Angeles and Diablos (PG: MIld Coarse Language)

[Altoz]

Los Angeles, 2000.

There were several things that Doug Mercer hated about Los Angeles. Okay, not the literature so much, as he had been introduced to film noir by Doctor Alessandra Norton at the Watchers Institute. One was the blase conservative attitude that middle-class people had toward the homeless, ignoring them as they stepped over them. He found the extreme wealth just as ghastly, and the fact that he was here to meet up with a "vampire with a soul" , of all possible beings. He knew it was a brand new millennium, but didn't like the correlates involved- the probability that Buffy Summers. the current Chosen One, the vampire slayer, would die at the end of this year or the next, given the actuarial data on slayer mortality. There were several things he couldn't work out, though- sure, it felt good that after four years of tutelage, he was finally undertaking a Watchers Field Agent assignment on his own, but why not Sunnydale? He suspected that Alessandra and Rupert and the others didn't want him to risk his existence in the spotlight, but then why turn him loose in the big dark city (although he'd had team missions in London, which had its own darkness at that).

Abruptly, as he turned a corner, there he was. And why did all male vampires these days wear dusters, despite the annoying temperature? His sensory response indicated Angel, given that he smelt different and the light refracted from him in a distinctive way. For his part, Angel was nonplussed. He hadn't expected someone quite so young, or tall, or muscular. This guy had to be twenty:
"Harry Potter, I assume?"
"Nah mate. I don't wear specs, no birthmark and my home life was infinitely worse than the dire Dursleys."
Angel raised an eyebrow:
"Wait, what? That's a New Zealand accent? Are all you guys built like your rugby team?"
"Not mistaking me for an Australian is a mark in your favour, and comparing me to the mighty All Blacks earns you another. Damn it, Angel, I'm startin' to like you already."
"Look, uh, I heard what Spike did to you. As he's my grandchilder, I feel responsible for him turning out that way."
"It's cool, man. You disconnected from him and the rest of the Whirlwind a century before I was born. It's not your fault he's a cheap Billy Idol rip-off."
Angel grinned: "Hey, I like that. Can I use that, or is it copyrighted?"
Doug laughed: "As long as I have your permission to use the term 'Captain Peroxide."
"Granted."
"Now, what's this all about? I thought you had a team around you, an outfit modestly called Angel Investigations."\
"It's Wolfram and Hart."
"What has that malignant, reptilian, bloodthirsty bastard law firm done now?" Doug growled.
"Ah, I see you're familiar with them, too."
"Overly so. I ran into one of their high fliers, a woman named Lilah, back in Berlin a couple of years ago."
"Lilah Morgan? My, she does get around. Okay, so this is the story. It involves an attempt to guy me using my sire, Darla."
"I thought the slayer had wiped her from existence?"
"Hells Lawyers used a resurrection spell, except she'd reverted to mortality- although then, they roped in Drusilla, my childer, to turn Darla back to the undead side of the ledger so they ate out and had scorched legal firm members for dinner. And I let it happen."
"Whoa. I see you've still got that soul of yours, but isn't that seriously dark?"
"Unfortunately, they sensed the evil in Lilah and her competitor, a guy named Lindsay MacDonald, so they left them alone. Otherwise, it was a massacre, yes."
Doug asked: "So why not get some local talent in? I've heard some interesting things about Willow Rosenberg over in Sunnydale."
"Street smarts. Rupert told me you've got plenty of them."
"So, what's this in aid of?"
"I need someone to run interference. Giles talked highly about your guts and self-discipline, so while I try to find Darla and Drusilla before they do something to someone who actually has a moral compass, so you handle the everyday case work."
"Okay, you're on. So what about the others?"
"I had to make them scarce. I don't think they could handle this darkness. You, though, I have every confidence in."
"Cheers. So that's AI HQ then?"
"Keys. Have fun." And with that, Angel was gone as Doug unlocked the door.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Altoz]

Part Two: Day One:

Xander Harris hesitantly opened his eyes. Going on this mission for Buffy to LA had not been a good idea, especially finding out why Deadboy hadn't been in touch for the last few months. And true to form, he had been abducted and tied up, suspended over a vat of evil smelling rancid meatiness. He tasted blood from a cut to his eyes and passed in and out of consciousness. Abruptly, he heard fighting type noises from outside, and one of the demons soared across the room, into a pile of rusty oil canisters. At which point, a muscular guy in a tanktop turned up. Who wasn't Angel.

Wesley Wyndham-Price was tied to a stripped iron bedbase, with electrical cords and a generator attached to it. At which point a smoke bomb filled the room with a foul-smelling cloud, and a couple of shurikens thudded into the foreheads of the two Inijata demons that had captured him Doug leapt down and smiled at his old friend and his elbow slammed into the face of a hapless Inijata who had tried to sneak up on him Driving them out of the derelict warehouse, there were inttercepted by a trio of survivors., he kicked open the car door with a booted foot, stunning one, while slamming another into the wall and delivered three head punches to another. Wes said: "Uh, I think they've got Cordelia too."
Doug sighed. It was going to be one of those nights again, was it?

For the third time that might, he kicked in something and crept stealthily upstairs, stance ready. It was no surprise at all when yet another Inijiata rushed him. But Doug had a samurai blade ready and laid into the startled newcomer, who was unprepared for his strength, experience and determination, throwing yet another one ofd the tiresome breed from the gantry onto the grimy floor below. Cordelia was tied up in a straitjacket.

As the car drove away from the district, Doug felt a comforting arm surround his shoulders:
"Sorry. Cordy, " he replied, "but I'm afraid I'm more of a man's man. Seriously, though, that's three rescues of Team Angel and Scooby members I've had to pull off this evening. Why did you get into those situations?"
"We thought we could deal with the Inijiata on our own." Cordelia responded.
"Nice try. And good on you for leaving a trail, Wes. Is this trying to show Angel that you can manage this on your own?"
"Well, I am a precog. I thought he'd rescue us. Although it turned out to be you instead. Does he know you've borrowed his duster?"
"Er, no, this is not a duster. It's called a moleskin and Kiwi country folk wear it to protect them from the elements."
"Cordy's Californian born and bred. She hasn't travelled much."
"Excuse me. You make me sound like an ignorant bimbo."
"I was actually throwin' up whether or not to rescue you first, Cordy. Wes has excellent endurance skills, but then I remembered that the Inijiata have a particular sequence when it comes to human sacrifices- one male first and then one female. Oh, and by the way, I had to send Xander Harris back to Sunnydale on a Greyhound. Buffy Summers wants to know what's goin' on down here. Why is Angel hellbent on this war against the Demon Lawyers from Scum, Vermin and Malice?"

TO BE CONTNIUED

 

[Altoz]

Part Three: Scum, Vermin and Malice

"So why he call you in? Why not trust the rest of us?"
"Wes mate, you folks haven't got quite the edge he has. And he's huntin' a re-purposed elder vampire, so it makes sense he wants you out of the way for the time being. Nothing permanent. Just until he sorts this out. And basically, I managed to foil a nasty little operation Wolfram and Hart had put together back in Berlin two years ago. Let's just Hell's Lawyers hates my guts."
"You actually held them to a draw?" Cordelia asked
"I'll just say two words here- Nazi Zombies."
"You're joking." Wesley replied
"Nope. So they tried to retrieve them and three of us made sure they didn't."
"I'm surprised they haven't sent a group of deadly trained demon ninjas after you."
"Nah, they couldn't find any, Cordy, so they roped in the Inijiata, who tend to be crap against a disciplined swordsperson and have a ridiculous habit of thinking numbers are a substitute for strategy. Don't feel bad about it. It'll only take a couple of years servin' alongside Angel for you two to get as proficient as he is."
"I've got to say, you're not the semi-conscious young lad that the Institute med-evacced from New Zealand back in '96."
"And you're not the friendly but overly prissy Watcher you started out as. The stubble and the tousled, slightly worn look gives you character."
"Oh, get a room, you two." Cordy rolled her eyes.
"He's gay, I'm not."
"Wes is more metro. He's one of those strange evolved straight guys who knows what a moisturiser is, can cook and can rattle off show tunes."
"And Doug here is basically a gay caveman. His running joke is that he flunked gay 101."
"Er, could you two shift slightly?"
"Oh, that isn't a Wolfram and Hart assassin with a dart gun, is it?"
"Well spotted, Cordelia. Point him out for us, Doug?" At the precise moment a curare dart whipped across the room to try to imbed itself in Doug's neck, Wesley held up a silver plate and shook his head:
"They're slipping."
"Well, Angel did arrange for the unfortunate incident at their office party."
"Let's go. I'd like to check out Caritas while I'm here."

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Altoz]

Part Four: That Old Eudaemon Called Lorne:

As the three of them entered Caritas, they were startled to hear a southwestern accent and a man in a checked shirt and jeans with a guitar:
"I think we might need to leave. That's Lindsay MacDonald- Wolfram and Hart."
"Huh? But he's dressed like a farmer. And there are holes in those jeans and the boots are worn. Interesting looking guy." Doug thought no more about it as MacDonald finished his number, pulled his shirt collar up to cover a very large bandage, spotted the three at the table and made an exit.
"Well, that was interesting..." As they neared the bar, a familiar figure met them:
"Well, hello handsome stranger."
"Ah. You're a Pylean eudaemon, so you must be Crevlorneswath of the Deathwok Clan."
"Lorne to my friens, sweetcheeks. And you must be Dougalicious."
"Flirt. Hey, got some interesting vibes from that guy, did you?"
"I'm a timbre empath, so yes, Lindsey is a mess. Nice wrapping, but definitely a mess inside. He's so conflicted about Demon Lawyers from Hell, it's not funny. Unlike Angelcakes, who I can read like a book."
"Yeah, that's interesting. I'm a mainstream whitewicca, so I can only read mortals. Interesting that he'd come in here, too."
"He's more morally ambiguous than most. Hello, Wesley, Cordy."
"Doug here and I go back quite some way, Lorne."
"And that's the weird part. All of the Watchers we've been around are formal jacket and tie types. Like Wesley here used to be before he reformed."
"Ah, I'm a field agent. This means that I get to have a dayjob and an independent work life as one of the salatariat, and change into more practical gear when it comes to night time, Cordy."
"Ah, so you're like a more practical Watcher compared to the stuffed shirts?"
"Er, well, the Council does tend toward the factionalised these days." Wesley said.
Doug nodded: "I still can't believe that the Council fired you mate, instead of calling you in for retraining."
"Which I've heard you fought like hell, Doug. Thank you, old friend."
"What are mates for, Wes? Believe me, if the role of Watchers Council President wasn't for life, that pompous incompetent old fool Travers would have gotten his marching orders after last year. Result- one alienated slayer, one scapegoated ex-Watcher, several angry Council members and massive tensions between the Watchers Council and Institute. Sorry, Cordy, this must be borin' you.:"
"Can I trouble you to do a routine, Dougalicious one?"
"Uh, you do realise I'm missin' the part of the gay gene that otherwise provides instant brilliance at showtunes?"
"Now you can just twirl around and do an evergreen, How does John Lennon's Working Class Hero strike you?"
"Sure you wouldn't want something cheerier, like Nine to Five?" Lorne shook his head.
As Doug walked toward the stage, Cordelia sighed: "What a waste. That man has one fine ass."
"Hence the -alicious part to his nickna,me. Just like a very juicy peach." Lorne commented.
"Shhh, it's starting..."

Lorne got a reading from the man who was singing before him. Anger and resentment at the poverty of his early life, his dysfunctional and abusive father, evictrion from home and being forced to live on the streets as a rent boy, then the confrontation with Spike after he killed a trans sex worker in Wellington., the consequent brutal battering and the sudden arrival of his wiccan abilities after he awoke from a coma at the Watchers Institute's medical centre. Then there was bewillderment, satisfaction at the power he suddenly wiielded, compassion and humility when it came to the others still on the streets, and a determination to make vampires pay and hold them accountable for what they did while preying on hmans. As for his future... well now, that was interesting. He liked what he saw inside this man's soul.

As he dropped Wesley and Cordelia at their respective apartments, Doug was still sober. He called it a night and headed back to the Hyperion, only to have an oddly familiar figure land on his car engine cover. With raven hair, a red short-sleeved blouse and a long black skirt, he knew who this was instantly. He raised an eyebrow:
"Bloody hell! Drusilla...?"
"White knight? I need your help. The sky is falling on me..."

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Altoz]

Part Five: La Belle Dame Sans Pitie

Doug ran a quick telepathic scan around the adjacent group of bypassers, assessing whether or not this was a trap. Ward spell activated, he got out of his car and stepped hesitantly toward Drusilla, who had slid off the bonnet of his car and now lay moaning, entangled around a streetlight post.
"What's this all about? We don't know each other and I was responsible for kicking several shades of shit out of your bloke Spike back in Berlin."
"I was watching. You were frightening. That's good."
"You're a vampire. Despite your schizophrenia, surely you can look after yourself? Anyway, where is the cheap peroxide job in question?"
Drusilla made a face: "He's gone off me. He fancies the slayer now, would you believe it? I see a mixture of light and darkness around you, it really is mosr
appealing."
"Yeah, well, I'm a whitewicca, I don't do dark magick. I never will. I hate the idea of using the gifts I have to hurt and maim people.:
"There's something after me. You're a wiccan, surely you can sense it?"
Doug frowned. She was right. As a vampire, Drusilla herself was impervious to his psionic traits, but whatever was stalking her wasn't. But why should he defend her. And then he saw a golden thread course through the sky:
Think not of what she is now, but of what she will become.
"What?! All right, Dru. I will defend you. The Powers that Be apparently want you to continue to exist for some reason."
"Oh, you saw that vision too. I'm starting to like you, grey-eyes."
"Uh oh. Here it comes and I don't like the look of it at all. Behind the ward, please."
She did so, as a large betentacled abomination coursed upward from the street. Doug warded and set up a defensive spell against it, trying to tap into its mind. What he saw wasn't particularly pleasant:
"Ah. This Xiaffoech Queen Demon wants to avenge herself on you for helping yourself to her sacrificial victim in Brazil two years ago."
"Sorry, love!" Drusilla called to the creature.
"What about bequeathing one of the Wolfram and Hart lawyers you polished off last week to her?"
"Will Holland Manners do?" Drusilla used her razor nail and cut an incision in her upper chest. Doug found a chalice and she poured it as a libation. Doug placed it before the behemoth. A tentacle snaked out and quaffed it, opening a portal to whatever hell dimension Manners was in. The creature slithered in, there was a blood-curdling scream and it vanished:
"You're not that bad for a white hat."
"Okay, so this is just a temporary truce. Unless there's something else that brings us together on the same side, mind." Then Doug realised he was talking to thin air and the vampire had vanished. Would he ever get any sleep tonight?!

TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Altoz]

Part Six: Home Again...

Doug wearily made his way back to the Hyperion at the end of another long night. He was startled to see Angel waiting for him across the threshold:
"So, all resolved then?"
"Darla and I had sex. I realised that my relationship with her was something from the past, and there was no love in it. So, I didn't end up losing my soul. And now she's gone from Los Angeles. Crisis over."
"And here are your keys, sir!" Doug hefted his carrybag over his shoulder and prepared to teleport off:
"Uh, Doug?"
"Angel?"
"Would you like to stay on?"
"Nah, mate. I enjoyed my time here and it was good catching up with Wes again. Ah, and why are you into Barry Manilow? Is it an Angelus vestige?"
"Hey! I have a great singing voice! Why, who told you otherwise?"
Ah, so he's a vampire with a soul but without any ear for musical tonality whatsoever?.
"Sorry, I said I'd keep schtum. But great meeting you. Glad that stuff with your ex resolved itself."
"Enjoy yourself back at the Watchers Council?"
And pterodactyls might fly again... Doug thought. He summoned his energies and there was a brief percussive clap as he vanished from Los Angeles, traversing the thousands of miles between it and Westbury in the blink of an eye.

THE END