A Sketchy Invitation

[madimpossibledreamer]

(language is still a work in progress don’t mind me
Also all the lines are supposed to be straight and not slanty and evenly spaced and it’s not I’m still working out the grammar as I go along what is sanity
Also when I cut it out of the text I had to try a couple times to get it to look right.  But I wanted to play with the language even if it’s driving me crazy)
(in other news whatever else DMC2 did wrong, at least it had an amazing soundtrack.)

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: Alisha gets to talk to Xander about a new development in the case.
Word Count: 1825
Rating: Teen

 

       Alisha’s yawning as she heads downstairs.  She’d at least washed her hair, ice cold though it was, and it’d at least woken her up a little.  What with the nightmares of watching a teenager get stabbed through the heart the previous day, she’s shocked she had as good a sleep as she did (miserable, but workable).  She pauses to see that it’s half of what she expected—the teens had made a nest of blankets, TV on low, only one of the three is missing.  There’s a hole in the nest and an absent Xander, without which the two girls had unconsciously cuddled closer together.  Spike nods at her respectfully as she passes, keeping an eye on the other teenagers and the door.
       She’s starving and ready to meet a real ghost.
       She finds the missing Xander there, a pile of dishes around him with the remnants of food.  He’s swapped into what looks to be more comfortable for him—boots, a blue leather trenchcoat, dark navy jeans with silver star patterns, what looks like a necklace chain disappearing below a rumpled blue undershirt—and his hair’s wet.  She barely walks in the room when he’s glancing up, a smile chasing away the frown as he stares at something on the table in front of him.  “Sit, sit, eat.  Lemme get you something.”  He’s whirling away at what definitely looks like faster than normal human walking speeds to what looks like the kitchen entrance and comes back with gravy, biscuits, a breakfast scramble, and what appears to be freshly squeezed orange juice.  The scramble and gravy look and smell warm, which reminds her she hadn’t had much last night, just what she’d picked up in Gold Rush while waiting on him.  “Uhh, right, silverware.  Um.”
       “I can get it,” she assures him.  It’s funny.  She’s seen him fight, and there was definitely a joy, bloodlust, in that—but she’s also seen him care for others, act as a fairly decent private eye (threading that conversation with her was carefully staged, she’d figured that out based on the rest of the evidence), and now she’s seeing him be a complete and utter dork, which is refreshing.  He should get the chance to be a kid, too.  “Oh, yeah.  You know how to stop forensics from looking at your blood?”  She should bring that up, just in case.
       He winces and shrinks in his chair a little.  “You think that’s the first scene I’ve bled at?”
       She tries not to think about that as she grabs a fork from the counter.  When she comes back again, she sees he’s frowning at a piece of paper.  “What’s that?”
       “Delivered this morning.  Fortunately, to the Gold Rush, not here, or I’d be more freaked out that they know where Giles and Buffy live.”  He’s not bothering to hide the fact he’s taking this seriously.  Either he’s too tired to, or he doesn’t mind this time, for some reason.  “It’s an invitation from Wellington.  He wants to meet.” 
       That briefly catches her off guard—why would that be odd?—before she realizes she’s missing something.  “He’s not the one who hired you, is he?”
       He fluffs his hair in frustration.  “Nope.  His sis thinks he’s a Changeling, and she’s probably right.”  He pauses, before adding, “Fake last name, on my part, by the way.  Pretty sure I’m a bastard and haven’t found my real last name yet.”
       There’s a certain amount of glee as he says ‘bastard’, so she probably was right about the whole ‘emancipation’ word choice, too.  On one hand, that makes her angry, but on the other, well, good for you, Xander.  “Right.  Okay.  So this is probably a trap, right?”
       “Right, but it says I can take a friend.”  He pauses, putting on an exaggerated posh accent.  “‘Plus one’ I do believe is the terminology they deigned to use, but…”
       He pauses and can’t continue because her amused face makes him start to giggle.  “Stop that.”
       “Stop what?  It’s my face.”  That makes him crack up, but he seems lighter, afterward.  Happier.  It’s something.
       “I’m going to get Giles’ input, too, but—you know, here.  Your conversation with Kryvi last night was pretty useful, so you might as well analyze this, too.”  At her raised eyebrow, he continues, “Spike?  Vampire ghost who lives in my sword?  He filled me in this morning.”  He shoves the paper at her, lacing his hands together behind his head.
       She reads through it slowly. 

Dear Detective Alexander “Davis”:

         I was pleased to make your acquaintance yesterday at the event celebrating my safe return.  Your progress thus far has impressed me and I would be remiss to let such an opportunity pass me by.  If it is acceptable, I would like to inform you of information that may not have been brought to your attention prior to this time.  Of course, if you deem yourself already in possession of all the facts relevant to the case, then by all means, feel free to ignore this message.

         I would be willing to pay for dinner at a restaurant of your choosing, and believe I could cover a plus one as well.  If it were up to me, I would give you as much time as you would require to consider this request, but unfortunately the opportunity is a fleeting one due to the nature of events, which are moving rather quickly, so I believe today or, if necessary, the next evening would be ideal.  I believe a hellraven should suffice for a reply.

            Thank you very much for your time in considering this request. I look forward to hearing back from you on this matter.

 

Sincerely, Tristan Wellington

       “What’s this stuff at the end?”  It’s lines and squares, almost looking printed.  She’d almost say it was braille, but braille doesn’t have those lines. 
       “That’s what’s really throwing me for a loop.”  He unlaces his hands to rub at his forehead; looks like it’s giving him a headache.  “It’s a language I’ve never seen before, but I can read it.”
       “How does that work?”  She takes another glance, but nope, it still is unintelligible to her.
       “I dunno, devil blood maybe?  That or fae magic.  It’s never happened to me before.”  He looks older again, now.  Like he had at the party.  Not on edge, but acting adult, because he has to.
       “And?” she asks expectantly.
       He manages a smile, but he’s still troubled.  “He thinks I’m some kind of ‘group eclipse’, which probably means something else in whatever language he chose, and if I am really please don’t hurt him kinda deal.  It’s probably a threat assessment thing.  Like, if you can read this, you’re strong enough to kick my butt.”
       “Hmm.”  That is interesting.
       “So, what d’ya think?”  He’s genuinely asking for her opinion, even if he sounds casual and not especially invested in the answer.
       “Assuming you’re reading the language correctly, you’re probably right about the threat assessment.  He’s trying really hard to be polite to you, for some reason.”  True, upper-class people like that would be polite even to their worst enemies, but there are other indications.  “He’s letting you pick the spot, so if you wanted, you could be the one setting the trap, not him.  He’s letting you bring someone else.  He’s pointing out he knows your surname is fake, and I’m curious about how much he knows about your investigation so far, because you haven’t actually gotten very far.  Do you think he was watching the fight somehow?  He seems to suspect something about you.”
       Xander bites his lip, thinking.  “I…yeah, maybe.  Not personally; I would’ve sensed him or one of his goons, but Fae are supposedly, I dunno, close to nature or something?  I wouldn’t be surprised if they could use squirrels or birds or something as spies.”
       “That is indeed rather common, and I would be surprised if he wasn’t keeping an eye on you,” Giles joins the conversation.  The kid doesn’t act surprised at all, so he’d at the very least heard the man coming, and most likely Giles had been listening in for a bit at least, given what she knows about the man.
       He just takes the paper from Xander without so much as a please, and Alisha bristles.  “This was certainly written by a Fae,” he agrees after a pause.  “It is also, for one of their kind, extremely generous.  He is afraid of your power,” at this, the half-human smirks, “…and, I would think, desperate.  Agreeing to meet you outside of his seat of power, whatever that might be, is an extremely rare concession.  He will demand something in return for this knowledge he gives you, so I would be sure you are willing to pay the price, or slaughter him where he stands.  Be ready for repercussions should you choose the latter, as it would greatly destroy your reputation with them for any further interactions.”  He sighs.  “I hate to say this, but Buffy would be your best choice for the meeting.  I would volunteer, but it is probably for the best that you present a united front.  Fae are notorious for smelling out weaknesses.”  And then he actually asks for the teen’s input, which Alisha can’t remember having happened before.  “Have you dealt with Hellravens before?”
       “Yeah, one of my Devil Arms is one.  I’d be pissed if anything happened to her, though.  I don’t take her out often, but she’s a real sweetie.”  It takes Alisha a moment to remember that Arms can also mean weapons.
       Giles adjusts his glasses.  “I wouldn’t worry too much about such a situation.  It’s only traditional to shoot the messenger if they bring a threat and are unexpected, and Fae don’t tend to arm themselves with crossbows which are the traditional weapon of choice.”
       “Gotcha.”  Xander stands with a smile.
       “Wait.  You said that you could read this?” Giles points at the part at the bottom of the page, and she can practically see the teen perk up.
       “Yeah.  It’s weird, ‘cause I’ve never seen it before.  What is it?”  It’s odd, because it seems Giles can’t keep up the grumpy attitude in the face of such enthusiasm.
       He softens just slightly.  “I can tell you it’s not a Fae language.  I believe it’s an obscure demon language, but I think I’ve only seen it once.”
       “Oh.”  The teen deflates, shoulders slumping, before he relentlessly puts on the good humor he wields as armor.  “Oh well.  Lemme know if you remember anything else.  Have fun, you crazy kids, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”  He waves and in a flap of the trenchcoat is gone.
       Perfect time for her to lecture the man on prejudice and see if she can’t get him to agree to at least some training—if they can’t keep the teens out of combat, the least they can do is make sure they can survive.