fandomtownies | Aereopagitica, Thursday Morning

On his way over to Empire Records and Bidet, Marty drops by the book store he can't pronounce for one more item.

He waves at Giles as he comes in through the door.

"Hey, Mr. Giles. Do you still have that first edition copy of the Catcher in the Rye?"

"Absolutely, Martin." Giles walked over to the display case with the less-fragile first editions. He unlocked it and removed the book in question, relocking the case. Giles laid it on the counter.

Looking at it, Marty would find that this copy of the book has been read and has many minor faults, but no major faults. The corners were slightly bumped, and there were a few small stains on covers, a small light stain on front edge, and that the spine edge was crimped near the top. But the book was internally clean with no bookplate or inscriptions, despite the fact that many pages were slightly or more than slightly creased at corners. The dust jacket was more or less complete with only very minor chipping at the spine ends and folds ends, and had two closed tears on bottom of rear panel. There was some browning to jacket which was especially noticeable on the inside. This was not a dream copy , but it wasn't a nightmare copy, either.

Marty had handled first edition books before when he worked for Phale, so the condition of the book didn't frighten him but he did inspect the book to make sure it was in good condition.

"Not bad. How much for it?"

"One hundred forty dollars."

"Sold." Marty said pulling out his wallet. "Business doing well? Hopefully I haven't been your only customer."

As Giles rang up the book

(http://photobucket.com)

and carefully wrapped it in brown paper, he said, "Business does seem to be good. I seem to have found, what do they call it? A 'market niche.' Especially where the occult collection is concerned."

"Ah. Then you've already been initiated into the weirdness that is Fandom," Marty remarked. "We've had it or got it all here. Zombies. Vampires. Wizards. Snow Monsters. Angels. Green Skinned Empaths who can read your aura when you sing Karaoke and an evil demon who runs the local hotel."

Giles briefly closed his eyes. Was that a headache he felt looming?

No wonder the bloody Upper Council wanted someone here. It's a bloody dimensional dumping ground! It's even got a Pylean!

Wait a minute.

"Evil demon? Yellow eyes? Outstanding taste in clothes?"

"I see you've already met Crowley. He and the former proprietor of your shop had a... um... relationship for a while," Marty said with a dark look. "He did help us out once when we had a problem with one of the students from school. Other than that I've tried to stay clear of him. It. Whatever that thing is."

"You show common sense beyond your years, Martin. Follow those instincts." Giles's brow furrowed briefly.

"What kind of problem did he help you with? You do know that, to a demon, there is no such thing as an unqualified favor?"

"Well it's hard to explain," Marty said rubbing his temple.

"You see one of our students here is a vampire. Pretty damn evil. Anyhow, we found out that the guy used to have a soul that kept him in check. We were able to locate the spell that was used to put the soul back into him and Crowley helped track down the location of where it was."

Marty exhaled slowly. "According to Crowley, he was only interested in creatures who had a soul that he could then tempt. I guess."

He then gave Giles a chagrined look. "You probably think I'm nuts."

Oh, yes. A headache was coming. But not just any headache. This was special. This was the headache that centered right behind his left eye and pulsed like the goo under a pus demon's skin.

This was an Angel headache.

"Oh, no, Martin. Sadly enough, I believe you." Giles reached under the counter and hauled out a large leatherbound volume that had the word, "Vampyre" embossed on the front. Giles opened it, flipped a few pages, seemed to find what he was looking for, and turned the book around so Marty could read it.

"Is this him? Angelus? Known as Angel when he actually manages to hang on to his soul?" The right hand page seemed to be a hand-calligraphed series of dates and atrocities. On the right was a line drawing of a face Giles bet that Marty knew too well.

Marty cocked an eye brow at the title of the book and then nodded at the drawing of Angel.

"That's him. And he's Angel definitely Angel now. We've got a couple of people around who do occasional spot checks to make sure he hasn't gotten really happy any time soon," Marty commented before giving Giles his own hairy eyeball.

"And I'm getting the impression you're not just a regular bookstore owner. So if you got any wings you're hiding ~~under all that tweed~~, you better tell me now."

"Wings?" Giles was very confused. What did wings have to do with anything?

"No, no wings." Giles thought. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of exposing the Watcher's Council. But on the other hand, if the young man knew about Angelus, the point was rather moot.

"Before I retired, I was a Watcher. A person who watched and guided the Slayer. Do you know what a Slayer is?"

Off Giles confused look, Marty coughed with a little embarrassment. "Sorry. The last bookstore owner was also british and.. um... an angel."

"Watcher? No those I'm not familiar with. As for the slayers, yeah we know about them. We had two here but they've both left. Faith left for parts unknown and Buffy left not too long ago. Did you know them?"

Giles took off his glasses, ran his hand down his face, and began to vigorously clean the glasses.

Of course they were here. Everybody's here! Everybody and his half-Zorloch demon cousin seemed to be here!

Giles strove to get a hold of himself. "Yes. I know both Buffy and Faith. Theoretically speaking, they had Watchers. Members of what is now a less than secret society devoted to guiding the Slayer and, essentially, pointing them at what we needed them to fight. Much like a loaded gun, though, they tend to go off when you least expect it."

So maybe his grip wasn't quite as tight as he thought.

"Hmmm. Well Faith probably could have used a Watcher around here as she hung out with Angelus a lot," Marty remarked. "But towards the end she seemed more interested in hanging out with her puppy."

Puppy?

Why do I have a feeling that it wasn't an actually dog?

Giles concentrated. Time to head off any problematic surprises at the pass.

"Martin, I am going to rattle off some names to you, and you're going to tell me if any of them are here at this school, all right?

"Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris, Tara Maclay, Dawn Summers, Joyce Summers," God, that one could get embarassing in a hurry, "and finally, Spike and/or William Pratt."

Giles added, "Additionally, did the Anya Jenkins who, I'm told, used to work here have a penchant for revenge?"

"Willow? Student last term but she's not here any longer. Xander is still here and has obsession with twinkies that might be considered unhealthy. Tara was a teacher here last semester and helped us ensoul Angel, but she left as well. Never heard of Dawn or Joyce, but there was a guy who ran a bar around here called Spike's. And yeah, Anya used to work here but the only thing she had a thing for was money. Possibly Jack O'Neill for a while," Marty said listing off the people Giles had mentioned.

"And not that this would probably make your day any easier but Drusilla used to teach abnormal psychology around here and I think Darla is holed up in our town jail."

Marty finally took a long breath when he finished. "Let me guess. You spent some time in Sunnydale."

"The only thing she had a thing for was money?" Oh, yes, that's our Anyanka. Giles had a deep sympathy for this Jack O'Neill, whoever he was.

The last two names stopped him cold, though.

"Drusilla and Darla are here?" Oh, there was definitely an extra warding spell--or four--going on Giles's flat tonight. But what the hell was Darla doing holed up in a jail? What cell could hold her?

"Oh, yes. I spent significant time in Sunnydale. You sound like you've heard more than a few stories. What do you know about Drusilla and Darla?"

"Darla? Well she and Angelus seemed to have a thing for each other. She showed up around Parents Weekend and never left. If I had a relationship like that with my mother, I'd probably be evil too," Marty replied.

"As for Drusilla? Well she's batshit crazy, almost killed me one time and she hasn't been seen since we cleaned out the vampires in the sewer the other week."

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"Well I'm not sure about how strong the jail cells are, though I can tell you they are fairly comfy," Marty said with a wry grin. "And if Darla isn't Angelus's mother, I'm not going to bother why he kept calling her 'Mommy'."

"Seriously though? I have no idea why Darla is in jail. As far as I know she's still there and she hasn't gotten out. I've seen some of the technology our new Mayor has on hand, so I wouldn't be surprised if she had something put in the jail that could handle Darla."

Giles's lips rippled in disgust. Mommy, indeed.

Technology, eh? Perhaps a UV cannon could make Darla at least pause in her tracks.

"Well, Martin, I have a great deal of experience dealing with Darla, Drusilla, and their ilk, so if you ever want help, you can come to me."

One final thought occured to Giles.

"Angel doesn't seem to be particularly happy--or intelligent--these days, does he?"

"Angel? No he's pretty dense and very broody," Marty replied. "He does have a girlfriend but she seems to have no problem with stabbing him in the chest if he ever does get the big happy. Me? I still sleep with a stake underneath my pillow at night."

Giles sighed in relief. "Good. Starting tonight, so shall I."

OOC: My first newbie trip-up and boy was it a doozy. Humble apologies to

notstakedyet

"That's our girls," Giles shook his head.

"Martin, Darla is over five hundred years old. She's incredibly powerful and dangerous, in part because she's managed to avoid being staked for so long. And Drusilla is," Giles searched for the words for a moment, but gave up. "Well, as you said, crazy. And, some would argue, even more dangerous than Darla because of this.

"And Darla is not Angelus's mother. That dubious honor belonged to some poor Irish woman in the eighteenth century. Darla was Angelus's sire. Just as Angelus was Drusilla's sire. And responsible for her insanity. He tortured her until her mind snapped."

Giles stopped and thought for a moment.

"What is Darla doing in jail? It really shouldn't be able to hold her."

Aereopagitica, Thursday Morning

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