madimpossibledreamer

I've been holding onto this fic snippet since 2016 or 2018 and you could see it as a kind of prototype to Casts Shadows (obviously I didn't get very far).  The thing I think was holding me back was that I was trying to fit Xander into an 'exactly like Raidou the XIV' mould and it wasn't working in my brain.  It should be obvious that each Kuzunoha successor has a different take since the second game, because Nagi was definitely different from Geirin the XVII, but for some reason I got stuck.  I like that I didn't try to push it because I like the results better, but now that I'm finally giving up on this, I figure I might as well share what I have.
These are extra notes I had.  (one where Buffy finds this book about it and accidentally summons a Xander Raidou [though he’s Japanese] working out of William’s bookstore/detective agency. I might never make this one obvious, though. One where they’re all Kuzunoha. One where Buffy is Raidou and Giles is her supervisor.)

         Buffy sighs. Going on the weekend is a bit of a drag, majorly, but on the other hand she wouldn’t have time on a weekday and it’s difficult enough to get away from Giles’ watchful eye. If he protests, she’ll probably pout and mention the Crucimantium, and his own guilt might do the rest. Never mind what she told the others; she’s still shaken. Would Merrick have gone through with it? She definitely didn’t trust the Council after this. She thought she could trust Giles, but in some ways he still followed their orders blindly, and she doesn’t want to be caught unawares next time.
         Giles still refused to show her the Slayer Playbook or Rulebook or whatever they called it, but she has alternatives. Nice, shiny alternatives that Giles himself had sparked. Sure, she might not like research, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand its value. If it can keep her prepared for anything else, she’s all for it. It’d be better if she could get someone else to do it, but with this particular topic she’s better off just keeping it to herself. For now.
         Unfortunately, this particular shopkeep is Asian and doesn’t quite speak the same brand of English. She does her best to muddle through with ‘speaking properly’, before the woman brightens at the mention of ‘demon slayer’ and hurriedly gestures her to follow her.

I realize this chapter is short. I was getting stuck trying to add description or whatever, but the next chapter is long enough for both and the chapter feels complete as is, so.

         “Hey, Orelia, what’s up?”
         “Willow’s coming soon. Just ask her.”
         “So you don’t know what’s going on either.”
         “I will skin you. Alive.”
         “All in one go? Willow did that once.”
         “...I hate you.”
         “So you really don’t have anything new.”
         “I assume someone’s already told you you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, so no, I have absolutely nothing.”

         Most of Ashley’s existence is pain, right now. It’s hard to tell how long it’s been, but it feels like one or both grabbed her, like she’s on Leon’s couch right now.
         “Babe. What’s that.” She can’t even be mad at the cutesy nickname. It feels like she’ll never be warm again.
         The other—Redgrave, that’s it—sounds confused. “Oh, uh. Huh. That’s a thing that happened. You can bandage it in a bit. If I’m right, this is big, Leon. I don’t think it can wait.”
         Ashley’s head is killing her. She whimpers.
         “But she broke your hand.” She did what? It’s not like he has to shout.
         “It’ll heal.” It’s too flippant, and she half wants to scold him, but she’s out again.

         “Go to your room.”
         “You can’t tell me what to do; you’re not my dad!” They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment. “...Sorry, I got used to saying that to Giles.”
         “...Fine.” Jotaro leans forward. “Go to your girlfriend’s room.” Buffy can’t help but laugh at that.
         “You people are all very weird.”

This was supposed to be the last chapter and it was supposed to be much shorter & more loosely connected (in fact, it was supposed to be over by now!) but popular demand told me that I could just hit the ground running.

         Desmond is still standing there, a blank look on his face. Shaun sneers. “Say something, you twat.”
         “I, um.” He raises a hand to his lips, starting to smile a little now, looking a little goofy. “Sorry, that’s not something I realized was on the table.”
         He sounds...shy. In awe. And not too opposed to the idea, but he really needs to actually talk, directly. “I’m going to put you on the table,” he rumbles menacingly, only the Dragon…
         The Dragon smiles sweetly, eyes a little far away, and just responds with, “Yes, please.” At Rebecca’s snicker, he blushes prettily and ducks his head, embarrassed. “I mean, um. Later. Obviously. Right now we’ve got that tower to storm.”
         “Get buggered,” Shaun sneers bitterly as his fellow Templar seems to find this all hilarious.
         Rebecca is not intimidated. At all. “Still a lesbian,” she announces cheerfully.

         The front door slams open. That’s not too unusual for Josephine; she tends to announce her arrival everywhere she goes. What’s less normal is that she doesn’t even have a word of greeting, bursting into a rant. “I don’t actually mind gentlemen, being polite and talking and generally getting to know you and showing respect that says ‘hey, I recognize that you’re an actual damn human being’. I get that you’re horny, and you have natural human drives. I can respect that. But we can’t all get what we want the second we want it, and we don’t have to act on thoughts when they pop in our heads. God, men need to just stop acting like such spoiled babies.”
         Koichi glances upstairs where she’s stormed. “I think you should probably be concerned.” He turns to look, but his friend’s already charging up the stairs.

         “She was leading me on!”
         “Yeah, I was. Totally. On purpose. If by ‘leading him on’ he means ‘me existing’.”

         Soon enough, he was all dressed up, and headed back down to the lobby, humming along with the songs playing and carrying his normal clothes in one hand. As usual, walking that slowly was utterly annoying, but he wasn't intending to put on a show of that kind today.
         And there was a new guy standing in the lobby with an axe, covered in a hissing purplish blood, staring at him. He didn't seem to be making any moves, so Yosuke tried to appear as nonthreatening and normal as possible. “Hey, sorry, I'm consulting.” A wink and a friendly smile should do the trick.
         “Did I walk in the wrong place? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure this is Angel Investigations…” Okay, friendly wasn't even doing it. This guy was really hard to please, seriously.
         “Yeah, no, you haven't seen the weirdness of this place and you work here? You must be pretty oblivious.” Guys, you should probably turn back with the Monster Fan Club Member of the Year Trophy. There's clearly been a mistake here.
         The guy nodded. Nothing to say to that, apparently.
         “Oh, hey, Gunn.” The pretty lady was back to words again. And she turned to him, and yep, she was talking again. Cool. “What's with the outfit? Not that I'm one to ask other people about a change of clothes, but…”
         “I'm going to do some Japanese magic to try to figure out that rock. No way a rock's winning.” At least she didn't mind a friendly smile. Or a wink.

         Knight steers mindlessly around the patron who comes out of the bar, but the voice that rings out into the night, smoke and sin condensing in the night air, couldn’t be addressing anyone else. “Like the look, mate. Very mediaeval-modern.”
         “Jesus,” he swears, because the man might be blond but that’s his face, if a step to the left.
         “Last thing I checked, I wasn’t the Second Coming, no,” Xander responds, amusement clear in his words. “Let me guess, trouble spillin’ over from another world, in which case, I only got one question for ya, handsome. How can I help?”

         “Those aren’t my people,” Xander shrugs casually, like this doesn’t mean anything to him, though from the way he’s crowding in and watching with interest he does, actually, intensely.
         He sounds so detached that good Samaritan or no, Desmond would be tempted to call him a sociopath if not for the point where one of the Assassins gets shot and he closes his eye in recognition and sorrow. It’s quick, but he does care.
         “How can you be sure?” Desmond asks, just to be sure, and Xander grins at him goofily, something slightly hard and furious hiding in his eye. He wants revenge for people he doesn’t even know—which fits with him throwing himself into the middle of a war he had no stake in.
         “Not enough women, not enough medieval hardware. They’re for you, probably.” He sounds like he’s joking, but he’s serious.