Under a blood red sky

Things were sort of back to normal for Jo. At least as normal as they might ever be. If one counted having to wear an amulet to keep demons out of your head, having a screwed-up and confusing relationship with your boyfriend, having now met two daughters from your future, one of whom was missing as normal, then sure, things were just fine and dandy.

Jo needed the distraction. And she was starting to think that she needed to get her own place too. At the very least, she needed to do something so that if she and Dean were staying together, it was a choice that they both made instead of him feeling obligated to care for her.

Which was why she'd gone to beg for her old job back. She had apologized profusely and promised to work all of the crappy shifts and was now wearing an apron and waiting for customers. Unfortunately, Tuesday nights were usually dead as a doornail. So she put a song on the jukebox and then started to clean the bar countertop yet again.

She sang softly under her breath along with the words to 'American Pie' as she worked.

Cavan didn't often return to the scene of his murders if they were outside of a few special places. But it had been a while since he'd seen his would-be-friend, and the last time they'd been together it had been in the cemetery. He was also a little curious to see if the blood stains still remained on the tomb, or if they had done something to get them off.

It had been night the last time he'd been here, so it was easy to find where he'd killed the stranger. Cavan removed a flashlight from his bag that he'd bought specifically for this and clicked it on. The blood had seeped deep into the concrete, and while it seemed that somebody had spent some time scrubbing, he could still see the almost black red in the cracks and deep in the pits. He rubbed a hand almost lovingly over the top.

His flashlight beam played over the expanse of the tomb and then he lifted it briefly in the direction that the man's head had gone when Hearth had removed it. Of course that would be gone by now. They'd likely found it, and even if they hadn't, critters would have dragged it off. He'd forgotten to look in the paper the next day to see what had been printed, if anything. There had been a lot of distraction the rest of the night and the following couple of days, due to the nature of his meeting and the potential it had brought into his life.

He returned the beam to the tomb, bending low to see if he could smell the blood, though he knew he wouldn't be able to. His nose was merely human, and there had been weather between then and now. But he could still fantasize that he could, and he knew the scent of old blood well enough to bring it up with memory.

Pennsylvania. She did not remember Pennsylvania.

She had been there, she knew. They had passed through here, once upon a time - they’d passed through most of this big, empty country together, but they’d always flown by the empty spaces like this used to be. These little towns were good to stop in, light a fire, and blow past – they were nothing compared to the blazing centers of chaos they usually sought out.

Not now, though. Now things were different.

Before she even stepped off the train, she could hear it – the low, pulsing thrum of fear that penetrated the place. It reminded her of California, and for good reason –Hell had arrived here. There were vicious beasties lurking in the dark, plotting nasty little games in every corner. The thought made her smile, made her want to dance – especially since one of those beasties was her William.

Maybe.

Drusilla had felt it happen. He’d been oceans away, but she still felt his soul coming like the earth feels a meteor when it strikes. She refused to believe that the thing had blown Spike away entirely.

A soul only changes a person so much, after all, and Drusilla was in his blood. But she had to know.

Her boot heels clicked softly on the pavement as she walked. It must be close – she could practically smell him through the winter air. So predictable, her Spike. It took only moments to smell the other things, as well – the stench of old liquor, sweat, vomit, and acrid cleaning supplies.

She stopped, valise in hand, and smoothed her soft grey dress as she peered at the sign above her. It read ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’. She smiled, and opened the door.

There were noises outside.

Spike put down his festive bottle of Jack Daniels and went to the door of the crypt. Over the hum of the generator, he could hear shuffling.

After Halloween, he really hoped that wasn't the pitter patter of a million dead feet. But he got a glimpse of color moving past, and opened the door to get a better look.

It was a girl. A little blond one. Her hair wasn't as pretty as Buffy's... it was longer and had more of a dreadlocked feel to it, even from over here. And she was clearly looking for something.

Her head was turned in the direction of the houses that lined the edge of the cemetery. She was checking them carefully, but was moving along the cemetery fence and walking on dead leaves as she did so. Spike's crypt was right near the fence, for now. That might change. Being just inside the gate was something of a pain, considering the supernatural activity in this place. But it made plugging the generator in much, much easier. Otherwise he'd have to crank the damn thing, and feed it petrol.

Spike considered, and then decided he might as well speak to her. If she flipped her lid, he'd go back inside. 'Dawson's Creek' was on. Reruns. Oh, and 'Glee,' after.

"Looking for something?" he asked. "Specific house, maybe?"

Faith was never the sort to sit around one place for too long. The only real exception to that had been her time in prison but that was sort of the whole point to prison wasn't it? So one day when the frustration and boredom got too much Faith snagged someone's keys in a bar fight and took off to look for more action.

One town with a nest of bumpy faced blood suckers later Faith roared back into town on a stolen bike. Her hair flying behind her and her face and hands totally numb in the cold air she laughed as she opened it up to make it feel like she was flying.

For now the huge fight and the ride had her in a good mood. Faith wasn't crazy enough to think it would last but she wanted to stretch it out as far as she could. Which meant dumping the bike and heading out for some drinks and ripping off some people at pool or darts to keep herself in spending money.

Tessa had been lying low for the first couple of weeks she'd been in York, getting a feel for the situation. The balance of life and death was all out of whack, and if she were more OCD, it might have been distracting--but for Tessa, it was just business as usual. Reapers moved around a lot, so the new assignment wasn't surprising, and whenever she got called in, she knew it wasn't going to be pretty.

But come Monday afternoon, she figured she'd been lurking behind the scenes for long enough. It was time to make an appearance. First stop? The local pizza shop. She had to see if those quazi-Italian pies were really as orgasmic as popular opinion made them out to be.

Riley wasn't really into repeat performances, but he had had such a pleasant time at the fair the previous afternoon, he found himself back amongst the tents for the second time in so many days.

He had originally intended to return to the Curiousities tent, compelled to talk more with the kind man who worked there, but found himself distracted by the crisp evening weather. There was something perfectly quaint about an autumn night at the fair, and Riley decided now was the time to really take in all the sights he had previously glossed over.

Wandering among the tents and booths, Riley was taking inventory of what all the fair offered. In his hand, a giant, pink fluff of cotton candy. Okay, so it wasn't the most masculine, but he figured if ever there was a place to feel like a kid again, why not here?

Letting the sugary puff melt in his mouth, the soldier started making a B-line for the games booths. He was still adverse to rides, but he figured he'd try his skill at the skeeball or something. Perhaps he could even win a stuffed animal to give to his new friend, Molly. She seemed nice enough, and he figured it would make her day.

Rounding the corner near the water balloon game, Riley stopped dead in his tracks. There, standing a few feet in front of him, was the last possible person he wanted to see. Especially here.

With an exasperated sigh, cotton candy fell out of the soldier's mouth mid-sentence.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Chip fried, Spike felt pretty good about his un-life, suddenly. Maybe this soul thing wouldn't be that bad.

He snorted, even thinking it.

It'd only been a few hours ago that Harry'd zapped his noggin. He was heading home-- he didn't have a ton of money, but that wouldn't stop him from taking over a crypt and making it homey, like he did in Sunnydale-- and needed to stop for a new pack of cigarettes. Harry'd nicked a few, and Spike was all out. He didn't fancy trying to get through the entire upcoming day on zero nicotine.

He ducked into a supermarket between The Darkside of the Moon and the cemetery on the edge of the town line. It was unnaturally bright in here, and white and shiny. It kind of hurt. It kind of had a glare. It was clean though, full of food. Spike made a note to stop in here for some spices once he had more cash. Give the blood more kick. Tabasco, things like that.

The place was pretty empty, save the checkout clerks (two) and a woman he knew was there but couldn't see. He could smell her. Nothing funny, at all. But she was there, and she smelled nice. Nicer than the two teenage kids, that's for sure.

He'd have to find customer service. That's where they gave you your rolls of quarters and whatnot. And lottery tickets. And cigarettes.

Right.

He went on his way, peering down aisles for the desk.

Spike sat at the bar inside The Darkside of the Moon. It was about 4 p.m. The bartender was a half-incompetent guy that, the vampire was hearing, should be worried about the cute blonde they had working nights getting his days, too.

He'd ducked in here with the help of a blanket atop his duster. All things considered, he really needed a drink.

And, at present, he was arguing with the bartender about how to make a flowering onion. The kid was telling him onion rings were the same.

They were not. And the kid wanted to serve him those.

"It's a sodding ART FORM," Spike scoffed. "S'not something you throw in the bleedin' fryer and walk away from. What's wrong with you?!"

Alright, it wasn't that late in the day, and there was beer at the house, but Harry needed to get <i>away</i> from that house for a little while. His brain was still swimming with all the things he'd Seen out of Jo, and it was a fair solution to drown the images in some alcohol. "Hey. Billy Idol." Harry rolled his eyes, glancing up from his table at the white-haired man doing all the yelling. "If you want a blooming onion, go find Outback Steakhouse. If you want a bar, take the damn onion rings and shut up about it."

Spike glared.

He turned his attention from the idiot git kid to the guy that was now yelling at him.

Spike looked a little worse for the wear. His blanket was on the bar stool to his right. His hair was dishevelled, both from the blanket and from his pulling at it recently. And his face was borderline tired, if that was possible for a vampire.

"Sod. Off," he said. The tone made what he was saying seem much, much worse.

He took a long swallow of his beer, then glared again at the jerk.

Harry glared right back. It was a careful glare. It took a lot of experience to be able to glare efficiently at someone without looking in their eyes. Harry focused his at the center of the idiot's nose.

Remote in hand, Dawn was propped up on the bed when Giles entered the hotel room. The lights from the TV flickered across her face, and something with a laugh track played. She wasn't paying much attention, and looked over at Giles with something like relief as he shut the door behind him and rubbed his temples.

"Long day?" she asked sympathetically. Giles just shook his head, hand over his eyes.

By virtue of luck and some very, very sensitive information that one particular Slayer did not want shared with the world ever, Dawn had managed to wheedle her way into accompanying Giles on his trip to York, the new Hellmouth. Buffy had been rather reluctant to let Dawn out of her sight, but even the Slayer had her limits (and her pride) - and the dirt Dawn had on her was good. Besides, she'd argued, she'd spent the summer studying ancient Sumerian and updating manuscript translations on practically prehistoric portals to hell, and this was a prime research opportunity where for once she could be useful. Everyone knew she wasn't exactly handy with a bow and arrow.

Giles didn't seem too pleased either, but sometimes seemed grateful to have a buffer against the Council in the form of the Slayer's little sister and besides, he was gone most of the day anyway while Dawn waited in the hotel room. Now, he wandered into the bathroom and turned the tap on, splashing his face with water. Dawn hopped off the bed.

"I ate the minibar so I'm going out for dinner," she announced. Giles looked up, blinking amid the drops, glasses in hand. She shrugged. "We're staying on the Council's dime and they didn't exactly splash out for the Four Seasons so I figured might as well make it worthwhile."

"Don't go far-" Giles began, but Dawn cut him off. "Giles, come on. I have a stake and pepper spray in my purse and my cell phone in my pocket. There's a diner just across the street. I'm like, dying for a burger. Okay? If anything, text me."

She was out the door before he could protest further, skipping down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. She wasn't really going to the diner. She'd picked up a few tricks, namely lying, from Janice, and she was going to put them to the test. She was exploring this new Hellmouth on her own, and to hell with the Slayer and the Watcher and the Council. Feeling strangely exhilarated (and foolishly invincible) Dawn floated through the hotel doors and set off down the street, hands in the pockets of Buffy's new leather jacket that she'd packed at the last minute. A Hellmouth required the right look, after all.

It was about twilight when Marius decided to take a walk as he was wont to do. And he was wont to many things so off he went. Davis, his butler, or mother hen as he sometimes thought of him, was wary of just letting him go out on his own. That received an extreme eyebrow raising and perhaps a bit of mocking. Marius was old, older than some dirt even, and was really rather capable of taking care of himself if need be.

He wasn't going far, just some fresh air that he didn't need to breathe and to see if he could shake the... strange feeling he'd been having lately. He couldn't put his finger on it quite yet but something was definitely off. It had been a while since he was drawn to this less than a city town and only now was he beginning to wonder if the reasons why were becoming more pronounced. He was oh so curious and could not wait to see if his feelings were true.

It was not too cold, and he might be a bit chilled if the cold affected him, but he did wear a coat nonetheless, his hands slipped into the pockets as he walked along the sidewalk path. It was only a few minutes entering the park when Marius' sense were on alert.

Someone, or something, was close. Following him. "How very silly," he thought to himself but smiled, ever so wickedly and didn't pause, continuing on.

Was it someone he knew? Or someone he didn't want to see?
Curiouser and curiouser indeed.

For now he would play coy and see what became of things. The night might be looking up already, and if could go home without blood in his clothes it was a banner night to begin with in his eyes.

He sat curled against a tree, the tree closest to the fifth gate.

He was balled up into himself, like a child, combat boots half buried by old leaves and dirt, black duster curled underneath him. His head was down, cradled by his hands. He'd been pulling at his hair.

There were marks on his neck and on his chest. The top of his t-shirt was torn.

Spike had tried to claw out his soul. He'd tried more than once.

Now he fluctuated between crying and laughing as he sat here, rocking back and forth.

He'd been in Africa. That was the last thing he remembered. And the bright light. And now he was... where was here? There were these gate... things. And sounds, everywhere. Laughter. Laughter of the dead.

He knew they were dead because he could see them. Just like he could see all of his victims, suddenly. Every single one.

"I've been to Africa, lookin' for my soul," he sang. "And I feel like an actor, lookin' for a role..."