It wasn’t a bad fit at all.
Yeah, the pants and even the shirt with its vest and tie were a bit baggy, but this was hidden by the woolen cloth jacket he had on now. Xander had been more worried about being too short for everything. Happily, his latest growth spurt in the past few months put him just about at eye level with the G-man, which resulted in them both being close to the same height. Even the old-fashioned shoes didn’t pinch too much.
Beaming at the mirror after one last check of his get-up, Xander sniggered, “Wils and the Buffster are gonna howl! Wonder if I can arrange to take our kids to his apartment so we get to see his face when he opens the door and finds me there? Yup, definitely gotta find a camera for that-- Awww, crap!
After unexpectedly blurting out this last bit of profanity, Xander’s face fell in utter dejection. He’d just remembered what Principal Baldy had earlier warned those grouchy students ‘volunteered’ by this spiteful head administrator of a Southern California high school. Namely, all of their costumes were subject to his final approval. This meant nothing indecent, unsuitable, or disrespectful.
Without question, dressing up for fun as one of Sunnydale High’s staff would be regarded at once by Snyder as an offensive and impertinent affront against those in authority at this educational facility. It wouldn’t matter the slightest that this little tyrant personally disliked a tall, urbane, and follicular-blessed man working as the school’s librarian. Two seconds after the height-challenged troll spotted Xander pretending to be Rupert Giles, the son of a pair of drunks would have to immediately knock it off, on pain of detention for life--
Wait a second!
Xander blinked at yet another brainwave appearing from out of nowhere. Oh, yeah. He couldn’t risk impersonating Giles himself…but there was nothing stopping him from pretending to be some entirely different
scion of this Englishman’s family.
Best of all, Xander knew the G-man was not just an only child but also the sole living descendant of his whole lineage. Which meant Snyder couldn’t even utilize the unlikeliest excuse imaginable, of forbidding the boy from masquerading as a real, breathing guy who might actually complain about this. Not when there basically wasn’t anybody around to do that.
An extremely wide, triumphant smile breaking out upon his features, Xander sat down at one of the rickety metal chairs next to the storage room’s card table. Taking out from the tweed jacket’s front pocket the pencil stub he’d slipped in there while changing, Xander reached out with his other hand to pull towards himself a piece of scrap paper someone had already left there on the table. Starting to scribble quick notes on the paper, Xander began putting down the back story of the character he was creating.
*Lessee, have him be G-man’s, um…brother! Yeah, his older brother! Slick back your hair and sprinkle some chalk dust in it to make it gray. And…oh, what the heck, if he’s gonna be totally imaginary, just go ahead and cut loose. Okay, he’s a Watcher, too-- Nah, why stop there? He’s the head
Watcher, instead of who Giles mentioned, some Travers dude. But this other Giles, he’s got ten times the smarts and experience of anyone else there. Worked his way to the top, still has serious skills, but he never forgot the whole point’s to help support the Slayer. Geez, how come we’ve never talked about why all those Council bozos a couple thousand miles away don’t show up and lend us a hand when we really need it?*
Xander’s pencil slowed, as he frowned down at the paper. He nevertheless soon started writing again.
*Nope, other-G is out on the front lines whenever he can. Not always, though. Sometimes the smartest thing is knowing when to step back and call the plays for people you trust to do the job. Make him, uh, halfway between Kirk and Picard. A real leader, with real backup. Who thought it was a good idea to put just two people against the Hellmouth? Me and Wils, we do our best to help out, but c’mon, we’re only kids!*
His slashing handwriting beginning to show the honest anger growing inside, Xander continued to set down his fantasy.
*This Giles, no way he’ll allow that. He was a soldier, too, like I was gonna be tonight. What’s the name of those awesome commandos in the land of tweed-- Right, the SAS. Make him a decorated veteran of this, who later on hired other retired soldiers from there, and outfitted those guys with VERY big guns guaranteed to put lots of fatal holes in demons while backing up the Slayer. Hey, how come none of those penny-pinching bastards from the Council ever forked over some cash to any of us for wages, expenses, and all that stuff? Well, not this time. My G-buddy, he’ll be in charge of the honkin’ huge budget of the new and improved Council, which’ll damn sure be able to afford decent salaries for those who’re doing all the fighting. Buffy will get as many shoes as she could possibly want from him, you betcha.*
Chuckling at the sheet of paper now almost completely filled up, Xander next pensively tapped his chin with the pencil stub, wondering if he’d forgotten anything. Quickly deciding he hadn’t, the boy began to put down his writing implement on the table and gather up the sheet of paper to put in his pocket if he needed to refer to this later. Only, Xander abruptly paused, to then deliver a very sheepish clearing of his throat.
one more little detail: What should he use as a first name for his pretend Giles sibling?
The teenager in his formal clothes unknowingly loaned by a high school librarian now frowned thoughtfully. This was pretty important. From what little the G-man had let slip about his stuffy to the max Brit dad and mum, when he’d been born to them they’d truly thought bestowing ‘Rupert’ upon this poor kid was an actual mark of distinction. If those folks indeed had an earlier child, they wouldn’t have picked some plain, ordinary moniker like Joe, Mike, Sam, or whatever.
True, it’d be kind of fun to mention some really noteworthy name with history to it, just to make people hearing it do genuine double-takes. Winston, maybe. Or, how about Mycroft?
But…nah, come up with something more dignified for the guy.
Xander concentrated for a few moments, only to at last dejectedly shrug. Nope, zilch so far. To be fair, all he mainly knew about what English guys -- or ‘chaps’, if you wanted to hoist high the Union Jack -- were called was from television, movies, and books. It wasn’t like Sunnydale had all that many around for him to meet in person and then ask if they really ate things called bubble and squeak. Even if that specific question had made a former British Museum associate sigh, thoroughly clean his glasses, and explain--
“Riiiight,” the delighted young man drawled out loud concerning his latest bright idea. “That’ll be perfect!”
A few more pencil strokes produced a full name drawn in block letters at the bottom of Xander’s paper. Proudly regarding his work, he then arose from his chair, snatching up the paper and stuffing this in the right jacket pocket along with the pencil stub. Leaving his hand in there, Xander went over to once more stand in front of the mirror in the corner. Striking a pose in an attempt to present the necessary suave air for what he was about to say, the high school student regally nodded at his dapper reflection.
In his best Sean Connery imitation, Xander intoned, “Giles. Ethan Giles.”
This Hellmouth resident never noticed inside the pocket and under his fingers still touching this, how the scribbled lines on the paper made with a pencil imbued with a foretaste of Chaos magic now abruptly glowed bright for an instant.