res, non verba

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Willow takes Avon and Blake to meet Giles, and they work out a plan.
Word Count: 1011
Rating: Teen

 

It’s the story I told myself, the one that said that it wasn’t all wasted, that all the pain and suffering meant something. I lied, oh, far more than I’d ever wanted to admit, but I lied most of all to myself.

        The man opens his door with a bowl of brightly coloured candy and a puzzled expression. He at least isn’t trying to talk to them in an unknown language or acting oddly despite the (probably?) unusual outfit for this version of Earth, so Blake takes a chance. “You’re Rupert Giles, I presume? I’m Roj Blake.”
        “Good lord,” the man responds, blinking and then setting aside the bowl to clean his glasses.
        “It really is him, Giles,” Willow confirms, floating past as he stands relatively unmoving in the doorway.
        He glances at Avon behind, who seemingly can’t quite work out if he’s more concerned about the man they’ve come to meet or the street. “You must be Kerr Avon, then. Good to meet you.”
        “You have advantage of me.” From Avon, that’s a threat that the situation cannot and will not stand much longer, though apparently Giles does in fact have enough familiarity to catch the implication, moving out of the way rather than continuing to argue. They move inside, Blake breathing a little easier despite being not entirely sure that vampires are truly real.
        “Which means that the costumes—” He pauses, and then adds. “Oh, God. Travis and Servalan, then.”
        He is bright. Good, that’ll be useful. “And Cally. She’s hiding in one of the graveyards, but given that you apparently have many, locating her might prove difficult. I’d rather do it before either of them.”
        “We were thinking your pager, Giles,” Willow adds, able to get to the point on occasion, then.
        He pulls it out with a flourish, typing away as Blake and Avon watch in fascination. That device really is primitive.
        “It’s not much, but we don’t even use tarriel cells,” Giles explains quietly. “These run on radio waves. I’m asking her the exact graveyard and telling her Blake wants to know. Explaining the entire situation would take more letters than we have.”
        Blake feels a nudge at his mind. Shady Hill Cemetery, it says. Should I be concerned that you need to know which?
        He smiles. She said it lightly, as if in a joke, but she’d noted the same thing that he and Avon had. “Shady Hill Cemetery, apparently.”
        “That makes sense. It’s close to the art gallery. I’ll be back soon,” Willow promises and is halfway through the wall before Giles stops her.
        “Wait, Willow. Just one question before you go: I presume from the sound outside, they’re not all turning into their costumes, are they?” He’s practically ignoring Blake and Avon. Blake’s content enough to just listen and observe, but Avon’s getting restless and probably more than a little snide, once he’s had enough and opens his mouth to unleash his ire.
        “Oh, um. No. We rescued some children who were perfectly fine,” she responds thoughtfully, clearly trying to work out where he’s going with this.
        She doesn’t make it, because Avon gets there first. “We’re looking for a commonality, something we shared that the children didn’t. Food, drink, exposure to something...I don’t suppose the costumes for this festival were obtained at the same place?”
        “We got them from a new store. Ethan’s, I think? I don’t remember seeing the kids we saved there, but we could’ve missed them?” And then she’s gone through the wall, but it had been enough, and exchanging a glance with Avon says that he’d noticed, as well. Giles had tried to conceal it, but that flinch was noticeable.
        “I may have seen an ad about it in the newspaper. Do you mind looking for it? It may have the address.” Reasonable enough as a next step, Blake supposes.
        “Of course.” He walks further into the room, rifling through a stack of books and papers, pulling out a few print newspapers, though they’re admittedly not ancient at the present moment in time. The action doesn’t entirely eliminate his peripheral vision, even as Avon comes to join him.
        The teenager looms behind him (apparently his brain has given up on trying to perceive the comp tech as taller), whispering harshly, “You realize he’s using this as an excuse to slip away.”
        Blake nods tightly, waiting until the door closes in a manner that Giles no doubt believes to be stealthy before letting out a sigh. “I had noticed, yes. On the whole I’m inclined to let him have his seeming victory, because I’m sure you likewise observed that burst of…” He laughs. The entire thing is utterly absurd. “...Well, if not for our current experiences, I’d feel ridiculous about the whole thing, but at this point I think I have to believe in magic. I think he had the address without even needing to look.” He sweeps his hand, encompassing all the research on his desk.
        “I’m surprised you even let yourself think it. Don’t you find it rude, in your overtuned moral compass, to suspect a host?” By mutual silent agreement they move back smoothly to the door and then slip outside as well to follow the man.
        “Oh, I’m not playing judgment machine. I refuse to condemn him without even asking him to confirm or deny, and without all the evidence. I’m just keeping it in mind as a possibility, that’s all,” he whispers back. And following him, of course, but that goes without saying. They’ll have to be quick and quiet. Giles is strolling down the street like a man on a mission, following something rather like a glowing compass, and even some of the monstrously clad ones that had given them trouble on the way here hesitate to attack. Avon’s pointed glance indicates he finds that highly suspicious. It’s possible that even they have some level of reaction to authority—most, suppressants or no suppressants, are inclined to put their heads down and not question when bossed around by someone that acts authoritative.