The Rector of Sunnydale
Author’s Note: The following ways of notation may be found in this story. This is excluding whatever I need to represent chatting, texting and stuff like that. Speech:
“Who’s on first.” Thought:
*What’s on second.
#I-don’t-know’s on third.# The Rector of Sunnydale
“We have to hurry,” The portly woman in the neat black suit with the clerical collar told her fellow traveller in a British accent. “If she allows her daughter to be placed in an Institution and then hears from us the girl is telling the truth, I won’t guarantee any of our survivals.”
“I think you might be overreaction, the Council would merely take control of the Sla- Oooh-Urf.”
The sound of pain and breathlessness that emerged from the man was caused by the woman’s fist ramming into his stomach, quite hard. “Listen you callous Council bastard. Her Majesty was quite clear; there will be no more stolen children! The fact that these girls have to do this is bad enough, They and their families will not be manipulated by you anymore, is that understood?”
Rupert Giles blinked down at the five foot woman vibrating with anger in front of him. Gasping for breath, both hands on his stomach, he realised this was not the time to start talking about sacred callings. Reverend Granger had spent time as a Prison Chaplain and worked in some of the poorest and most deprived areas of Britain, all because of her faith. And she got paid considerably less to do so than he did.
The Council had been less than pleased to suddenly find a Royal Inquisitor knocking upon their neatly lacquered door. They knew it happened on occasion, but it was still a bother. The last one had been when the Queen took the throne, and had been neatly foisted off by allowing him to be attacked by two vampires, and then saved in the nick of time. After that the man had been willing to fully support the Council.
Not so the Reverend Granger. Hand-picked by Her Majesty, the woman was like a small, rotund force of nature. Having met two Watchers and Potentials during her career as a priest, she knew quite well what the girls’ lives were like thank you. She also carried enough Holy Water to fill a swimming pool and was an excellent shot with her father’s old Webley service revolver. With bullets blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Queen and herself. Just to be triply sure.
The two vamps had been knee capped and then had holy water poured over them. The Watcher who had released them, a man called Weatherby was currently languishing in Her Majesty’s prison Belmarsh. As the Reverend had once served there, and was quite popular with both staff and inmates, Weatherby’s life was… probably not very pleasant.
Even before that, Quentin Travers, thinking she was out of hearing, had called her five foot square. That had not gone down well. Quentin had though.
The Reverend Geraldine Granger packed a good, hard, punch in both hands. The Head of the Watchers’ Council still sported a considerable shiner. She’d also taken to step onto his feet at every opportunity. All in all, not a woman to annoy.
“Q-quite understood,” Giles stammered.
“Good,” the Reverend smiled. “Let’s hire a car. Something with punch, we need to hurry.”
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The house was attractive, standing in a garden a little away from the road in a quiet suburban area. The Reverend bounded up to it, ringing the doorbell.
A wan looking blonde woman opened the door. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater and her blue eyes were tired and sad? “Yes?”
“Hello, my I’m the Reverend Geraldine Granger, are you Joyce Summers?”
Joyce nodded, her eyes narrowing. “Yes? Are you here to peddle some sort of religion? ‘Cause I already have one.”
Geraldine smiled. “Good. Here, these might help,” she reached into her purse and withdrew four letters. “There’s phone numbers on there so’s you can call people.”
Joyce blinked at the letters. “Bishop Borsch? Bishop Browning? The Archbishop of Canterbury? The Queen
Geraldine nodded. “Yes. We can wait here while you read them.”
Giles opened his mouth and Geraldine stepped slightly sideways. Giles whimpered.
Joyce closed the door. Ten minutes later she opened it again, her eyes blazing. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Sick, yes. Not a joke, regrettably. It’s the awful, sick truth,” Geraldine told the other woman seriously. “I do hope Buffy is still here?”
“S-she’s upstairs. How?” Joyce swallowed.
“You talked to the Bishop about your troubles, who got just a teensy bit worried and sent a message up the hierarchy. I was already investigating the Council, so Her Majesty asked me to come here, explain things to you.”
Joyce straightened. “B-Buffy said that… she told me that…”
Geraldine stepped inside and hugged the other woman. “I know. We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen for a good long time.”
“But can’t we take it out?” Joyce pleaded as Giles closed the door behind him.
“What’s going on here? Joyce, who are these people?” A weary male voice spoke from the kitchen.
“Hank? You’re home early,” Joyce called out.
Hank Summers came in, shoulders bent, face as haggard as his wife’s. “I-I wanted to be here… Needed to…”
Geraldine let go of Joyce. “Mr Hank Summers? I’m Geraldine Granger. I was sent by, well various people really, to prevent what you’re doing. You see, Mr Summers, what I have to tell you is worse than you think. Buffy isn’t insane. Buffy is telling the truth.”
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Buffy looked up at the school, then at her mother, who smiled. “You’ll be fine dear. Your father spoke with the Principal and made it clear to him that you had nothing to do with burning the Gym. And that we moved here because of my job.”
“So when’s Dad moving here?” Buffy asked, rather worriedly.
Joyce’s smile wavered. “That may be a while yet, honey. Your father and I do have some things we need to work out.”
“Will you?” Buffy asked straight out. “He cheated on you! With his secretary!”
Joyce sighed. “And I spent almost every night working with my parishioners. It’s not the same thing, and well, personally I think that he’s more wrong than I was. But I can also see his point. And he’s willing to work at us, the family. And this is not a conversation for in a car, outside your new high school, on the first day.”
Buffy smirked. “As Dawn would say, tomorrow then, same time, same place?”
Joyce shook her head, but smiled. “I’m raising a pair of comedians. Off with you. And call me if there’s trouble, okay?”
“I will Mom,” Buffy patted her bag, where her newly bought cellphone was packed and got out of the car.
“So you’re the daughter of the new Rector? Wow, the daughter of a Preacherwoman,” Xander quipped.
“Careful, buster!” Buffy threatened. “Or I’ll call tell my mom and she will preach at you!”
Xander laughed and then looked at Willow’s worried face. “Is that gonna cause trouble for you Willow?”
“Trouble?” Buffy asked surprised. “What sort of trouble?”
“Willow’s Dad is kinda uptight about her hanging too much with the Christian stuff, what with them being Jewish and all,” Xander explained. “But I’m sure he’ll make an exception, right Will?”
“I-I hope so…” Willow sighed. “But he won’t even let me watch ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’
“But he does know you’re watching it at my place,” Xander soothed. “It’ll be fine.”
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“Are you fully equipped,” Hank Summers asked worriedly.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’ve got absolutely everything.”
“Your mother is just blessing an extra load of holy water,” Hank tucked a strand of Buffy’s hair behind her ear. “Do try and be careful, okay?”
“Yes, Dad,” Buffy sighed. *Don’t know what’s worse, Mom and Dad thinking I’m nuts and wanting to put me away, or this. Okay… No contest. This is way better.*
She reached out and hugged him. “Willow and Giles figured out a patrol route, and Willow, Giles and Xander are all gonna be there as back up, if necessary.”
“Are you sure that you don’t want me to come along?” Hank tried again.
“Yes, I’m sure. Neither you, nor Mom, have any skill at fighting. And you don’t have time to learn either, like Xander and Willow. So no. Not until you take up something more aggressive than bowling,” Buffy let go off him. “I have to go now.”
Hank sighed. “We’ll be waiting. Okay?”
Buffy shook her head. “I may be very late, just… go to bed, okay? Try and make me a baby brother.”
Hank coughed. “Quite. I-I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
“Won’t know until you try, Dad,” Buffy winked, and left to hunt. End Note: Boadicea Geraldine Granger is the main character in the Vicar of Dibley, which I do not own. Nor do I own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Bishop Borsch and Bishop Browning were the Bishops of LA and the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopalian Church of America at the time of Buffy’s being Chosen. No disrespect is intended towards either of them, nor the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Queen Elizabeth II.