ftp.xmission.com/2014.06.ftp.xmission.com.tar/ftp.xmission.com/pub/lists/buffyfic/archive/v01.n038

Internet Message Format | 1997-10-12 | 40KB

From: [e-mail] (buffyfic Digest)
To: [e-mail]
Subject: buffyfic Digest V1 #38
Reply-To: [e-mail]
Sender: [e-mail]
Errors-To: [e-mail]
Precedence:


buffyfic Digest        Monday, October 13 1997        Volume 01 : Number 038



In this issue:

    BUFFYFIC: ADMIN:  List rules
    BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (1/6)
    BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (4/6)
    BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (2/6)

See the end of the digest for information on subscribing to the buffyfic
or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Mon, 13 Oct 1997 09:49:47 -0400
From: sah <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: ADMIN:  List rules

Welcome!  This list is for fiction related to "Buffy The Vampire
Slayer," both the TV series and the movie.  To ensure that we all get
to enjoy as much fiction as possible, please adhere to the following
guidelines, and please save them for future reference.

1. Fiction should have Buffy characters in it and clearly be related
to Buffy.  Crossovers are great, and expected, but general
vampire/monster stories that aren't in the Buffy universe and don't
use Buffy characters belong somewhere else.

2. Discussion of posted fiction is permitted onlist.  Please put
"DISCUSS" in your subject line.  Requests for missing story parts
should go directly to the author, and not be posted to the list.

Discussion that is not related directly to the fiction should go over
to the general Buffy list.  Discussion of fiction is expected to
follow common netiquette guidelines and use PG-13 language.

3. No advertising of <any> items or services, Buffy related or not,
and no posting of non-story items such as .gifs, sound files, etc..
No attached files of <any> kind-- if your mailer makes your fiction
into attached files, you need to find another way to get it to the list.

4. If you're writing a story and including advance information on a
new episode, and you're posting your story earlier than the national
viewing time, please:

     **Mark the post as a "spoiler" in the subject header.
     **Leave about twelve lines (blank or with non-spoiler info) at
          the top of the post.

This ensures that anyone who doesn't like knowing about an episode
ahead of time is "protected."  :)   The blank space is for people whose
mailers automatically open up the next piece of mail, without giving
them a chance to see "spoiler" in the header.

Spoiler warnings are not necessary after the start of the episode's
national viewing time, which is currently set at 9 p.m. Mondays,
Eastern Standard Time.  Spoiler warnings are not necessary for reruns.

5.  This list is absolutely NOT for erotic fiction.  <Nothing> stronger
than sexually PG-13 material is to be posted to the list under any
circumstances.  A story may be R rated for violence or language, however.

If you have a question about something's suitability for posting, feel
free to ask one of the listowners.  Sending sexually explicit material
will get you immediately and permanently uns*bscribed.  No exceptions.

6.  By subscribing and/or posting to this list, you acknowledge that
Buffy the Vampire slayer and all characters associated with either
the televised series or the motion picture were created by Josh Whedon
and are owned by Mutant Enemy productions, Kuzui Productions,
Sandollar Productions, and 20th Century Fox.  All stories posted to
this list are for entertainment purposes only, are not sold for profit
of any kind, and are not intended to infringe on any copyrights.

7.  When posting stories to the list, please follow the following
formatting guidelines
- --No story parts longer than 250 lines
- --No lines longer than 75 characters
- --Turn off your "smart quotes"-- many readers receive these as garbage
or weird symbols
- --Put the title of the story in the subject header, indicate if it's a
multipart story, and if so what part this is.  Example:   Buffy Meets
Godzilla (2/65) indicates that this post is part two of a 65 part story.

8. If a story is rated "R" for language/violence, indicate this in an
introduction.  For example, "There's a really bloody fight scene at
the end of this part" or "if you don't like dismemberment, stop
reading now!"  If there's <any> chance that someone might be disturbed
by something in your story (even if it's not rated R) please include
some kind of warning up front.

9.  And last, but not least, the listowners reserve the right to deny
subscription (new, renewed, or continued) to the list for any
individual(s).

PLEASE NOTE:  not following any or all of these rules will get you
the following:

**First offense:  offender is uns*bscribed for one week.
**Second offense:  offender is uns*bscribed to the Buffyfic list for a
minimum of three months.
**If the offender returns and does it again, they're offlist
permanently.

As noted above, posting sexually explicit material is the exception --
you go straight to permanent unsubbing.

Again, welcome!  If  you have any questions about these rules, please
contact either one of us offlist.  If you have subscription problems or
questions, the fastest way to get h*lp is to e-mail one of us at the
addresses below, <not> at the [e-mail] addy which is the
"official" e-mail owner of the list.

Jill Kirby ([e-mail])
 &
Sharon Himmanen ([e-mail])
Listowners, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fiction List
[e-mail]

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 13 Oct 1997 19:17:02, -0500
From: [e-mail] (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR)
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (1/6)

Author's Notes:

        Due to popular demand (and a mental breakdown on my part) here's
the Ms. Calendar version of "Prophecy Girl", with extra dialogue and
scenes we didn't see onscreen--including what happened at Spring Fling.
As per usual, I'm not making money off this, the characters and Sunnydale
belong to Joss Whedon the Insane, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Sandstar,
Warner Bros., and this is intended in the purest spirit of admiration to
the show.

TYK's to Cath for making me think about another story until this one
untangled itself, Perri & Dianne & Lizbet for beta'ing, and Perri for the
opening idea. I can never write 'til I can find the first line.... and one
last thank-you-kindly to the Sunnydale Slayers, who saw it first.

        Comments desired, wanted, needed, at [e-mail]

"Shadow of an Apocalypse"
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1997

        The e-mail sat there and glared at me.

  > Subject: Prophecy's fulfillment
  >    Date: Thurs, 14 May 1997 05:37:00 -9:00 (PST)
  >      To: List (see attached)
  >    From: Brother Luca <[e-mail]>
  >
  > Time is speeding. The Chosen One must be warned; the Anointed One is
  > already preparing Himself. All signs indicate that Aurelius's Doom
  > has already come to pass, and we are all in danger!
  >
  > Perhaps all we can do is ready ourselves for the inevitable.... If
  > anyone has news of the fulfillment of this prediction, any tidings at
  > all, please inform as soon as possible.
  >
  > Yours in hope,
  >
  > Brother Luca
  > Abbey of St. Anselmo
  > Cortona, Italia
  > [e-mail]

        "Cheerful." Sunlight shone into my bedroom, illuminating the books
that had spilled onto the floor during the previous night's earthquake,
and the stain next to my bedstand that came from keeping a cup of coffee
there, ready to mainline two seconds after I wake up.  I made a face at
the computer screen, wishing I could laugh at the e-mail that Cameo had
forwarded to me (as had five other people) before she left town. But it was
only the capper on what had been a steadily growing string of not-so-subtle
hints from the Beyond. Sunnydale was heading for another catastrophic
spiritual car wreck, and I was stuck dealing with it alone. Again.

        Cami had taken off for the Mojave the night before, along with
several of my other fellow local Pagans. The coming weekend was supposed to
be a pretty significant astronomical convergence, and they'd wanted a good
view of the proceedings from out in the desert.

        I'd have loved to have gone with them, but I'd gotten roped into
agreeing to chaperone the high school Spring Fling because I hadn't
ducked out of the Teachers' Lounge fast enough. "Ms. Calendar. I believe
you have yet to act as an Student Event Supporting Participant this
year," had been Principal Snyder's exact words, and while I was busy
going "hunh?" he'd grinned sadistically and clarified, "Chaperone. Be
sure to wear something appropriate to the upcoming dance, won't you?
You don't have to provide your own escort, of course.  I'm sure Coach
Galway will be happy to accompany you, since he is going to act as your
partner," then breezed out before I could do more than gape at him, too
stunned to find a comeback that wouldn't get me fired. //The day I
attend a dance with Galway the Insane is the day I sign up for the
Psychic Friends Network! Or better yet, go to work for them!//

        So instead of camping in the clean air and quiet, I was going to
have to face hordes of teenage pretensions and hormones, not to mention a
possible Apocalypse. On the same night. //Then again, it's not like there's

much difference between your average Prom and the end of the world as we
know it....//

        Reams of information, weird happenings, vague warnings, and I still
didn't know *what* to expect, though. It was going to happen soon, maybe
even within the next few days---but what was it? What kind of Armageddon
was the world facing? And what could I possibly do about it?

        I stuck out my tongue at Henry V, then groaned, knowing what was
coming next and dreading it. //Time to bite the bullet, Nikki. You've been
putting it off long enough. You don't have any more options. If you want
to know what's going on...//

        I was going to have to corner Snobby and try to get him to share
info.

        It would be like pulling teeth. Worse. Pulling a secured file from
the I.R.S. databanks would be easier than getting the truth out of Rupert
Giles, close-mouthed Brit librarian and weirdness expert. He'd try to avoid

the questions, I'd try to pin him down, we'd get into an argument, insults
would be hurled, and I *still* might not know any more than I had to
begin with. I cursed under my breath, pulling on my work clothes and
gathering together my files with a bad attitude toward the day already.

        The attitude didn't get any better when I realized I was putting on
lipstick at the stoplight.

        Some women wear makeup to conceal flaws, or exploit assets; some
wear it to turn themselves into strangers.  But when I wear makeup---and I
mean more than the bare minimum, because eyeliner and mascara and lipstick
don't come naturally to me---it's warpaint. Going into a situation where I
want some armor, or to at least know that I look my most fabulous even if
I'm screwing up, I pull out the blush and the pencils.  When I'm feeling
especially edgy I start putting on lipstick before I even know what I'm
doing. Early conditioning is a pain, sometimes.

        He shouldn't be able to do this to me.

        You would think---if life were simple, and logical---that after
sharing an uncommonly weird experience such as exorcising a demonic entity
from cyberspace, that two people would become friends. Bond, or something.

It wasn't as if Rupert and I couldn't be civil, given a chance. We'd even
run interference for each other a couple times since the Moloch incident,
especially when Snyder had been on the warpath about some new brilliant bit

of administrivia.

        But I still hadn't gotten a decent explanation out of Rupert about
the source of his arcane knowledge. In fact, he'd avoided discussing
anything slightly paranormal with me with the same determination that he
avoided learning more than was absolutely required about the computers in
the library.  Which didn't mean we hadn't had a couple of
knock-down-drag-out arguments about various interpretations of the rules of

magic, paganism, and the uses of computers.  Rupert Giles is no more of a
pushover than I am, despite the stutter and that bone-deep politeness.

        Maybe that's why I respect him. And why being deliberately shut out
of something that meant as much to him as it did to me hurt a little bit.
The man had some direct pipeline to occult answers and he had no intention
of sharing it.  I *knew* that another bizarre incident had happened two
weeks before---the nightmares I had for three days straight _couldn't_ have
been ordinary, and more than one of my friends had the same kinds of
nocturnal terrors at that time. I could feel in my gut that Rupert knew
what the cause was; but when I called him on it later, he refused to
discuss it. Refused, as in "leave it alone, you're better off not knowing,
Calendar" a statement which made me furious at his presumption and sparked
a frigid silence between us broken only by chilly exchanges of courtesy.

        It was time to set all that aside, though. Holding a grudge while
the end of the world was approaching could only be classified as
major-league suicidal idiocy, at least if I wanted to do anything to
prevent it.

        The first chance I had, I headed for Rupert's private sanctuary,
hoping to beard the librarian in his den.  The library was a wreck after
the earthquake, with shelves collapsed against each other, books
everywhere, and major cracks climbing up the walls and threading across the
floor.  //Poor Snobby. His first earthquake in California, and it has to be
a 5.5 with an epicenter in Sunnydale....//

        Rupert was on phone when I walked in, looking as wrecked as his
surroundings. The usually meticulous Brit had loosened his tie, unbuttoned
and rolled up his sleeves, opened his shirt neck, and his hair was standing
on end; he was rumpled, crumpled, spindled, folded... and tired, if I was
any judge. Possibly even scared? The last quality kept me from knocking on
the door and warning him that I was there, as I took a second just to study
him while he held an intense conversation on the phone, oblivious to my
presence.

        "I-I need to see you... No, I realize that... Come after sundown.
Good.... I'll see you then." Giles hung up the phone with a click, then
just sat there, utterly still, his face drawn with weariness while I tried
to guess what could make him look that unhappy and tense. The last time it
had been that bad... I pushed memories of Moloch away and spoke up, causing
Rupert to jolt with alarm even though I kept my voice level and
non-threatening.

        "You know, that outfit looks just like the one you wore
yesterday. Only wrinklier. Were you here all night?" I asked, sounding more
concerned than I'd meant to.

        "Sorry, uh... I'm not really up to socializing just now." The
abruptness of his statement was backed up by the rough edge to his
accent---but I couldn't give him a break because of one night's lack of
sleep.

        "Something's going on, Rupert, and I'm guessing you already know
what it is." I walked into his private office and he stood up, his body
language becoming even more guarded and wary than before.

        "What do you know?" From his taut expression, Snobby hadn't
believed for an instant that I was talking about school business, or one of
the students, or life in general. //At least we're skipping the denial part
of this discussion... That's encouraging.//

        "Well, I have been surfing the Net, looking for unexplained
incidences. You know people are always sending stuff my way, they know the
occult's my turf. Here is the latest." I sorted through the folders of
clippings and print-outs I'd brought along, then cleared my throat and
started reading articles at random. Rupert paced around the office, head
down, avoiding my eyes.

        "A cat last week gave birth to a litter of snakes." The Brit
continued to pace, not reacting with either the fear or denial that would
have been any other person's response. His face showed no change from the
pinched weariness I'd come in on. "A family was swimming in Whisper Lake
when the lake began to boil. And Mercy Hospital last night, a boy was born
with his eyes facing inward." I put the file down, and kept my voice steady
and low with an effort. "I'm not stupid. This is Apocalypse stuff. Throw in
last night's earthquake and I'd say the end is pretty seriously nigh."

        "I don't know if I can trust you." Doubt and hope seemed to be
having it out in Rupert's mind, and I couldn't tell which one was going to
win. So I pushed, not willing to be brushed aside like I'd been two weeks
before. And not willing to leave Snobby alone in another situation like
Moloch's return, no matter what.

        "I helped you cast that demon out of the Internet. I'd think that
merits *some* trust." Giles nodded apologetically to me, his eyes
reflecting tired agreement behind his glasses. "Look, I'm scared, okay?
Plus, I've got this crazy monk emailing me from Cortona about some Anointed
One---"

        "The Anointed One?" His voice rose with the first shock he'd shown
since I walked in. "He's dead!"

        "Someone's dead?"

        Rupert took off his glasses, obviously impatient, wrinkling his
brow as if he had a headache. "Who is this monk?"

        "A Brother Luca... something? Keeps sending out global mailings
about a prophecy---" //Not good. This is not good. What's going on---//

        "I need you to talk to him, find out all he knows---" Giles was
finally focusing on the here-and-now, but that wasn't any help when I had
no idea why.

        "Look Rupert, you haven't told me jack, so what's with the orders?"

        "Just do it!" I'd forgotten how scary Snobby could be when he got
intense; the whip-edge to his voice softened from an urgent command to
apology as his eyes pleaded.  "I'll... explain, later."

        "You'd better," I said grimly. //I'll cut you some slack for now...
but I'm not letting you off the hook indefinitely.// I gathered my folders
together and stalked out of the library before I could say something
regrettable. //Find Brother Luca, get some answers from him, give 'em to
Snobby, and I'll finally find out what's up. It better be worth it....//
Of course, if it wasn't worth it, then maybe there wouldn't be an
Apocalypse. Maybe the worst I'd have to deal with on Saturday night would
be avoiding Coach Galway and being bored out of my mind at the Spring
Fling. //Right, Nikki. You should be so lucky.//

*

Comments to [e-mail]         Christina       }|{

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 13 Oct 1997 19:21:03, -0500
From: [e-mail] (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR)
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (4/6)

For disclaimers, see part 1. Comments hoped for! at [e-mail]

"Shadow of an Apocalypse" (4/6)
by Christina Kamnikar
copyright 1997


        Giles was still out cold when the phone rang. I dithered for a
second, then answered it, trying to put a smile in my voice, hoping it
wasn't another crisis. //Please, let it be someone trying to renew a
book...// "Sunnydale Library."

        "Miss Calender?" It was a teenage voice, a familiar one I couldn't
put a face to, sounding surprised.

        I frowned. "Yes, this is Miss Calender. Who is this?"

        "Uhhh... this is Xander Harris." I blinked, then placed him
finally---Willow and Buffy's friend, the one who had been involved during
the Moloch nightmare. //How much do you know, kid?// I wondered. "I was
looking for Mr. Giles? Could I talk to him?"

        "Not at the moment, Xander. He's sort of..." I looked down at
Rupert, who was murmuring and starting to come around, and I kneeled next
to him, placing an icepack on his jaw as he blinked up at me. "Not feeling
well. Could I take a message?"

        "Not feeling well," the teen repeated, his voice getting tighter.
"But he's alive, right?"

        //That answers *that* question.// "He's just a little indisposed.
He's fine, really---"

        "Is Buffy there?" Xander demanded, increasing my discomfort with
the situation.

        "Noooo," I said slowly, supporting Snobby as he struggled into a
sitting position. He groaned in pain, looking around for his glasses, and I
hissed at him, "Lie back down, Rupert. You're going to hurt yourself---"

        "Listen, I called because Willow was really worried about Buffy,"
Xander was saying, sounding like someone trying to remain calm when he
wants to yell. "She came over to see Will after she saw the evening news,
and she was acting funny. Something's going on, isn't it? Something big?"

        "I can't tell you that---"

        "What do you mean, you can't tell me? Let me talk to Giles," he
demanded, and then Snobby snaked the receiver out of my grasp.

        "I'm perfectly fine, Xander," he said wearily, leaning back against
the book returns cabinet. "Buffy? Ermm... No, no, you shouldn't come
here... Xander, no, I don't want--- damn." He glared at the phone, then
hung it up. "Damn the boy. I didn't want them involved," Rupert snarled at
me, then closed his eyes in pain.

        "I guessed that. Hang on to me, I'll get you to the chair. And put
this on your jaw, I think it's already starting to swell." I half-dragged,
half-supported him as he staggered over to one of the chairs, then let him
collapse for a few seconds. "They know everything, don't they? Xander and
Willow?"

        Rupert blinked fuzzily, sighed and mumbled, "Yes. Since Buffy first
arrived. She saved them from a rather ugly situation her first week here."

        "Oh, great." I crossed my arms and glared at him. "How are we going
to protect them if they show up? They should stay home---"

        "Which is why I didn't want them to know about this... I'm afraid
we won't be able to. Xander is headstrong enough to insist on a course of
action that could put him in danger, and Willow may refuse to be left
behind, no matter how much she may wish to hide." Giles looked older and
tireder, his face open and defenseless without his lenses on, defeat
slumping his shoulders as he regarded me.  He readjusted the icepack,
stifling a groan. "If we all stay together here, we may be able to do
so...." His voice trailed off and his eyes looked distant and sad. Thinking
of Buffy, probably. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he murmured huskily.
"She's too young. Even for a Slayer, she's too young to die."

        "You tried," I whispered, knowing it wasn't any comfort. "She knew
what she was doing when she left..." I sat down next to him, suddenly
feeling exhausted. "She said," I cleared my throat. "'Make up something
cool, tell him I said it.' And that she was hoping to take him with her,
if...." I broke off, unwilling to say it.

        "Of course," Rupert responded, trying to be brisk, trying to smile.
Neither effort worked very well. I wanted to hold his hand, to tell him it
would be okay, but I couldn't. Even if we averted the apocalypse, Buffy
might not survive. And that would be one loss too many right there.

        That was how Xander and Willow found us a few minutes later.
"Giles! You got hurt!" were the first words out of her mouth, along with an
uncertain look at me. "Are you okay?"

        "Almost. Buffy pulled her punch," Giles said, avoiding both of
their eyes.

        "*Buffy* did this?" Xander looked aghast, then grim. "Awright.
Enough already. Spill it, Giles, what's going on? Why did those guys die in
the A/V room this morning?"

        "I wish I didn't have to tell you. You should have stayed out of
it. Both of you," Rupert said, looking pointedly at Willow, then at Xander,
raising his eyebrows. The boy just rolled his eyes and made a face behind
Willow's back. Clearly, there was no way Xander could have stopped her from
coming along, despite the shock she'd had that morning.

        "I'm not staying out of it." Willow's chin looked like it wanted to
quiver, but she crossed her arms stubbornly, her eyes remaining on the
librarian's face. "I need to know why... that happened, in the A/V room."

        "There is a prophecy," Rupert shifted in his chair, and closed his
eyes, "that the Master will be freed tonight. Buffy and I... disagreed
about something, yesterday. I wasn't certain that letting her face him
would be a good idea.  Therefore, I was preparing to go in search of him
this evening."

        "Are you *whacked*?" Xander asked, his voice rising dangerously. I
stared, totally unprepared for his response. Evidently, Buffy wasn't the
only one who felt comfortable treating Giles casually. "That's insane! He'd
kill you!"

        "Perhaps he would! But the prophecy also stated that if the Master
rose, the Slayer would most certainly die!" Snobby was reaching the end of
his tether, and then he pulled back abruptly, reasserting control over
himself as he saw Willow's white, stunned expression. "Which was why we...
disagreed." He closed his eyes again, pulling in on himself.

        "So, where _is_ she?"

        Giles wasn't looking at me, his eyes closed in pain, either
emotional or physical, but I knew that he wouldn't be able to say it. So I
told them, since someone had to. Keeping my voice steady, I said, "She went
to find the Master."

        Xander whirled around, shocked, his eyes wide. "She *what*?"

        "I _told_ you there was something going on with her...." Willow's
voice was sad and plaintive as she perched on the reading table.

        The other teen turned to Snobby, demanding, "And she knew about
this prophecy of yours?"  Rupert gave a short, pained nod, and Xander
groaned.  "Oh man, what do we do?"

        "We stay calm, firstly," Giles cautioned, adjusting the icebag on
his jaw.

        "Calm?!"

        "I think he's right." Willow was biting her lip, obviously scared
but trying not to make the situation any worse.

        Which equally obviously wasn't one of her friend's concerns. "I'm
sorry, calm may work for Locutus of the Borg here, but I'm freaked and I
intend to stay that way!" Xander snapped, pacing around the library table.
Rupert didn't react to the insult... possibly because he didn't understand
it, I realized. He was starting to come out of his funk, looking hurt and
confused but more aware now.

        "Xander...." Willow pleaded.

        He ignored her, turning back to the Brit, his expression full of
accusation. "How could you let her go?"

        "As the soon-to-be-purple area on my jaw will attest, I did not
*let* her go!" Rupert snapped back, but with more restraint than Xander
deserved, in my opinion.

        Willow, typically, didn't succumb to the atmosphere of growing
annoyance and pulled the conversation back on track.  "Well, how can we
help her?"

        "Ah, I'm sorry to bring this up, but we also have an apocalypse to
worry about..." I said, hoping we could start concentrating on what we
could do to avert the approaching catastrophes, instead of who was to blame
for the prophecy coming to pass.

        Xander glared at me with disbelief and irritation, and then drawled
out, "Do you mind?" I was still gaping at this put-down when Willow spoke
up.

        "How come *she's* in the club?" She asked Rupert, sounding confused
and defensive, which pricked my ego and then put _me_ on the defensive.
Evidently it wasn't enough for them that Rupert had clued me in; the wary,
distrustful looks I was getting gave me the impression that as far as
vampire-slaying was concerned, they thought of me as a newbie amateur,
while they were pros.   It didn't help that I was feeling left out, and
that both Xander and Willow seemed much more at ease with the situation
than I did. //They've had more time to get used to it---but damn, I wish I
was handling this better....//

        "Hey! Once the Hellmouth opens, the demons come to party, and
_everybody_ dies,"  I said sharply. I wasn't willing to give up yet, just
because Buffy had gone to face the Master.  There _had_ to be another way
around this, and maybe a way to save Buffy in the process---

        "I don't care," Xander stated in a flat voice. I stared at him
disbelievingly, anger rising as he unflinchingly met my eyes and then
repeated, "I'm sorry, I don't.  Right now I've got to help Buffy." The
certainty in his stance threw me, stopping me from putting forth any of the
obvious objections. Xander wasn't treating me as an adult, or a teacher,
and he wasn't acting like a kid.  The same eerily grown-up quality that
Buffy had was working through him too, and an expression of resolve that I
never could have imagined had settled on his face.

        //You're in love with Buffy,// I thought abruptly, glancing at
Willow's averted face. She knew, I realized. She knew how he felt about her
friend. //Xander, you're crazy, you can't go after her---// I didn't say
it. He didn't look crazy; he looked just a little bit scary, and I wondered
if this was something that had always been inside of him, or something he'd
learned through association with Buffy and Giles.

        "We don't even know where she's gone," Rupert protested, wincing
slightly.

        Xander's jaw hardened, and he turned and strode for the exit. "No,
but I can find out," he threw over his shoulder without looking back.

        "*What*?" I looked around at the other two, Willow watching Xander
leave with hurt, scared eyes, and Giles getting to his feet, his teeth
gritted in pain. "Aren't we going to stop him?"

        "How?" Rupert asked baldly, throwing the icebag down on the table,
letting out a breath of annoyance. "If he think he can help, perhaps he
can. Xander can be very clever when he's... motivated. In any event,
nothing short of cracking _him_ on the jaw will stop him now." He blinked
several times, then firmly put his glasses back on. "Enough. You're quite
right, Calender. We have to avert the opening of the Hellmouth. If we can
do that---and if Xander can buy us some time---"

        "Maybe all isn't lost?" I suggested softly.

        "Yes." He gave a tight nod, not meeting my eyes for a moment. "We
can, at least, give them a good showing. If the two of you are with me?"
Rupert glanced at Willow, who nodded shakily, then he smiled grimly at me.
"Let us proceed, then...."

*

Christina   [e-mail]

Comments?

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 13 Oct 1997 19:22:10, -0500
From: [e-mail] (MS CHRISTINA L KAMNIKAR)
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Shadow of an Apocalypse (2/6)

For disclaimers, see Part 1.  Comments appreciated at [e-mail]

"Shadow of an Apocalypse" (2/6)
by Christina Kamnikar
Copyright 1997

        Four A.M.

        I was still wide awake. I didn't want to sleep. But the later I
stayed up, the more I wished I'd gone with Cami to the Mojave.

        What was I trying to prove, anyway?

        The Net was quiet--- ominously, so, after weeks of warnings and
intensifying strangeness.  I hadn't been able to track down Brother Luca
yet, either.  What time was it in Italy; around noon? Another hour, maybe,
and then I'd go to bed. That would give the good brother enough time to get
done with lunch, or compline, or whatever, and answer my queries.

        _If_ he answered them.

        I stared at Henry V blankly as I automatically surfed from site to
site, not really registering the places I was visiting, preoccupied with
the possibilities that Rupert had staunchly refused to  clear up.  Why
couldn't he have been more specific? Why wouldn't he just *tell* me what
was going on? Okay, I knew the answer to that one, he'd come right out and
said it: he didn't entirely trust me.  Which was unfair. // Did he think
I'd share the news of what was coming with CNN? He should know better. He
should know by now that I take the supernatural as seriously as he does. He
should know I wouldn't do anything reckless or stupid.//

        It was quiet, except for Henry's hum as he did another search on
the phrase "Anointed One"; dark in my bedroom, except for the tensor lamp
above the printer and the moonlight leaking through the window.  I sipped
my cup of cooling coffee and finally admitted my worst fear: that nothing
_could_ be done, that Rupert was trying to shield me or to give me
something to keep me occupied and sane while our time ran out.

        I didn't really believe that, though. Giles's desperation when I
mentioned the prophecy to him had been too real, his focus too narrow for
him to have been concocting a wild goose chase for my sake.  Which still
didn't mean I could help. Or that Rupert could do anthing about it either,
even if I finally got the information he wanted.

        //Maybe there's nothing either of us - any of us - can do.// The
prophecies coming over the lines for the last few days had been so
doom-laden and vague--- //Face it, we could all be dead, or worse, before
you have a clue why.//  Horrible thought. I tried to push it away, but it
kept coming back, like the nightmares from two weeks before.

        I believe in Powers that a lot of people laugh at or fear without
reason.  I know that the Divine is real, and present, because I can feel it
inside of me, and sometimes see it in cyberspace, on sites set up for
freedom of speech, or to aid the public, or in the way people reach out to
strangers, welcoming them into a new world.  But I'm not psychic or gifted
with any extraordinary powers, and I don't have access to the kind of
knowledge that can be used to fight avatars of the Dark on their own terms.
 What did I think I could accomplish, searching the Net for something I
might not recognize if I found it?

        The digital clock on my bedstand read 5:24 AM.  Nothing had arrived
from Brother Luca. Sunlight was trying to filter its way through my blinds.

        Have you ever stayed up to see the sun rise, just to be sure that
it would? It was like that.... I still didn't have any answers. But for no
rational reason, the despair I'd been fighting lightened enough to let me
crawl under the covers and set the alarm for six hours.  Hopefully, mail
from the mad monk would be waiting for me when I regained consciousness.
Then I could confront Snobby with the Wicked Witch's broom he'd sent me off
to find; and he'd have to tell me the truth.

        If there was no way to avert the end, I wanted to know about it.
There were a lot of things I wanted to do before I died.  But if there was
a way--- it might be a losing fight, but I'd prefer to go down battling.

        Might as well die doing something I loved.

        >       <       >       <       >       @

        The buzzer sounded on my alarm clock, jarring me awake with a
curse. My head ached. I stumbled over to the computer and checked my e-mail
two seconds later.

        Nothing.

        Okay, it wasn't nothing. There was an ad from hottgirls.com,
inviting me to tour their website of male and female hard bodies; two notes
from friends who'd just discovered the web and wanted to tell me how much
fun they were having; and various articles forwarded to me from around the
globe, confirming that yes, the end was getting too close for comfort. But
nothing from Brother Luca.

        Disappointed didn't cover it; I was starting to get panicky.
//Hate waiting, hate feeling helpless, useless....// Ruthlessly, I sat on
the anxiety clawing at my insides and forced myself to do normal things:
eat lunch, take a shower, get dressed in "appropriate" chaperone attire for
the evening's Spring Fling.  Until I knew otherwise, life was going on, and
I couldn't ignore it yet.

        Feeling human, although still far too keyed-up,  I spent the
afternoon e-mailing and searching, hoping for some electronic crumb of
information about Brother Luca. All the indications were that he'd
disappeared from the Net, and the outer world too; no one knew where he
was. Not his account administrator, not his abbey, not even the Papal
Legate's office.

        Finally, around five or so, one last global post from him dropped
into my mailbox, from a public access terminal in Rome.

        TO:     List (see attached)
      FROM:     Brother Luca ([e-mail]@rome.IT)
      DATE:     Saturday, May 17, 1997 23:59:32:00 (-9)
        RE:     Prophecy Context

       > To all who hope: Isaiah 11:6. The time is now.
       >
       > God help and bless the Chosen One.  Pray this is enough.
       >
       > Yours in the Light
       >
       > Brother Luca


        Grinning in relief, I dialed Rupert's home number, sure he would be
poring over his "volumes" in search of what Brother Luca had shared with me
on-line.  I hastily yanked down my copy of the King James Bible while the
phone rang in my ear, flipping through to look up the pertinent quote.
//Hmmmmm... out of context, I'd say that sounds even odder than usual...//

        "Giles here," sounded abruptly in my ear as I fumbled with the
receiver. Rupert seemed more stressed than the day before, and I again
wondered how he was sleeping lately.

        "Rupert? It's me. I'm coming over there, I found something I have
to show you---"

        "Ms. Calender, have you seen the news?" Stressed wasn't the right
word, really; Snobby sounded grim, which stopped my babbling and made my
stomach tighten in anticipation before I even processed his words.

        "Um, no, should I have?"

        "You might want to sit down...."

        "Tell me." My throat had gone dry at those words; it was too much
like he'd sounded when he'd told me that Dave was dead, strangled and
hanged on Moloch's orders.

        This was worse.

        "Four students were found dead in the school's A/V room this
morning.  I'm afraid Willow---"

        "_No_!" //No, not again, not Willow---//

        "No, no, I meant---forgive me. Willow is fine, fine." He sighed,
bleakness seeping into his voice as he went on. "As fine as anyone can be,
who just found the exsanguinated corpses of her classmates a few hours ago.
She and Cordelia Chase were the first on the scene, and it was---
disturbing, especially for someone of Willow's sensitivity. And Cordelia
evidently knew one of the boys well...."

        "Oh my Goddess." //Four...// "We have to *do* something! We have to
stop this, somehow, there has to be---"

        "I quite agree." The quiet rage in his voice echoed the sick, angry
plunge my stomach took when he imparted the news. He gave me a minute to
recover, then continued. "The police left half an hour ago. I'm afraid
there's rather a lot I must do... and, well... very little time.  I may
need... 'backup', I believe you Americans call it?" The desperation was
back in his voice, along with the pleading. "Could you meet me? At the
library? Soon?"

        "I'm there. See you in twenty." I hung up the phone before he could
say anything else, overwhelmed. And furious.

        //Not without a fight...// Whatever it was, whoever was pushing for
the Apocalypse, was not going to get it without a fight.

*

Christina   [e-mail]

------------------------------

End of buffyfic Digest V1 #38
*****************************

To subscribe to buffyfic Digest, send the command:

    subscribe buffyfic-digest

in the body of a message to "[e-mail]".  If you want to
subscribe something other than the account the mail is coming from, such
as a local redistribution list, then append that address to the
"subscribe" command; for example, to subscribe "local-buffyfic":

    subscribe buffyfic-digest [e-mail]

A non-digest (direct mail) version of this list is also available; to
subscribe to that instead, replace all instances of "buffyfic-digest"
in the commands above with "buffyfic".

Back issues are available for anonymous FTP from ftp.xmission.com, in
pub/lists/buffyfic/archive.  These are organized by date.