The Universe's Mixer

John's mouth was dry. As he awoke, he felt as if he'd like a drink of water, and his shoulders and back were stiff. He found these facts slightly peculiar. What followed was even stranger: he realized that he ought to hurt a lot more. The spot where he'd been bitten felt completely normal, and even the dull ache of his muscles had gone. He was cold. There was a blanket, half-flung across him and half-folded beneath as a sort of bed.

Odd. Watson groaned and tried to sit up.

The floor was concrete and bare. The walls looked like some sort of armory - they were covered in weapons he recognized from first-hand experience, and others that had come straight out of a medieval studies textbook. A punching bag hung in a corner. A washer and dryer sat in another.

It was all vaguely familiar, but also completely foreign. Where was he?

And, more importantly, how had he gotten there? Had he dreamed the previous night? Where were his clothes?

Giant escaped Zoo wolf.

He couldn't help but smile.

He'd heard thoughts from people in the City, too. What was going on was on a great many minds, all over the place. Thoughts were easy to catch, even without trying. He knew it wasn't just any wolf. That made it all the more attractive.

Wolfkiller.

The word used to ring in his head, centuries ago. Magnus's taunt, then Nicki's unexpected present-- the wolf-fur cloak and boots. He smiled.

The City was not always a good place for a creature like Lestat. He had not hunted anything to kill it in quite a long time.

This was perfect. And Lestat loved the idea of ridding the City of the wolf, just as he had rid the Auvergne of wolves all those years ago.

He wished he still had the cloak and the boots.

He sat silent on a rooftop, crouched, watching the wolf walk down a mostly empty street. Two others appeared behind it.

"Not as advertised," he said in a growl under his breath.

What was it with things in this City wanting to bite him? Logan wondered to himself absently as he walked through campus on his way back to the dorms. He'd just spent the entire day in the hospital after a bite from a rabid dog of some sort this morning. He was cranky, his head ached, and he was starting to get extremely itchy.

He resisted the urge to scratch and instead focused on just how much this City sucked sometimes.

Demons were one thing. Demons he could almost deal with, given that his boss was a demon and a pretty okay guy. Vampires? He still wasn't crazy about the fact that one had bitten him and he didn't even remember.

But now rabid dogs, and the crappiest healthcare he'd ever received in a hospital? That was just not right. He'd never had to wait so long for anything in his life. The Echolls name generally opened doors, but here it didn't seem to mean a hell of a lot.

Well, that was an understatement, really.

All the same, Logan was not in the best of moods as he walked back to his dorm.

So annoyed. Buffy stared at the computer screen, which was flat. Her fingers were unaccustomed to the keyboard of the internet cafe computer and missed keys occasionally. There was a lot of backspacing involved. She wasn't a typist. Most likely the City was responsible for shutting down her internet at her home since the bill was paid and the technician wasn't able to find anything wrong. He'd come twice. The City's mundane hijinx were starting to annoy her more than the monsters.

All she wanted to do was check her email. Was that so much to ask for?

Spam. Spam. More spam. Sale at The City Boutique. Oooh. Shopping. Nothing like pretending to be a normal girl for an hour or two between patrols. Spam. More spam. Nigerian Prince Spam. There was a distinct lack of personal emails. Buffy made a few friends in the City but it never seemed long before they disappeared. It hadn't been that important to check her email in the first place. But sometimes the slayer wished there might be something familiar waiting in her in-box.

Sigh.

At least the computer cafe was clean. And Buffy was always pleasantly surprised that she had just enough cash to cover the use of the computers. She had a mocha placed precariously next to the keyboard and occasionally reached blindly for it, managing to grab it just before it toppled over to take sips absently.

(After this)

Hank grimaced as the doctor stitched up the cut on his arm, his neck still sore under the bandages. But at least the staff had given him an extra shirt and pants to get out of his bloodied things, and let him stay in a double room with Willow as she received her exam. He had gotten there alright, too tired from blood loss to really care that he had no shoes on and that all his coworkers were now able to see his feet. He noticed one or two staring, but as they wheeling him in he'd let go of that angst.

"How's that feel, doctor?" the surgeon patching him up asked. Hank glanced at the stitches, then smiled thinly as she started to wrap him with bandages.

"Like I've been sliced open a few times. But now with very sturdy stitching. Thank you," he said warmly, looking at the patch job on his hand and wiggling his fingers gently. He still had full mobility of them, which was the important thing.

As the doctor left he leaned back, glancing at the blood transfusion they'd hooked up to make up for what he lacked after the fight. He turned to Willow, then glanced at her. "Well then. I'm patched up," he said. It was awkward for him now, he wasn't used to making small talk, especially not to beautiful girls. "How are you feeling?"

(takes place at the same time as this thread)

Willow was starting to get the hang of this place. The streets changing still threw her off guard plenty of times, but at least she had a place to stay now. Apparently she was enrolled in school, doing something between psychology and computers. Not that she minded - those were both subjects she appreciated enough to be pleased about her schedule. She had her own room in the dorms as well. Another plus - she didn't want to deal with a roommate right now. Though the single bed was still unbearably lonely at times.

For now, the tactic was to stay away as much as possible, going back to her room only to change clothes or sleep. Studying was done on her laptop, wherever she wanted. Wifi connections were abundant in the City, it seemed.

Since it was a nice day, she was currently sitting under a tree, browsing a few websites for an upcoming paper on behavior modification and operant conditioning.

At the same time, Jake was enjoying his first day on his own. Without Father, that was. Father had given Jake the promised razor, and the plates that had been in his satchel. Not the satchel itself, but the plates were now stored in a low-slung leather bag lined in silk. He'd taken it from a woman and man as they were leaving a dinner place. They had slipped into an alley and made grunting noises while they touched one another. The way they were touching was violent, possessive. It had reminded Jake of a woman, sexy in a scrawny way, who had taken pills and gone to bed with sick friends. Someone he had known once, who hadn't returned the sparse love he'd tried to give.

Their grunting had driven him on, using the razor Father had gifted to him. The bag had very little blood on it when he was done, and he had emptied the contents to store the precious plates. Nothing in the bag had interested him. Both man and woman had been left in that alley, their mouths delicately carved into wide smiles even as their cold, empty eyes held shock and fear.

( Father would have liked that. )

Lestat was hoping that Bella would finish reading about him soon, and that he'd see her again. He rather liked Bella, and he didn't really understand why. But for now, he sat in the same outdoor cafe where he'd sat with her, watching people.

An untouched cup of coffee was in front of him, as was a notebook and an old-fashioned fountain pen. He wore his sunglasses, even though the sun had recently set. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal, if pale, young man.

This evening in particular, his attention was drawn to the redhead.

He could feel the power that was within her as if it was trying to touch him. It'd been the same with Rowan, with Merrick, with many of the Mayfairs. He squinted his eyes, trying to determine--nicely, without interfering with her mind--who she was. Hadn't... wasn't there... there was someone. There was a witch. Had Spike mentioned her? Had Buffy? It didn't matter. Lestat knew enough to realize this was one of their people. A witch of Sunnydale, rich with power.

The vampire smiled. And he waited for her to pass. And when she did, he said hello to her and invited her to sit down.

Close your eyes, go to sleep,
Baby's in the cradle counting sheep.
Climb up to your house of dreams,
Baby's in the cradle fast asleep.

"Should I die before I wake..." His voice was raspy, crawling up from the back of his throat.

On his face he wore the expression of a man void of life. Like a prisoner in line for the airlock. Downtrodden. Degraded. Lacking of sentiment. He tore the bedding from the brig's mattress into long strips. The ripping of the fabric echoed against the cold metal walls, but the guard was on the other side of the door, pretending he couldn't hear. Six appeared beside him in her red dress. But Gaius seemed to have no interest in the sultry way in which she sat beside him, with her legs spread just enough to spark curiosity, or in the low cut, bust revealing top that needed little force to break her cleavage free of its thin strapped hold. There was concern on her face.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Improvising."

"You're doing the right thing, Gaius," she comforted, a delicate hand placed on his bicep to encourage him. Then she drew her fingers through his hair, tucking the longer strands back behind his ear.

"Yes," he replied, almost as if on auto-pilot. He tied the last knot into his handmade noose, stood up, and fastened the rope around one of the crossbeams. Then he slipped the loop around his neck.
( It's time to learn the truth. )

[Occurs thirty-three minutes before The Meeting]

When Jeannie frowned, she did it with her entire face. There was no halfway or tentativeness in the action, her expressions were a clear indication of exactly what she was feeling. Unless she was attempting to be sneaky, and even then, occasionally the slyness somehow managed to paint her features with her thoughts. In short, when Jeannie frowned, it meant she was displeased.

( Today, that was an understatement. )

The emails flew back and forth. Some of them much more civil than others. At first the user claimed there was no way to ship to an address that ended simply with The City let alone overnight it. Willow remained persistent, asking him to go ahead and do so. The witch was worried that user Magikks1291 would simply refuse until two hours before the bidding had ended, when the emails changed suddenly and unexpectedly in tone.

The mirror arrived early the next morning. Like all eBay users, the shipping cost was grossly over charged. Willow thanked the gods that she wasn't the one paying the bill this time. She decided not to imagine what Mr. Wayne's reaction would look like when he saw the invoice.

She set the super statue very carefully on a large blanket and dragged it very slowly into the back training room. Unsure how to get the punching bag down which dangled in the center of the room, an item no one made use of, in the end she decided she could make plenty of space toward the exit door.

It took her 40 minutes before she was certain that Superman was solid and upright. She then took a piece of chalk and began to write a number of runes circling his feet. She made a special trip for the candles. Usually she stuck to black or white, mostly for aesthetic reasons, but feeling particularly festive about the prospect of doing the world some good once more, she dotted the circle of chalk markings with blue, red and yellow candles. It felt fitting.

The mirror was the last component to set up and still covered by a cloth. When she stood it up, Willow adjusted the full length mirror on its hinges in order to angle it perfectly. It faced the super hero waiting to be unveiled.

"Okay, here goes nothing..."

She lifted the cloth. It flew from the silver mirror with a spectacular flutter, and drifted serenely toward the floor in a rumpled heap. The statue's reflection was visible in the mirror but there was no change. Willow frowned. She swallowed. She paced. The witch knew how to correct the situation, and her heart dropped a few notches until it hit her stomach.

She stood behind the mirror, her hands gripping the frame on either side. She began to recite the words she'd spelled out in a circle around the hero's feet. The reflective surface lit up like a muted, yellow sun. Willow felt its power in her veins, black and visible under her skin. As it shone brighter, Willow became darker. A familiar sensation poured from her scalp and her hair turned to black. The light extended outward and for a moment, Willow thought she might go blind. Squeezing her eyes tight didn't block out the pain. The room looked like it had been erased in yellow light. The witch screamed.

The mirror's light faded out. The spell had been cast. Superman was restored.

The statue was much heavier than she imagined. If she allowed herself to use magic, simply whisking it into the shop with telekinesis would have been easy. Where was a slayer to do the heavy lifting when you needed one. Willow thought about calling some kind of moving service for help but the idea of some underpaid hireling breaking the statue was too ugly a thought.

Somehow she managed.

Willow removed the bowler hat and the shower curtain. She tried to wash away the marker-made facial hair but that didn't work as well. The witch decided against harsh chemicals in fear of damaging it. But now what? She heard the rumors about an auction selling Superman. The paper wrote numerous articles about his disappearance.

If this was Superman, turned to stone, Willow finally had an opportunity to do something good. But if she used magic to undo what had been done, she also risked going back to what she tried so hard to avoid. She decided to distract herself with research and preform a few simple tests.

( What better research tool was there than google? )

Willow didn't leave her shop very often. Her apartment was located above it and given her past with The City, it seemed better to keep to herself. Safer. Since Xander had disappeared from The City most of her social interactions were either awkward with a side of painful or entirely disastrous.

But the witch needed groceries. She decided to put on her brave perky face in her quest for Pocky. And other things that were much healthier and less Japanese yummy chocolatey goodness.

She stepped outside her shop, locking the door behind her which had been stamped with a closed sign since six o'clock. Willow mentally reviewed her shopping list while watching her feet take steps on the sidewalk. In her failure to look forward she bumped into someone on the sidewalk outside.

"Oh, sorry! I wasn't paying..."

Willow looked up in time to see the person was more of a statue. Of Superman. With a goatee drawn on it.

"Oh."

Willow blinked.

"Shit."

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?"

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!