Croque It UpAuthor:
BtVS/Jack of All TradesDisclaimer:
Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Jack of All Trades are mine. ^^;Written for: TtH August Fic A Day ChallengeSummary: The Council lets Giles know that a centuries old vampire is headed toward Sunnydale, and no one knows quite why.Author's notes:
Set during season two of BtVS, and long after the end of Jack of All Trades.
Croque It Up
“His name is Croque, and there is very little information on him outside of the Watcher’s Diaries of the time when he was sired, in the early 1800’s.”
A stack of the old books thumped somewhat loudly onto the library table. Quick glances were exchanged around from Scooby to Scooby, then up to Giles, and back to the books, before Willow reached to take the book from the top. Buffy threw a quick pout at her friend before huffing and reaching for one of the diaries as well.
“Croak?” she repeatedly doubtfully, arching an eyebrow up at her Watcher. “What is he, some kind of frog lover? He’s not going to throw them at us, is he? Because frog warts- so last season.”
“Oh come on, Buff, that’s just a myth! I’ve held plenty of frogs, and never gotten a single wart!” Xander protested playfully, leaning on top of the remaining pile, and completely ignoring the firm British glare being directed at him for it. “Besides, if he’s named Croak, it probably just means he sounds
like a frog. You know, when he talks and stuff!”
“Get off of the books, Xander,” Giles sniffed, affront evident in his voice. “And his name is not ‘Croak’ as in the sound a frog makes, but Croque
. He is French, and the younger brother of Napoleon Bonaparte.” Three heads jerked up at that announcement, and Giles looked visibly pleased to have gotten their attention so efficiently.
blanket, Batman, he’s Napoleon’s
brother!” Xander’s brown eyes were wide, and he abruptly pushed up. “Does that mean he’s some kinda- genius who’s gonna eat us alive?”
“Genius, no. He is, however, quite insane, according to all accounts, and a member of the Order of Aurelius.”
“So- we’re dealing with another Drusilla here. Except, male and French.” Buffy frowned, but poked half heartedly through the diary she’d picked up. Willow followed her lead, save for the fact that she was far more sincere than the blonde as she began to read.
“S- something like that, yes. Now, we need to find as much information about Croque as we can. The Council has informed me that he is making his way to Sunnydale, although there is no information on what his intent may be. If we may discover the reason for his trip, we may yet be able to defeat him as he arrives. The most information should be in the diary you have, Willow, concerning the career of a slayer by the name of Stiles.”
“Stiles? Buffy, isn’t that your mom’s maiden name?” Green eyes met hazel, before the blonde shrugged lightly.
“Yeah. Kind of a weird coincidence, but it’s a common enough name, right?”
“I guess.” Willow shrugged as well, then glanced quickly up at Xander. “Xand, you going to read too?”
“Alrighty then. Long research session! Doughnuts are required, yes? I will so be the doughnut getter!” And, with a wink and a groan from the girls, Xander was off.
Several hours and far too many boring books later found Buffy patrolling the local cemeteries. They’d found almost nothing on the vampire in question between the four of them, even after scouring all of the Watcher’s Diaries from that time period, and Giles had finally decided, with such an impending threat, the Slayer’s time was better spent on patrol than researching. Buffy, for one, had no problem with that.
Of course, she never expected to run head first, quite literally, into the object of their research.
“Emilia, my dear!” The words were heavily accented with a French flavor, and the petite Slayer groaned from where she’d been knocked back into a headstone. When she looked up, she had to blink twice, because the man stuck out so much, she had no idea how she’d missed spotting him in the first place; he wore pastel colored clothing from his own time period, white tights, and a powdery white wig curled up on his head. And, as he watched her, he grinned toothily.
“Sorry buddy, no Emilia here,” she quipped back as she got her feet, reaching for the stake tucked into the back of her pants. “Name’s Buffy. Not that you’re gonna be around long to remember it, but thought you should know, since I’m going to slay you and all.”
“Oh, yes, yes, do forgive me. You are simply the splitting image
of your great grandmother! That is why I came to find you, you see. I thought, perhaps, I could meet she who is descended from my darling Emilia!” His voice was cheerful, even gallant, and he stood at a safe distance for the moment, grinning in a manner that kind of creeped the blonde out. His eyes were sparkling as he watched her, which creeped her out even more, and when he took a single step forward, she quickly held out her stake.
“You’re joking, right?” Her eyebrow arched up, and then raised further when he laughed happily. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but my great grandma wasn’t really the type to talk to vampires.”
“Oh, non, she was not! When I was turned, she was oh
so upset! We were such good friends before that! Her sorrow for my death was beautiful to behold- and would have been more beautiful, had it not driven her into the arms of her American attaché. Alas, I cannot change the past, merely- mend things now, with yourself.”
“Whoa. You’re not mending anything
with me, mister. So you’re gonna back up, and we’re gonna do this right. Slayer, slayee. Got it?” Because if he tried to step toward her again, with his arm held out like he was going to pinch her cheek, he was so
getting a stake through the heart. Granted, he was going to get a stake through the heart anyway, but it was the principle of the matter!
“I see. You are not prepared to properly greet me.” Something like sadness flickered through his eyes, before he straightened up, and smiled. “Do not worry, my little monkey’s granddaughter! We will meet again! Goodbye!”
Then, before she could really register what was happening, he was gone with a flurry of outdated, pastel petticoats, a lingering “Muahahahaha!” floating on the wind.