The Universe's Mixer

Dexter remembered very clearly that she'd said to not come back. But he'd told her that if he ever figured out how to fix himself, he'd bring the knife back for safe keeping. Clearly she'd thought that would never happen.

Wasn't she ever going to be surprised.

He'd wrapped the thing up inside of it's sheath in a towel. He hadn't wanted to touch it ever again, lest he be tempted by it. The book was with him as well. If he didn't have the knife, he didn't need the book. And he needed no reminders of either.

Very carefully, Dexter walked into the store, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible.

"Hello?"

The only place that Dexter could think to look for George was Der Wafflehouse. But he didn't go inside to wait for her. She'd either go in or come out sooner or later. He didn't want anybody in there to see him like he was and he didn't think they'd appreciate the topic of conversation, either.

Everything Willow had said to him resonated in his mind.

He wasn't sure how he was going to ask this of his friend. It wasn't something that he would have even thought asking her except that he knew she'd be okay. It wouldn't kill her, since she was already dead.

The book was heavy in his hand, despite the fact that it wasn't very big. It certainly didn't weight a hundred pounds in reality, though his arm claimed differently.

Dexter sat down on the curb outside the eatery and sighed, determined to not move until she arrived.

Willow watched The City streets nervously from the other side of The Magic Box's store windows. She'd had a few customers come in looking for answers. Why did The City disappear? Was it her fault? Was there something she could do?

Willow had almost no answers and one of the customers had gotten angry enough to knock over the display of cheap porcelain unicorns, which had shattered all over the floor in front of the door. So the witch made a sign on the door in neat handwriting which read BEWARE OF GLASS followed by a smiley face.

Dustpan and broom out, she had most of the tiny glass shards swept up. At least the stranger hadn't caused any more damage. He certainly could have done worse. Willow wondered if Buffy and Spike made it through The City's transition. It felt emptier now. At least, the witch thought, she still had the shop. It made it easier to find her.


*OOC: Feel free to have one or both enter!

The girl...

She had been just a girl. No older than sixteen. Dexter had only seen it after he'd killed her. Never in his life would he have hurt a kid of his own volition. This was wrong. It was outside of his norm, even when taking his norm to the extreme as he had been doing. She was innocent. She hadn't hurt anybody. And she was a kid.

It didn't help matters at all that she was also monstrous. Literally. She exhibited on the outside how he felt on the inside. Though, upon passing a window while in this sulking, self doubting mood, Dexter noticed that he too was not a normal human on the outside.

What had he become?

He had become his dark passenger.

This was not what he wanted. He didn't want freedom to do as he desired if this is what it came to. The changes. The killing of innocent little girls.

The knife in his hand felt differently now. Like a curse rather than a gift.

He needed to find that store again. He needed to talk to the shop girl. He needed to make this all go away.

Brigitte remembered the stunningly beautiful face of the blonde vampire girl. The werewolf remembered her strange scent without the ability to make sense of it. It had been a long stand off and then there had been nothing.

Brigitte couldn't remember the last time she saw the light of the sun or stars or how long she'd been out. Just that she'd opened her eyes, sitting on the same park bench, surrounded by an island of grass. Outside that island had been nothingness and she'd been afraid to move, able to make out tiny islands of the shattered city displaced in black space.

Eventually The City slowly began to piece itself together, albeit with noticeably black holes where a shop had once been or where someone's house was built. Brigitte didn't move from her bench. She shivered. She was scared and hungry. Brigitte was scared of her hunger.

And so she didn't move.

The big man had told him he wasn't a good person anymore, which hadn't phased him like it should have, and then the City had upheaved itself, which phased him quite a bit. Despite living here so long, despite all he'd seen and everybody he'd met (Spock came to mind quite quickly), he'd never expected anything like this.

Everything vanishing, and then rebuilding itself in almost exactly the same way?

Made no sense.

Dexter had no issues finding what he wanted to find, no more than usual anyway, but it wasn't always complete when he found it.

There was, of course, curiosity about why it was going on. But the lust for death and killing overwhelmed any desire he had to find out the details of anything else.

He'd called in sick days and vacation days, saying he just needed some time off. People at work wouldn't worry about him so much now. They wouldn't wonder where he was. What he was doing. And as long as he was careful, well. None of it would matter anyway.