Wishes
Nights seemed darker in London. The cemeteries were older, and the night sky
when it rained looked like worn black flannel. It was comforting, somehow. Buffy
liked London. She liked the busy-ness of the city, with its topple-likely lorry buses
and well-lit subway stations. She liked the scrubbed-ness of the buildings and the
sidewalks and the shops. It was like in Mary Poppins, when she would say, ‘Spit
spot’. That’s what London was for Buffy.
Even the vampires here seemed, well, polite. She sometimes hated to dust them.
They were all, ‘Oh dear,’ and ‘Goodness, gracious me.’ She half-expected them
to carry around their own dustpans, in order to clean up after themselves.
Buffy liked their apartment on Meteor Street. She and Dawn occupied one suite,
a two-bedroom, on the second floor. Andrew had the other, much smaller bed
and bath adjacent. Upstairs, Giles had a three-bedroom suite. Willow and Kennedy
stayed in another two-bedroom there, even though Kennedy owned a house of her
own in Westbury, near Devon. Xander had the one and only apartment downstairs,
on the main floor. There, they also had a nice kitchen, a dining room, and a TV
room. Oh, and there was a garden, which was really just a backyard, but in
England, they were called gardens whether they had flowers or not. The basement
served as a general spell-room. It was Willow’s design. She painted wards on the
walls, stored all necessary items in locked chests of custom Xander design. They
kept basement furnishings to the barest minimum, to cut down on damage done
by spellage debris.
So they were all flat-mates. It was nifty. They all lived together, without
living together.
And yet... Buffy preferred, or rather craved, her time alone. Xander had been
partly right when he said that she didn’t want to share her vamp-killing time with the new Slayers. In a lot of ways,
she still felt apart from them.
Buffy clutched the stake in her coat pocket. The path to the Wiltshire Cemetery was familiar enough to her feet
that she could walk it on cruise. She neared the gates, ready for just about anything. What she found did give her a
bit of a surprise.
A pair of vampires, new ones by the looks of their clothes, wrestled over the carcass of a freshly slain rabbit. They
were so intent in their bunny brawl they didn’t hear her approach.
Buffy casually walked up to them. “Hasenpfeffer, is it?”
The two vampires, both middle-aged men in tweed jackets, the professor-ly kind with suede patches on the elbows,
looked up, wide-eyed and rightfully concerned. One had tufty white hairs poking out of his ears. The other would
have been bald before Christmas, if he’d lived that long.
“’Cause I’m pretty sure it’s duck season,” Buffy said.
The vampires exchanged a look of confusion. Tufty Ears shrugged. Would Be Baldy just tilted his head.
“You know?” Buffy said, drawing her stake. “As in duck.”
She lunged for Baldy, staking him before he could even drop his end of the rabbit. Tufty looked decidedly alarmed and,
thankfully, gave chase. He leapt over a tombstone and bolted downhill, sliding on the dewy grass. She tackled and
they tumbled, until his head collided with a marble grave marker. He rolled over on his back, using the bunny as a
shield.
“Oh, come on,” Buffy whined. “A rabbit?”
He tossed the rabbit aside and raised his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, guy” she said, feeling genuinely sad for him, “It’s my job.”
She staked him, then dusted her hands of his dust.
Needless to say, Buffy left the cemetery feeling less than satisfied. She thought about hitting one of the other
cemeteries on her way home, the Carlyle, or the Wallace Home, perhaps. But it was late, and soon, cool drizzle began
to fall. She opted, instead, on taking a new way home. There was a neighborhood park she’d always intended to visit
during the day, but had not yet made the detour.
Buffy took the pathway into the park through stands of slender, graceful looking trees. The rain pattered pleasantly
on the leaves, and her boots crunched the gravel underfoot. The trail wound its way around a small lake fringed with
reeds. As she neared the pool, the rain turned to mist. The clouds parted, revealing a sliver of moon that shone down
in the smooth mirror of the water. A soft breeze whipped over the lake, stirring a flock of geese to flight. Buffy
paused, feeling almost breathless at the scene. Chills coursed down her arms. She was suddenly, achingly aware of
how quiet it was. Quiet, and still.
Buffy drew a deep breath to fill the void, then closed her eyes. Her thoughts were still, and below that, silence. She
felt a momentary spell of lost-ness. It kinda made her dizzy. Buffy opened her eyes and uttered an uneasy laugh.
“I really miss you, you... big idiot,” she said. “I wish you were here.”
Her voice was answered by more quiet, followed by more rain. A stronger wind blew across the lake, this time with
more force. A storm was on its way, and Buffy could take a hint. She tugged her coat tighter around her waist. As
she mounted the path, she turned to glance over her shoulder at the pretty lake with its ring of silver-trunked trees.
“I must be finally losing it,” she said to herself, and struck off for home.
Nights seemed darker in London. The cemeteries were older, and the night sky
when it rained looked like worn black flannel. It was comforting, somehow. Buffy
liked London. She liked the busy-ness of the city, with its topple-likely lorry buses
and well-lit subway stations. She liked the scrubbed-ness of the buildings and the
sidewalks and the shops. It was like in Mary Poppins, when she would say, ‘Spit
spot’. That’s what London was for Buffy.
Even the vampires here seemed, well, polite. She sometimes hated to dust them.
They were all, ‘Oh dear,’ and ‘Goodness, gracious me.’ She half-expected them
to carry around their own dustpans, in order to clean up after themselves.
Buffy liked their apartment on Meteor Street. She and Dawn occupied one suite,
a two-bedroom, on the second floor. Andrew had the other, much smaller bed
and bath adjacent. Upstairs, Giles had a three-bedroom suite. Willow and Kennedy
stayed in another two-bedroom there, even though Kennedy owned a house of her
own in Westbury, near Devon. Xander had the one and only apartment downstairs,
on the main floor. There, they also had a nice kitchen, a dining room, and a TV
room. Oh, and there was a garden, which was really just a backyard, but in
England, they were called gardens whether they had flowers or not. The basement
served as a general spell-room. It was Willow’s design. She painted wards on the
walls, stored all necessary items in locked chests of custom Xander design. They
kept basement furnishings to the barest minimum, to cut down on damage done
by spellage debris.
So they were all flat-mates. It was nifty. They all lived together, without
living together.
And yet... Buffy preferred, or rather craved, her time alone. Xander had been
partly right when he said that she didn’t want to share her vamp-killing time with the new Slayers. In a lot of ways,
she still felt apart from them.
Buffy clutched the stake in her coat pocket. The path to the Wiltshire Cemetery was familiar enough to her feet
that she could walk it on cruise. She neared the gates, ready for just about anything. What she found did give her a
bit of a surprise.
A pair of vampires, new ones by the looks of their clothes, wrestled over the carcass of a freshly slain rabbit. They
were so intent in their bunny brawl they didn’t hear her approach.
Buffy casually walked up to them. “Hasenpfeffer, is it?”
The two vampires, both middle-aged men in tweed jackets, the professor-ly kind with suede patches on the elbows,
looked up, wide-eyed and rightfully concerned. One had tufty white hairs poking out of his ears. The other would
have been bald before Christmas, if he’d lived that long.
“’Cause I’m pretty sure it’s duck season,” Buffy said.
The vampires exchanged a look of confusion. Tufty Ears shrugged. Would Be Baldy just tilted his head.
“You know?” Buffy said, drawing her stake. “As in duck.”
She lunged for Baldy, staking him before he could even drop his end of the rabbit. Tufty looked decidedly alarmed and,
thankfully, gave chase. He leapt over a tombstone and bolted downhill, sliding on the dewy grass. She tackled and
they tumbled, until his head collided with a marble grave marker. He rolled over on his back, using the bunny as a
shield.
“Oh, come on,” Buffy whined. “A rabbit?”
He tossed the rabbit aside and raised his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, guy” she said, feeling genuinely sad for him, “It’s my job.”
She staked him, then dusted her hands of his dust.
Needless to say, Buffy left the cemetery feeling less than satisfied. She thought about hitting one of the other
cemeteries on her way home, the Carlyle, or the Wallace Home, perhaps. But it was late, and soon, cool drizzle began
to fall. She opted, instead, on taking a new way home. There was a neighborhood park she’d always intended to visit
during the day, but had not yet made the detour.
Buffy took the pathway into the park through stands of slender, graceful looking trees. The rain pattered pleasantly
on the leaves, and her boots crunched the gravel underfoot. The trail wound its way around a small lake fringed with
reeds. As she neared the pool, the rain turned to mist. The clouds parted, revealing a sliver of moon that shone down
in the smooth mirror of the water. A soft breeze whipped over the lake, stirring a flock of geese to flight. Buffy
paused, feeling almost breathless at the scene. Chills coursed down her arms. She was suddenly, achingly aware of
how quiet it was. Quiet, and still.
Buffy drew a deep breath to fill the void, then closed her eyes. Her thoughts were still, and below that, silence. She
felt a momentary spell of lost-ness. It kinda made her dizzy. Buffy opened her eyes and uttered an uneasy laugh.
“I really miss you, you... big idiot,” she said. “I wish you were here.”
Her voice was answered by more quiet, followed by more rain. A stronger wind blew across the lake, this time with
more force. A storm was on its way, and Buffy could take a hint. She tugged her coat tighter around her waist. As
she mounted the path, she turned to glance over her shoulder at the pretty lake with its ring of silver-trunked trees.
“I must be finally losing it,” she said to herself, and struck off for home.
.Chapter Index.
Part One: Wishes
London Flat
City of Angels
Wishes
Fruitless
Coming Home
Unwelcome
Religious Experience,
with Donuts
Thoughts on Dinner
and Death
The Kitchen Witch
Kensington Park
Aura
A Round In
Patrol
Aura Deflection
Connection
Morning After
Slayers in Waiting
Go Ask Alice
Watchers Junior
London Bumpy
Honeymoon's Over
Still In The Game
No Angel
Aftershocks
Crowded House in the
Middle of the Street
Adding Low to the
Lowdown
The Sisters
Disenchanted (Part One)
Watchers In Crime
Bad Blood
Disenchanted (Part Two)
Falling
Hallelujah
Here's Where The Story
Ends
For Part Two - Regrets
Chapter Index, click
here.
Part One: Wishes
London Flat
City of Angels
Wishes
Fruitless
Coming Home
Unwelcome
Religious Experience,
with Donuts
Thoughts on Dinner
and Death
The Kitchen Witch
Kensington Park
Aura
A Round In
Patrol
Aura Deflection
Connection
Morning After
Slayers in Waiting
Go Ask Alice
Watchers Junior
London Bumpy
Honeymoon's Over
Still In The Game
No Angel
Aftershocks
Crowded House in the
Middle of the Street
Adding Low to the
Lowdown
The Sisters
Disenchanted (Part One)
Watchers In Crime
Bad Blood
Disenchanted (Part Two)
Falling
Hallelujah
Here's Where The Story
Ends
For Part Two - Regrets
Chapter Index, click
here.
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The moon's a fingernail
and slowly sinking
Another day begins
and now I'm thinking
That this indifference
was my invention
When everything I did
sought your attention
You were my compass star
You were my measure
You were a pirate's map
A buried treasure
If this was all correct
The last thing I'd expect
The prosecution rests
It's time that I confess:
I must have loved you.
Ghost Story
Sting
and slowly sinking
Another day begins
and now I'm thinking
That this indifference
was my invention
When everything I did
sought your attention
You were my compass star
You were my measure
You were a pirate's map
A buried treasure
If this was all correct
The last thing I'd expect
The prosecution rests
It's time that I confess:
I must have loved you.
Ghost Story
Sting