Finey_McFine: Sadly, I am not as smooth as Willow. The ‘boobies’ slip up is actually based off of my own, “We should go to Subway for lunch since it’s only a five minute walk and oh my god titties.”
wimpy0729: It really means a lot having you compare my humor with the show’s. The Buffy series was one that also lent it’s humors to visual jokes, and well-timed scene cuts, something I find difficult to replicate in writing.
vampyregurl73: Aaaaand she’s got it! I love your inner cynic. The things Artie says are inspired by this neighbor child I hang out with sometimes, though her personality is based off of my puppy.
Also, not gonna lie. I scared myself writing the first few paragraphs of this chapter and refused to open the document to write more because I was afraid of reading what I'd already written.
Title: Sentinels (Chapter 7)
Author: Starr, aka faolan228
Email:
faolan228@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13 to R, mostly for language
Disclaimer: Starr does not own BtVS or any related works. Except for Artie. Only because no one else wanted her.
Feedback: Me gusta.
Summary: Season 1 happened as it did on the show, but everything after has been molded and reshaped to my lunacy. Moral ambiguity abounds. Lying is sometimes okay for the right reasons, and genocidal rage a perfectly normal thing for people to feel. AU W/T that may or may not be a comedy.
Songs listened to while writing this chapter for inspiration:
Silent Hill Theme
The Devil is in the Details by The Chemical Brothers (This I’ve decided is Art’s unofficial theme song. Plays whenever she’s being stupid.)
Up is Down by Hans Zimmer
Chapter 7(This chapter is one perpetual ass-kicking for Artie)It had lived in this house for generations.
This house, on the Hellmouth, since before the town itself was founded.
Human kind had an instinctual fear of the dark, though very few knew as to why, and most that did were Sunnydale locals. The common demons that roamed the streets at night were just that, common. They sported spikes, poisons, and bright colors in a similar manner to insects and lizards in the wild: a deterrent for the true demons. ‘Do not eat me!’ they said.
True demons, like this one, did not care.
There was no need to sport any sort of bright coloration. True demons, like the Turok-han, the Gentlemen, and this one had no natural predators.
They shared the same common features: Pale, grey skin and sunken in eyes. Elongated faces. Sharp teeth. Humanoid enough that the mere sight of them was truly off-putting. These were all characteristics shared by many fictional horrors as well, as if their creators subconsciously knew that these very features were what terrified humans the most.
These were the features that were permanently imprinted into the memories of mankind’s earliest ancestors, the features that lurked just beyond where the light could reach, and the features that children see in the cracks of their closet doors.
This one was smaller than the Gentlemen or the Turok-han, or its other demonic brethren, but it was a true demon, no doubt.
Ever feel, late at night, a soft pressure at the foot of the bed? Not comforting at all, instead your body tenses because even in your sleepy haze, you know that Something Doesn’t Belong?
It’s Him.
Ever wake up in the middle of the night to see a hunched, emaciated figure in your room that you brush off as a dream before rolling over and falling back asleep?
That’s also Him.
Ever have sleep paralysis, in that terrifying space between dreaming and wakefulness as something bears down on you while you lay, leaving you immobile and unable to scream?
He’s testing you.
Ever have pets go missing, even though they’re indoor pets?
Him, too.
There were new people moving into the house. With, by the sounds of it, children. He loved children, loved tormenting them. They saw the truth in Him, and their terror was absolute and pure. Adults denied and denied, and teenagers fought, caught between the childhood
knowing and the adulthood denying of the inevitable.
Boxes were being placed on floors, and furniture was being pushed about. The child’s hands probed in the darkness, and His lipless mouth split open in a dead man’s grin. There was a flash, and the mouthful of needle-teeth clamped down.
Hard.
Artie’s hand jerked back from the closet at the unexpected pain, bringing the demon with it. The thing was a naked and grey human in miniature, head too large for its 10 inch long body.
“Eww!” She threw the tiny demon to the ground and stomped on it. Furiously. Into mush.
Tara poked her head in through the doorway, hefting a box of personal belongings in her arms. “A bit too old to have monsters in your closet, aren’t you?”
“He bit me,” Art scowled, licking at her injured hand.
“Quit licking it!” Tara snapped.
Her Slayer waved her hand at her, showing that the wound was already healing. “I know it’s only been like, a month, but seriously. Slayer now. No need to worry about my boo-boos anymore.”
“Please, continue humoring my neurotic, maternal tendencies,” The Watcher quirked her brow at the demon pudding. “I’d watch out if I were you. Those things travel in packs.”
“Yeah, yeah! I’m all Big-Slayer-Girl now. I can deal.”
Tara rolled her eyes good naturedly before moving to her room across the hall. “And clean that mess up!”
The two had, for their first few days in Sunnydale, been staying in a cheap, crappy apartment paid for by the Council. Tara, feeling that that was no place for an 18 year old young woman and a rambunctious 12 year old, let alone a Watcher with a Slayer to train, had used a bit of her inheritance money to buy this old 7 bedroom house, 3 bedrooms upstairs and 4 downstairs .
Two of the bedrooms upstairs were actually used, while the third was used as Tara’s personal study. The largest of the four downstairs was currently in the process of being converted into a dojo of sorts, with tatami mat floors and various training implements.
All in all, a great place for a young Slayer to live and train.
DING-DONG!
Artie looked out into the hall. No response from Tara’s room.
DING-DONG!
Slyly, she covered up the demon’s remains with a corner of the rug and dashed off to answer the door.
“Hi, we saw you were new to the neighborhood and we thought we should say hi and oh wait never mind it’s just you.”
Dawn, Buffy, and Joyce stood on the front porch, the Summers matriarch looking positively welcoming, while Buffy and Dawn just looked confused. Artie stepped aside and let them in, pointing Buffy to the direction of Tara’s room. She poked her head out the door and stared at the house right next to theirs.
They were 1632. Buffy’s house was right next door.
“Huh. How’d I not notice that?”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Buffy let out an appreciative whistle at the sight of the training room.
“It’s not quite done yet,” Tara smiled warmly. “But once it is, you and Faith are welcome to use it.”
“Neat! That beats the school library or Giles’ living room by like, a lot.”
“I bet!” Tara paused. “Where’s your mom?”
“In the kitchen force feeding your Slayer the green bean casserole we brought over, I bet.”
Tara snorted. “Good luck. That kid’s the pickiest eater I know.”
“Great. Dawn will eat anything. They can have their own wacky sitcom.”
The two turned and headed back toward the kitchen. Artie, Dawn, and Joyce were around the kitchen island, talking politely and eating.
“-about a month back.”
“And how are you dealing with it? Big changes like that can affect girl, I bet.”
“Not really,” Artie shrugged. “I’ve been with my Watcher for a year before I was Called, and she took me all over the place, ki-” Dawn kicked her under the table. She had known of her older sister’s nighttime activities long before their mother, and the two Summers girls had made it a point to avoid talking of the really gritty stuff around their mother. “-er, big game hunting.”
“And what about school?” Ever the concerned parent, Joyce was. “I know Buffy and Faith have enough trouble keeping up with schoolwork, and Dawn tells me you’re in her grade.”
“We have History and English together,” Dawn shot cheerfully.
Art swallowed another bite of casserole. “Well, school gets out at 2:30, and Tara always makes sure I have all my homework done before patrol, which starts at sundown. I only do three hours before Buffy or Faith take over, so I can be home by bedtime.”
Joyce smiled warmly. “Your Watcher sounds like a very sensible woman. Not like Rupert, oh no. If Buffy wants to study, she has to do it
while she’s on patrol.”
She grinned at Joyce around her spoon, and the older woman couldn’t the sharp intake of breath. Her eldest daughter had told her about the new Slayer and how young she was, but seeing her sitting there side by side with her Dawnie, it had finally sunk in. ‘
She’s just a baby.’
Buffy poked her head into the kitchen. “Aha! See? Told you!” Tara followed her in, thinking it odd that she was being led around her own house. “Tara, this is my mom. Mom, this is Tara. She’s Art’s Watcher.”
“…you’re younger than I expected.”
Tara ducked her head, bangs over eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot lately.”
‘
She’s barely any older than Buffy,’ Joyce bit the inside of her cheek. “And the two of you live here? By yourselves?”
“’m eighteen, m’am,” Tara said respectfully. “And a fully trained W-watcher.” Artie rose from her seat and pulled a fresh carton of juice from the fridge, popping the little plastic ring-seal and pocketing it before moving on to the cupboard.
The eldest Summers woman could not even fathom the idea of someone Buffy’s age taking care of someone Dawn’s age and fighting monster at the same time. The idea of it horrified her.
“No adults?”
Tara swallowed. “I report to my superiors every two weeks or so, and Mister Giles checks on us, so we’re fine.” Behind Joyce, another tiny demon leapt out at Art from the cupboard. The young Slayer seized it in her fist and flung it out the open window.
‘
Babies. They’re all just babies.’ Buffy, Willow, Xander, Faith, and now these two. Then Joyce made her decision. “You two should come over for dinner sometime.”
Artie pulled a glass from the cupboard, the inside of it stained with some sort of pus yellow, viscous liquid of obviously demonic origins. The Slayer sniffed at it, shrugged, and poured the juice in anyway.
Tara’s eyes widened. “Well...”
Over Joyce’s shoulder, Artie, sipping her…
juice, turned big, pleading eyes to her Watcher.
“I dunno…”
“Ooh!” Dawn hopped up and down in her seat. “We could invite everyone over, every other weekend?”
Buffy squeaked. “Like a Scooby bonding night?”
Joyce nodded. “I think it’d be a great idea.”
Dawn continued her bouncing. “We wouldn’t always have dinner. We could watch movies and have popcorn and stuff-”
“-And invite the whole gang over!” Buffy seemed to really get into it now. “Faith and Giles and Willow and Xander.”
‘
Willow…’ Tara blushed, and gave a strained smile. “That sounds swell.”
Artie kept drinking the damn juice.
The Next Night“Ta’?”
“…”
“Taaaaaa’!”
“…”
“I stopped puking and my fever went down. Can we train now?”
“…”
“I finished all my homework, and we’ve got a few more hours till sundown.”
The young Watcher glared at her from over her Harry Potter book. The bizarre liquid Artie had ingested the previous evening had proven, to no one’s surprise, to be poisonous. A combination of Slayer healing and the sure knowledge that neither Heaven nor Hell would want the girl until she reached the age where she wasn’t a complete lunatic was the only thing that kept her from expiring in the middle of the night.
Also Tara did some magic, though judging from how upset she was at her Slayer’s idiocy, she probably half-assed it.
‘
Pickiest person in existence when she needs to be fed,’ the witch groused.
‘And she sees some strange liquid and goes, ‘Gee I wonder what would happen if I ate this!’’
“I know you’re just ignoring me because you’re mad. You’ve read that book like a gazillion times.”
And why not? A young child with magical powers gets taken from his abusive home to a wondrous castle where he is taught magic? Tara could relate a little too well.
“And it’s ‘Prisoner of Azkaban’, too,” Artie frowned. “Remember the last time you read this one?”
Tara lifted the book closer to her face and flicked her bangs over her eyes in an attempted to hide her shamed blush. Upon reaching the chapter about Animagi, she proclaimed it A Great Idea and had sped outside.
Having one’s Watcher stuck in the form of an eagle for several days could put a damper on any 12 year old’s love for the fictional wizarding world.
In hindsight, a witch who sucked at transfiguration had no business learning to shapeshift, anyway.
She had killed a lot of owls that week, though. No matter how cute Hedwig was, Tara hated real life owls in a manner that no reasonable human being should hate an animal.
The Watcher trilled angrily. “Training room. Now.”
The young Slayer scurried into the training room and pivoted on her heel, feeling Kaa’s familiar weight in her hand.
Yes, she named her sword after the snake from the Jungle Book.
Art barely had time to contemplate her own wittiness before Tara’s own blade came slicing downwards. While the young Slayer used a rapier, Tara preferred an old Civil War cavalry saber. While Artie had her Slayer strength to back up her blows now, her Watcher still had about 12 years’ experience thanks to her Watcher-dad.
Essentially, Tara fought like they did in pirate movies.
Her magic made her even more deadly. Art ducked a wave of light blue fire, though she knew that Tara would never hurt her with her magic. The blue fire would probably do something stupid, like turn her hair purple.
Actually, scratch that. That’d be awesome.
With a duck and roll, she dodged the thrust of Tara’s blade and parried as she rose.
‘She’s…really stressed right now.’She knew it couldn’t have been her little poisoning incident that had upset her Watcher, so it must have been something else.
Was it girl troubles?
Tara’s blade slipped between Artie’s arm and body.
No! Never! Tara
never had girl problems. Most people would consider ‘sheltering’ Artie from adult things, but her grandparents had owned an alpaca farm. She knew all about mommies and daddies.
Artie also knew about daddies and daddies-
She dropped to her knees as the witch’s blade stabbed at where her head was.
-so when she met Tara, the idea of mommies and mommies really came to no surprise.
What was a surprise was the idea of Tara having girl problems. The Watcher was naturally perceptive when it came to people, and combined with the level of manipulation that all Watchers seem to develop (not her fault, Artie had decided. Nature vs. Nurture and all) resulted in Tara being one smooth talker. Heck, the only way Tara would have girl troubles would be if she couldn’t talk, and even then Artie had her doubts.
…but honestly, what were the chances of that?
“Asdfughuk!” Artie hit the ground.
“Keep your head in the fight,” her Watcher scolded. “And don’t be afraid to fight dirty. The demons sure won’t.”
“’Keep my head in the fight’? Look who’s talking, Zone-face!”
“I wasn’t zoning out!”
“You were!” Art flipped onto her back, looking up at the older girl. “Wanna talk about it?”
Tara plopped down next to her, cross legged. “Noooo….”
“C’mon!”
She rested her elbow on her knee and leaned on her hand. “Girl.”
“How’d I get that wrong?!”
Tara peered at her with one eye, the other covered by her bangs. “Um, what?”
“Nothing. Is it someone we know? It’d have to be. We don’t know many people here.”
“Willow,” she murmured.
“You’re interested in her? Go for it.” As if that was the simplest thing in the world. Oh, the innocence of a child.
“What? No!”
“Why not?”
“We’re busy!” Tara sputtered. “Slaying and whatnot.”
“She helps Buffy and Faith,” she prodded. “Just ask her out and see where it goes.”
“You’re kinda my main priority right now, Art.”
The Slayer scowled. “Ask her out or I’ll eat all the gummy vitamins I can find and you’ll go down in history as the only Watcher whose Slayer died OD’ing on gummy bears.”
“…where’d you learn to be so underhanded?”
“Well, you’re lovesick right now, so I decided I had to be the adult and be emotionally manipulative.”
“Ha! Fine, I’ll ask her out once I get the chance. Right after I have a discussion with you on your despairing views on adulthood.”
Outside, one large crow cawed.