nomen nescio

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Blake's 7 (Place in the Universe)
Chapter Summary: Meanwhile, Cally is having an adventure of her own.
Word Count: 1431
Rating: Teen

 

We all tell ourselves lies to make it through the day. We just have to hope the truth outweighs the lies. That we’re not deluding ourselves about the connections we’ve made. That they mean as much to others as they do to us.

        Earth, Cally decides, is an undoubtedly strange place. It is, of course, not the exact same Earth that Blake and Avon had left. She can see no sign of spaceports, or of the domes they would sometimes speak of in hushed tones, like the very mention of their existence might cause something unspeakable to happen. She has on occasion been able to read the minds of passersby, despite most of them being humans. One, who had introduced himself, bewildered, as Professor X, was even a fellow telepath and quite a strong one, rather than merely having mild inclinations to telepathy, but as it happens this isn’t the Earth he had known, either. She is unaware of his fellow mutants and has picked up nothing of use, but promises to try to help as best she can (and then, when his attention turns elsewhere, ponders whether she would be willing even to put Blake and the others at risk, because to hear another telepath and one who feels as caring and sure about his convictions as Blake is a joy she had thought lost to her).
        She finds a good vantage point, where she has a clear view of the area without being too noticeable herself, when something beeps at her from one of her pockets. She fishes it out hoping that it hasn’t given away her position and finds that it bears a message ‘on behalf of Blake’ asking her whereabouts. It’s probably not a trap. Not that she can remember it, but given the technology involved this gadget certainly isn’t from the Liberator, meaning that it is likely a present from whatever resistance exists on this strange version of Earth. Nonetheless, it’s easier to simply telepathically send the answer, rather than attempt to remember how it works, and given that she has no way of confirming this message truly is from Blake, infinitely safer.
        The night is cold. At least she is dressed with a modicum of warmth in mind. As far as she and Professor X could tell, neither of them remembers how they have gotten here, or why this version of Earth differs from the one they know or have heard about, and the only thing either of them can fully agree on is that everything is complete and utter chaos. Surface impressions call this festival ‘Halloween’, and denote it as one where people dress up in costumes for fun or, in the past, to pass unnoticed among spirits and monsters. Judging by several of the attacks she had seen along the way, for some reason this year that had proved to be wildly ineffective.
        Her musings are interrupted by a scream. This scream happens to be more notable than many of the others she’s heard tonight mainly from its proximity. The main problem is that it happens to be outside the graveyard. If she happens to leave now, she might miss Blake or whoever he sends to bring him to wherever he is currently. It’s not as if she can save everyone. She had even made her way past other fights on the way here—though at least it seemed like a majority of them did not stay one-sided for long. On the other hand, it would not hurt to have even more allies, and she should at least check to make sure that no one else is coming to the aid of the woman who screamed. So resolved, she starts to make her way over to the approximate location of the scream.
        No one is intervening, in fact. A woman in a cat costume is being menaced by one in a dog costume, but the cat-woman does not swipe with sharp claws or hiss or do anything other than back off and attempt to insult the other’s costume. The spirit is unfazed, forcing her to the ground and looming over her, and the exact outcome is unclear but not something she wants to witness.
        It is also, as it happens, fortunately as susceptible to a makeshift club to the back of the head as a human or Auron. It crumples over on top of the young woman, who screams before she realizes that hadn’t been of the dog-man’s own accord.
        “You should find somewhere safe to hide,” Cally tells her, unwilling to lie and say that she’s safe in this chaos.
        The woman only makes an effort to push the spirit off of her, pausing to glare. “You’re a freak like Buffy.”
        Without a word, Cally turns right around and starts walking back to the graveyard. Her first instinct had been right. Getting involved had been a mistake. Blake had not in fact been exaggerating when describing the entitlement and self-centeredness of the upper echelons of Earth society. If anything, he had been far too generous. Often a common fault, in him, though if one had to have faults worse options could be found.
        Of course, the young woman panics, scrambling to her feet and hastening to follow. “Wait—where are you going?”
        Cally doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Where I’m wanted,” she answers shortly, communicating also that this stranger is not wanted in her company anymore.
        “I—okay, look, I’m sorry.” From the tone alone, Cally is certain that this is the poorest apology she’s ever heard. The tone is arrogant and haughty, and the woman had to grit out the words, clearly unused to giving apologies.
        For this reason alone, Cally slows her pace, inclined to give the stranger the benefit of the doubt. Because this, she thinks, slightly amused, is probably how it would go if Avon was ever actually inclined to apologize about anything, and some behaviors should be encouraged.
        “I guess I need to apologize to someone else,” the young woman confesses grudgingly. “Because I thought she was making all this,” she waves a hand at the chaos in view, slightly hysterically, “...up just to call dibs on a hunk, like a total loser, but it turns out that no, she’s probably saved all our butts over and over and is probably going to save us again.” The rant turns slightly bitter at the end.
        That also, Cally realizes, amused, sounds very much like Avon when he’s complaining about Blake. “She’s probably used to doing what she does without any form of reward…” a state of affairs she knows all too well from the Liberator, not that their efforts are not their own form of reward, “….but she’d probably appreciate some acknowledgment.”
        She considers that quietly, and then offers a belated “Thank you.” She sounds just as inexperienced in the realm of gratitude, and it’s not as if Cally had been fishing for thanks herself, but the other woman could probably use a little practice. “I’m Cordelia Chase.” It’s less of an introduction and more of an announcement of facts that, by the sounds of it, she thinks everyone should just know as a matter of principle, but it’s a start.
        “I’m Cally,” she offers in return.
        “So…” Chase begins, rubbing her arms where the costume had been torn in the struggle, at a loss as to what to say, “...is Buffy working on fixing this? I need to have an idea when to schedule my total freakout between the manicure and clothes shopping.”
        That had not, Cally reminds herself, taking carefully steady breaths, been meant as a barb. Though she’s slightly curious how a meeting between Chase and Avon would go. Explosive, she guesses, probably in a vaguely interesting way.
        “I can’t say,” Cally responds, refusing to lie, and then switching over to telepathically answering, crouching down, because she recognizes that man stalking past. If nothing else, I can confirm others are working on the problem. That is Travis. Stay far away from him.
        At least Chase is not doing terrible at following quietly, but the same cannot be said for the specter that walks through the tombstone to their right. “Cally, right? I’m glad I found—” She only notices after a moment, rather like Vila, that they’re crouching and trying to gesture for her to be quiet. “Why are we hiding, and why is she here?” It’s a poor whisper and not really much better. If their luck holds, Travis won’t have noticed, but unfortunately from Cally’s own limited experience with the man, she’s realized he’s certainly more perceptive and intelligent than she’d like.