Schooldesks again, Xander mused as he nursed his third Jolt Cola of the morning. Here they were, four and a half years after blowing up their high school, still holding Scooby meetings in a classroom. Yeah, at least they owned this school. Former private academy, actually. Helluva bargain from the Property Tax Auctions section of the classifieds.
The assembled group of Sunnydale Surivors included Faith at a desk two rows to his right. Buffy in a seat by the window three rows to the left and one row back. Willow, Kennedy and Dawn somewhere behind him where he couldn't see and just barely felt their presence. Giles, of course, standing behind the teacher's desk at the front of the former classroom.
"Okay, G-Man," Xander said, "for those of us living in Lack-of-Sleep City - Population: Me - can you go through that again?"
"Have you been having difficulty sleeping lately?" Giles asked gently.
"Only on those nights when I'm at the hospital until four A.M. explaining the facts of unlife to a new Slayer and her injured husband. Which -- What a coincidence! -- was last night."
"Another Slayer here in Cleveland. Really, this is quite beginning to strain the bounds of probability. Not to mention believability."
"Yeah," Xander said with a roll of his eyes, "let's not mention believability. Or anything else until you rewind and replay that bit about the Eenie Meenie Miney Moe Weapon of Doom."
He heard Buffy's head thump against her desk and muffled giggles from her direction. His peripheral vision caught Faith snorting and shaking her head. Chuckles from Willow and Kennedy. A "Woo-woo-woo-woo" and "Hey Moe! Hey Moe!" from Dawn followed by "Oh, admit it, Willow. The Stooges rock and you know it." In front of Xander, Giles lowered his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The name of the weapon," Giles proclaimed, raising his voice over the din, "in the language of the Reptos demons, was Earou-Ivnei-Elabo-Itrix-Oliot. The English translation encompasses some fifty thoroughly descriptive, if rather rambling, words. It was found in the early 1900s on a local farm owned by a retired Watcher, one Angus MacDonald. The information at hand, while sketchy, suggests that Mister MacDonald did in fact use it to defend his herds on more than one occasion.
"So," Xander asked, "I guess 'Angie-Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling' didn't exactly retire young.
Giles sighed and raised his eyes heavenward. "Please do not further confuse Irish and Scottish cultures, Xander. It will only serve to, ah, irritate would be the 'polite' word, people of both heritages. That said, Mister MacDonald was indeed in his seventies when he uncovered the weapon."
Xander looked down at the table, closed his eye and shook his head twice. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of. Hate to break it to you, Giles, but you've been played. Suckered. Scammed. Punked. Bamboozled. Flim-flammed. Shall I go on?"
"What are you talking about?" Willow squealed. "There's a demon weapon--"
"That doesn't exist," Xander interrupted. "Will, Giles is standing up here with a straight face and serious voice telling us that Old MacDonald had a farm and the demon weapon he found on it had the initials 'E-I-E-I-O.' Sorry, Giles. You been sold swampland on Mars."
Giles glared down at the paper on his desk, picked it up and reviewed it. The paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. "Oh dear Lord."
"Uh, Giles," Willow said. Turning to look at her, Xander could see that she'd actually raised her hand for attention. It was an action that didn't quite mesh with the mischevious twitch of her lips.
"Yes, Willow?" Giles replied, a 'What next?' look flashing across his face.
"If you ever tell us how there is a demon has a familiar and B-I-N-G-O, Bingo is his name-o, I'm quitting."
Xander lost it, his exhaustion mixing with the light tone he'd heard in his oldest friend's voice - a lighter tone than he'd heard there in too damned long - and sending him into a fit of wheezing chuckles. He could barely hear Faith chiming in with "Yo, Red, ditto."
"I'll be leaving too if that happens," Dawn added.
"Need one of Willow's teleport spells?" Kennedy asked.
"Nah. Jetplane. Don't know when I'll be back again."
Xander, who'd managed to just pull it back together, stifled a snort and looked over at Buffy. "What about you, Buff? Gonna stick around for the attack of the nursery rhymes?"
Buffy shrugged but the gesture couldn't hide the blonde's smirk. "One nursery rhyme's enough for this Senior Slay-gal. If the Cow Olympics come to town with a Moon-jumping competiition, I'll hop the last train west to Clarksville."
"I'll meet you at the station," Xander said. "We can catch the medal round on Fox's 'When Bovines Go Bad.'"
"Better be there by four-thirty," Buffy said, making a show of checking the time on her watch.
"You've already made your reservation?" Faith asked.
Giles shuddered and turned back towards the blackboard. "Oh no, no, no. Oh no, no, no."
That was too much for Kennedy. The youngest of the three Slayers in the room slid out of her chair and crashed onto the floor. Her chest heaved with silent laughter and tears ran a rapid's current down her face. "Mo-Mom is a Monkees fanatic," she managed to say after an effort at self-control requiring the strength of Samson. "She would LOVE this."
Giles had turned around at the sound of Kennedy hitting the floor. He nodded at her statement, then turned his attention to Xander. "You said something about another Slayer here in Cleveland?"
"Yeah, wife and husband team. They're in the video production industry in town on business. They actually live in Scottsdale, Arizona, not here. I did everything I could to talk them into having a normal life but Jenna insisted on joining the fight. Won't give up their life back west. Can't say I blame them. But they do want to shine a light in the darkness. After I went over things with them, they want a Watcher to help them." He stood up, walked up to Giles and looked in the eye. "They asked me to be that Watcher and I said yes."
TO BE CONTINUED
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