This won't end a thousand years later...
Disclaimer: Do I really? Obviously don't own. *thought* "Speech."
If any of the pedestrians could see the short man in the blue suit and chartreuse tie, they would think his boss must be a real jerk. They would watch as he grimaced and rubbed at his temple like he was listening to someone screaming in his ear.
Which, technically, they were.
Whistler sighed as the Powers raged and carried on. A ripple was felt several months ago in the very fabric of reality. Nothing happened afterward, so Whistler didn't think it was a big deal. The Powers that Be, on the other hand, freaked the hell out. First they were scared the Harris kid screwed up another prophecy, then they really lost it when someone suggested that the Mayor had stepped up his timetable somehow. But eventually things settled down when that shoe people talk about never dropped.
They'd been riding him, making him tail the Slayer to make sure nothing really unusual happens. Whistler still caught the occasional whispered conversation about some nameless thing, a king and a tower. And once his presence was noticed, those conversations ended in a hurry. Now he was standing outside a costume shop, reporting to his bosses about his inability to enter the building. Whistler figured they must be really pissed to still be yelling in his head like they were. A part of him was glad when he felt something surround him, the sound of chimes filling his ears and drowning the Powers out.
The rest was terrified at the distinct sensation of going straight up. And through.
Whistler stumbled, finding himself standing in a field of tall grass under a wide night sky. It was brilliantly lit with a full moon and more stars than Whistler remembered seeing on earth. A cool wind blew, carrying with it the scent of lilies. He adjusted his hat and straightened his tie with an exaggerated sigh. Whistler waited patiently like a good messenger. Whatever was happening started out okay, so he figured the rest wouldn't be so bad. It started as a flickering light, candle-flame dancing toward him. Stopping a few feet away, it hovered above the tall grass. As it got brighter, Whistler could see the faint outline of a body appear around it. It was like watching a picture develop. He could tell it was female; then see she was wearing black, knee-high riding boots over tan pants, topped by a white shirt. Long white hair draped over a faded brown duster, slim hands holding it open wide enough to show the gun belts slung low on her hips. Whistler wasn't ashamed to gulp at the guns filling those holsters. They looked like the sort of things the cowboy carries to get his revenge in the movies. He gulped again when he looked up into the face of his abductor. Whistler thought she was attractive enough, but the burning, white-blue eyes were a little scary.
He didn't like her smile either.
Or the way her power felt. It rolled over him, drowning him in the thick scent of roses, head swimming from the sound of chimes ringing in his ears. There was no evil in it, however. Whistler could feel darkness, yes, but her intent was pure. Full of goodness, but the hard sort. The sort that would charge into a battle, guns blazing, to ensure the...*Tower*...world would still be safe. Standing. Then as fast as it overwhelmed him, it was gone. The woman blinked, her eyes becoming normal, colored ice blue. She smiled at him and raised both hands into the air.
"Easy, friend," she said, "All I want is a moment. We shall palaver and both be on our way."
She chuckled, gesturing at something that was apparently behind him. Whistler turned to see a clearing with a campfire burning in the middle. Two logs sat on either side, and the woman walked past him to sit down on one. Whistler shrugged, going to the other log and sitting down opposite her. "Whatever you're here for," he said, "I'm guessin' it's gonna cause me some problems." "Interesting lead," she replied, chuckling, "But yes, I probably will cause a problem or two. For you, personally, I have no idea. For the massive egos standing at the chessboard that is your world, most assuredly." Whistler stared at her. He was shocked, yes, but interested. "You an aspect of Chaos I ain't met before?" She threw her head back, her laughter ringing in the night.
*Almost sounds like those freaky chimes,* he thought to himself.
"No, you funny little man, I am not," she replied, wiping tears from her eyes. "More like a cousin of Chaos, twice removed. Chaos given structure, then purpose. If it's deserved, I'll spit in the face of good just as quickly as evils."
"You got a name?"
That drew another chuckle. "Many and none. My oldest name is The Unfound Door. My title is Servant of the Turtle. Where I reside, I am the Nameless Voice. The Servant of the White. In the world I took you from, a small fishing village in Britain has a festival in my honor every year. They make an effigy called the Greenwich and hurl it into the sea as an offering to the White Lady. Grand enough for you? Take your pick."
Whistler didn't know what to say to that. He'd never heard of any Turtle or Door. The White Lady was a spirit of the seas, but this broad didn't look like any elemental he'd seen. "You got a favorite?" She shrugged, "Nameless does as well as any."
"I'm Whistler. So how 'bout we get this all laid out on the table, Nameless. Now I'm guessin' you know who I work for. If you're here to mess with the Slayer, you're gonna have my bosses breathin' down your neck once you make your play. So why don't you take me back, I'll arrange a little get-together and whatever you want...we can probably work...something...". Whistler gulped one more time. Nameless's eyes had begun to glow brighter as she shook her head at him. "I will take you back, friend Whistler. But only out of common courtesy. I will be working nothing out with anyone."
"You gotta play by the rules just like the rest of us. No outright interference from outside this reality."
"Not unless I am invoked. Trust me, Whistler, this isn't my first ro-dee-ohhhh." Nameless stared at him from across the fire, grinning. "Some time from now, something I lost will appear in this reality. I've seen it happen. And...since I was coming here already...taking the time to claim a champion or two in my name sounded like fun. It's been a millennium since I played at being a god."
"You can't...they won't let you."
"Oh Whistler, don't fret. I'm not here to take over completely. I'm just here to retrieve what's lost, and do my best to offer comfort...and guidance...and protection...unlike SOME people. Tell your masters that I'll work within the rules, but I won't play nice. I have enough on my plate as it is, without having to take custody of an entire reality. I don't want to control anything. Tell them that all things serve the Beam, including the Powers That Be."
A gust of wind blew, carrying the jangling sound of chimes with it. Everything went black, and then Whistler was standing on the street, looking up at a disturbance in the air above a costume shop called 'Ethan's'. Whistler sighed, hanging his head in comic resignation and disappearing.