Lindsey´s Angels 3
December 5, 2004
Somewhere
3.25pm
A strand of hair pushed back from her flushed face, Cordelia pushed herself to keep stirring the boiling water. God, what she wouldn´t give for a washing machine but for that, she would need electricity. Civilisation was what she really craved, that and Doyle. She wanted out...now.
Stifling a groan at hearing one of the twins start howling in hunger, the tired woman wondered just what type of cosmic beings had decided upon playing this joke on her. How on earth did she get trapped in another country with two lactose intolerant children? She would never in her wildest dreams have thought children could be allergic to yak´s milk but apparently they could be.
Thank god for one of the other human women that her Master owned. As sad as it had been for Kimlai to lose her child, it was only through the other woman allowing the twins to feed from her left over breast milk that had kept the two girls from starving to death. Cordelia gave a weary smile to the smaller woman gathering up Aiesha, Gonturan still asleep thankfully. Large pot given one last stir, the would be actress picked up another long stick and flipped out one of the faded cloths that passed for nappies.
Hands held over the rising steam from the wet bundle as it lay on the drying stone, she rubbed her fingers, trying to get the blood circulating. She was terrified that one day she would wake up with one of her fingers frozen so much that she would have to have it cut off, the same fears for her toes. When she had been younger, she had loved to visit the trendiest ski resorts each winter but after spending so much time in the oppressive snow, she almost jumped for joy at each ray of sunshine that appeared each day. She truly never wanted to see snow again, however, she rose each day knowing that the first thing she would see each day was a pure white expanse as soon as she opened the tent flaps.
Sighing, she flipped out the remaining clothes in the large clay pot and added the next lot. Who would have thought that her life would take such a twist? After being ordered out of the Magic Box, she had been bundled into a van with both twins, accompanied by one of the black clad men. The journey had taken hours, only stopping to allow her to change the twins and feed them some formula. Where the nappies and formula had come from, she hadn´t asked, still fearing that one of the twins would be killed.
She had eventually fallen asleep after the twins had been taken by the man, the sight of one of the murderers bouncing a gurgling girl on his knee had been unsettling not to say the least but she had been overwhelmed with tiredness anyway, eventually succumbing to the lure. Cordelia really didn´t know how long or how far she had travelled but once they had stopped, she had been taken out of the van, twins in her arms again. She had ignored the heaviness of them, instead trying to take notice of any little things she could for future reference for when Angel found her. Angel would find her, she knew that.
She had been stunned to find herself in the middle of nowhere, trees surrounding her. The van had driven off, leaving her with the one black clad man firmly holding onto her upper arm. It was then that Cordelia had allowed the tears to flow, she had been sure she was about to be executed along with the two little girls. What had surprised her though was when three more vans had pulled up alongside them. The tears had given way to fury, the woman screaming that she wouldn´t be separated from the girls. The four men from the vans had been amused on the whole, the two foreign looking women had been more shocked.
Standing in the quiet forest, she had been poked and prodded at before each child had been similarly examined. Fear had crept its way from her toes to her scalp, tingling over each nerve. She had had a fair idea of what the examination was for and she hadn´t been wrong. Cordelia had ended up being sold to one of the women after she had kicked the man holding her in the groin as he had tried to pry the twins from her. The one who had bought her had laughed, smiling at her while adding an extra bundle of cash to the huge stack in the suited mans hand, gesturing wildly at her.
Cordelia hadn´t know the gestures were a spell. If she had, she would have tried to run but then again, she might have ended up with a really lousy Master and not the kind one she had. A great ball of light had transported her and the twins to...somewhere. Where, she really wasn´t too sure. She wasn´t even sure of how much time had passed since the Magic Box incident. The brunette had tried keep a record of the days via scratches on a pot but after it had gotten broken, she just let it fall by the wayside.
Seeing the steam had diminished on some of the cloths, she ignored the heat and started to wring out the excess water from her chosen bundle. Where she had ended up was still a mystery. She was sure that she was still in her original dimension as she could pick out a few words of English from the language spoken by her Master and his family. Nepal was where she had ended up, she was sure of that. It had to be Nepal, there were yaks and all the other humans looked slightly Chinese. She was the only white human female although she had seen a few other Caucasian men in some of the other camps her Master had stopped at over the days.
Aeisha and Gonturan were most certainly the first dark–skinned humans her Master had seen, everyone had oooed and ahhhed over them, the girls giggling at the attention. From what she had gathered from Kimlai, her Master thought that Cordelia was the twins birth mother and it was something that the brunette woman wasn´t in a hurry to clear up, unsure of how her standing in the camp would be affected if she told the truth. She had been horribly humiliated to gesture to the other women the lie that her breast milk had dried up, cringing at the sympathetic pattings from her Master´s family.
So far, she had been treated fairly well and apart from the hard manual labour that was expected of her, it really wasn´t a hardship. At night, she couldn´t help but dream of Doyle, hoping that everything was all right with her fiancée.
Bundle thoroughly squeezed, Cordelia grimaced as she thought of how much her body had toned up with all the heavy work. She was sure she could probably arm wrestle Doyle and win, even with his half demon strength. A tear slipping from her eye, she hastily wiped at it, not letting her emotions distract her from her allotted work. A dark shadow fell over her, the brunette jerking her head up to smile at her Master. Every day, the tall shaggy creature visited the twins, growling his laughter as he tickled and played with the happy girls.
Could be worse she thought, he could have raped her by now. She could be pregnant with a half beast. He could have cooked and eaten the twins or worse yet, eaten them while they were still alive. Stomach churning at the thought, she put a smaller pot on the fire to prepare a cup of the pungent tea the demon favoured. A handful of herbs added to the cool water, she watched as Aeisha crawled towards the demon. He looked rather like a yeti, whatever they really looked like. All the photos Cordelia had ever seen had been badly reproduced ones in various school textbooks and in museums. Upon seeing who she had been sold to, she had been doubly sure she was in Tibet or one of the surrounding countries. If she could find a Buddhist Monk, then she was sure she would be able to find her way to an American Consulate. Every Monk knew who Richard Gere was, so surely they would help out a fellow American?
Why had the demon wanted the twins? That was one of the questions that rattled around her mind on a daily basis, she was hoping that the demon wasn´t looking to mate one of the twins with one of its own children. The thought that they could do worse really wasn´t a comforting idea. At the sound of her name, she turned her attention to her Master. Sitting next to the red haired demon, she nodded and smiled as she listened to whatever it was saying. They both knew that she couldn´t understand it but that fact didn´t stop her Master trying to have a conversation with her.
They were going to be moving camp in the morning. At least that was what she thought they would be doing if she had translated the grunts, growls and hand gestures correctly. With a nod, she moved from the demons side to pour the boiling tea. Moving wasn´t new, they moved about every two weeks. She really hoped that Wesley was working on a location spell.
December 6, 2004
3.36 pm
Business was not going as expected.
Teeth clenched, Randall sat at his desk. He was fuming over the latest monthly report and what he was reading was horrifying.
Sanity was supposed to be a success. The figures were proving him wrong. It was making nowhere near the estimated profits. The profit at the end of each day barely paid for the overheads, let alone his debt to Wolfram and Hart. Sanity had been open for four months now, and even though the word was out on the street, it wasn´t proving popular with the local demons.
Randall suspected that if he didn´t do something soon, he wouldn´t be on speaking terms with Wolfram and Hart for much longer. Something to be avoided at all costs. He knew what was wrong.
There was great bar service, drinks and an assortment of nibblies for almost every type of demon. The music was changed often so that there were songs and instrumental pieces to suit everyone. His whores were working their arses off, just like they were trained to do. The new demon whores were working out well, they were all employed voluntarily, reducing the ´care´ costs. Unfortunately, the demon clients were not employing them for their hired services. The demon prostitutes were basically sitting around drinking and not really doing much else, while his human whores might as well not even move from their service rooms – they were in there 90% of the time anyway.
Getting up, the bar manager walked over to his personal stash of single malt whiskey, the disappointing figures thrown to one side of the desktop. Pouring himself a large glass, his forehead furrowed as he slipped once again into deep thought.
He knew what the problem was. It was one that both himself and Lindsey failed to take into account. Demons didn´t want to sit down after a hard day with a drink – well, some did but most didn´t. They wanted to slaughter something – the more blood, the better. If they got one of their own bones broken in the process of ´unwinding´ after a hard day, then it was just put down as a minor detail.
Hardly a night or day went by without some type of brawl erupting between the various species that visited the bar. Word was passed around by both offending parties, each ´victim´ telling their relatives and friends not to visit Sanity as their enemy loitered there. Needless to say, whole clans of demons suddenly stopped coming in, business slowing even more. If it wasn´t for the human whores he had reclaimed, Randall knew that Sanity wouldn´t have even lasted as long as it already had. That, and the fact that he had employed the demon prostitutes on a commission basis.
The running costs had finally killed him. The extra cost of hiring keepers/bodyguards/bouncers to protect the human whores was ridiculous, but he wasn´t about to risk another kidnap attempt. He was tapped dry and Lindsey had already talked to him about his mounting debt to the law firm, indicating that the lawyer himself had also been talked to by his superiors. Sanity was going to have to close. Randall was going to have to cut his losses, swallow his pride and figure out how to stay in the land of the living.
He was clever and he had an idea.
His human whores had proved to be the only saving grace in the whole debacle. The former brothel owner had been repeatedly approached by various demons asking if they could purchase a certain boy, Randall feeling full of pride but saying no. Well, he wasn´t going to say no now, and as much as he was fond of his boys, they were about to take a ride with which ever demon paid the most for them.
He was going to approach Lindsey with his idea the next day, he just wasn´t too sure of how to pitch it to the lawyer. It wasn´t every day you decided to become a demon consort trainer. Some of the sums of money offered for Scott, Andrew and even the red–haired Patrick, had been astronomical. When some of the more persistent clients had finally realised that Randall wasn´t going to give in, the Sanity manager had been asked if he would be able to train a consort if the demon provided one. Another offer that Randall had refused.
With a sigh, the older man knew he was going to have to negotiate a cheaper rate for youths from the Hellmouth. There was no way he was going to pay the usual going rate if he was going to be buying bulk stock. He wanted a discount.
Randall wondered if he should also enquire about a discounted rate for youths not from Sunnydale, after all, couldn´t hurt to ask...
He had almost drowned this time, but like always, he was going to swim.
December 6, 2004
3.36 pm
A stumbled step forward, the lone figure wove a drunken path through the grass. Arms held out in front of him, Doyle tried to steer himself straight without tripping, vainly trying to feel an obstacle before bumping into it. Minutes later, he was lying on his side, exhausted.
Frustrated and hungry, he swore for what was possibly the hundredth time that hour. With his hands tearing clumps of brittle grass from the cool ground, he let himself have a moment of self pity. The Irishman had earned just a moment´s worth and damn it all, he was going to indulge. He had a fair idea that he was in the country, he was bumping into trees almost constantly. The half demon´s upper body and face was covered in scratches and welts from stumbling into bushes and falling over.
Doyle was frightened that he would die, alone and without anyone knowing what had happened to him. He was worried about Cordelia´s fate but was certain she was already back with Angel.
His employer was looking for him right that instant. Wesley was probably stuffing around with his spells and vile smelling concoctions, all the better to find him with. Comforted by this thought, the dark–haired man struggled to his feet, allowing himself to sway for a moment before pressing forward.
Surely there must be a farmstead or house close by?
Knowing his luck, he would be set upon by a farmers rabid dog before he even opened his mouth to ask for help if he happened to stumble across a farm. Arms reached out again, Doyle slowly put a foot forward, one at a time. Following the ground´s natural swellings and dips, the dark haired man continued his journey.
The dry grass crunching under his feet, Doyle shrieked in both fright and pain as he smacked his stiff fingers against a very solid tree trunk. With his temper finally at the end of its tether, the smaller man kicked forward, grunting in satisfaction as his foot connected with the tree, screaming enough profanity for the tree´s leaves to wither in shock. Yes, it hurt his foot but after kicking the trunk a few times, he had to admit that he felt better. A chuckle later, Doyle realised that he didn´t even know the meaning of some of what he had screamed at an innocent tree. The laughter died down as he sank slowly to the ground, hoping to god that he didn´t sit arse down on a rabbit trap.
"Fuck, I just want to get home. I want to be with Cordy and me friends, it´s not too much to ask is it?"
Snorting, the half demon shook his head. He knew there was no one around to answer him, if there was, he would more than likely be in hospital by now. One hand fiddling with the grass beside him, the Irishman wondered if he would ever get back to the Hyperion and if he did, in just what state. Alive or dead? Knees drawn up to his chest, arms resting on top, Doyle lay his head on his forearms. He was lost and he had no idea of how to get home again, back to his friends and fiancee. The first thing he was going to do when he got back home was marry Cordelia. No more stuffing around with fancy invitations and what colour for the bridesmaid´s dresses.
One less bridesmaid anyway, Buffy was dead. With a groan, Doyle thought back to that horrible night in the Magic Box. The last thing he had seen was Willow being thrown into a van, followed by one of the masked gunmen. What had happened to everybody after that, he had no idea. He had been too shocked to even put up a fight with the black clad man in the back of the van with him, just waiting out the hours in silence. Ultimately, he had been transported to an unknown location and transferred into a concrete cell that had held nothing but a few blankets, a mattress and a pillow. The only decoration had been a metal toilet bowl.
He had been fed twice a day for weeks, the boredom driving him to distraction after only a few days. No–one had spoken to him other than to tell him to stand and face the door when it was time for his meals, all his attempts at trying to share a joke or make conversation with one of his kidnappers had been ignored. He now knew why people in constant isolation usually ended up having conversations with themselves, they weren´t crazy, they were just bored. No–one had threatened or intimidated him. He had received a large bowl of warm water and sponge every second day to wash himself with, new clothes had been provided after his original garments had gotten too dirty and he had been given new toilet rolls just as the old ones ran out. Doyle knew he had been fairly well treated, his constant fear had been that he would end up like Xander, used and abused.
He had ended up being abused, just not in the way he had thought he would be. His eyes had been taken. No warning had been given. The half demon had been held down one morning over two weeks ago, his green eyes scooped out with an item that had looked like a spoon. It had hurt, he had screamed until he had passed out. He had shit himself, he wasn´t ashamed to admit that.
With a shudder, he could almost feel the cool metal sliding in between his eye and the lower lid, resting just behind his eye, the pain of his orb bulging out of his too small socket. He had no idea if they had been able to get his eyes out in one piece or not, if they had had to slice them into smaller pieces. The Irishman had woken up thinking his head was aching from a vision, only realising the nightmare had been real after touching his sewn up eyelids. Amidst all his renewed screaming, he had learnt that he had been expected to die. His survival being put down to his half demon status.
Doyle hadn´t really been game since to touch his eyes, too afraid of the hollowness he knew he would feel. Yesterday, he had been carried to a van and thrown in. Lying on the floor, he had talked himself hoarse with his many questions of what was going to happen to him, no answer given like always. The van had stopped, doors opened and he had been shoved out. After falling onto the hard ground, he had been terrified to realise that he had just been left behind in what he assumed was the middle of nowhere.
At first he had sat down and waited for the van to come back, but after a while he had come to the conclusion that he was on his own and that only he could save himself. So, he had gotten up, twirled around a few times and had set off in the direction he had ended up pointing to. Walking into bushes, trees and falling into large holes. He had been lucky so far in that he hadn´t seriously hurt himself and broken something. Doyle had felt the night descend, chilling him to the bone. All fears of broken bones and wild animal attacks had flown out of his head once he had felt the temperature drop. He had been more worried about freezing to death or catching a nasty virus. Ultimately he had been glad to wake to the sun warming his face, his body enjoying the rising temperature.
With a hand rubbed through his hair, Doyle carefully got to his feet, resting against the solid tree trunk for a moment. Stepping out from under the shade, the half demon continued his journey forward.
December 7, 2004
Hyperion Hotel
12.12 pm
Cloth rinsed under the steaming water, Joyce winced as her hand came perilously close to being scalded by the hard stream of water. Cold–water tap twisted on, she let the two temperatures mingle before thrusting the cloth back into the steady stream. Cloth wrung out, the older woman proceeded to wipe down the kitchen bench.
"God damn it!"
It was Riley´s birthday the next day and in trying to bake a simple chocolate cake, Joyce had created a barely organized chaos in the large kitchen. There was dried cake batter over almost every surface, the kitchen a quiet witness to a snap of Joyces nerves. It had taken three tries before finally getting a completely baked cake. The first try had been dropped on the floor in an accident, the tin just slipping from her grip. A few groans later, the almost done cake had been cleaned up and a new one shoved into the oven a mere half hour later.
The second try had been thrown against the opposite wall after Joyce had burnt her fingers in getting the tin out, to see how the batter was cooking. The impact had echoed around the large kitchen, deep brown half–baked cake flying in all directions. Joyce admitted to herself that it wouldn´t be that hard to clean up if she hadn´t been lazy and let it dry first while making the third attempt. This time however, it was perfect.
Riley was going to be twenty–eight. Joyce wouldn´t be surprised if the tall ex–soldier took the opportunity to finally start drinking, allowing himself to slip into a beginning alcohol induced existence. Her daughter´s boyfriend was strong, she knew that. Only a person of exceptional character would have been able to keep Buffy´s interest, let alone keep up with her.
The blond man was dangerously close to slipping though and tomorrow might just be the day he went over the edge. Joyce hoped that between her and Graham, it wouldn´t happen. Riley´s best friend had come to her that morning, revealing his own fears for his buddy. Both of them were going to try to keep the tall blond busy, keep him occupied with enough so that he wouldn´t even contemplate pouring his nightly drink.
Angel had been informed of their fears, Graham having a quiet word to the vampire before the older demon had made his way to Wesley´s room that morning. Angel had merely grunted at the smaller man, brushing past Graham in the corridor like he wasn´t there and Graham had let it happen. Upon being told, the older woman had hugged the taller man, slipping her arms around Graham´s waist as she had felt the ex–soldier reciprocate. Together they had stood, neither making a move to release the other until Angel had burst into the kitchen, only then jumping apart as if burnt.
The older vampire had taken no notice of the two humans, just wiping at the mess on his jumper before leaving again, Graham flashing Joyce a small smile before following. Joyce had to admit that she was more than a little annoyed that Angel had chosen that particular moment to appear. She couldn´t deny that it had been a pleasant experience, having Graham´s arms around her. It had felt so different from hugging Angel and Riley, even Wesley before he had gone into self–imposed exile. It had been nice, her heart doing the tiniest of flutters as she had leaned into the strong warmth.
"I´m so fucking tired."
Shoulders shrugged, Joyce smiled a little at voicing a random thought. With the last of the cake batter cleaned up, she threw the rag into the bin.
"Quick pro quo and fucking blah, blah, blah."
Ok, things were getting weird now because she sure as hell didn´t remember thinking that so...why would she even say it?
"Useless, that´s what I am. That´s what everyone is."
No. This could not be happening. She was not going to take Drusilla´s place as the nutty one. There was no way she would be able to live up to the legend anyway. Joyce had read the books on the dark haired vampiress after everyone had gotten over the shock of Drusilla´s demise and had to admit that the woman had been fascinating. No wonder Spike had been addicted to her. A pang of pity went through her at the thought of the bleached blond, hoping that he presently wasn´t in the pain Drusilla was so adamant he was feeling. The same thought going out for all the missing friends.
"Bloody hell, where is everything?"
What on earth was happening? One hand clapped over her mouth, the older human woman wondered just why she was saying things she knew wasn´t coming from her mind.
"Ich bin name...no, no that wasn´t right. Hang on, Ich bin na..bugger!"
German? She didn´t know any German but it had sounded like it. Her voice making the sounds even if she didn´t think it. Feeling a little sick, she walked across the linoleum to the kitchen table, knees wobbling as her legs threatened to give out. Chair dragged out, Joyce sat heavily as she said a complete sentence in German. French. She knew French but the guttural language of the Germans hadn´t held an interest for her so she had never studied it but she was fluent in French.
"London bridge is falling down, falling down..falling down,..London bridge is falling down..my fair lady."
A sob broke thorough the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen as her words took on a crisp clear accent. An English accent. Hand wiping across her eyes, she smeared the salty tears as they made their way down her cheeks.
"Oranges and lemons...the bells of Saint Clements...A–tishoo, A–tishoo...we all fall down...no, that was wrong. Damn it!"
An English accented *male* voice.
Not knowing whether to laugh or continue crying, the woman sniffled as she voiced more nursery rhymes from long ago. With her voice dropping lower with each word, she marvelled at how strange it was to speak with an accent other than American.
She knew whose voice it was.
It was one she had thought never to hear again, so uninhibited.
It was Wesley´s, completely free from the restraints the maiming had left him with. Unfortunately, from what she was mouthing, it was clear the man didn´t have the healthiest of minds.
