Showtime

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: A familiar face makes an appearance.
Word Count: 1969
Rating: Teen

 

        Boy, if Xander’s instincts hadn’t been screaming at him before, they’re howling now, a cacophony of warning, a familiar itch under his skin. He knows what it means. Everything is saying he’s in danger and he needs to ditch the human half, because okay, yeah, Pashran aren’t exactly the most durable devil species out there, but the scales are an upgrade on human skin—or the outfit. Okay, it’s not the leather, other than the trench, but he’d gone to a lot of work to find these clothes and it’s about the principle of the thing. He doesn’t have enough in the way of actual possessions he can call his own as it is.
        What’s bugging him even more is that the enemy’s not right there in his face. Every single person working the rides, selling the cotton candy, what have you feels—okay, not human, exactly, but who’s he to judge? But they’re not the threat, or at least, he doesn’t think so, which would make sense, wouldn’t it? And yet they’re polite and helpful, even if the fortuneteller was a bit uncanny. He hasn’t caught any conversations about ‘marks’ as he weaves in between them all expertly, navigating without bumping into any of them. And then, a touch on his elbow, and he whips around in surprise (someone noticed him??) only there’s no one there.
        “Leave now while you still can,” a voice whispers from his right, but when he turns it’s just one of the cars for the rollercoaster speeding by.
        Another on his shoulder. “It’s not safe.” Nothing that way but the mirror maze—hang on, isn’t that Giles over there? Hell that’s just what he’d been worried about. He jogs over, turning that over in his head, and yeah that’s what Buffy had been sensing but neither of them could quite put a finger on. It’s not that it’s conflicted. Two (or more) different powers are at work here, one of them a safe, happy, fun lure, and then something that’s dialing up his paranoia to eleven, trying to get people to leave. And, by the feel of it, the workers aren’t the lure. They’re actively trying to get people to leave, and yet more come, moths to flame.
        He calls out the second he gets close, interrupting Giles, who’s probably wondering where the others are. He’s probably drawing attention, but eh, whatever. “We should leave.” At least they need to regroup, probably come back when there aren’t all these civilians in the way that could get hurt.
        Giles looks surprised. “I concur.”
        And then someone bumps into Xander and he falters a little, because what people are supposed to be subconsciously avoiding him how is this—
        Shrieking now, howling so loud he might be hyperventilating a little, and as he glances around there’s a steady stream of people heading toward the main tent. Somehow. They hadn’t been there a second ago, but they’re not illusions or anything—the rides themselves are emptying, coming to a halt, like the world had been holding its breath but now it’s showtime.
        This time the hands on his arm are real, as he turns to see Willow holding on as hard as she dares, trying not to be swept away in the tide of people. Her eyes are full of tears, and she can barely be heard, despite the fact that he can’t actually make out too many details of the excited murmur, and that’s weird, too. “I’m sorry for messing everything up—”
        Which, yeah, it sucks, but she doesn’t know that they’re in danger. “No, Will, that’s not on you. It’s—”
        Aged speakers crackle to life, but the voice that comes out oddly clear, and he grits his teeth and, yeah, he’s usually a little more fangy than your average human, but it’s worse, right now. His hands feel like claws. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The best show yet. Please, come to the tent for the closing ceremonies of the day, led by the Ringmaster himself.”
        He sees Buffy try to push against the crowd, but even her Slayer strength is no match for all this—or, rather, if she flexed she’d probably severely injure them, with how close they’re pressing.
        “I don’t think we have a choice,” he manages. Maybe it’ll be fine, if it’s not the mirror maze.
        Giles, though, doesn’t look quite so optimistic. “Let’s at least not get separated,” he insists, actually reaching out and taking Xander’s hand, and man Gjallar could lightly brush him right now and he’d just fall over, no questions asked. That is wild.
        At least he doesn’t catch a glimpse of Ms. Andrade or Arianna. Maybe they managed to get out before this mess. They probably would’ve been encouraged to stay, but maybe there’s an imposed curfew or something from her mom. And sure, it’s unfair, it sucks, but she’d been through something terrible and it’s not like he can even argue with her when it is, in fact, protecting her daughter. He’s still going to keep an eye out, but he doesn’t feel like she’s here, and he can usually sense her, if he tries hard enough.  And he’s not sure about Alisha, either, if she made it out.
        “Welcome one, welcome all!” That’s definitely not the voice that had been over the intercom, but hey, it’s another man with a British accent. Xander glances over at Giles, going to point that out—but Giles is rigid, staring, and so Xander just shuts up and frowns thoughtfully as they’re pulled through the crowd. And here he’d been thinking the increasing death-grip on his hand was really, really not wanting to get split up, after he finally started taking his adult in the room duties seriously.
        You’d think Giles recognizes the man. You’d think he knows what’s going on. But then, he’d been oddly preoccupied when he’d ran into him again not a few minutes ago, and he’d agreed urgently that they needed to leave…
        At last they’re shuffling into the seats, though they’re in the middle of the bleachers. They can’t escape without making a scene or ticking anyone off. The shadows are deep enough Xander’s got something to work with here, if it’s completely necessary, but it’s a little exposed, here, and it doesn’t feel any more dangerous here than anywhere else. If Giles gives him the signal, he’ll pull them all away through the Shadowstep, but Giles just seems kind of frozen, not even sitting until prompted by Buffy, pushing through now that people are sitting. The other circus attendees are a little annoyed, but they’re actually willing to let her past this time.
        “I hope all of you had the chance to try your hand at our mirror maze!” And yeah, there’s the emphasis on the mirror maze again. Something’s going on there. Though seemingly no one else has noticed. The crowd roars or claps in response, though a few look despondent as well. “Well, for those of you who didn’t manage it, there’s always next time. This isn’t the last day!” So they might have a little time to work out a counter strategy. Maybe. Assuming this isn’t some kind of trap, to lure them into a false sense of complacency.
        “It is my great pleasure and humble privilege to introduce our acts tonight.  I can promise you, right here and right now in this very tent you will get the show of your life!” And he’s staring directly at Giles, too. Okay, either there’s some sort of telepathy going on or they have, in fact, met before.
        He raises his arms high and the lights dim just as Buffy finally makes it to them and squeezes in next to Willow. And then two trapeze artists swing in.
        “Oh!” Willow gasps, and Xander doesn’t have to ask.
        Because that’s real magic. They’re opening vials and fire’s spilling out, sparkling like glitter, but it’s definitely neither glitter nor just your average chemical reaction (he couldn’t name it, given the whole having to run away thing, but some of the high schoolers had been laughing about a cool science reaction) because it’s defying gravity, now, slithering back up like a snake and then floating up in the air, forming a hoop that they jump through. Something distracts him for a moment—the shadows aren’t moving quite right, but between the few lights and the flickering he can’t quite put his finger on it—but he doesn’t have too long to think about it.
        They’re floating, too, making the catch look natural enough it doesn’t look like anyone else has caught on, but they missed that grab, if only by a little. And then everyone gasps and it looks like the tent caves in, only it doesn’t collapse on top of them, turning into light mesh that covers them, clinging, for a second before it, too, transforms into glitter, if a dark, shiny obsidian, blowing away in some kind of wind. Startled, Xander reaches out with his senses, but the tent is still there, even if they can’t see it, but it also feels—out of reach, now. Like, it’s basically just adjacent when it comes to shadows, or it should be, but he couldn’t pull them out now even if he wanted to. Familiar stars glitter above, flanked by the most cartoon quarter moon Xander’s ever seen. The acrobats have been joined by two more, only this time when they jump through the hoops, the coils of fire unwind and wrap themselves around the acrobats like they really are snakes, only the outfits aren’t catching on fire. The sand has spread. It’s at his feet, a mirage of a castle rising out of the sand swirling around from unseen and now aimless winds.
        Some of this, clearly, is illusion, but the real magic here is that it’s really hard to tell what’s illusion and what’s not. Elephants and clowns (ugh) and tigers swirl past in the sand, taking on such form and substance that it feels like Xander could reach out and touch them. A band starts to play, but the instruments don’t match up to what they hear.
        And then the winds stop swirling, blowing the sand out and slowly revealing the tent and exit again, pulling the tents’ shadow back in reach again. The applause is far too loud on top of everything else, particularly when all Xander wants to do is disappear into the shadows and maybe not come back for a while, because his head hurts. Maybe some of it is that he was constantly trying to figure out the trick, rather than just sitting back and enjoying himself, but given that something at this carnival is malicious, there’s no way he was letting down his guard for that.
        “Well? Wasn’t it something?” The Ringmaster is practically bellowing now, to be heard above the crowd, which somehow grows even louder after the statement. Xander winces and leans back a little away from the overly enthusiastic children squealing in the seats in front of him.
        And—ow, his head hurts—where did all the other performers go? Normally they’d be bowing, along with the Ringmaster, wouldn’t they? Yet there he’s standing on the sand stage all by himself, as if taking credit for all of it. No one else seems to be noticing this, though, and—he’d been sure the acrobats, at least, were real, so...what the hell is going on here?
        “I do hope to see all of your smiling faces once again, my dear guests, tomorrow!” Grandstanding again, huh.
        “I hope not,” Giles whispers under his breath and stands, and this time they don’t earn as many scowls or disgruntled murmurings as when Buffy had been making her way over to them.