was that a short joke? Did the voices in her head just make a short joke?
"It looks safe enough," said Wesley. "Dilapidated, sure, but nothing clearly demonic in origin. In the lobby, at least."
"That's why we have to look around, Wesley," Buffy said chidingly. "It's here somewhere."
Wesley glared at her as if to say that he knew already. Which made sense. Watchers knew a lot, but Buffy knew more than him here. She knew the layout of the hotel as she'd been to the Hyperion before, a few times. Admittedly, it was in her own mind… or maybe alternate universe. Whatever it was, she knew where to go to start searching.
The first-floor's hall should have been fully carpeted, but the carpets were old and decrepit, eaten away by time rather than wear. The wallpaper had yellowed, peeling off the walls as the glue too rotted away. Therese likely would do some renovations once she was sure everything was clear. Watch for flying saucers.
Wait. Were her voices talking about aliens now? Buffy took a few more steps down the hall. She started to turn to look at Wesley, but then she ducked down. A spinning vase slammed into a closed door and shattered. Underneath the vase was a simple small plate that had landed more or less intact. A saucer. Her voices had been literal. She let out a small laugh.
Wesley looked at her. "I believe I don't want to know."
"Maybe," she said. Flying saucer. She snorted again. "Let's try the room."
Wesley stepped aside, and she placed her hand on the door's handle. As she turned it to open the door to the hotel room, the walls around her changed. Lights came on, wallpaper became good as new, as did carpet. She opened the door to the room, and inside, she could see… she could see….
Gertrude dug through the suitcase. How dare he? How dare Milton do that to her? She knew what he was going to do, now that she knew. It was inevitable. He had that history. Violence wasn't uncommon for someone who came back from the War. Gertrude had tried to help him. How dare he spurn her for that Millicent?
Oh, she knew what she was going to do. She pulled out the stub-nosed revolver and brushed her short red hair out of her face. She knew what she needed to do. She'd make sure that Milton never had the chance to snub anyone else again. Never ever.
She heard the creaking of the door. It could only be one person. She aimed. She fired.
Buffy blinked, and the vision was gone, leaving only the room and a pair of bloodstains on the carpet and the queen-sized bed within. This room felt like it should have been locked. Locks are no bar to my call.
That… was different. The woman had been young, dressed in a flapper dress with a bonnet. Her hair had been the color of Willow's and she was so worried that someone named Millicent was stealing her man, that the man was cheating on her. Buffy remembered how she'd felt when Riley was going to vampires to be fed upon, and it wasn't half as bad as what she'd felt through Gertrude's eyes.
A frayed rope hung loosely from a rafter in the ceiling. No body sat below it, but lights flickered off and on for a second. The shadow of a woman hanging plastered itself on the wall. Buffy made a tsking sound and stepped into the room properly. It was cold enough that even she felt it.
"I say," Wesley said as he followed her in. "This Thesulac might not be the only issue the hotel has."
"Ghosts," Buffy agreed. "Victims taken by the paranoia. Shotguns, handguns, hangings, and death. The hotel has seen worse days, but better ones too."
Run and catch. Run and catch. The lamb is caught in the blackberry patch.
Okay, Dru. Buffy really didn't need that sort of insight at the moment. She needed to figure out how to deal with this.
"It's not here, Buffy. We should try elsewhere," said the Watcher. Buffy agreed, turning to leave.
The body hung there from the rope. Gertrude's decaying body hung there, neck bent to the side and a sickening wide smile on her face. It took all of Buffy's inner strength to not scream in surprise. "Do you see her, Wesley?"
"Yes, I see her," said the Watcher. Which meant that unlike Spike, this wasn't a hallucination brought on by her lack of sanity. Wonderful. Dreams and screams and playing memes may make things obscene.
"Good to know," Buffy said.
Gertrude's arm crookedly raised, and the hanging woman pointed out of the room at an angle. Maybe she was trying to tell Buffy to get out, or maybe she was pointing Wesley and her the right direction. The problem was, Buffy had no real way of telling. It all boils down to trust. Does the ghost want you to die, or is the ghost repeating something it's done a thousand times before? Will you shoot the Watcher? Will you eat him?
Wesley backed out of the room, and Buffy followed.
"She pointed," Buffy said, as she started down the hallway.
"Do you always follow that sort of thing?"
"Well, we're here to find a demon-y thing, and the ghost lady is a part of it," Buffy said, making sure Wesley was following her. She carefully stepped over a piece of debris on the floor. "Assuming it's not a trap, this is the way we should be going. Even if it is a trap."
"Interesting," Wesley said. "You do not seem to have changed much from Merrick's diaries."
Buffy stopped suddenly and snatched a flying candelabra out of the air, spinning it in her hand. "Oh, I've changed quite a lot from then." She carefully displayed her fangs. "As you well know, Watcher-mine."
He's going to shoot you. Try to kill you. You embody that which he has been raised to hate. Snap his neck, leave him here. Feed upon him. You know that you must.
"Yes. Quite," said Wesley as she watched his trigger finger twitch. Guns. She never liked them as a human, but she could see the use of them then and now. Time and place for every weapon, and when dealing with Kindred, humans needed to be armed the best they could. Of course, dealing with demons was much the same… except when the demon was noncorporeal. It was obvious who he'd brought the gun to deal with. If he felt he needed it. Little sticks with shooting fire. Firewands of doom. Some spit fire slowly. Some spit fire rapidly.
Okay. Those were her voices. What was the other one? It tried to pass itself off as a thought of hers. Sure, she knew that Wesley was probably fighting every instinct he had to just kill the vampire and be done with it, but that didn't mean she needed to kill him. She definitely didn't want to kill him, and the only way she would do anything to the Watcher was if he was threatening her in some way. Even that wouldn't be killing.
"It knows we're here, I think," Buffy said. "Buzzing. It's buzzing. Like an annoying little bee that just needs to be smacked. We're new food to it. New and dangerous."
"And am I food to you?" Wesley asked, the tone of his voice slipping toward anger. "That you would drag me to this place. Take me some place secluded, wear the form of my Slayer and have the unmitigated gall to taunt me before killing me?"
Wesley cocked his shotgun, using the slide, and Buffy raised her hands.
"I have no intention of killing you, Wesley." Slowly, Buffy turned toward him. The Englishman aimed the barrel of his shotgun at Buffy, and she completely kept her hands visible. She placed the candelabra down lightly on a nearby counter. "My teeth will stay far away from your throat."
"So you say," Wesley said. His gun didn't even waver. Was he really unable to notice what was going on, or did he have his own motives? "You brought me here for a demon."
"You brought you here," Buffy said. "I just wanted an explain-y, and then you decided that you were all willing to go John Rambo and come with me."
"You are a vampire. I can't trust anything you say," said Wesley.
Buffy was tempted to close her eyes in frustration, but instead she took a careful step closer to the Watcher. "You're crowded. The nasty voices are telling you not to trust me. The demon is telling you not to trust me. Don't listen to it, Wesley."
"You're going to try and kill me. If I don't kill you first," said Wesley. Hooks into his mind like bait and a fish. Just need to tug and tug and release. Trust. Fun. Release his worry.
Buffy frowned. That one sounded a lot more personal to her, and with a slight blink, she realized there was something she could do. "I'm able to ignore it for a reason, Wesley. I can tell it isn't me or mine. It's just another voice. Telling you what it's telling me."
"I should kill you, monster," said Wesley. His trigger finger twitched again, as if he were trying to stop himself from shooting her. So that was why she hadn't had the scatter or slugs embedded in her. He couldn't bring himself to fire. Follow-through. It's all about follow-through. Just hold the clubs, wiggle your hips and swing. But remember to follow through.
"No," Buffy said, reaching within herself. The one way she could do this, force the influence away, would make her feel guilty. Still, she needed to do this, for Wesley's own sake. "You don't want to shoot me. You want to shoot the demon that's over there!"
Buffy pointed, and Wesley swiveled his gun, letting out a bout of laughter. He fired, shooting through a wall, and he fired again. "Oh, yes, die demons die…. DIE ALL DEMONS!"
"Bloody hell, Slayer," said Spike, his cigarette smell entering her nose. She couldn't see him at the moment. "I think you drove the man barmy."
Barmy. That… could work. Maybe.
esotericist
A Weary Hand
- Location
- Lacey, WA
Oh, a lovely surprise.
LAWL
Yes, that's right. Put your foot down on the shoes meant to walk the walk, not talk the talk.
Man, fuck the kitchen. Just for the record. Worst part of the whole damnably damned place.
WAIT. waitwaitwaitywait. Is Wesley going to be Heather?
... I hope not, because I while I think his skinny ass could fit in one of her outfits, it definitely wouldn't suit him.
LAWL
Yes, that's right. Put your foot down on the shoes meant to walk the walk, not talk the talk.
Man, fuck the kitchen. Just for the record. Worst part of the whole damnably damned place.
WAIT. waitwaitwaitywait. Is Wesley going to be Heather?
... I hope not, because I while I think his skinny ass could fit in one of her outfits, it definitely wouldn't suit him.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
The worst part for me was that stupid elevator shaft. Ended up having to cheat my way past it.
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
It wasn't that bad. Killed me the first time, but I made it through on the second pretty easily. Just sprint through.
The worst part of the game was the timed puzzle in the sewers, I was literally too slow to make it and had to google a solution. It turned out I could barely do it using Blood Buff (I didn't realize your Dexterity had a small effect on your running speed until this point).
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Timed puzzle? I never noticed any.