Out Of The Frying Pan
Disclaimer: They're not mine. All I own is my Buffy and Angel dvd collection... and you can't have them.
Prologue: Out Of The Frying Pan
In tears she fled the vampires’ mansion. Eventually slowing down to a determined jog, she reached her home. Her home. She was no longer welcome there. Oh, some part of her knew that her mother hadn’t really meant it – that she’d been angry and scared. But she needed to get away. She needed solitude. She sighed and climbed quietly up the wall and into her bedroom window, dragged a big leather duffel bag out from the bottom of her closet and dumped it softly on the foot-end of her bed. She swept her hands over her head, pulling her hair back in tired resignation.
She turned back to the closet and quickly sifted through her clothing, pulling garments out and throwing them onto the bed. She changed into baggy light blue jeans with frayed ends, a blue tank top and a black zip-up hooded sweatshirt. She pulled on her chunky black ankle boots and started to fill her bag. She pushed her white trainers into the bottom of the bag and piled roughly folded clothes in on top of them. She added her pajamas and a small pile of underwear. She also put her black woolen beanie and a beige ¾ coat into the bag.
She stuck her head warily out of her bedroom door, making sure the coast was clear, then hurried across the hall to the bathroom. Silently she grabbed her vanity bag from the cabinet under the basin and filled it with her toiletries, etc. On her way out she grabbed a small towel out from the bathroom cupboard and returned softly to her room. Closing the door behind her, she tossed her retrievals into the duffel bag then turned back and took a tan suede shoulder bag off the peg on the back of it. She went to her dressing table and filled the handbag with her purse, hairbrush, hair ties, deodorant, her make-up bag and a pair of sunglasses.
She scribbled a quick note telling them not to worry, she needed some time, and she’d see them soon.
“Weapons.” She mumbled. They may come in handy even if she was reluctant. She pulled out her weapons trunk and rifled through it. She pulled out her favourite crossbow with a quiver of bolts, a small fighting axe, a short sword and a few stakes. She put them all in the duffel bag, zipped it up and slung the long middle strap over her shoulder. Dropping the not onto the bed she pulled the handbag over her other shoulder and climbed back out of the window. She heard her mother call. She didn’t look back. Sadly she headed for the Sunnydale Bus Depot. She stopped outside the school to check on her friends. They looked mostly alright.
Once there, she bought a ticket for the 104 to Los Angeles. She got some snack food for the trip from the vending machines. She might need them later. She put the money in and pressed random buttons. She ended up with three small bags of chips, a can of diet orange soda, a bottle of water, a few chocolate bars and a Twinkie. She dropped them into her bags and settled on an outdoor bench to wait for boarding. She sat with the duffel bag on her lap, her elbows propped on top holding her head in her hands. Why was her life always so hard?
Her head jerked up suddenly, feeling a pull inside her. And the bus station was gone, and with it the bench. She landed on her ass with a bump… on the edge of a beautiful forest… with eight pairs of bewildered, wary eyes staring at her… with a sword pointed at her chest and an arrow pointed at her head.
“Oh shit.” Buffy grumbled.