Buffy walked slowly back from the laundry, carrying her basket full of freshly clean clothing balanced against her hip. As the morning weatherman on the radio had promised, the day was warming fast, the temperature climbing with each degree the sun rose in the sky. Though it was still well before noon, it was already in the high nineties. Buffy could almost feel the pounds melting off her body as she crossed the heated asphalt, and if it weren't for the occasional breeze stirring the air, she would have been sweating profusely and feeling much more uncomfortable.
She was a few steps from her door when she noticed Giles coming out of his apartment. He seemed preoccupied as he headed toward his car, checking his pockets, and making his usual fussy adjustments of his glasses. She had to call his name three times before he paused in his mental checklist routine, and finally looked up to acknowledged her presence.
Hold up there!
she shouted across the parking lot. Give me a minute to stash this stuff and I'll be right with you.
Unlocking her door, she dropped the laundry basket on the floor, giving it a shove with her foot to push it a few feet inside. Confident the door would clear the obstruction, she shut up the apartment before jogging back across the open lot to greet her Watcher with a cheerful smile.
I assume Dawn got off to school this morning?
Giles asked as she skipped up to his side.
She put up the usual fight, but she managed to make the bus on time for a change. Are you finished with that 'something that came up'?
she asked. I'm available for another brain storm school session if you're game.
Perhaps later,
Giles evasively replied. He offered no reason for the delay, and immediately, Buffy was curious.
She nodded toward the car keys he held in his hand. You're going out?
she asked, inquisitive to hear what the Brit had planned .
Errr, uhm, yes,
he hemmed.
Hesitantly, he met Buffy's eye. She was gazing up at him, her expression expectant, and Giles realized she was waiting for him to divulge the reason he needed to use his car.
There are a few errands I have to run,
he added, giving out a vague excuse he hoped would sufficiently satisfy her interest.
It didn't. Apparently, his reluctance to share only made Buffy more determined to snoop into her Watcher’s private affairs.
Resigned to his fate, Giles released a acquiescent sigh.
I was on my way out to do some shopping. . . the Brit resolutely started.
Oooo, perfect!
Buffy executed a brief excited dance step. There's some stuff I need to get for Dawn. Give me a minute to go grab my purse, and I'll be ready to do a ride along.
She turned away to retrace her path back to her apartment when she was stopped by Giles calling out her name.
Buffy. . .
Something strained within his voice caught her attention. Puzzled, she halted, and looked back over her shoulder. Giles was displaying all the classic symptoms of social discomfort that came whenever he had something unpleasant to do. Though his expression was purposefully guarded, she could sense his uneasiness. She watched as he first ran a hand nervously through his hair, then next plucked his glasses from his face to carefully inspect the lenses.
With predictable assurance, the Brit finally pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began to polish his lenses with a contemplative concentration.
What is it?
she asked, frowning slightly, her concern slowly growing.
Giles seemed to be considering his words before replying, not wishing to offend his slayer. Having finished with cleaning his spectacles, he replaced them on his nose before confronting her.
The shop I am going to,
Giles hesitantly said to her. I fear it isn 't the sort which may hold your interest.
She frowned, her buoyant ego slightly deflated by his hesitation to have her tag along. While he was being polite enough about it, Giles obviously was giving her the brush off. Well, she wasn’t about to make it easy for him. She had her heart set on doing some serious window shopping, and besides, she was running out of breakfast Pop Tarts for Dawn.
You can try and discourage me all you want Giles,
she firmly intoned, pushing her point to let him know how it would be. But I'm coming with you, and that's that. What's more, there hasn't been a store invented that I can't walk into and not find something to buy.
I suspect this one may prove an exception to your rule. I'm going to the mall. . .
Again, still seeing the perfect.
. . .to a clothing shop. . .
Even better than perfect.
. . .for men.
There was a moment of silence between them as Buffy's retail fervor suffered a slight step back under the Brit's haughty gaze.
Okay,
she frowned. Maybe not completely perfect,
she reluctantly admitted. Why are you going to a men's shop?
Giles scowled, aiming an exasperated glare at younger companion. Perhaps the fact that I am a man might afford you some small hint toward that mystery.
Fine. I'll let you have that one,
she grumbled a cordial concession. But you still haven't answered my question. Why do you need to shop for clothes? You've never cared how you look before, especially when you're with us,
she added, provoking a glare from the Watcher. “And it's not like you go anyplace important. You know, where you need to impress actual real people.
Apparently that's about to change,
Giles replied, ignoring her slight. I spent last night on the phone with a representative of the Council. They're asking me to report on our recent encounter with The First.
And you need a new shirt to fax them copies of your journals?
she retorted, confused.
And a suit as well,
he replied, explaining further. They have requested that report be given in person. And since I seriously doubt they'll all be coming here to our humble accommodations, it requires my flying out to London.
An expression of concern crossed Buffy's face.
Giles, we had this discussion. You said you weren't going to leave again.
I'm afraid this trip simply can't be avoided,
he replied. I won't be for very long. A few days at most. And I promise to return as soon as my business is done.
When she seemed unconvinced, Giles attempted to assuage her fears.
I won't be leaving for at least a week. In the interim, you and I can use that time to finish the proposal for your school. I could bring it with me. Present it to the Council while I'm there. We could kill the two proverbial birds with one stone.
I think I'd rather use that stone on the Council,
she remarked, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. Besides, I thought we were going to a real bank to get money.
Giles gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. There's no guarantee we could secure that large of a loan through conventional channels. It wouldn't hurt to consider some sort of alliance with the current Council. Besides, they could prove helpful in reaching prospective students who will be attending this Slayer School of yours.
Can't Willow just do one of her locater spells and find the girls?
Willow is a very talented and powerful witch, but she lacks the adequate resources to conduct a search on such a global scope. Even with their present diminished numbers, the Council retains a good many of its former contacts.
Buffy, this has been the Council's business for centuries. They have people whose only expertise has been to keep track of potentials awaiting activation. Finding actual slayers should be easy as kiss your hand.
These wouldn't by any chance be the same so called experts that managed to overlook me?
she pointedly queried.
Yes, well, divining it isn't an exact science. One assumes that the odd girl might escape their detection, but as I led to understand, you were the first within the past three hundred years that was missed and then subsequently called to be a slayer. I'd say that's still a fairly good record.
It's best we retain a positive working relationship with those now sitting on the Council. It's possible we will require their talents at some point in the future. Best not to burn one's boats at this point.
Then this sudden concern about what to wear is just to make an impression on the Council? You must be really serious about getting this school off the ground if you're willing to take the plunge into fashion.
Of course, I'm serious about this, Buffy. I believe your idea is the perfect solution to our present situation. I can only hope the Council agrees with us.
I suppose there's a first time for everything,
Buffy announced. Her grin suddenly broadened with gleeful anticipation. I guess this means it's your lucky day.
And how is that?
Giles replied, confused.
You just got yourself a personal shopper to help find the perfect power suit to suit you!
Buffy. . .
She was already off and running across the parking lot to her apartment. Shaking his head, Giles resigned himself to the spontaneous arrangement. He hadn't planned on taking company along for this trip, but Buffy was so excited by the idea of going out, that he hated to disappoint her.
Letting himself into the car, Giles got comfortable behind the wheel as he awaited his slayer's return. He was familiar enough with Buffy's habits to know it could be a good long while before he would see her again.
Rushing into her suite, Buffy quickly headed for her bedroom. While the shorts and tee shirt she had worn that morning was fine to do the laundry, mall shopping required a better choice of outfit, something comfortable, yet stylish. Unfortunately, her wardrobe was drastically limited, so she would have to make do, selecting from what little she had. On the plus side, she had just done the laundry, so everything was available to her. She quickly settled on a casual wrap skirt, and a lace trimmed camisole, making the change in a record few minutes.
A hurried brush through her hair, and she was on her way, pausing just long enough to grab her purse and sling it over her shoulder. Locking the door, she dashed back across the parking lot, jumping into Giles' car with a loud slam of the door.
I'm ready!
she announced, buckling herself in safely.
That was fast,
Giles remarked, starting up the engine.
You think you're the only one who can compete in the land speed dressing category?
she challenged, her dig referencing his own fast change run a few days back. I can move fast when I want to. It's just as a girl, I'm allowed the prerogative to choose not to want.
Directing the car to the complex's exit, Giles turned onto the main road, and soon they were on their way. It was close to a half hour drive to get to the local mall, every minute of which Buffy spent contemplating the glorious sales they would encounter. During the days just prior to the last move, Giles had provided her and some of the others with debit cards that had been pre-loaded with funds. It was his way of keeping track of what was spent, yet leaving it to their personal discretion on how they chose to appropriate their budgets. If one of them had some special need above the basics, they had only to tell the Brit, and he would move the required amount to their account.
At that moment, Buffy's coffers were fairly flush. She had convinced Giles that with school, Dawn required a wardrobe expansion. Of course, to be fair, she deserved the same for herself, and after some grumbling he had gone along with her request. Today would be her first chance to spend some of that money, and Buffy was excitedly looking forward to trying on tons of outfits in the next few hours.
With the destruction of Sunnydale came the demise of the mall Buffy had come to know, and in which she had spent many a joyful shopping excursion. Fortunately, the surrounding communities provided their own opportunities for pleasure and purchasing, including many of the retail outfits with which Buffy had become familiar.
They arrived at the mall in short order. Giles parked the car close to the main entrance, and grabbing her purse, Buffy eagerly led the way, leaving her Watcher to hurry along at her heels. Once inside, they consulted the large map indicating the layout of the various emporiums and stores. Buffy spotted a likely start to their expedition, and with another long hike down the broad main corridor they arrived at the doors of Baxter& Browne Gentlemen's Apparel.
Stepping across the shop's threshold, Buffy felt herself transported into what she could only describe as Library Man Cave Chic. The outer peripheral of the store was paneled floor to ceiling in dark wood, with heavy brass accent lights that mimicked many a gentleman's drawing room from various old movies she remembered. As expected, there were racks upon racks filled with suit jackets and trousers, as well as an additional section of the store devoted to shirts and various sundries like ties, cufflinks and socks.
Looks like we're in the right place,
Buffy proclaimed, spotting her first tweed jacket. You should feel right at home here. I hope we can find something for you that isn't tweedy.
An aged salesman approached them, appearing seemingly out of thin air. Short and slightly stooped. he was dressed in a dapper and perfectly tailored suit, creating a personal illustration for the services the shop provided to its customers. With a tape measure draped casually over his shoulders, he approached Giles and Buffy, his demeanor polite, but very definitely all business. After all, he was there to sell his customer a suit.
And how may I help you today, sir?
Giles proceeded to launch into a lengthy explanation as to why he required a new suit, and soon the two men were discussing details like size and length of inseams. Finding the conversation uninteresting, Buffy wandered away, taking the moment to peruse the other goods in the store. She flipped idly through a display of jackets, mumbling a fashion critique as she dismissed each coat in turn.
Boring. Grey boring. Greyer boring. Beige boring. Ughhh, hideous plaid! Boring, boring, boring. . .
Sensing a presence at her back, she glanced over a shoulder to find Giles hovering behind her.
What is it with men's fashion?
she frowned, shoving aside yet another grey cloned ensemble on the rack. Is there some secret man code that says everything has to look drab? I mean, where's the color? And talk about lack of wow factor! Would the world come to an end if they used a material with an actual pattern to it?
I'm interested in a simple business suit, Buffy, not purchasing a costume to wear to a renaissance fair. Any one of these would do for my needs.
Pulling a jacket from the rack, Giles held it up for a closer inspection. I rather fancy this one. What do you think?
Snatching the garment out of his hands, Buffy quickly returned it to the rack, leaving her companion scowling crossly.
And what was wrong with that?
Giles asked crossly.
What was right with it?
she snipped snidely back in return.
What about. . .
He started to reach for another, but she swiftly blocked his hand.
Nope.
Well, then. . .what about
Not in a million year!.
she cringed, grimacing at his selection. Geeesh! Every one of these looks the same boring as the next.
Stepping away from the rack, she let her critical eye search the full range of the shop, looking for something that stood out from the repetitive sea of neutrals. Where do they keep the good stuff?
Before Giles could answer, she took off like a shot, making a direct bee-line toward a mannequin form at the far rear of the sales floor.
This one's nice,
she stated, walking up to the display. Circling the selection, she regarded it with an expert eye, finally giving it her nod of approval.
Yup, this one's got definite possibility.
Elevated on a round table was a headless upper torso strategically outfitted in a shirt, vest and jacket. A coordinating combo of a tie and pocket square accessorized the dashing array, the table below holding several dozen additional selections, each one just as appealing to the eye.
Finally!
she announced with a pleased beaming grin. A suit that looks pretty.
The young lady has superb taste.
At the sound of the voice behind her, Buffy spun around to find the clerk standing next to Giles. The man had materialized from among the aisles of racks, his footsteps muffled by the carpeting underfoot./q> the clerk continued. A fine piece of Italian design. Would the gentleman like to try it on? I have his size right here.
From an adjacent rack, he removed a jacket from its hanger, holding it out for the Brit to slip on. Giles hesitated a moment, the with a sigh, obligingly inserted his arms into the coat, shrugging it smoothly onto his shoulders with the clerk's exp/ert assistance.
We have this color in a pinstripe as well,
the clerk smoothly pitched the shop's wears.
There are also several additional solids should the gentleman prefer something of that order.
Pulling a pair of matching pants from the same rack, he held them out to Giles. You might wish to try on the trousers with the coat. I believe these should be your size.
Directing Giles toward a curtained area behind them, he escorted the Brit to the designated changing rooms, leaving Buffy alone to occupy her time. She searched through the table of accessories, the plethora of color and pattern almost overwhelming. In spite of herself, she was having fun picking through the array of beautiful ties. Eventually settled on two she felt were particularly appealing, and holding them aside, she awaited Giles' return.
A few minutes later, the Watcher was back, sans clerk, but with the gorgeous suit clothing his body. The outfit was everything Buffy could have hoped. Well cut, smartly styled, on the edge of trendy without pushing the envelope to the point of too young for someone of a certain age, like Giles. It was the just sort of thing she imagined a fashion forward well-dressed European gentleman would chose to wear, and to her delighted amazement, it even made her dowdy, stuffy Watcher look handsome.
This didn’t explain the strangely pained expression the Brit wore. It appeared as if he had eaten something bad that didn't agree with him.
What's wrong?
Buffy asked, recognizing the Brit's pinched features as his I Have Made A Disturbing Observation face.
I'm afraid this isn't the suit for me,
Giles replied, his distress openly apparent.
What are you talking about?
she returned, sizing the Brit up from head to toe. You look great! The suit fits like a dream. You'll have to do something about hemming the pants, of course,
she added, directing a brief glance toward the raw edged material floating over his shoes. “But the rest. . . .perfect. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but you actually look, well. . . handsome.
The uncharacteristic compliment from his slayer brought a humbled blush to Giles' face. You don't think it's a bit restricting about the shoulders?
he frowned, dismissing the flattery with a uneasy stammer of self-effacing modesty. He demonstrated with a testing stretch to show off the limitation of movement.
I'd have some difficulty swinging an axe.
Yeah, with all those rippling muscles you failed to develop, I can see how that would be a problem,
she snarked back with a snicker. Giles, you're going to wear the suit to talk to a bunch of old men, not fight demons.
You've never had to request the type of monies we shall need from the Council,
he countered.
The difference could be moot.
You've got a point there. If the new old guys are anything like the older old guys, then you'll be needing more than just an axe to pry open their wallets. And that suit is just the thing to do the trick.
She affirmed her announcement with a nod of approval. Don't they say the clothes make the man? Well, in that outfit, you could ask the Council for a million dollars!
That would seem an appropriate amount, considering the price,
Giles dryly grumbled under his breath.
What do you mean?
Turning aside, Buffy searched the mannequin for a price tag. She found one tucked discreetly beneath the silk tie that accompanied the outfit. Flipping it over, she squinted at the small type, reading the numbers displayed behind the dollar sign.
Okay. Three hundred seems a bit pricey,
she announced, frowning at the three-digit figure. But you can afford it, can't you?
Giles stared back, his expression one of deadpan solemnity. That would be the ticket for the tie,
he flatly intoned, his voice devoid of any amusement. A flick of his eye, and a barely perceptible chin nod directed her to look for a second ticket.
Quickly dropping the first offending tag, Buffy's stomach did a sour flip-flop. She glanced down at the selection of neckwear gathered in her hand, and did a quick mental tabulation of the numbers, and her face paled as she gulped.
If that's what the tie costs,How much is the suit?
Reaching over her head, Giles opened the jacket's front to exposed the silken inner lining. The tip of a second price tag peeked out from the inner breast pocket. At her Watcher's urging, Buffy leaned forward on tip-toe, and with a stretch, pulled up the tag, exposing the series of numbers hidden from view. Her eyes went wide, reading the five figured total.
Would you suggest I invest my funds in a pretty suit,
the Brit proffered questioningly as she turned to him in shock. Or would 'the lady' prefer I purchase a house in its stead?
I always knew I had good taste. I just never realized how good,
Buffy wanly smiled as she offered a sheepish shrug of her shoulders. Tucking the tag back into hiding, she stepped away from the gorgeously dressed mannequin to regard the racks around her that she had previously rejected. Maybe boring isn't so bad. In fact, I hear humdrum is in this season.
And how are we making out with our selection?
Once again, the elderly salesclerk had popped up at their side, arriving without a sound. Does the young lady approve?
I'm afraid not,
Buffy offered in sheepish apology. He says he can't move his arms and swing. . .uhm, dance,
she awkwardly corrected the near slip as it left her tongue.
He likes to swing dance. It's a thing. . .he does. Sometimes. When he goes out. To parties. And places where he swings. . .stuff.
She stole a nervous look toward Giles, who was staring back with what she could swear was a twinkle in his eye. Ignoring the Brit's amusement, she bit her lip, stemming any further nonsense from spilling out as she turned back to address the elderly clerk.
Maybe we could see something a little less…Italian? You wouldn't happen to carry any American designers? We really should support our own, you know.
We carry designers from all around the world,
the clerk informed her. He proceeded to rattle off a litany of famous names, and could see that the young blonde was definitely impressed, but it was when he introduced the promise of a two for one sale that he knew he had clinched the deal.
Leading his clients across the store, he assisted Buffy in locating the appropriate labels. Together, she and the clerk trolled through the selections, pulling several she pronounced presentable. With several options in arms, Giles was once again sent off into the dressing rooms. As they awaited his first change, Buffy and the salesclerk hunted through a section of shirts, searching for what he pronounced with authority was the Brit's appropriate size.
Soon a small stack of shirts had been collected. Next, the hunt began for the perfect tie to match each selected hue. As he worked with the young blonde, the clerk puzzled over her relationship to his customer. He didn't see her as his daughter. They were as disparate in appearance as could possibly be, and she certainly didn't share his accent. They obviously shared an intimate familiarity when they conversed, though she showed none of the usual signs he associated with a younger trophy wife or girlfriend. Still, she held some sort of control over the man. He seemed to hold a high regard for her opinion, at least when it came to what he should wear.
Standing ready with her colorful assortment of ties¸ Buffy was debating the merits of purple as an acceptable power hue when a young woman came breezing in from the main mall. Everything about her radiated elegance and money, from her perfect manicure to the golden highlights in her stylishly coiffed hair. Though she appeared to be barely older than Buffy, it was apparent from her linen suit and silk blouse, she bore some sort of responsibility that required she dress for the part, and her confident air immediately took ownership of the entire store.
Buffy could sense the salesclerk's unease, his attention torn between two prospective customers. Feeling pity for the older man, Buffy released him from his obligation, saying she needed some time to think over her choices.
With a courteous nod, the clerk shot off to greet his other client. He moved with surprising speed for his advanced age, arriving at the other woman's side in a few long strides.
Good day, Mrs. Tippleton
, he cheerily greeted the woman. And what can Baxter and Browne do for you today?
Morning, Chester,
the lady replied. Her voice held just a touch of unpleasant nasal tone along with its bored languor. I'm here to pick up my husband's order. He brought in some pants the other day for an alteration. Someone called to say they were ready.
Of course. Give me a moment to check in the back, and I'll bring them right out for you.
The clerk quickly scurried off, eager to do her bidding. To command such devoted service, and direct recognition, Buffy guessed the woman, and her husband, were well known by the staff at the store. Judging by her outfit, she undoubtedly dropped a significant load of cash whenever she shopped here, or anyplace else where she happened to stop and pick up a few things.
At that moment, Giles made his appearance again. He was wearing one of the suits Buffy had selected for him, a medium grey light wool with a subtle tone on tone pattern Giles had referred to as a Prince of Wales
check . While not possessing the jaw dropping exquisiteness of the outrageously priced suit from earlier, the outfit was an acceptably lower-priced knock off in stylishness.
I believe the cut of this jacket is an improvement,
the Brit remarked, stopping to pose before the full-length mirror a few feet from where Buffy stood. He fussed with the sleeves, checking out his reflection from several angles. Don't you agree?
When no comment was forthcoming, Giles turned toward his shopping companion. Buffy was distracted, her attention keenly focused on something across the shop.
Buffy?
When calling her name failed to prompt a response, he spoke louder, holding back his irritation at being snubbed so publicly. Buffy!
What? Oh!
she finally replied, Giles' voice having drawn her back into the moment against her will. She obligingly gave her Watcher the once over, her half-interested eye ticking from head to toe.
Yeah, the suit is great. You should get that one.
The moment the words left her lips, her attention wandered back toward the young woman waiting at the cash register, the Brit already forgotten. Her preoccupation frustrated Giles, who had wanted to avoid dragging his along with him that day, and for this very reason. In spite of her assurances otherwise, and against his own better judgment, he had acquiesced to her presence, and now he was paying the price for his indulgence.
With the purpose for his shopping excursion gone astray, Giles realized he was nothing more than a peripheral distraction to his slayer's current life. The thought perturbed him, and in spite of himself, he felt a touch of that agitation spill out in a moment of irritation.
I believe a different color would be more appropriate,
he commented dryly, his impatience testily creeping into his voice. I was considering the chartreuse jacket, instead. Perhaps with the purple trousers?
Uh huh, I like that one, too,
Buffy mumbled in reply, her focus still held by something across the room.
Buffy?
Giles scowled, the sharpness in his voice ramping up a notch to outright annoyance . Somehow I feel that you're not giving me your full attention when I speak.
What?
Something in his tone had finally caught her ear. She looked back, only to confront the Brit's scowling glare. She answered with a contrite shrug of apology for her discourtesy.
Right. The suit. It looks fine, Giles,
she said with a sheepishly offered grin. You should definitely get that one for your money begging suit.
Now that the decision has been made,
the Brit announced. We should consider discussing options for the second suit. That is. . .
he frowned, regarding her with a scolding look. . . . if you believe you are up for it. I certainly wouldn't burden you with such a mundane challenge, except that you had been so adamant when you declared I required your expert advice on such matters.
She winced, the sarcastic edge in his voice obvious even to her jaded ears.Right. That would be the other one that's a part of the two for deal.
She leafed casually through a few suits hanging on a nearby rack, considering the various choices available. Her concentration didn’t last very long as once again her gaze wandered toward the cash register area, and the woman standing there, waiting.
With his fashion dilemma unanswered,, Giles sighed, and finally conceded that nothing would get accomplished if he didn't first address what was bothering his slayer. Following her distracted sightline, he found a beautiful young woman standing across the way. While she seemed perfectly normal to his eye, Giles knew that his slayer's instincts often noticed things he himself missed. Concerned, he sidled up next to Buffy, and whispered conspiratorially into her ear.
Is there something about that woman that disturbs you?
he asked.
I'll say,
Buffy answered, pouting jealously. Just look at those shoes. I bet those are Christian Louboutin she's wearing!
Her shoes?
Giles repeated in disbelief. His momentary concern had definitely returned to its former irritation. I'm sorry, but that's what this is about? You don't like her shoes?
Are you crazy?
She turned to the Brit, regarding him with a suspicion toward his possibly insanity. I totally love her shoes. I want her shoes. I'd do anything to be able to walk in her shoes. And that possibly includes killing her to get them.
She glance back toward the woman, squinting thoughtfully as she sized up her feet. “Yeah, I think they'll fit. Murder is definitely an option for the table.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Giles sighed, resigned to once again taking a back seat to his slayer's ill-placed passion for style. If that is what it will take to capture your focus on the matter at hand,
he grumbled resolutely. Then I shall buy you a pair of those shoes.
It was her turn to vent sarcasm. Giles, you buy me a pair of those shoes, and I'll let you borrow them to wear with that pretty suit you're also not getting.
Realization set in as Giles drew the logical conclusion. The footwear in question was no more within the reach of his budget than the fantastically priced suit. In a moment, any former anger dissolved away, along with many of the troubles and horrors of the last few months. He looked upon his slayer, suddenly nothing more than a young woman with normal, and simple envy for a pair of unattainable shoes.
I take it these are very special shoes,
he chuckled.
Only like one of the most special kind you can get,
Buffy pouted, arms crossed resentfully over her chest. Probably had to go all the way to L.A. to find them. Although, given what she's wearing with them, it's more likely she went the whole Euro route. I’d say Paris was the shopping destination of her choice,
she shrewdly judged. The one thing I can tell you for sure, she didn't get them anywhere in this mall.
I'm thinking the dark blue for number two,
she smoothly segued, quickly changing her train of thought. It took Giles a moment to catch on. They were no longer discussing shoes, but talking about suits again.
You look good in blue,
she told him, resolutely flicking through the rack of suits with a business like persistence. But not that one,
she announced, frowning her objection at a bold, electric pattern. She pulled the next in line from the rack, holding it out to him. Try this one. I like the tiny color flecks that almost aren't there. They make the material look slightly less boring than the other blues. Hopefully, it'll work the same on you. And, bonus, I've already picked out the perfect tie to go with it.
Blue it is then,
Giles sighed.
Taking the garment from her, the Brit obediently disappeared toward the direction of the dressing rooms. Once more, his slayer had managed to both compliment and insult him simultaneously. He wondered idly why he endured such nonsense from her. Then he recalled the brave young woman responsible for leading her peers into battle against insurmountable odds, and the amazing victory she so soundly stole from the clutches of The First Evil, thus ensuring the safety of the world once again. With a prideful smile, he knew why his loyalties would never waver. No matter how sharp or blunt her personal retorts became, or how infuriating and annoying she could be, Buffy would always hold a special place in his heart, one that would live on beyond their very lives on this earth.
Alone at last, Buffy turned back to the only other customer in the shop, and continued with her fashion critique of her completion's fabulous footwear. The ubiquitous Chester was back as well, and he carries with him several items protectively wrapped in long plastic garment bags.
Here we are, Mrs. Tippleton. Sorry about the delay,
he apologized. We've hired a new tailor this past week, and I wanted to check that things were done correctly. Everything appears to be in order, but if there is a problem, please feel free to bring them back and we'll be sure fix anything that doesn’t suit you or Mr. Tippleton. We certainly wouldn't want our best customers to be unhappy.
As Chester rang up the order, Mrs. Tippleton drew a credit card from a purse that Buffy found as desirable as the shoes the woman wore. Her envy remained unabated, her gaze narrowing as Mrs. Tippleton paid her bill, then collected her bag, and turned to walk out of the store.
Her path took her within a few feet of the slayer, and for a moment the two women locked gazes. Mrs. Tippleton stopped, pausing for a moment to regard Buffy with an unreadable smile.
I'd be careful with that one,
the woman said, nodding her head almost imperceptibly toward the dressing rooms. You've made the hook, and you don't want to lose him by coming on too strong.
Giles?
Buffy frowned, confused by the woman's advice. How could she possibly know that Giles had been thinking about going back to live in England? He's not going anywhere.
I hope you're right. The young ones are hard to keep. Always trading up for the next model. When they're older, they can't afford to be fussy about the little things.
Young?
Buffy laughed, unable to hold back her surprise at the woman's description of the Brit. I'd call Giles a lot of things, but young sure isn't one of them.
Honey, at least that one still has all his original parts attached,
she replied. My Edgar got his pacemaker three years ago, and just had a hip replacement last summer. I say, as long as they aren't storing their teeth in a glass next to my bed, they're still young.
Wait, you think Giles…and me?
Again Buffy laughed, an edge of hysteria cutting into the sound. Have you ever got that one wrong. Giles is…a friend.
It was her turn to laugh. Friend?
She obviously didn't believe Buffy's protest. Didn't I hear your guy promise to buy you the same shoes I'm wearing? No man spends that kind of money on a woman who's just a friend.
Look, you don't have to pretend. Not with me. I really don't care what you do, or who you do for that matter. A lady deserves what she can get out of her man, especially when it gets her this.
Pushing down the neckline of her blouse, she showed off the lacey undergarment beneath.
It's nothing but La Perla for this girl. And you can wear it too if you play your cards right. But a word of advice from a fellow sister. There's a point where the Viagra becomes a liability, and not an asset. That's when it's nice knowing you have the money to look forward to. And in your case,
she finished, casting another glance toward the dressing room where Giles had just made his reappearance.
That could be a while. So, good luck with that one.
Striding off before Buffy could find an fitting verbal comeback, Mrs. Edgar Tippleton breezed out of the store with her purchases, joining the throng of shoppers out in the mall.
Sharing fashion tips with your fellow shoe aficionado?
Giles asked, sauntering up beside her to make his appearance.
Oh, we were sharing, alright,
Buffy grumbled back. But not shoes, or anything else you would want to hear. You won't believe what Little Mrs. Gold Digger just said to me!
Would this be the aforementioned anything else I wouldn't want to hear?
Giles dryly returned. His slayer slid her scathing glare his direction and the Brit smiled, and placed a fatherly comforting hand upon her shoulder. Buffy, whatever that woman said that has so upset you isn't important.
Even if she thinks I'm a kept shallow, money grubbing hussy with standards so low she's willing to sleep with anyone who promises her a pair of new shoes?
she snipped back crossly, adding an indignant sniff to her complaint. Who, by the way,
she added, sharing the insult. Would just happen to be you.
Giles returned the intended slight of their characters with a quizzical frown. Whatever would leave her with that impression?
he asked, perplexed. With a shrug of his head, he dismissed the matter, and striking a pose for his slayer, extended his arms to display the suit he wore. And will this serve as our second purchase, or should I try on another?
I think that one's a definite keeper,
she announced with an approving nod. Why don't you get out of that suit, and back into your fabulous regular duds, then we can go find Chester and have him ring everything up.
I'm afraid it's not that simple,
Giles returned, momentarily stemming her fervor to depart. There's a small matter of alterations yet to address.
He gestured toward the bottom of his trouser legs, which Buffy saw were too long, and also lacked a completed hem.
She shook her head. And guy's complain how women's clothes are overpriced. At least we make them finish an outfit before it hits the rack.
It's to allow for customizing the length,
Giles patiently replied. Some of us have longer limbs to account for.
Buffy responded to his comment regarding the difference in their heights with a disdainful sniff. That she was unsatisfied with his explanation could be clearly read in her And Just How Long Is This Going To Take
look in her jaded expression
Here's a suggestion,
Giles offered, hoping to avoid the dreaded moping she would undoubtedly inflict upon him during the unwelcomed wait. Why don't you look in on the store across the way, and see if you can find yourself those new pair of shoes. Once I'm finished here, I'll catch up with you, and we can meet for lunch. My treat.
Would that be just the food, or would this deal include the shoes, too?
she hopefully asked, haggling for the best deal possible.
The Watcher sighed, resigned once again to giving in to his slayer. Apparently both,
he grumbled.
His announcement had the desired effect. Immediately, Buffy perked up, her eyes bright and excited.
I never pass up a bargain when I hear one,
she gleefully returned.
Especially when it involves someone else paying. See ya!
Without wasting another minute on the senselessness of men's fashions, Buffy was off like a streak, leaving Giles to take care of all the tedious details that would complete his purchases. She headed straight for Rosedale's Shoe Store. On a more leisurely day, she would spend her first minutes just window shopping her picks before going inside the store. But today, time was of the essence, and bypassing the preview, she took advantage of every second she had, spending them up close and personal with dozens of beautiful shoe possibilities.
She had found a pair of sweet ballet flats at an unbelievable price, and had just spotted a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti heels on sale that she decided to take for a test walk around the store. Not that she could ever afford them even on sale, but it was fun to pretend once in a while.
As she admired the pretty shoes on her feet, marveling at their perfect fit, she overheard a conversation coming from somewhere beyond the next aisle.
It's the third time this week security's called in the real police,
some faceless woman was saying.
Now, just keep your voice down, Emma,
someone male returned. We don't want to go scaring away the customers with unsubstantiated rumors. Are you sure the body they found was dead?
I was here this morning when I saw them haul it away with my own eyes. They don't put them in those zip-lock bags when the next stop is the ER room,
Emma replied in a pseudo whisper. I'm telling you, that one was on its way to the morgue for sure!
It's that hallway,
the man said. They just don't have enough lights back there. It's always so dark in the storage area.
So much for energy conservation,
Emma griped back. When the story gets out about how people are dying here, they'll start spending more on gas just to shop over in the next town. Somebody's got to do something!
Buffy heaved a reluctant sigh, and stared longingly down at the most perfect shoes her feet had seen for weeks. Sliding them off, she put them back into their box, and slipped on the cheap sandals she had walked in wearing earlier.
Unfortunately, Emma, this someone is going to do something,
she muttered under her breath.
Draping her purse across her shoulder, Buffy grabbed both boxes in an impulsive decision, and quickly scurried to the cash register at the front of the store. The young clerk behind the counter smiled cheerily at her. There was no one in line and Buffy thrust her boxes across the counter toward the girl.
Can you hold these aside for me?
Buffy asked the young clerk. There's something I have to do, but I'll be right back.
I can only hold them for an hour,
the girl apologized. And then I have to put them back on the rack again.
An hour's perfect,
Buffy replied. In about ten minutes a man should be coming out of that store,
she said, pointing across the mall. He'll be about so tall. . .
She raised a hand overhead to show the clerk. Older, wearing far too much clothing for the heat, and he'll sound like he's auditioning for a part in Spamalot when he asks if you've seen me.
Now, I need you to listen carefully. Tell him I was called away to take care of a problem that suddenly came up and needed my very special attention, and I'll meet him at the food court when I'm done. Then show him these shoes, and say they're what I want him to buy. Make sure he knows I mean both pairs. He'll probably complain about the Zanotti's, and when he does, remind him it was his idea, and that's what it takes to get a happy Buffy. Got all that?
Uuuh. . .
The clerk began ticking off an abbreviated dictation on her fingers as she recited. Python's Spamalot, taking care of a special problem, meet at the food court, both pair of shoes,
she properly accentuated her point. His idea, happy Buffy, pay up or else.
Good enough,
Buffy happily confirmed. She took one last longing peek at the Zannoti heels.
I'll take good care of them,
the clerk promised. They'll be right here with me. I won't let them out of my sight until they're bought and paid for.
Thanks!
With that promise, Buffy was off, and headed once again for a date with her pre-ordained destiny.
She made her way through the light foot traffic, weaving among the talking shoppers as she scurried down the mall's central corridor. Following the sign pointing toward the restrooms, she turned down a side hallway, and away from the main crowd of people.
Only yards from the public use area the lighting overhead diminished perceptibly, just as the faceless man had described. Those few florescent fixtures that were lit hummed loudly, their pulsing illumination casting an eerie wash over the pale, stark walls. Though it was broad daylight outside, the hall lacked any windows to let in the natural light, and Buffy could barely read the faded letters on the various doors she passed in her search for one marked as storage.
It turned out to be seasonal storage. With a firm twist of the knob, Buffy snapped the bolt mechanism keeping the door locked. She instinctively looked around to see if anyone had heard the noise, and when no one came to investigate, she opened the door and let herself inside.
The room was dark, but even so, Buffy had the distinct impression she wasn't alone. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust before stepping out among the dozens of large crates that filled the room.
Certainly looks like the perfect hidey place for a vamp,
she told herself.
Reaching blind into her purse, she pulled out the flashlight she had used the other night on her patrol with Giles. She flicked it on, allowing the narrow beam to cast over the floor. Whatever Emma had seen that morning was long gone, along with the police and any investigation they had conducted. The only remnants of a prior disturbance were a discarded latex glove, and several clean areas in the aged dust on the floor.
Continuing her observations, Buffy moved her light across several of the crates. Her eye quickly spotted something the experts had missed. Moving in closer, she touched a small, dark tarry spot on the side of one box. It was dry now, but as evident by the downward trail at one time it had been fresh and liquid.
It was a sad comment on her young life that Buffy recognized the stain as castoff blood. Even more depressing, she knew that the source wasn't from the victim, but rather the feeder. And a sloppy one at that.
Great!
she groaned quietly. Vampires. Why do they insist on following me everywhere? Someone should really tell them the Hellmouth is closed for dinner.
A noise from across the dark room set her slayer hackles on end. Switching off her flashlight, she deposited it back into her purse, exchanging it for something less bright, but definitely more pointed. With stake firmly in hand, she tip-toed through the narrow canyon of tall cartons, her ears alert to catch the even smallest sound. And they did, detecting the faintest scraping that stopped only a second later.
Buffy paused, holding her breath and waiting. Again, that tiny noise, but this time she managed to follow its source to someplace just off to her left. Changing her direction, she crept closer to the barely audible sound. She was almost there now. She could feel it in her blood, and her heart leapt with adrenalin as she continued to creep steadily closer.
She came around the corner of an enormous crate, and suddenly she was on top of the vampire. He was sitting amid a forest of fake Christmas trees, and she had caught him completely unawares. But he wasn't the only one taken by surprise. To Buffy's consternation she had stumbled upon two vampires, the second with his head buried in a box as he rummaged through its contents.
What do you think, Billie?
said a muffled voice from inside the box. The vamp straightened, holding up a figure in each hand. Frosty, or Rudolph?
I'm thinking Santa,
Buffy interrupted. You two definitely made his naughty list.
The fight for survival was on. Neither of the vamps understood the foe they were up against, and for the first minute or so Buffy held a major advantage. Striking hard and fast, Buffy went for the vampire on the floor first. She plunged her stake in his chest before he could even rise to his feet, the dust from his demise scattering in her wake as she blew past to jump on the second vamp a few feet further on.
/Losing the element of surprise, this foe saw her coming. He threw the decorations in his hands at her, buying himself a moment to leap out of the way of her initial charge. As he dove for safety behind one of the surrounding circle of boxes, several of the Christmas trees tipped over, covering his escape with an obstacle course for the pursuing slayer to tackle.
Following her fleeing prey, Buffy plowed through the tangle of the artificial pine forest. Within the dimly lit room, she could barely see where her feet were landing as she ran through the maze of boxes, chasing the vampire that had gotten away. She was gradually closing in on his heels, and with a final surge of speed, she fell upon her prey's back, sending the two of them tumbling to the floor in the twilight darkness.
They crashed into a mountain of boxes, creating an explosion of holiday décor flying around them. Brightly colored ornament balls bounced noisily against the concrete floor, while huge snakes of garland and tinsel rope entangled their thrashing limbs. The gnarled decoration stripped the stake from Buffy's grip, but she was far from defenseless having two hands now to deliver several strong punches.
As she pummeled the vampire's monstrous face, he retaliated with repeated blows of his own. Pushing up from beneath her, he used his legs to throw Buffy backward against a towering wall of cartons, starting another avalanche of seasonal joy and cheer bouncing around them in a noisy rain of ornaments.
Recovering her balance, Buffy resumed her attack, coming at her foe with rapid kicks and punches. The vampire blocked the worst of her fury, but she got in a few well placed hits, her knuckles impacting upon undead flesh with resounding and satisfying thuds.
The tide of the battle continued to change with each volley of blows. First Buffy would make an attack, bringing her close to possible victory. Then she would lose her advantage the next minute when the vampire beat her back with several blows of his swinging arms. A roundhouse kick from the slayer sent the creature flying backward, only to have him pop up again from the moraine of fallen boxes. Raining punches were reinforced by a chorus line of high kicks from Buffy, and once again the blonde slayer sent her stunned enemy staggering back in retreat.
As the vampire tumbled to the floor yet again, Buffy frantically scanned the dimly lit room, looking for her weapon while the creature was down and defenseless. Her eye fell upon a reindeer figure crafted from rustic chunks of birch tree branches. In a moment of inspiration, she grabbed up the log deer, shoving one of its hoof tips hard and deep into the vampire's ribs. There was a dramatic instant as the vampire bared it fangs in a menacing snarl, and them a poof of combustion consumed the creature, sending it off to undead oblivion in a cloud of decayed dust.
And a Merry Christmas to All,
the slayer coughed, clearing the taste of undead debris from her throat. She finished by brushing off her dusty clothing, and with a final look around, she spotted her missing stake among the scattered ornaments, retrieving it to use for yet another day and battle against the forces of evil.
She stuffed the stake back into her bag, which by some miracle still remained slung about her shoulder, then making her way back up the poorly lit hallway, Buffy stopped briefly into the ladies room. There she washed up and fixed her hair, making herself presentable again, and when she was satisfied, she slipped back along the side hall, joining the throng of oblivious shoppers in the mall's central corridor.
Scurrying to the food court, she found Giles waiting alone at one of the tables. The chair beside him was occupied by several shopping bags, among them one prominently emblazoned with the familiar name of a certain shoe store. Her anticipation in claiming her purchase suddenly diminished. She was going to have to offer an explanation to Giles, and tell him where she had been. All her talk about not keeping secrets was about to be put to the test. Only she would be the one having to volunteer the truth, as well as face the consequences that went with admitting she had been wrong.
Buffy took a deep breath, and gathered her courage, walking through the cluster of tables to join her Watcher. Giles immediately knew something was wrong. Her voice low and quiet, she proceeded to tell him about her vampire encounter, the Brit's concentrating on her every word. To Giles credit, not once did her remind her that he had been right all along. Soon they were deep in a whispered discussion, setting up a program to resume training the other young slayers, and working out a schedule for future patrols.
Sighing, Buffy glanced at the bag holding her beautiful Zanotti heels. The shoes would have to wait. She only hoped that in the end they were worth the trouble it took to get them.