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jedibuttercupT; B:tVS/Innkeeper Chronicles; 5000 words. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts.
"So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully.
Title: Swept Away
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: Post-series for B:tVS; post-Sweep With Me for the Innkeeper Chronicles books
Notes: After revisiting some old favorites: trying something new! Originally posted in two parts at the LJ Twistedshorts community.
"So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully. 5000 words.
"You're kidding me," Buffy said, blinking at Willow.
"Believe me, I wish I was," Willow said, wrinkling her nose. "I remember the cleanup in Los Angeles after Angel's crew took down the Circle of the Black Thorn. And the mess with the Immortal in Europe. And those lawyer guys hiring Faith to kill Angel before that. We absolutely can't trust this invitation to be genuine."
'The Mess' was a really sanitized way to put it. Buffy still hadn't figured out the right recipe for cookies; so far, it was disasters all the way down. "Then why do you want me to take them up on it?" she asked, brow furrowing as she took a long sip of her hazelnut mocha latte.
She and the rest of the Scoobies generally spent most of their time scattered around the globe these days, trying to keep the rebuilding Council ticking along on the path they had decided on rather than reverting to age-old habits established by the Traverses of the past. So when they did meet up in person rather than via any of the other methods of communication available, magical or mundane, Buffy knew it was something serious. The fact that Willow had 'ported her to meet in a coffee shop in small-town Texas had set off even more warning alarms than usual.
Still, she hadn't been expecting this. A negotiation offer from Wolfram and Hart?
"Two reasons, really," Willow said, fiddling with the teabag hanging out of her cup. "You know they signed all of Angel's crew to soul-contracts, right?"
"Yeah," Buffy's mood soured further. "You don't seriously think they'd let any of them out of it?"
They'd been especially tricksy with that: snagging their nemesis with irresistible bait, bringing the rest of his team on board with the prospect of using the demon law firm's resources to do good, then undermining them the whole way and trapping them with fine print to serve the firm's founders unto eternity, one way or another. Post-mortem existence not excepted. In the ultimate irony, achieving his Shanshu after the big battle against Archduke Sebassis' troops had left the now-human Angel also subject to such a clause. All the Watcher's Council's resources and all their semi-domesticated ex-Ancient One's determination to retrieve her 'Qwa'ha Xahn' had not been able to figure a way out of it.
Talk about your existential wiggins. Buffy still had faint impressions of her last visit to the Afterlife; if the prospect of returning to that endless peace was permanently taken away from her....
Willow cut that disturbing line of thought short with a shrug. "It's one of the few things they have to offer that we might actually go for. And you're known for prioritizing individuals as much as the world, which is something they can't say for a lot of the other people they might negotiate with."
Like Giles, who was the Council's usual diplomacy go-to. "How do they even know about that?"
"That's part of point two," Willow continued with a grimace. "You know there's more worlds out there than you could shake a stake at, right? Including out there out there, not just in other dimensions?" She gestured in the vague direction of the sky above, currently a vivid blue interrupted only by a few puffs of cotton-ball cloud.
Buffy had been to some of those worlds in other dimensions; some of her friends had been to more. And if a Queller demon could come down in a meteor, then other aliens were probably a thing, too. "I try not to think about it too much, but yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"
"So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully. "I didn't find out about it either until I'd been at the Devon Coven for a while, before you ask; it's definitely a Statue of Secrecy type of deal. As it turns out, Hellmouths? Kind of a feature of our planet, not a bug. Earth has what's called a twelve-point warp; the only one in existence, which makes us a galactic crossroads. Lots of beings come here, one way or another, on their way between somewheres elses."
"Like a major international airport," Buffy replied. She was starting to get the picture; somewhere out there, people who'd run into her were spreading gossip to other worlds.
"Uh-huh. That can mean anything from spaceships to portalling directly, the way we're used to. Earth-native type demons, like demonic vampires and werewolves, The First, a lot of the crossbreeds, and so on, are grandfathered in; which, if you ever meet the galactic kind of vampires and werewolves?" Willow wrinkled her nose. "Way different; they'd take the comparison as an insult. But for everyone not native-- which includes, apparently, the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart-- they have strict rules to follow while they're here. And that includes a special kind of magically-enforced neutral ground to meet on."
Galactic werewolves, Buffy mouthed. Wow; Oz would have freaked. And not just Oz. "Andrew can never know," she declared firmly, taking another long sip of caffeinated goodness.
Willow laughed. "No kidding. I'm only even allowed to tell you because the meeting's been scheduled at one of those neutral places: a bed and breakfast here in Red Deer, Texas."
"So whether the invitation's genuine or not, they can't actually do anything to us?" Buffy clarified.
"That's the deal," Willow nodded. "The Innkeepers are sworn to protect all their guests-- and on the grounds of their inns, they're even more powerful than I am."
That said a lot. Still. "Swear how? Like have some pretty words swear, or we'll curse ourselves to terrible fates if we go back on our word swear?" When dealing with demon lords who excelled in bribery, manipulation, and coercion, that had to be considered.
"Closer to Column B, I think," Willow shrugged. "Which leads to what I think might be the real reason they invited us-- the rules apply to everyone. Any attempt to Slay on inn grounds, and you could get the entire Council and the Coven banned from using one ever again."
Considering Buffy had never heard of them before, that didn't mean much to her; but Willow wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't important. "I'm guessing that would be of the bad?"
"Majorly of the bad," Willow nodded. "I'll explain later-- but for now, I just need to know if you're good with it? The meeting's supposed to be tomorrow, but I thought we'd get a room tonight so you can get a better feel for everything. It's kind of a lot."
Now that was an understatement. Buffy felt like someone had taken a crowbar to her worldview; it would probably be a while before she stopped feeling like Alice through the Looking Glass. Which.... no, no; better not go down that rabbit hole just yet.
She snorted at her own joke, then tipped back the last of her coffee. "Does Giles know?"
"About the inns? Or about the meeting?" Willow made a wishy-washy gesture with her hand. "Yes to the meeting, and he knows about the neutral ground. No idea if he knows about the fine print. But he said he trusted you to know whether it was worth the risk."
"Because Statute of Secrecy, right," Buffy frowned, unable to think of any more objections. "Well, if you think it's a good idea."
"I do. Besides, I can guarantee it's nothing like you're thinking of," Willow said, a knowing smile breaking across her face. "You really do want to see this."
"Challenge accepted," Buffy replied, then stood, grasping the handle of the carry-on bag Willow had suggested she bring. "We going via car, or more Willow Express?"
"I figured teleporting might be a little conspicuous, so I had a girl from the local Council House leave a vehicle out front."
"Then let's get going. Do we need to RSVP?"
"No need; the inn can have as many rooms as it needs to. And the demony lawyer types would be coming anyway, so we'll just meet them there." Willow grinned and shook as set of keys at her, excited now like someone keen to show off something really cool. "C'mon."
Confronted with that look on her best friend's face, what else could Buffy do but follow in her wake?
Willow was right, the bed and breakfast looked nothing like she was expecting. Well, nothing like Buffy would have expected out of a galactic stopover: it actually did look a lot like a place she might stay at in say, Victoria BC. Willow parked the car in the driveway of a Queen Anne-style house near the entrance to one of the many labyrinthine subdivisions that sprawled across the suburban South. In contrast to its neighbors, many of whom marched in cookie cutter-y fashion on long, narrow lots with maybe ten feet of space between the edge of one roofline and the next, this building ruled several acres: nestled among mature oaks, it rose in three stories of ornate architecture pained a restful hunter green. A four-foot hedge bordered the lawn facing the street, and somewhere behind it, several apple trees bloomed.
There were turrets, there were columns, there were balconies; there were projecting windows of all kinds; there were towers; there was a visible sunroom; and a wrap-around porch beckoned to weary souls with a promise of rocking chairs and cold, sweet iced tea. Some part of Buffy, a quiet, deeply artistic streak she'd inherited from her mother but had far too few opportunities to indulge, sent up a delighted squee in the back of her thoughts.
"Wow," she said. "What do we do, just go up to the front door?"
"Oh, they probably already know we're here," Willow smiled. "Look."
The front door opened as Buffy got out of the car, and a smallish, relatively normal-looking woman emerged: she had blonde hair, held a broom in one hand, and wore a comfy-looking blue robe. A little dog like a Shih-Tzu followed her out; it cocked its head at them but didn't bark.
Buffy knew from powerful beings in small, cute packages. Even if the woman didn't feel somehow familiar, Buffy wouldn't have trusted the appearance of harmlessness in the least. Especially after her foot hit the ground and she felt the magic tingling under her feet. Hellmouth-y wasn't a bad analogue, except this felt distinctly... tree-ish?
The innkeeper glanced between them both, then smiled; and oh, Buffy knew who the woman reminded her of now. Tara. Strong, sweet, southern, and far more kickass than you'd expect at first glance. The thought made Buffy smile back, then glance at Willow; her friend's breath caught, but then she smiled, too.
"Welcome to Gertrude Hunt," the innkeeper said. "You're here to meet with the Wolf, Ram and Hart?"
"That's the idea," Willow replied. "I've stayed at an inn before; but my friend here is new. I thought I'd show her around before we dive into that particular snake-oil pit. And maybe a portal to Baha-char later, for the shopping? You'll have to see it to believe it; it's like nothing anywhere else," she added in an aside to Buffy.
A tall man appeared behind the innkeeper then; he looked maybe late twenties, but somehow-- wild, as if she'd see a hunting beast looking back if she gazed too deeply into his amber eyes. He was wearing a robe too; its copper color contrasted nicely with the innkeeper's.
"Then come on in," he said. His voice was pleasant; but from the way he was looking at them both, Buffy was pretty sure he knew exactly how much of a threat they could be, too. "I trust you both know the rules?"
Willow nodded. "I'm Willow Rosenberg; this is Buffy Summers."
"Sean Evans," he replied, nodding politely.
"And I'm Dina Demille," the innkeeper said. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay; let me show you to your rooms."
It was all much more personal than Buffy was used to experiencing in a hotel; and once she stepped into the sitting room, much more comfortable too. And even more strongly nostalgic. The atmosphere felt like a cross between her mother's house and the Magic Box, both long gone now at the bottom of the Sunnydale Crater.
Whether that was the style exactly, or the magic of the inn, or something to do with the innkeepers, Buffy couldn't tell. But whatever happened tomorrow, she was suddenly very glad she hadn't turned down the experience.
For a shopping aficionado, the handful of hours Buffy spent wandering the Galactic Bazaar with Willow before their meeting was like achieving Nirvana. Walking through the portal the innkeeper had created for them from the bed and breakfast in Red Deer, Texas to the world of Baha-char had been as easy as opening a door. On the other side, a warm city built of sand-colored stone sprawled under a light purple sky. Plants draped from every terrace and the bridges connecting the tall buildings; golden tile paved the streets underfoot; and merchants were everywhere, crowding in booths and calling out from open doors. It was cheerful, overwhelming, and amazing all at once, full of dozens of different kinds of people and every conceivable kind of product, even some things straight out of sci-fi.
Overhead, a shattered planet loomed on the horizon; or maybe an oversized moon, looking down over the brightly-colored chaos. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the scents of strange, cooked foods drifted through the noisy air. It was like being inside a giant open-air mall decorated as the set of a new movie; and yet nothing like that at all, because there was nothing fake about any of it. Buffy wandered from stall to stall, hanging close at Willow's side, soaking it all in and picking up some gorgeous shoes-- and then she found a weapons shop. The proprietor was tall and broad-shouldered, with greying hair and the same amber eyes as the guy from the hotel; Buffy spent some quality time with his blades until Willow found her again to take them back home.
Okay, and so one or two of the blades might have also made it back with her; she wasn't exactly flush with any kind of galactic currency, but the rules of bartering still seemed to work as well as they did anywhere else, and Buffy never went anywhere unarmed. It was one of the most remarkable shopping experiences of her life.
"If you never take me back there again," she said fervently as they walked back through the portal, "I will never, ever forgive you."
Willow laughed. "I thought you'd appreciate that," she said. "It's not always that trouble-free, but it is always that amazing. Just remember, no using your prizes to Slay the Wolf, Ram, and Hart."
Buffy's buoyant mood faded as she remembered whey they'd come to the inn in the first place, and she sighed. "I know, I know. I'm still not sure meeting with them is the best idea in the world. But better to have some clue what they want than none at all, I guess."
"That's the spirit," Willow said, overly cheerily, as she mock-punched Buffy in the shoulder. Then they returned to their rooms to deposit their purchases and change clothes.
Buffy wasn't sure how the innkeeper had known what to choose, but her room was very '90s Valley Girl chic; comfortably nostalgic, and nothing at all like the sparsely furnished, modern apartment she kept in Cleveland these days. It made her feel like a young woman luxuriating on vacation, not the Slayer General at a business meeting. And the food they'd been served had been incredible. The place definitely deserved more than the two and a half stars on its Google Business rating.
Even the conference room they reconvened in was a feast for the eyes: a vast ballroom that had to break the laws of physics to fit in the house as they'd seen it from outside, with a night sky painted overhead, a white marble floor with a mosaic of the inn set into its center, turquoise columns wrapped with flowering vines, and three enormous chandeliers. In the middle of that grandiose space, a rectangular table was bracketed by two sets of chairs: three on one side and two on the other.
Buffy eyed the span of that tabletop; there was definitely enough square footage that she could fling almost her full body across the table and still not have a great angle to stab someone on the other side. Almost as if the innkeeper was used to hosting acrimonious meetings between warrior types. Huh; it made her wonder what other measures were in place. It was impossible to tell; the whole place was saturated in that earthy magic she'd had a foretaste of outside.
"I trust this will suit?" Dina asked. The innkeeper was holding her broom again, still dressed in that blue robe like it was a uniform. Buffy would guess that it probably was, and that the broom was like her wand, or whatever Willow would call it. She'd have to keep an eye out for people dressed like that in future.
"It's as amazing as everything else here," Buffy told her honestly. "I wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all, but this place has made the whole experience worth it."
Dina smiled back; the satisfied smile of someone who knew she was doing a good job at something she loved to do. Buffy didn't get a chance to see that look in her own mirror very often, but it was always nice to be able to make someone else's day. "Great. Just call my name if you need anything else."
"Will do," Buffy replied.
Dina turned to leave, and Buffy was about to head for the chairs when a sleek grey form darted in the door they'd entered from. It was a cat: a large one, with a Maine Coon mane and luminous green eyes. He brushed against Dina's legs in passing, then walked over and parked on his bottom in front of Buffy, looking up at her with an inquisitive Mrrrt?
"You sure about that, Olasard?" Dina asked him. The cat swung his furry head briefly back toward his human, then lifted a paw and began licking it in a show of disregard.
Dina shook her head, then gave Buffy and Willow a wry smile. "Then I'll leave you with the Ripper of Souls for company; don't worry, the inn will let him out if he gets bored."
Bemused, Buffy looked down at the cat; he glanced back up at her, then abandoned his paw-licking and sauntered over toward the chairs. "You think he earned that name?" she asked Willow, wondering again if anything about the inn was what it appeared to be.
"I don't know, but it might be fun to see what the demon lawyers make of him," Willow replied, grinning.
Buffy gave up and followed Olasard to the table. As soon as she sat down, he leapt into her lap, glanced disinterestedly over the table's empty surface, then made a circle on her thighs and settled down to purr. It really was very soothing. The inn really did know what she needed, it seemed.
No sooner had her new companion made himself comfortable than the door on the other side of the ballroom opened, admitting three androgynous beings in hooded cloaks. Willow had briefed her that they were probably wearing guest bodies in this realm, as suppressing their true forms would strain even an inn's resources. Even so, they vibed like nasty holes in the fabric of the universe, leaving an oily taste on the back of the Slayer's tongue. They took their time crossing the room, and maybe it would have been more intimidating if Buffy hadn't already had her hands full of thick, soft fur while a tiny motorboat puttered away, shedding all over her second-best pantsuit and making biscuits on her knees. They paused behind their chairs, looking down at Buffy and Willow with disdain, then took their seats as one, never speaking a word.
They seemed content to let the silence thicken. Finally, Willow tapped her fingertips on the tabletop and opened the conversation. "You asked for the Slayer who closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth and activated all the Potential Slayers. Here she is. What did you want to say to her?"
"The Slayer... and the witch who enabled her?" the one in the center said, a faint growl underlying the words. Probably the Wolf, then.
"Yep, that would be me," Willow replied, cheerily. "Although, you know, we couldn't have closed the deal without that amulet Angel brought. He didn't say then, but we found out later it came from you."
The one on the left chuckled roughly; the sound had a bleating undertone. The Ram. "The being that called itself the First Evil was not good for business."
"Your business," Buffy countered. "You didn't expect Spike to wear it, though, did you? You thought either Angel would, and put himself under your control that way, or I would, and you could use me to control him. How was that for business?"
"Very well, as it turns out," the last one said smugly: by elimination, the Hart. "So many new agents of good, the majority not effectively trained for their role; and yet, they exist. You see, the rules we are required to operate by to spread influence in your realm have certain conditions, related to our opposite numbers' actions on Earth."
Buffy's hands tightened briefly in Olasard's fur; he gave a discordant Mreh! and headbutted her nearest wrist, as if to remind her what was really important, here. "The balance," she said, scratching apologetically behind one of Olasard's ears.
"Never has our influence grown so fast since the days of the saints," the Wolf chuckled. "We are most... appreciative, and desired to show our gratitude."
More like rub it in. Buffy breathed calmingly through her nose, choking back the angry tangle of emotions that rose at the obvious provocation, and let Willow field that one.
"I'm sure you'll understand our wariness, after the way that worked out for Angel Investigations," Willow said.
They didn't know all the details of the situation that had led to Angel's team taking over the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart-- literally, as memory spells had apparently been involved, and Angel was always vague when asked about it-- but they knew the opportunity had been presented as a 'reward'. One that must have seemed hella appealing, for them to sign on without x-raying the fine print.
"What exactly does this gratitude entail?" Buffy asked, mildly.
"Nothing so ambitious, I'm afraid," the Ram assured them, faux-sympathetically. "So many of our resources currently being tied up in other... pursuits. But I daresay you shall not repine, as your current power structure is, shall we say, so beneficial to both our goals. But there is the matter of a few, ah, smaller-scale corporate assets whose disbursement you have previously expressed an interest in."
The Hart reached within their robes and withdrew a folder, holding it up long enough for Willow-- and presumably whatever detection method the inn used-- to scan it for threats. Then they tossed it onto the table between them.
Sheets of loose paper spilled out: full of densely worded language, with a dark, flaking blot somewhere on each, next to a signature. Buffy didn't need to be told what they were to recognize them.
She licked her lips, then asked the first, obvious question. "If you release Angel's team from their contracts-- what happens to the ones who are already dead?" If they were still condemned to the petty hell dimensions they'd been sent to....
The Hart flicked the folder open, exposing an additional sheet of paper; this one with an empty signature line at the bottom. "Upon confirmation of receipt, they will all be restored to the state they enjoyed at the beginning of the day our LA branch offices were once again destroyed, and if elsewhere, restored to this dimension."
That neatly got around both Wes' death and Gunn's, without risking Illyria's existence or turning Spike back into any of his previous myriad states of being: ghostly, unsouled, chipped, or Victorian. Presuming Spike counted; he hadn't been there for the initial signing. Buffy freed a hand from petting the cat to spread the sheets further apart on the table, and found neither Spike's nor Angel's name on anything, but Lorne's was there, and one she hadn't expected at all: Lindsey McCreepyHand, the one who'd dealt with Faith. Interesting.
She shared a weighted glance with Willow; her friend frowned, then turned back to the demons. "And what about Angel? I don't see his contract here."
"It cannot be voided, due to certain unique circumstances-- nor would he thank you for doing so," the Wolf replied, with a rough barking laugh. "But never fear, he is included in the boon."
Buffy opened her mouth to retort-- but Willow reached quickly under the edge of the table to sink sharp fingernails into her arm. "Do you swear," the witch said, her voice echoing subtly in the room, "that signing the acknowledgement will in no way bind Buffy or the Slayer as an entity or the Watcher's Council in any part to any form of contract, curse, or other consequence as a result?"
All three inclined their heads; then the Hart spoke. "In other circumstances, it might be otherwise; but within the confines of an inn? Naturally, we so swear," they said, condescendingly.
Willow? What are you thinking? she projected at her friend silently.
I'm thinking I was wrong, and this isn't about you after all; or at least, not primarily. It's still-- always-- about Angel. He's a figure in them winning the Apocalypse somehow. But the Powers granting him the Shanshu even after he'd signed it away basically neutered that plan.
Buffy met the Wolf's gaze as best she could, beneath their hood; then she reached for the paper. The Ripper of Souls stretched on her lap at the move, as if preparing to jump down.
I might have known, she projected back to Willow. But I'm not seeing any immediate bad here. Can you think of any non-existential reason not to sign?
Not really? Except.... Willow's mental voice trailed off with a weird feeling of guilt.
Right. "How about an addendum? We accept the revocation of the contracts... but you ask each of them what they want to happen to them afterward." It was one thing to free them all. Another to then immediately decide their fate for them. Angel's, especially.
"Easily done," the Hart said, and reached out to touch the page's header. Between the existing text and the signature line, new words bled into being, confirming the alteration.
Buffy exchanged another glance with Willow, then pricked her thumb with the offered, inkless pen nib. Very traditional; though she trusted Willow to do her usual thing and neutralize the blood so it couldn't be used for anything other than its stated purpose. Before she could touch pen to page, though, Olasard abruptly stood up in her lap, batting the nib away. Then he pawed at the new text again where it read ask and growled, tail lashing.
The three demons all stiffened at the cat's appearance, subtly leaning away from the table. Buffy blinked at them, then down at the page again, and drew a sharp breath. "Sorry, you forgot one thing: that their wishes will be respected after you ask," she said firmly.
The mood on the other side of the table soured; but they must have thought they still had a way of achieving their goal, because the Hart begrudgingly touched the document again, as far from Olasard's reach as possible, and filled in the adjustment.
Buffy readied the pen again, glancing at the cat; but this time, the Ripper of Souls didn't object. The minute her signature was applied, the page flashed; then Willow reached for it, sliding it back into the folder and taking it in a firm grasp. "Done," she said. "Now, is there anything else?"
"Pleasure doing business with you," the Wolf growled out, rising from their chair. "We look forward to seeing what future collaboration might bring."
On that vaguely blustery, threatening note, they all inclined hooded heads in unison, then turned to glide out of the room.
"Please tell me I didn't just do the wrong thing?" Buffy said, plaintively.
"Oh, there's absolutely another hook in there somewhere, there's gotta be," Willow replied, pensively. "But there'll be opportunities, too. Besides, I can't believe it's ever a bad thing to un-enslave someone's soul."
"Personal over the world," Buffy agreed, with a mirthless smile. Then she sighed. "We're staying for dinner, though, right?"
"I certainly hope so," Dina said, rising out of the floor next to the table like a growing plant. "We didn't expect you to be done so soon; Orro's gone all out. Was your business satisfactorily concluded?"
"Orro? He's your Red Cleaver chef, right?" Willow perked up. At Dina's affirmative, she turned to Buffy with a nod. "Definitely staying. As for the business...."
"Time will tell on that one, I think," Buffy shrugged. "If we need any other meetings in future, though, I definitely know where to hold them. Thanks, cat," she added, looking down at her lap.
Olasard blinked innocently up at her, then unceremoniously leapt down and sashayed back to his human, brushing against Dina's robes.
"I'm glad all was to your liking; though I can't speak for the cat," Dina said, smiling. "Now, if you want to freshen up before we eat...."
Whatever else one could say about the changes that rippled out from their choices that day, most of the actual stay, at least, Buffy would always remember with joy.
(x-posted ontwistedshorts and on AO3)
twistedshorts."So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully.
Title: Swept Away
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: Post-series for B:tVS; post-Sweep With Me for the Innkeeper Chronicles books
Notes: After revisiting some old favorites: trying something new! Originally posted in two parts at the LJ Twistedshorts community.
"So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully. 5000 words.
"You're kidding me," Buffy said, blinking at Willow.
"Believe me, I wish I was," Willow said, wrinkling her nose. "I remember the cleanup in Los Angeles after Angel's crew took down the Circle of the Black Thorn. And the mess with the Immortal in Europe. And those lawyer guys hiring Faith to kill Angel before that. We absolutely can't trust this invitation to be genuine."
'The Mess' was a really sanitized way to put it. Buffy still hadn't figured out the right recipe for cookies; so far, it was disasters all the way down. "Then why do you want me to take them up on it?" she asked, brow furrowing as she took a long sip of her hazelnut mocha latte.
She and the rest of the Scoobies generally spent most of their time scattered around the globe these days, trying to keep the rebuilding Council ticking along on the path they had decided on rather than reverting to age-old habits established by the Traverses of the past. So when they did meet up in person rather than via any of the other methods of communication available, magical or mundane, Buffy knew it was something serious. The fact that Willow had 'ported her to meet in a coffee shop in small-town Texas had set off even more warning alarms than usual.
Still, she hadn't been expecting this. A negotiation offer from Wolfram and Hart?
"Two reasons, really," Willow said, fiddling with the teabag hanging out of her cup. "You know they signed all of Angel's crew to soul-contracts, right?"
"Yeah," Buffy's mood soured further. "You don't seriously think they'd let any of them out of it?"
They'd been especially tricksy with that: snagging their nemesis with irresistible bait, bringing the rest of his team on board with the prospect of using the demon law firm's resources to do good, then undermining them the whole way and trapping them with fine print to serve the firm's founders unto eternity, one way or another. Post-mortem existence not excepted. In the ultimate irony, achieving his Shanshu after the big battle against Archduke Sebassis' troops had left the now-human Angel also subject to such a clause. All the Watcher's Council's resources and all their semi-domesticated ex-Ancient One's determination to retrieve her 'Qwa'ha Xahn' had not been able to figure a way out of it.
Talk about your existential wiggins. Buffy still had faint impressions of her last visit to the Afterlife; if the prospect of returning to that endless peace was permanently taken away from her....
Willow cut that disturbing line of thought short with a shrug. "It's one of the few things they have to offer that we might actually go for. And you're known for prioritizing individuals as much as the world, which is something they can't say for a lot of the other people they might negotiate with."
Like Giles, who was the Council's usual diplomacy go-to. "How do they even know about that?"
"That's part of point two," Willow continued with a grimace. "You know there's more worlds out there than you could shake a stake at, right? Including out there out there, not just in other dimensions?" She gestured in the vague direction of the sky above, currently a vivid blue interrupted only by a few puffs of cotton-ball cloud.
Buffy had been to some of those worlds in other dimensions; some of her friends had been to more. And if a Queller demon could come down in a meteor, then other aliens were probably a thing, too. "I try not to think about it too much, but yeah. What's that got to do with anything?"
"So it turns out the Council usually leaves out a pretty important piece of the World is Older Than You Know speech," Willow said, ruefully. "I didn't find out about it either until I'd been at the Devon Coven for a while, before you ask; it's definitely a Statue of Secrecy type of deal. As it turns out, Hellmouths? Kind of a feature of our planet, not a bug. Earth has what's called a twelve-point warp; the only one in existence, which makes us a galactic crossroads. Lots of beings come here, one way or another, on their way between somewheres elses."
"Like a major international airport," Buffy replied. She was starting to get the picture; somewhere out there, people who'd run into her were spreading gossip to other worlds.
"Uh-huh. That can mean anything from spaceships to portalling directly, the way we're used to. Earth-native type demons, like demonic vampires and werewolves, The First, a lot of the crossbreeds, and so on, are grandfathered in; which, if you ever meet the galactic kind of vampires and werewolves?" Willow wrinkled her nose. "Way different; they'd take the comparison as an insult. But for everyone not native-- which includes, apparently, the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart-- they have strict rules to follow while they're here. And that includes a special kind of magically-enforced neutral ground to meet on."
Galactic werewolves, Buffy mouthed. Wow; Oz would have freaked. And not just Oz. "Andrew can never know," she declared firmly, taking another long sip of caffeinated goodness.
Willow laughed. "No kidding. I'm only even allowed to tell you because the meeting's been scheduled at one of those neutral places: a bed and breakfast here in Red Deer, Texas."
"So whether the invitation's genuine or not, they can't actually do anything to us?" Buffy clarified.
"That's the deal," Willow nodded. "The Innkeepers are sworn to protect all their guests-- and on the grounds of their inns, they're even more powerful than I am."
That said a lot. Still. "Swear how? Like have some pretty words swear, or we'll curse ourselves to terrible fates if we go back on our word swear?" When dealing with demon lords who excelled in bribery, manipulation, and coercion, that had to be considered.
"Closer to Column B, I think," Willow shrugged. "Which leads to what I think might be the real reason they invited us-- the rules apply to everyone. Any attempt to Slay on inn grounds, and you could get the entire Council and the Coven banned from using one ever again."
Considering Buffy had never heard of them before, that didn't mean much to her; but Willow wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't important. "I'm guessing that would be of the bad?"
"Majorly of the bad," Willow nodded. "I'll explain later-- but for now, I just need to know if you're good with it? The meeting's supposed to be tomorrow, but I thought we'd get a room tonight so you can get a better feel for everything. It's kind of a lot."
Now that was an understatement. Buffy felt like someone had taken a crowbar to her worldview; it would probably be a while before she stopped feeling like Alice through the Looking Glass. Which.... no, no; better not go down that rabbit hole just yet.
She snorted at her own joke, then tipped back the last of her coffee. "Does Giles know?"
"About the inns? Or about the meeting?" Willow made a wishy-washy gesture with her hand. "Yes to the meeting, and he knows about the neutral ground. No idea if he knows about the fine print. But he said he trusted you to know whether it was worth the risk."
"Because Statute of Secrecy, right," Buffy frowned, unable to think of any more objections. "Well, if you think it's a good idea."
"I do. Besides, I can guarantee it's nothing like you're thinking of," Willow said, a knowing smile breaking across her face. "You really do want to see this."
"Challenge accepted," Buffy replied, then stood, grasping the handle of the carry-on bag Willow had suggested she bring. "We going via car, or more Willow Express?"
"I figured teleporting might be a little conspicuous, so I had a girl from the local Council House leave a vehicle out front."
"Then let's get going. Do we need to RSVP?"
"No need; the inn can have as many rooms as it needs to. And the demony lawyer types would be coming anyway, so we'll just meet them there." Willow grinned and shook as set of keys at her, excited now like someone keen to show off something really cool. "C'mon."
Confronted with that look on her best friend's face, what else could Buffy do but follow in her wake?
Willow was right, the bed and breakfast looked nothing like she was expecting. Well, nothing like Buffy would have expected out of a galactic stopover: it actually did look a lot like a place she might stay at in say, Victoria BC. Willow parked the car in the driveway of a Queen Anne-style house near the entrance to one of the many labyrinthine subdivisions that sprawled across the suburban South. In contrast to its neighbors, many of whom marched in cookie cutter-y fashion on long, narrow lots with maybe ten feet of space between the edge of one roofline and the next, this building ruled several acres: nestled among mature oaks, it rose in three stories of ornate architecture pained a restful hunter green. A four-foot hedge bordered the lawn facing the street, and somewhere behind it, several apple trees bloomed.
There were turrets, there were columns, there were balconies; there were projecting windows of all kinds; there were towers; there was a visible sunroom; and a wrap-around porch beckoned to weary souls with a promise of rocking chairs and cold, sweet iced tea. Some part of Buffy, a quiet, deeply artistic streak she'd inherited from her mother but had far too few opportunities to indulge, sent up a delighted squee in the back of her thoughts.
"Wow," she said. "What do we do, just go up to the front door?"
"Oh, they probably already know we're here," Willow smiled. "Look."
The front door opened as Buffy got out of the car, and a smallish, relatively normal-looking woman emerged: she had blonde hair, held a broom in one hand, and wore a comfy-looking blue robe. A little dog like a Shih-Tzu followed her out; it cocked its head at them but didn't bark.
Buffy knew from powerful beings in small, cute packages. Even if the woman didn't feel somehow familiar, Buffy wouldn't have trusted the appearance of harmlessness in the least. Especially after her foot hit the ground and she felt the magic tingling under her feet. Hellmouth-y wasn't a bad analogue, except this felt distinctly... tree-ish?
The innkeeper glanced between them both, then smiled; and oh, Buffy knew who the woman reminded her of now. Tara. Strong, sweet, southern, and far more kickass than you'd expect at first glance. The thought made Buffy smile back, then glance at Willow; her friend's breath caught, but then she smiled, too.
"Welcome to Gertrude Hunt," the innkeeper said. "You're here to meet with the Wolf, Ram and Hart?"
"That's the idea," Willow replied. "I've stayed at an inn before; but my friend here is new. I thought I'd show her around before we dive into that particular snake-oil pit. And maybe a portal to Baha-char later, for the shopping? You'll have to see it to believe it; it's like nothing anywhere else," she added in an aside to Buffy.
A tall man appeared behind the innkeeper then; he looked maybe late twenties, but somehow-- wild, as if she'd see a hunting beast looking back if she gazed too deeply into his amber eyes. He was wearing a robe too; its copper color contrasted nicely with the innkeeper's.
"Then come on in," he said. His voice was pleasant; but from the way he was looking at them both, Buffy was pretty sure he knew exactly how much of a threat they could be, too. "I trust you both know the rules?"
Willow nodded. "I'm Willow Rosenberg; this is Buffy Summers."
"Sean Evans," he replied, nodding politely.
"And I'm Dina Demille," the innkeeper said. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay; let me show you to your rooms."
It was all much more personal than Buffy was used to experiencing in a hotel; and once she stepped into the sitting room, much more comfortable too. And even more strongly nostalgic. The atmosphere felt like a cross between her mother's house and the Magic Box, both long gone now at the bottom of the Sunnydale Crater.
Whether that was the style exactly, or the magic of the inn, or something to do with the innkeepers, Buffy couldn't tell. But whatever happened tomorrow, she was suddenly very glad she hadn't turned down the experience.
For a shopping aficionado, the handful of hours Buffy spent wandering the Galactic Bazaar with Willow before their meeting was like achieving Nirvana. Walking through the portal the innkeeper had created for them from the bed and breakfast in Red Deer, Texas to the world of Baha-char had been as easy as opening a door. On the other side, a warm city built of sand-colored stone sprawled under a light purple sky. Plants draped from every terrace and the bridges connecting the tall buildings; golden tile paved the streets underfoot; and merchants were everywhere, crowding in booths and calling out from open doors. It was cheerful, overwhelming, and amazing all at once, full of dozens of different kinds of people and every conceivable kind of product, even some things straight out of sci-fi.
Overhead, a shattered planet loomed on the horizon; or maybe an oversized moon, looking down over the brightly-colored chaos. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the scents of strange, cooked foods drifted through the noisy air. It was like being inside a giant open-air mall decorated as the set of a new movie; and yet nothing like that at all, because there was nothing fake about any of it. Buffy wandered from stall to stall, hanging close at Willow's side, soaking it all in and picking up some gorgeous shoes-- and then she found a weapons shop. The proprietor was tall and broad-shouldered, with greying hair and the same amber eyes as the guy from the hotel; Buffy spent some quality time with his blades until Willow found her again to take them back home.
Okay, and so one or two of the blades might have also made it back with her; she wasn't exactly flush with any kind of galactic currency, but the rules of bartering still seemed to work as well as they did anywhere else, and Buffy never went anywhere unarmed. It was one of the most remarkable shopping experiences of her life.
"If you never take me back there again," she said fervently as they walked back through the portal, "I will never, ever forgive you."
Willow laughed. "I thought you'd appreciate that," she said. "It's not always that trouble-free, but it is always that amazing. Just remember, no using your prizes to Slay the Wolf, Ram, and Hart."
Buffy's buoyant mood faded as she remembered whey they'd come to the inn in the first place, and she sighed. "I know, I know. I'm still not sure meeting with them is the best idea in the world. But better to have some clue what they want than none at all, I guess."
"That's the spirit," Willow said, overly cheerily, as she mock-punched Buffy in the shoulder. Then they returned to their rooms to deposit their purchases and change clothes.
Buffy wasn't sure how the innkeeper had known what to choose, but her room was very '90s Valley Girl chic; comfortably nostalgic, and nothing at all like the sparsely furnished, modern apartment she kept in Cleveland these days. It made her feel like a young woman luxuriating on vacation, not the Slayer General at a business meeting. And the food they'd been served had been incredible. The place definitely deserved more than the two and a half stars on its Google Business rating.
Even the conference room they reconvened in was a feast for the eyes: a vast ballroom that had to break the laws of physics to fit in the house as they'd seen it from outside, with a night sky painted overhead, a white marble floor with a mosaic of the inn set into its center, turquoise columns wrapped with flowering vines, and three enormous chandeliers. In the middle of that grandiose space, a rectangular table was bracketed by two sets of chairs: three on one side and two on the other.
Buffy eyed the span of that tabletop; there was definitely enough square footage that she could fling almost her full body across the table and still not have a great angle to stab someone on the other side. Almost as if the innkeeper was used to hosting acrimonious meetings between warrior types. Huh; it made her wonder what other measures were in place. It was impossible to tell; the whole place was saturated in that earthy magic she'd had a foretaste of outside.
"I trust this will suit?" Dina asked. The innkeeper was holding her broom again, still dressed in that blue robe like it was a uniform. Buffy would guess that it probably was, and that the broom was like her wand, or whatever Willow would call it. She'd have to keep an eye out for people dressed like that in future.
"It's as amazing as everything else here," Buffy told her honestly. "I wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all, but this place has made the whole experience worth it."
Dina smiled back; the satisfied smile of someone who knew she was doing a good job at something she loved to do. Buffy didn't get a chance to see that look in her own mirror very often, but it was always nice to be able to make someone else's day. "Great. Just call my name if you need anything else."
"Will do," Buffy replied.
Dina turned to leave, and Buffy was about to head for the chairs when a sleek grey form darted in the door they'd entered from. It was a cat: a large one, with a Maine Coon mane and luminous green eyes. He brushed against Dina's legs in passing, then walked over and parked on his bottom in front of Buffy, looking up at her with an inquisitive Mrrrt?
"You sure about that, Olasard?" Dina asked him. The cat swung his furry head briefly back toward his human, then lifted a paw and began licking it in a show of disregard.
Dina shook her head, then gave Buffy and Willow a wry smile. "Then I'll leave you with the Ripper of Souls for company; don't worry, the inn will let him out if he gets bored."
Bemused, Buffy looked down at the cat; he glanced back up at her, then abandoned his paw-licking and sauntered over toward the chairs. "You think he earned that name?" she asked Willow, wondering again if anything about the inn was what it appeared to be.
"I don't know, but it might be fun to see what the demon lawyers make of him," Willow replied, grinning.
Buffy gave up and followed Olasard to the table. As soon as she sat down, he leapt into her lap, glanced disinterestedly over the table's empty surface, then made a circle on her thighs and settled down to purr. It really was very soothing. The inn really did know what she needed, it seemed.
No sooner had her new companion made himself comfortable than the door on the other side of the ballroom opened, admitting three androgynous beings in hooded cloaks. Willow had briefed her that they were probably wearing guest bodies in this realm, as suppressing their true forms would strain even an inn's resources. Even so, they vibed like nasty holes in the fabric of the universe, leaving an oily taste on the back of the Slayer's tongue. They took their time crossing the room, and maybe it would have been more intimidating if Buffy hadn't already had her hands full of thick, soft fur while a tiny motorboat puttered away, shedding all over her second-best pantsuit and making biscuits on her knees. They paused behind their chairs, looking down at Buffy and Willow with disdain, then took their seats as one, never speaking a word.
They seemed content to let the silence thicken. Finally, Willow tapped her fingertips on the tabletop and opened the conversation. "You asked for the Slayer who closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth and activated all the Potential Slayers. Here she is. What did you want to say to her?"
"The Slayer... and the witch who enabled her?" the one in the center said, a faint growl underlying the words. Probably the Wolf, then.
"Yep, that would be me," Willow replied, cheerily. "Although, you know, we couldn't have closed the deal without that amulet Angel brought. He didn't say then, but we found out later it came from you."
The one on the left chuckled roughly; the sound had a bleating undertone. The Ram. "The being that called itself the First Evil was not good for business."
"Your business," Buffy countered. "You didn't expect Spike to wear it, though, did you? You thought either Angel would, and put himself under your control that way, or I would, and you could use me to control him. How was that for business?"
"Very well, as it turns out," the last one said smugly: by elimination, the Hart. "So many new agents of good, the majority not effectively trained for their role; and yet, they exist. You see, the rules we are required to operate by to spread influence in your realm have certain conditions, related to our opposite numbers' actions on Earth."
Buffy's hands tightened briefly in Olasard's fur; he gave a discordant Mreh! and headbutted her nearest wrist, as if to remind her what was really important, here. "The balance," she said, scratching apologetically behind one of Olasard's ears.
"Never has our influence grown so fast since the days of the saints," the Wolf chuckled. "We are most... appreciative, and desired to show our gratitude."
More like rub it in. Buffy breathed calmingly through her nose, choking back the angry tangle of emotions that rose at the obvious provocation, and let Willow field that one.
"I'm sure you'll understand our wariness, after the way that worked out for Angel Investigations," Willow said.
They didn't know all the details of the situation that had led to Angel's team taking over the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart-- literally, as memory spells had apparently been involved, and Angel was always vague when asked about it-- but they knew the opportunity had been presented as a 'reward'. One that must have seemed hella appealing, for them to sign on without x-raying the fine print.
"What exactly does this gratitude entail?" Buffy asked, mildly.
"Nothing so ambitious, I'm afraid," the Ram assured them, faux-sympathetically. "So many of our resources currently being tied up in other... pursuits. But I daresay you shall not repine, as your current power structure is, shall we say, so beneficial to both our goals. But there is the matter of a few, ah, smaller-scale corporate assets whose disbursement you have previously expressed an interest in."
The Hart reached within their robes and withdrew a folder, holding it up long enough for Willow-- and presumably whatever detection method the inn used-- to scan it for threats. Then they tossed it onto the table between them.
Sheets of loose paper spilled out: full of densely worded language, with a dark, flaking blot somewhere on each, next to a signature. Buffy didn't need to be told what they were to recognize them.
She licked her lips, then asked the first, obvious question. "If you release Angel's team from their contracts-- what happens to the ones who are already dead?" If they were still condemned to the petty hell dimensions they'd been sent to....
The Hart flicked the folder open, exposing an additional sheet of paper; this one with an empty signature line at the bottom. "Upon confirmation of receipt, they will all be restored to the state they enjoyed at the beginning of the day our LA branch offices were once again destroyed, and if elsewhere, restored to this dimension."
That neatly got around both Wes' death and Gunn's, without risking Illyria's existence or turning Spike back into any of his previous myriad states of being: ghostly, unsouled, chipped, or Victorian. Presuming Spike counted; he hadn't been there for the initial signing. Buffy freed a hand from petting the cat to spread the sheets further apart on the table, and found neither Spike's nor Angel's name on anything, but Lorne's was there, and one she hadn't expected at all: Lindsey McCreepyHand, the one who'd dealt with Faith. Interesting.
She shared a weighted glance with Willow; her friend frowned, then turned back to the demons. "And what about Angel? I don't see his contract here."
"It cannot be voided, due to certain unique circumstances-- nor would he thank you for doing so," the Wolf replied, with a rough barking laugh. "But never fear, he is included in the boon."
Buffy opened her mouth to retort-- but Willow reached quickly under the edge of the table to sink sharp fingernails into her arm. "Do you swear," the witch said, her voice echoing subtly in the room, "that signing the acknowledgement will in no way bind Buffy or the Slayer as an entity or the Watcher's Council in any part to any form of contract, curse, or other consequence as a result?"
All three inclined their heads; then the Hart spoke. "In other circumstances, it might be otherwise; but within the confines of an inn? Naturally, we so swear," they said, condescendingly.
Willow? What are you thinking? she projected at her friend silently.
I'm thinking I was wrong, and this isn't about you after all; or at least, not primarily. It's still-- always-- about Angel. He's a figure in them winning the Apocalypse somehow. But the Powers granting him the Shanshu even after he'd signed it away basically neutered that plan.
Buffy met the Wolf's gaze as best she could, beneath their hood; then she reached for the paper. The Ripper of Souls stretched on her lap at the move, as if preparing to jump down.
I might have known, she projected back to Willow. But I'm not seeing any immediate bad here. Can you think of any non-existential reason not to sign?
Not really? Except.... Willow's mental voice trailed off with a weird feeling of guilt.
Right. "How about an addendum? We accept the revocation of the contracts... but you ask each of them what they want to happen to them afterward." It was one thing to free them all. Another to then immediately decide their fate for them. Angel's, especially.
"Easily done," the Hart said, and reached out to touch the page's header. Between the existing text and the signature line, new words bled into being, confirming the alteration.
Buffy exchanged another glance with Willow, then pricked her thumb with the offered, inkless pen nib. Very traditional; though she trusted Willow to do her usual thing and neutralize the blood so it couldn't be used for anything other than its stated purpose. Before she could touch pen to page, though, Olasard abruptly stood up in her lap, batting the nib away. Then he pawed at the new text again where it read ask and growled, tail lashing.
The three demons all stiffened at the cat's appearance, subtly leaning away from the table. Buffy blinked at them, then down at the page again, and drew a sharp breath. "Sorry, you forgot one thing: that their wishes will be respected after you ask," she said firmly.
The mood on the other side of the table soured; but they must have thought they still had a way of achieving their goal, because the Hart begrudgingly touched the document again, as far from Olasard's reach as possible, and filled in the adjustment.
Buffy readied the pen again, glancing at the cat; but this time, the Ripper of Souls didn't object. The minute her signature was applied, the page flashed; then Willow reached for it, sliding it back into the folder and taking it in a firm grasp. "Done," she said. "Now, is there anything else?"
"Pleasure doing business with you," the Wolf growled out, rising from their chair. "We look forward to seeing what future collaboration might bring."
On that vaguely blustery, threatening note, they all inclined hooded heads in unison, then turned to glide out of the room.
"Please tell me I didn't just do the wrong thing?" Buffy said, plaintively.
"Oh, there's absolutely another hook in there somewhere, there's gotta be," Willow replied, pensively. "But there'll be opportunities, too. Besides, I can't believe it's ever a bad thing to un-enslave someone's soul."
"Personal over the world," Buffy agreed, with a mirthless smile. Then she sighed. "We're staying for dinner, though, right?"
"I certainly hope so," Dina said, rising out of the floor next to the table like a growing plant. "We didn't expect you to be done so soon; Orro's gone all out. Was your business satisfactorily concluded?"
"Orro? He's your Red Cleaver chef, right?" Willow perked up. At Dina's affirmative, she turned to Buffy with a nod. "Definitely staying. As for the business...."
"Time will tell on that one, I think," Buffy shrugged. "If we need any other meetings in future, though, I definitely know where to hold them. Thanks, cat," she added, looking down at her lap.
Olasard blinked innocently up at her, then unceremoniously leapt down and sashayed back to his human, brushing against Dina's robes.
"I'm glad all was to your liking; though I can't speak for the cat," Dina said, smiling. "Now, if you want to freshen up before we eat...."
Whatever else one could say about the changes that rippled out from their choices that day, most of the actual stay, at least, Buffy would always remember with joy.
(x-posted on
twistedshorts and on AO3)
