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WIP amnesty - Post 3
Feb. 6th, 2004 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupI think this is it.
It was only 14 days after the rest of the group had packed up and headed for Cleveland and London that Xander ducked into the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. When he’d told the others about his decision to stay, Dawn had kicked him in the shin, Willow had cried, Giles had given him a check (good thing he kept his money in London aye wot?) and Buffy had matter-of-factly handed him Angel’s card. What surprised him most was how hard he found it to say good-bye to Andrew. They’d…well…bonded. Two inner geeks looking for refuge. They laughed at the same stupid jokes and talked in half-Klingon in front of the potential slayers. Although, they weren’t really potentials anymore, now were they. Achieved? Arrived? Done? Slayers now, all of them.
He’d made his choice. He was done now. He’d had enough death and demons and gore and post-apocolyptic headache to last him well into any future lifetime. He’d parted ways with those he loved, those who loved him and what the hell was he doing now, walking back into the lion’s den?
He’d put on his gray pinstripe with the purple tie that Dawn had picked out for him when they hit the mall a few days before everyone else left. She’d bullied him into it, said he’d need a power suit in LA. Silk gray shirt, gray kid leather shoes, cuff-links, a crisp cut and baby smooth shave thanks to a visit to the barber the day before, completed his ensemble. He was looking pretty spiffy if he did says so himself, so why this sudden urge to shrivel up small enough to fit behind his patch?
He hit the urge over the head, straightened his shoulders, denying his body it’s wanted slouch and headed across the marble floor to the pretty lady sitting alone at a desk in the middle of the lobby. He almost made it to her too, but an arm encircled his shoulders and when he looked to see who was making with the sudden familiarity he nearly jumped out of his soft leather shoes.
“HEY!” Xander pulled out of the green-horned demon’s arms and nearly fell over trying to walk back away from him.
“Calm down sweet cakes. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.” The being stretched out an arm and Xander marveled at the almost painful contrast of the bright blue suit with his nearly neon skin.
Xander forced himself to stand still, to ignore the hairs on the back of his neck, the ones skittering about, spelling out “Run, Xander! Run!”
“Here’s the deal muffin, I got a call form the big guns giving me the heads-up on you. They’re pretty damned difficult to impress but, you and your suave patch have managed to do it.”
During the exchange, the grinning green man had eased closer to Xander, noting the nervous tic of his jaw and his painfully wide eye. Sighing he stuck out a hand, “Let’s start that again, shall we? Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok tribe.”
Xander warily raised his hand and found it swiftly encased in Lorne’s warm, if slightly tough grip, being shaken vigorously. “And you’re Alexander Lavelle Harris,” a wide grin crossed Lorne’s face, “Xander. A pleasure to meet you, peanut.”
This time when Lorne slung an arm around him, Xander didn’t recoil. Lorne guided him through the gleaming lobby.
Xander never made it to see Angel that day, which was actually more than alright with him—there was always that heavy cloud of disgust, jealousy and guilt that settled in his gut whenever Angel’s name came up. Being in the same building as him nearly made him double over and reach for the Tums. He didn’t think he’d survive an actual meeting.
Lorne had flipped through several stacks of papers with him, had him sign on a line or 2 and handed him a GIGANTIC check. So many zero’s it was like “oooooooooh”. Now Xander ran a bustling general contracting business and Roxy’s. The contracting thing he figured out soon enough, it was Roxy’s that confused the hell out of him. He wanted out of the demon side of things—wanted to live a normal, carefree, non-freaky existence. If he’d wanted any of this he’d have gone with the others. He’d explained all this to Lorne who nodded and made sympathetic noises, “Purely for show…need a name on the papers…unseen silent partner, ducks. No worries.”
Xander had been skeptical. But after 2 months, no one had made any noises otherwise. Every once in a while a courier arrived with contracts—entertainers mostly, occasionally a supplier (Xander was studious about not reading too closely, what exactly was being supplied), but other than that all was quiet on the demon club front.
The contracting business on the other hand, kept him busy all week, and for more than a few weekends. He’d finally assembled a solid, reliable crew, with competent team bosses. He’d hired a new payroll clerk after discovering the old one had been skimming more than just the cream off the top. And his personal assistant was beyond his wildest dreams. Capable smart, an eerie sort of ability to predict his wants and needs—like that little guy on that old army show, only with better legs and long shining red hair.
Finally things were settling into place. Business was good, he enjoyed being the boss, and judging by the crew’s eagerness to brainstorm, problem-solve and follow-thru, they enjoyed him as the boss too. He was relaxing and enjoying his place in the world for once.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
****************
It had been all right until his curiosity got the better of him and he traveled to the east side to check out this “silent partner” establishment.
He drove by in the light of day first. When he knew it was closed. It was innocent enough on the outside, a low stuccoed building set back off the street with a tasteful sign declaring the place. An ample parking lot was surrounded by hedges and trees, providing adequate privacy for who or whatever might frequent the place. Not what he’d expected from a demon bar.
Later that evening, he passed by again, the gentle amber glow of the sign gave a warmth to the building, made it inviting. And though the parking lot was full and secluded it was well-lit. He slowed, but didn’t stop, not quite ready for what he might encounter. Curious? Yes. Nerves of steel? No.
Couple of nights later he finally worked himself up; walked into the place. You know, after sitting in the parking lot one night and making it as far as the door and the large, very intimidating—disconcertingly bulgy under his clothes—bouncer.
He thought it would be like Willie’s; dark, dank, more than a little dirty. He was astonished at the blue velvet walls, the gleaming wood floors, the glittering crystal chandelier hanging form the ceiling. There was a balcony area circling the whole of the club, rimmed in glass and metal. It was…tasteful, and had an aura of relaxation.
Xander was amazed to see demons of every variety, size, shape and color, and not one of them seemed disgruntled or ornery. Not even human bars had this atmosphere of calm.
His real shock of the evening came when an ethereal female brushed by him with a, “Hiya, boss.” He stared after her, puzzled, and then was jolted back to reality by a gruff voice saying, “Table’s waiting over there, boss.”
He whirled and saw a shaggy looking ape pointing to a corner of the club. A deep nook nestled under a brace for the upper level. Cozy. A candle and a bottle of something awaited him.
“Boss?” he creaked. But the ape thing had moved off towards the gleaming glass bar.
He stood there, knowing he looked completely out of place, but no one—or nothing—paid any attention to him. No strange looks, no furtive whispers, no pointing. Shaking his head slightly, he walked to the table the ape had indicated.
Scotch. 50 years old. His eye widened. This was the stuff Giles hid when the Scoobies descended. He slid into the booth, the soft leather caressing his palms. Moments later there was an exotic looking female (or he thought it was female) seated across from him. She’d be feline if he had to pick an animal, but the only signs of that were the diamond pupils in her shining lavender eyes and her sleek features.
“Good evening Mr. Harris. We’re delighted that you’ve finally visited us.” Her voice was low and earthy and made his loins stir.
“Who are you? What’s going on here? How does everyone seem to know me? What’s with the ‘boss’ stuff? Why aren’t they tearing me to tiny bits? Why aren’t they tearing each other to tiny bits?” He made a sweeping gesture to the rest of the club.
She smiled at him, like a parent amused by a small child. “My name is Liselle. You’re the boss. That’s just the way things are.”
“But…” he stopped as Liselle held out a snifter of the brandy that he hadn’t even seen her pour.
“Just sit. Relax.” She smiled at him again, and he felt something low and heavy uncurl in his belly. Taking the glass he sat back and watched the strange tableau before him.
**************
It happened like that every evening now. Work, Roxy’s. Occasionally, there was a business dinner, but after it was over—Roxy’s. And then he walked in.
White hair, angled bones, cocked shoulders, jutting hips, and that damned leather coat. He’d choked on the brandy he’d been about to swallow and nearly stood to yell out, “What the fuck are you doing here?!”
But he calmed himself and sat back into the cushions instead—maybe they’d swallow him up and he could be the amazing booth-man. Fit in better around here anyway.
Spike made straight for the bar and Xander watched as he downed one shot and then another, he’d thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing in his smooth, lean neck.
******************
See, here’s the problem. There was to be menace later. Revolving around the club somehow—they’re getting their hooks into Xander somehow, hence the big foreboding drunk at the beginning. And then it hit me that I should place Lindsey in there posing as Doyle instead of Lorne—he gets sideswiped before ever getting to Angel, and Angel never knows he’s in LA, so Spike’s FORCED to help out, and Xander has to accept, thinking that Angel put him in the position anyway (and if Lorne had been involved, then Angel REALLY would’ve done it, but I didn’t want him to be the bad guy)…but then Lindsey popped out as Doyle to Spike and it just all fizzled out for me.
It was only 14 days after the rest of the group had packed up and headed for Cleveland and London that Xander ducked into the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. When he’d told the others about his decision to stay, Dawn had kicked him in the shin, Willow had cried, Giles had given him a check (good thing he kept his money in London aye wot?) and Buffy had matter-of-factly handed him Angel’s card. What surprised him most was how hard he found it to say good-bye to Andrew. They’d…well…bonded. Two inner geeks looking for refuge. They laughed at the same stupid jokes and talked in half-Klingon in front of the potential slayers. Although, they weren’t really potentials anymore, now were they. Achieved? Arrived? Done? Slayers now, all of them.
He’d made his choice. He was done now. He’d had enough death and demons and gore and post-apocolyptic headache to last him well into any future lifetime. He’d parted ways with those he loved, those who loved him and what the hell was he doing now, walking back into the lion’s den?
He’d put on his gray pinstripe with the purple tie that Dawn had picked out for him when they hit the mall a few days before everyone else left. She’d bullied him into it, said he’d need a power suit in LA. Silk gray shirt, gray kid leather shoes, cuff-links, a crisp cut and baby smooth shave thanks to a visit to the barber the day before, completed his ensemble. He was looking pretty spiffy if he did says so himself, so why this sudden urge to shrivel up small enough to fit behind his patch?
He hit the urge over the head, straightened his shoulders, denying his body it’s wanted slouch and headed across the marble floor to the pretty lady sitting alone at a desk in the middle of the lobby. He almost made it to her too, but an arm encircled his shoulders and when he looked to see who was making with the sudden familiarity he nearly jumped out of his soft leather shoes.
“HEY!” Xander pulled out of the green-horned demon’s arms and nearly fell over trying to walk back away from him.
“Calm down sweet cakes. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.” The being stretched out an arm and Xander marveled at the almost painful contrast of the bright blue suit with his nearly neon skin.
Xander forced himself to stand still, to ignore the hairs on the back of his neck, the ones skittering about, spelling out “Run, Xander! Run!”
“Here’s the deal muffin, I got a call form the big guns giving me the heads-up on you. They’re pretty damned difficult to impress but, you and your suave patch have managed to do it.”
During the exchange, the grinning green man had eased closer to Xander, noting the nervous tic of his jaw and his painfully wide eye. Sighing he stuck out a hand, “Let’s start that again, shall we? Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok tribe.”
Xander warily raised his hand and found it swiftly encased in Lorne’s warm, if slightly tough grip, being shaken vigorously. “And you’re Alexander Lavelle Harris,” a wide grin crossed Lorne’s face, “Xander. A pleasure to meet you, peanut.”
This time when Lorne slung an arm around him, Xander didn’t recoil. Lorne guided him through the gleaming lobby.
Xander never made it to see Angel that day, which was actually more than alright with him—there was always that heavy cloud of disgust, jealousy and guilt that settled in his gut whenever Angel’s name came up. Being in the same building as him nearly made him double over and reach for the Tums. He didn’t think he’d survive an actual meeting.
Lorne had flipped through several stacks of papers with him, had him sign on a line or 2 and handed him a GIGANTIC check. So many zero’s it was like “oooooooooh”. Now Xander ran a bustling general contracting business and Roxy’s. The contracting thing he figured out soon enough, it was Roxy’s that confused the hell out of him. He wanted out of the demon side of things—wanted to live a normal, carefree, non-freaky existence. If he’d wanted any of this he’d have gone with the others. He’d explained all this to Lorne who nodded and made sympathetic noises, “Purely for show…need a name on the papers…unseen silent partner, ducks. No worries.”
Xander had been skeptical. But after 2 months, no one had made any noises otherwise. Every once in a while a courier arrived with contracts—entertainers mostly, occasionally a supplier (Xander was studious about not reading too closely, what exactly was being supplied), but other than that all was quiet on the demon club front.
The contracting business on the other hand, kept him busy all week, and for more than a few weekends. He’d finally assembled a solid, reliable crew, with competent team bosses. He’d hired a new payroll clerk after discovering the old one had been skimming more than just the cream off the top. And his personal assistant was beyond his wildest dreams. Capable smart, an eerie sort of ability to predict his wants and needs—like that little guy on that old army show, only with better legs and long shining red hair.
Finally things were settling into place. Business was good, he enjoyed being the boss, and judging by the crew’s eagerness to brainstorm, problem-solve and follow-thru, they enjoyed him as the boss too. He was relaxing and enjoying his place in the world for once.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
****************
It had been all right until his curiosity got the better of him and he traveled to the east side to check out this “silent partner” establishment.
He drove by in the light of day first. When he knew it was closed. It was innocent enough on the outside, a low stuccoed building set back off the street with a tasteful sign declaring the place. An ample parking lot was surrounded by hedges and trees, providing adequate privacy for who or whatever might frequent the place. Not what he’d expected from a demon bar.
Later that evening, he passed by again, the gentle amber glow of the sign gave a warmth to the building, made it inviting. And though the parking lot was full and secluded it was well-lit. He slowed, but didn’t stop, not quite ready for what he might encounter. Curious? Yes. Nerves of steel? No.
Couple of nights later he finally worked himself up; walked into the place. You know, after sitting in the parking lot one night and making it as far as the door and the large, very intimidating—disconcertingly bulgy under his clothes—bouncer.
He thought it would be like Willie’s; dark, dank, more than a little dirty. He was astonished at the blue velvet walls, the gleaming wood floors, the glittering crystal chandelier hanging form the ceiling. There was a balcony area circling the whole of the club, rimmed in glass and metal. It was…tasteful, and had an aura of relaxation.
Xander was amazed to see demons of every variety, size, shape and color, and not one of them seemed disgruntled or ornery. Not even human bars had this atmosphere of calm.
His real shock of the evening came when an ethereal female brushed by him with a, “Hiya, boss.” He stared after her, puzzled, and then was jolted back to reality by a gruff voice saying, “Table’s waiting over there, boss.”
He whirled and saw a shaggy looking ape pointing to a corner of the club. A deep nook nestled under a brace for the upper level. Cozy. A candle and a bottle of something awaited him.
“Boss?” he creaked. But the ape thing had moved off towards the gleaming glass bar.
He stood there, knowing he looked completely out of place, but no one—or nothing—paid any attention to him. No strange looks, no furtive whispers, no pointing. Shaking his head slightly, he walked to the table the ape had indicated.
Scotch. 50 years old. His eye widened. This was the stuff Giles hid when the Scoobies descended. He slid into the booth, the soft leather caressing his palms. Moments later there was an exotic looking female (or he thought it was female) seated across from him. She’d be feline if he had to pick an animal, but the only signs of that were the diamond pupils in her shining lavender eyes and her sleek features.
“Good evening Mr. Harris. We’re delighted that you’ve finally visited us.” Her voice was low and earthy and made his loins stir.
“Who are you? What’s going on here? How does everyone seem to know me? What’s with the ‘boss’ stuff? Why aren’t they tearing me to tiny bits? Why aren’t they tearing each other to tiny bits?” He made a sweeping gesture to the rest of the club.
She smiled at him, like a parent amused by a small child. “My name is Liselle. You’re the boss. That’s just the way things are.”
“But…” he stopped as Liselle held out a snifter of the brandy that he hadn’t even seen her pour.
“Just sit. Relax.” She smiled at him again, and he felt something low and heavy uncurl in his belly. Taking the glass he sat back and watched the strange tableau before him.
**************
It happened like that every evening now. Work, Roxy’s. Occasionally, there was a business dinner, but after it was over—Roxy’s. And then he walked in.
White hair, angled bones, cocked shoulders, jutting hips, and that damned leather coat. He’d choked on the brandy he’d been about to swallow and nearly stood to yell out, “What the fuck are you doing here?!”
But he calmed himself and sat back into the cushions instead—maybe they’d swallow him up and he could be the amazing booth-man. Fit in better around here anyway.
Spike made straight for the bar and Xander watched as he downed one shot and then another, he’d thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing in his smooth, lean neck.
******************
See, here’s the problem. There was to be menace later. Revolving around the club somehow—they’re getting their hooks into Xander somehow, hence the big foreboding drunk at the beginning. And then it hit me that I should place Lindsey in there posing as Doyle instead of Lorne—he gets sideswiped before ever getting to Angel, and Angel never knows he’s in LA, so Spike’s FORCED to help out, and Xander has to accept, thinking that Angel put him in the position anyway (and if Lorne had been involved, then Angel REALLY would’ve done it, but I didn’t want him to be the bad guy)…but then Lindsey popped out as Doyle to Spike and it just all fizzled out for me.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 08:20 pm (UTC);o)
Re:
Date: 2004-02-06 08:22 pm (UTC)Di
Re:
Date: 2004-02-06 08:28 pm (UTC)Even if it is a bit...bent. Shiny now though!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 08:35 pm (UTC)Oh well. I'm sure there'll be a new bunny soon.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-07 12:56 am (UTC):::hopes for new bunny:::
no subject
Date: 2004-02-07 10:48 am (UTC)Cracked me right up.
no subject
Date: 2004-02-07 10:57 am (UTC)