Disclaimer: Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas, et al. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, et al. If I owned 'em, I'd turn over the movie rights plus every cent I had for just a little more of the 'verse on the big screen.
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What ever happened to good old-fashioned teleportation?
"Are we there yet?"
Wait, I swear that wasn't me, unless my brain talks to the world now.
Buffy sends an irritated glare to my left, and continues stomping swiftly ahead.
I pause, look to my left, then pause more confidently.
"Huh?" I ask. I can never be sure if this is one of those acceptable things. Like not having plans, or stealing Winnebagos, or giant demon snakes.
An empty cloud of talking air apparently does merit a pause, though.
Buffy turns and quirks her brow, effectively switching from irritation to suspicion in one snazzy move.
"Who's there? And, no we're not there yet," Buffy adds, considerately.
There's a brief scuffling as everyone adjusts their line of vision to include the invisible person, to the best of their ability. If I were writing metaphors about adjusting to impossible situations this would be a great starting point, except that I don't ever do that.
That was Xander.
When there's no response, I decide to follow his lead.
"Emily?" I call out.
The others give me strange looks.
"What?" I ask, now defensive. It's not like I don't know the most statistically probable name for all girls in California. I'd guess it's at least twenty times more likely than 'Marcie' - but considering the names of everyone I've met in Sunnydale so far, I'll excuse their lack of knowledge about what's considered a 'normal' name.
Buffy seems to feel that this hairy-eyeball fest isn't worth her personal participation, and is standing with her eyes serenely closed, in deep concentration.
I lean over to Tara, and whisper, "Can Buffy see invisible people with her eyes closed?"
Tara loses her own tense look for a moment and breaks out a smirk. "No," she whispers back, "but it helps her concentrate so she can hear better."
"So we shouldn't be whispering then?" I whisper back, sneaking a glance at Buffy. If that's the irritated eyebrow coming into play again, I guess I should be quiet.
Okay, so, now that I'm not using 50 percent of my brainpower for sarcasm, the more obvious question comes to mind. What kind of ghost person would just pop in to say, "Are we there yet?"
The answer comes a little too easily. Isn't everyone's first idea of a nightmare the dreaded "Are we there yet?" ghost?
Well, maybe not in Sunnydale. I've since heard that they get these vengeful Native American guys that turn into bears, with little to no provocation. Fun-tastic. I should mention now that the past ten minutes turned into storytime, when I asked how the Sunnydale gang usually handles these kinds of situations. I had this vague hope that I was safe among superfriends, and they had experience with the fighting of the crime with strategies involving magic flutes and telepathy spells, or some other old standby.
I mostly learned that helicopters are not their "usual thing" - and that the running away part generally comes at a much later time. And is done by other people.
This, though, has been a - somewhat - lucky hit for us. Glory ran like hell (hah) after that smoking chopper, and in this instance hell blurs. It gave us time for storytime. Buffy also took some of that time to yell in the general direction of the Powers that apparently Be about providing some cell phone coverage in the near future if they wanted a certain hellgoddess dead. That's valid, I guess, but if I were making a plea to higher powers at this point I'd maybe ask for some giant hellgoddess-binding kryptonite, and leave the cell phone talk for the holiday wish lists. I keep forgetting that logic has no place in this strange world of California, though, and being irreverant and punny is worth its weight in holy water.
I've also heard that about the front lines, though. Personally, I have nothing against laughing in the face of terrifying situations. It's just harder when I'm so new at it.
Meanwhile, Giles and Buffy have crouched down and are presumably holding an invisible person and asking questions. Ah, this is what Gary Jules was singing about.
Naturally, nobody starts with a quick "Hey, how'd you get all invisible like that, and why?"
Xander's referencing something about a yearbook, Willow and Tara are chanting quietly and Anya, strangely enough, looks like she's taking charge of the situation.
Anya steps forward with promising authority. "I'm really curious," she says, "I'd like to know, what does your hair look like? Because from your voice I'd say you sound like a brunette, dark, with a moderately lanky stature and possible highlights..."
I'm starting to think this is all a dream. A very long, mildly exhausting dream immune to all my attempts to pinch myself awake.
A blurry, somewhat lanky figure appears, as Willow and Tara finish their chanting. We all turn to see if she has blonde highlights.
Oh, that's a messy dye job. Frak. This isn't a dream.
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A/N: Er. It has been ages since I've updated anything, which I fully acknowledge. But it's summer now! I've been told this means I have free time. It's a nice thought, and I will cling to it as long as the weather continues to be so cooperatively damp. This is my shoddy attempt at an apology. Sorry.
Also, my Gary Jules reference is to the song "Mad World", just for the title & because it's lovely. I should probably be crediting a bunch of other people for the song here, but hey, Wikipedia.