Do you really think Giles likes Mrs. Calloway?
Dawn asked when the three Scoobies could finally catch their breaths. You know, not in his usual respectful 'I Find Something to Like About Most People I Meet', but in that way?
Willow shrugged, opting for a kindly diplomatic reply. I don't know
she frowned, carefully considering the question. Maybe. She's no Jenny Calendar, but she's not bad looking. For someone her age,
she added as a finishing caveat.
That's because twenty percent of her is preserved in plastic,
Buffy quipped cattishly, still hiccupping between residual titters. She wasn't worried about being well-mannered, and had no compunction for telling it like it was. I'm pretty sure she's had a butt lift. Some face work, too,
the slayer noted cynically. She's probably just pumped chock-full of botox. And that hair color? Straight out of a bottle. That color doesn't appear naturally in any possible spectrum seen by the human eye.
They could hear Mrs. Callaway chattering away, her voice only partly muted due to the distance, and several walls now standing between them. The realtor chattered on about neutral paint colors, hand-scraped floors, and space for a King-sized bed, expounding on the master suite's many points of interest to her silent client. Not that the Brit had any chance of getting a work in edgewise. Mrs. Callaway was in her glory, selling the house for all it was worth, and then some.
The realtor's voice gradually began to fade, becoming more difficult to follow. Left on their own in the kitchen, the three Scoobies debated the merits of the house as seen through their own eyes, each sharing their concerns for the absentee Watcher.
This house is huge!
Dawn marveled, easily impressed by the size of the various rooms they had seen so far. I think the place qualifies a real live mansion. Hey, wouldn't it be great if Giles owned a house next to the ocean?
she squealed with teenage enthusiasm. We could come visit him, and go swimming, and have picnics on the beach. . .
And contract respiratory diseases breathing in all the mold and dust living in these dilapidated walls,
Buffy morbid finished, throwing a discouraging damper on her younger sibling's list of positive features.
The house could definitely benefit from a good scrubbing,
Willow admitted, casting a dubious eye at the kitchen around her.
A match would work better,
Buffy cynically grumbled.
To her companion's repulsed horror, the slayer boldly ran a fingernail over the nearby stovetop, drawing a visible line through the multiple layers of fuzzy grease. Then raising her finger to eye level, Buffy carefully scrutinized the sticky digit.
Ewwww!
Dawn shuddered, her nose wrinkling in disgust. I'm not letting you touch me with that thing until you get it sterilized.
An impish glint flashed in the slayer's eyes. With a lightning quick flash, her soiled hand shot out at the younger girl. Dawn in turn, let out a protesting squeal, and jumping back out of range of her sibling's reach, she darted around to the opposite side of the center island, where she proceeded to taunt her older sister with a rudely outthrust tongue.
Geez! You're such a Tweek,
Buffy jeered. It's just a little dirt.
She gave her finger a second inspection, her frown deepening upon reflection. Okay, so maybe it's a lot of dirt,
she conceded with a shrug. Looking around, she spotted some dusty curtains hanging in the window. The flower pattern was loud, busy and straight out of the seventies, and Buffy felt confident that whoever eventually bough the house, would have better taste than to keep them. So as her companions watched aghast, she reached for a handful of the garish material, and proceeded to wipe her finger clean.
I can't believe you just did that,
” Dawn disapprovingly sneered. “If I'm a Tweek, then you're a Neanderthal.<.q>
It wouldn't be a first for her,
Willow snickered under her breath. Avoiding Dawn's quizzical eye, the wiccan grabbed her best friend by the elbow, and gently steered her toward the kitchen's back hall exit. Come on, Ayla,
she chuckled, nudging Buffy along. “Let go questing for Giles. I bet he could use some timely slayer rescuing from Mrs. Callaway about now.
Mmmmm, Buffy save Giles from bad bad house,
the blonde jovially grunted back, using her best approximation of a primitive caveman accent. No let Giles make big big mistake of live.
Linked arm in arm, the two friends sauntered out of the room, leaving Dawn to tag along a few steps behind. The trio traipsed down the same path used earlier by Giles and the realtor, and after turning the corner at the end of the broad hall, they found themselves faced by the open double doors of what they surmised to be the master bedroom.
Stepping across the broad threshold, the girls found themselves standing in yet another large empty room. In this one, however, the windows were less filthy, having benefitted from a cleaning at some recent point. The clarity of the beveled glass no long allowed for more natural light to permeate the space, but it provided a view, limited as it was, of the overgrown weeds and bushes growing in the outside yard.
Instinctively stopping to make a quick reconnaissance of her new surroundings, Buffy frowned. Not a living human was anywhere in sight, and an unnatural silence hung in the air around them. The house seemed strangely devoid of life without the realtor's constant spiel to fill it, and the unnatural quiet left the slayer feeling more than a little uneasy.
Where'd they go?
Dawn asked. The curious teen spun in a dizzy circled, and regarded the room with its multiple angles and corners, her eye flitting between the several different doorways, each a likely candidate for the Watcher and his guide to be lurking behind.
It's like the story of the Lady, or the Tiger,
Willow posed to her two Scooby companions. She referred, of course, to the familiar age-old riddle, one they now found themselves facing in life, though without the dangerous tiger. Which door to choose,
the redhead thoughtfully pondered. Behind one door lies claws and certain death,
she dramatically intoned. And behind the other. . .
Mrs. Callaway!
Dawn sagely finished.
Not seeing the difference,
Buffy grumbled through a disdainful sneer.
Taking a moment to do a swift evaluation, Buffy found herself faced with a total of three doors scattered about the room, not including the one they had all just come through. She quickly eliminated the doorway at the rear of the house. Its top to floor inset glass clearly showed the small, enclosed porch that lay beyond, and except for some shriveled plants in dust pots, the space was otherwise visibly empty. No Giles there.
With one choice down, that left her with two more from which to pick. A meditative frown creased her forehead, her gaze shifting rapidly back and forth as she debated the possible merits of each. Impatient, she opted for the one closest to her, and striking out with a decisive step, she headed straight toward her objective.
Ripping the door open, she promptly scanned the room revealed inside, searching for her Watcher. This is just a closet,
she announced to her companions, her tone tinged with obvious disappointment. They must be somewhere else. . .
She never finished her sentence. As Willow and Dawn looked on, an expression of rapture fell over Buffy's features. She continued to stare, transfixed, into the storage room beyond, her jaw dropping in awed wonder. A small sigh escaped the slayer's lips, and dazed, she stumbled forward, disappearing through the door she had opened. When she didn't come back out for a full minute, Dawn and Willow exchanged a quizzical glance between them, wondering what was going on.
The two Scoobies waited patiently for a moment. When their slayer friend failed to reappear, Willow and Dawn naturally found their suspicions growing. What could Buffy be doing in there? Had she found something? Or had something found her?
Another minute passed. Curiosity quickly turned toward worry. Determined to find out what was keeping Buffy, the inquisitive pair scurried after their missing friend, bursting into the open closet to, and determined to discover exactly what had lured their companion away.
Skidding to a halt, Dawn gasped, her eyes popping wide with amazement. She slowly turned around, surveying the room around her, taking it all in with a exhaled whistle of admiration. Wow!
she breathed, her tone close to genuine reverence for what she saw. Now this is what I call a closet!
Beside the teen, Willow echoed the sentiment with an incredulous, silent nod. It was indeed the most impressive storage space for clothing she had ever seen. The previous owner Mrs. Callaway so casually referred to from time to time had obviously spent some serious time and money renovating the spacious closet, and customizing the storage to his preferences. Rod after rod invited a plethora of hangers to take up residence. Custom shelving provided a boundless opportunity for displaying shoes, purses and countless sweaters, or anything else one could possibly imagine. Willow estimated the closet was a third the size of the bedroom outside, and could easily have contained the combined wardrobes of all the Scoobies, including Giles' and Xander's.
Wandering out from behind a rack of hanging bars, Buffy approached her companions. She was smiling blissfully, as though she'd had some glorious revelation. This is it,
she said, gazing around in approval. This is what they mean when they say a house has potential,
With a child-like impulsive giggle, she threw out her arms, and did a small twirling dance across the closet floor. Just imagine a this filled with clothes,
she sighed, hugging herself, the image she conjured bringing on near licentious delight. You could buy out an entire mall, and still have room for more outfits!
It does boggle the mind,
Willow tittered in agreement. She couldn't help but smile broadly, imagining the endless hours of mall shopping it would take to fulfill the room's promise.
What would be the point?
Dawn glumly chimed in. Her words brought a damper of reality to the others' delirious fantasies. None of us could afford that many clothes. And even if we could, we'd be so broke, we'd have nowhere fun to wear them.
But I'm a working stiff now, remember?
Buffy cheerily reminded the teen. According to Giles, my first paycheck could be in the mail right now, even as we speak.
Buffy's eyes glittered with a buoyant optimism that refused to be smothered by something as stupid as reality. Willow, however, was willing to face the truth.
Dawn's right,
the red-head respectfully sighed. If Giles does decide to buy this place, of which there's no guarantee,
Willow rushed to add in quick disclaimer, diplomatically avoiding Buffy's wrath. He would want this to be his bedroom. Ergo, subsequently, also his closet. I doubt he'd want your dresses hanging in here with his suits.
Any further conversation was interrupted as a loud, impassionate exclamation rang out through the house. The three Scoobies all immediately turned toward the sound, which had come from somewhere outside the closet. Another cry quickly followed the first, this one with almost intelligible words, and the trio now recognized the distinctive inflection of a familiar British accent.
Whatever he's excited about must be pretty darn great,
Dawn surmised. Giles doesn't usually get that worked up about stuff that isn't book related.
Their collective interest piqued, the three Scoobies hastily filed out of the closet, and hurried to find the source of the fervent outbursts they heard. It wasn't that difficult. They followed the trail of 'Dear Lord's' and 'Boody brilliant's ' out into the main bedroom, then through a partially open door on the other side of the room.
The curious trio cautiously entered what was apparently the master bathroom en suite. Like the closet, the space had also been renovated by the house's previous owner. It no longer was outfitted as your average standard run-of-the-mill washroom, the kind found in dozens of flipped houses. This bathroom could only be described with words like grand, fantabulous, and wowzer! It was possibly the most glorious and spa-like lavatory any of them had ever seen, and they stood just within the doorway, gaping in appreciation at the magnificent salle de bain privée they had ever laid their impressed eyes upon.
A gray slate tile with rust colored streaks anchored the floor beneath their feet. Stretching out before them, a fossilized stone counter held twin copper bowls, with iron-hued faucets providing a distinctive touch of rustic masculinity to the two sink stations. Individual copper framed mirrors hung above each washing basin, while beneath an elegant hand-crafted cabinet provided tons of storage in a style befitting of the rest of the home' Arts and Crafts interior. Hidden discreetly off to the opposite side of the room was the necessary commode, while the rest of the bathroom was occupied by a humungous aquarium-like shower encased by glass from floor to ceiling.
Inside the shower stall, which was easily the size of a small bedroom, natural river rock covered the expansive floor, while an impressive assortment of water mechanics featuring multiple body spray jets lined the back wall, which someone had decorated in a similar style of period appropriate tile, much like the outdated kitchen. The overall effect could only describe the bathing area as bachelor's dream. Heck, Buffy thought, it was anyone's dream! With its waterfall of pleasure dispensed from twin giant showerheads in the ceiling, it was truly a marvel of bathroom bliss she saw standing before them. A veritable human car wash that any of the Scooby trio would gladly use, and of which she knew her Watcher was well deserving.
However, apparently this particular wonder was not the source of the Brit's elated praise. Though Buffy did another reconnaissance of the bathroom, Giles and the realtor continued to elude her search. She could clearly hear him talking, and using the sound of his voice, she soon discovered there was an additional alcove off the main spacious room.
With a jerk of her chin, Buffy indicated the other two should follow as she struck out for the hidden back extension of the main lavatory. A few dozen steps later, they were entering a private bathing sanctuary, where they discovered Mrs. Callaway standing beside her client, and beaming with what Buffy considered a disturbingly satisfied delight. More unsettling yet, the source of that iniquitous joy was an ecstatic Giles, who was gazing rapturously down upon a stand-alone bathtub.
An involuntary shiver suddenly wracked Buffy's spine. She felt all the tiny hairs at the back of her neck prick up to stand on end as every slayer instinct told her Giles was in danger. Yet her eyes told a deceptively different story. The Watcher stood posed a few feet away from the overjoyed realtor, his hand gently touching the curves of a large standalone tub. He stroked his fingers over the gleaming porcelain surface, lovingly caressing it as he might a woman's flesh. To Buffy' horror, a low and very intimate sound thrummed from within the Brit's throat. His eyes were half-closed in what was a close to a blissful reverie as she had ever seen him experience without a book being involved as he swooned over the glorious bathtub, lauding its beauty in a shameless gush of uncurbed emotion.
It's. . .it's beautiful!
the Brit unabashedly pronounced, his words breathed with a sincere reverence. Why, it's positively the most perfect thing that I have ever seen. A veritable vessel fit for the Gods themselves.
He turned an anxious gaze toward the realtor. Buffy almost laughed. Giles looked like a little boy on Christmas morning, anticipating the opening of a present. May I?
he asked, his voice quavering with eagerness and seemingly oblivious of his additional audience. It looks simply inviting!
Be my guest,
Mrs. Callaway smiled back, chuckling under her breath with what definitely sounded like malevolence to Buffy. Try it on for size.
As Buffy and her fellow Scoobies watched in shock, the Brit nimbly hopped over the edge of the tub, and got inside. With a euphoric grunt, he gently settled his long frame down within the roomy interior, completely ignoring the ridiculousness incompatibility of his formal attire in the unsuitable environment. Leaning slowly back, he gave out an ecstatic sigh of delight, the wordless sound announcing he had discovered an earthly Nirvana.
His heavenly experience unfortunately was short lived. Intruding rudely upon the intimacy of his joyous moment, Dawn's voice blared out within the silence of the room, cruelly reminding the Brit he was not alone.
Why are there so many windows in here?
the teen asked.
Craning his neck, Giles glanced toward the girls, his glasses slightly askew, and a look of annoyance fleeting briefly across his face. Dawn was staring at the surround of glass that made up the peripheral of the tub room, and which provided the bather an uninterrupted view of the entire back yard. It also gave anyone standing outside an equally unobstructed spectacle of anyone inside, a fact that the teen found upsetting.
Am I the only one that finds it creepy people can watch Giles taking a bath?
she frowned, gesturing toward the windows.
And a fireplace?
With a contemptuous scoff Dawn turned, pointing out the unusual element no one else seemed to have noticed. I mean, I know it can get cold when you get out of your bath all naked and stuff, but isn't that overkill? Why not just crank up the heat a couple degrees? What kind of person designs such ludicrous stuff.
Leaning in toward Buffy, Willow whispered into her friend's ear. I'm thinking the guy that put that in was going after a different kind of heat!
The overheard comment earned her a glaring scowl from Giles, but the tub's roomy allure drew him back into its bliss, and he decided it wasn't worth getting upset. I don't care, he mentally discharged, re-arranging his long limbs within the tub. This is pure heaven on earth, and I simply refuse to allow anyone to spoil it for me!
Once again, Mrs. Calloway's phone rang out, the sound echoing unnaturally loud within the room and demanding her attention. She offered her client a brief apology that Giles acknowledged with a polite and understanding wave of dismissal, and she hastily removed herself from the room to tend to the call.
Free of any immediate sales pressure, the Watcher took advantage of the quiet moment. Closing his eyes, he shut out the world, and basked within the comfort of the luxurious tub.
The blissful serenity didn't last for very long. An earsplitting cry, again from Dawn, startled the Brit's tranquility, the teen's voice shrill with hysterical excitement.
A pool!
Dawn screeched, dancing from foot to foot as she pointed outside. Giles has a pool!
This announcement prompted an immediate response from the other two girls.
What? Where?
they animatedly demanded, the teen' fervor contagious.
In a unified flank, the trio of women ran to the expanse of glass overlooking the back yard. Three noses pressed tight to the smooth, cold surface. Six pairs of eyes gazed with wonder at the man-made lagoon in the overgrown yard.
See! I told you guys. There's a pool out there! A real live genuine authentic cement pond!
Live is right,
Willow skeptically grimaced, her initial joy fading upon a closer look. The water's green. Shouldn't it be beautiful crystal blue?
Shouldn't it be wet?
Buffy snarked with a critical bite. She took in the suspicious, and viscous nature of the pool's dubious contents. Call me crazy, but if I remember my chemistry, water's not supposed to be a solid. Or have lumps.
The contents of the pool were indeed a questionable shade of murkiness. Bits of rotting debris floated ominously atop the unappealing waters, creating a sludgy mass that was impenetrable to the naked eye, and apparently a few pieces of trash that had found its way to the thick surface, most likely scattered by some ill-tempered ocean breeze.
Mrs. Callaway did say the house has been unoccupied for some time,
Willow timidly put forward. I bet all the ick is because the filter hasn't been run for a while.
Maybe a good pool boy could fix things,
Dawn optimistically suggest. Her mood brightened, bolstered by the idea. Yeah, it's probably just a maintenance thing. A cute guy could do a lot to make that pool work just fine for me,
she dreamily sighed.
If the pool's anything like the rest of this house, it'll cost a fortune to repair whatever's wrong with it,
Buffy grumbled, turning away from the window. She glared crossly at her Watcher, still sitting obliviously content within his porcelain sanctuary. Fat chance getting Mr. Tight Wad here to pay for that. He'll hem and haw, and if he does pry open his wallet, he'll gripe forever about how much it costs.
Mrs. Callaway says every problem is simply a silver lining waiting to be exploited,
Willow cheerily supplied, quoting the absent realtor.
Buffy redirected her glower, firing it at her traitorous friend. Not seeing any silver here,
the slayer groused. More like visions of lumpy coal.
I'm just saying maybe she can find some way to work all the negatives to Giles' advantage. You know, wiggle a reduction in the house's price for him. That is,
she warily hemmed as she caught the menace firing in her blonde companion's expression. If he decides to take it. Yeah, if,
Willow meekly conceded, attempting to appease the slayer's riled ire.
As the women around him continued to argue their various opinions of pools and property, Giles sank deeper into the tub, doing his best to ignore the incessant chatter going on overhead. He was in a near state of bliss, hiding safe and sound within his personal retreat. The only thing that would make the moment better was several gallons of steaming hot sudsy water surrounding his unclothed body. Yes, water would be lovely. And a glass of scotch. There, just beside him, on a small table, where it could be reached with an easy effort for a relaxing sip.
Having finished their discussion, the three girls sauntered away from the windows to gather around the distracted Watcher, who continued to lounge in the tub. Giles seemed completely oblivious to their presence, his face wearing a beatific and contented grin, his eyes closed and shutting out the world around him. As she stared, miffed by the Brit's strange expression, not to mention that he was totally ignoring them, that was when Buffy first noticed the curious sound.
It was low, and soft, almost nonexistent. If it weren't for her keen slayer hearing tell her it was very real, Buffy would have thought the noise was just her imagination running wild. She tilted her head slightly, seeking out the source as she hovered over the tub filled with the horizontal body of her British Watcher. It seemed the closer she got to Giles' head, the more distinct the melodious sound became, until suddenly, realization came to her. Giles was humming!
Startled, Buffy stepped back. The humming grew slightly louder, and as she turned to her sister and best friend, she knew that they could now hear Giles, too. The trio exchanged mischievous glances, three minds locking in synchronistic thought. Buffy made a serious of quick, silent gestures, indicating wordlessly the formulation of an impish plan. She received agreeing nods, her companions understanding what she expected them to do. At the slayer's signal, a flurry of bodies and giggles commenced, and all three women piled into the gigantic tub, causing the Watcher to let out a yelp of protest under the sudden bombarding onslaught of multiple bodies and limbs.
Here now! What's this? Get off me!
Giles grunted, his eyes flying open as he struggled to sit upright, a task that proved impossible under the combined weight of three young people. Whichever one of you is poking my side had best stop moving immediately!
he grumbled, sagely surrendering to the avalanche of arms, and legs, and laughter.
Squishing themselves around their elder, the three girls finally settled down, each finding just enough space to recline within the long tub. Their faces ringed by happy smiles, they wedged their bodies tightly, but comfortably within the porcelain vessel, snuggling up with the now glowering Brit.
Dawn giggled, feeling slightly superior at having pulled something over on the stuffy Brit. This is fun,
the teen gleefully announced, taking delight in her small, if silly victory. She paused, her jovial grin slowly fading as she considered exactly what she's said. We really shouldn't be enjoying this, should we?
she worriedly questioned her companions. It is kind of weird, sharing a rub a dub tub with a full grown man.
It's okay,
Willow told the younger girl. It's only Giles. He's harmless.
The Brit scowled, grumbling a protest under his breath that went ignored by his companions.
Bet this is the first time you've ever been in a bathtub with three women,
Buffy lightheartedly taunted her Watcher. She was fishing for one of Giles' trademark blushes. Instead, she got a look that held a Ripper-like devilish twinkle. Leveling his raffish gaze directly at his smugly superior slayer, Giles regarded her with a nonchalant calm that instantly sent chills running along Buffy's spine.
Certainly not whilst fully dressed,
the Brit chortled, lips pressed into the barest upward quirk of a depraved grin.
The silence that followed his unexpected declaration was awkward, and strained. The joke was on Buffy, who felt the heat swiftly rise in her face as she stared back into the Watcher' boldly brazen eyes.
Wha. . .you. . .
Buffy gulped, and sputtered, trying to find her voice. A series of unintelligible squeaks came forth. But. . .no. . .no, no, no!
She shook her head emphatically as her imagination ran with the suggested image. Her brain led Buffy to forbidden places where she feared to go, places much more sinister and evil than any Hellmouth she had ever entered. Giles? In a tub? Naked with three women? She shuddered in repulsion. It was too much for her semi-innocent and tortured mind to bear.
Gathering what she could of her remaining sanity, Buffy quickly jumped to her feet, and from her elevated stance, gave the Brit a disapproving glare.
Okay! Enough fun already,
she announced to her bemused companions. Her chary eyes never left the Watcher's as she barked out her orders with a sharp clap of her hands. Everybody out. Now! Move it! Before something immoral and communicable finds its way to a new host.
Amid a chorus of mumbling objections, the girls reluctantly clambered out of the tub, leaving Giles once again alone to delight in the full spaciousness of his surroundings. The enjoyment didn't last. Buffy wasn't done with him yet. Once everyone was safely clear of the tub's interior, she squinted menacingly down at the Watcher, her disapproval clearly written in her glowering pout.
And you, mister,
she snipped sharply, wagging a scolding finger at the Brit. You need to check that nasty mouth of yours at the door. What&$49;s got into you? Have you no shame? There are children present in this room! You are one seriously sick and perverted puppy!
I'm not the one who invited my underage sister to carouse with mixed company in a bath,
Giles haughtily defended his decency.
Buffy opened her mouth to deliver a retaliatory quip, but the pithy remark went unspoken. Mrs. Calloway had returned to the room.
Sorry. . .again,
the realtor profusely apologized. She delivered another broad smile toward her client, who had yet to move from the tub where she had left him. This was a positive sign, the realtor thought. Her mark felt right at home. It seemed she had a better than good chance at making this sale, in spite of his companions' interference. Time to haul out that patented Callaway razzle-dazzle, and turn up the charm. Soon she'd have Mr. Giles signing his name on that proverbial dotted line. For the moment, however, she needed to get this tour back in gear.
Why don't we have a look at the upstairs next?
she proposed to the Brit. Then after, we can take a peek at that special surprise I promised.
We already saw the pool,
Dawn snootily announced, her aim to put the overbearing woman in her place.
Yes, that is a definite plus for the property,
the realtor replied, her toothy grin disdainfully cutting through the young girl's rude attitude with professional aplomb. Turning back to her client, she sweetened her grin with a bit of charismatic feminine allure. I chose this surprise with specifically you in mind,
she purred coyly at the Watcher. I've been saving it up for just the right moment. This house has its own dedicated library!
Library?
Giles gasped, his mind struggling to believe what he had heard. The very thought was an absolute delight to his lonely librarian soul, and his heart began to race, eager with anticipation in spite of his skeptic attempt to remain composed. While he doubted any so designated room would truly fulfill his Watcher needs, the idea of a library, no matter how small or inadequate, certainly intrigued him.
In an effort to maintain his persona of dignity with the realtor, Giles cautioned himself not to be too optimistic. Mrs. Callaway's promise was undoubtedly another of her clever sales ruses, the bait to a trap meant to catch and hook his interest. He was certain the woman had no inkling what a real library was, and undoubtedly, the one in this house would leave him disappointed.
Or perhaps, he thought, there was the slimmest of possibilities the architect was actually someone who understood the importance of storing one's precious books. After all, he or she had lived during a former time when reading was still in vogue. One could always hope.
Though he retained an outwardly calm demeanor, the librarian in Giles was ecstatically leaping with joy. Just think of it. A library! He would reserve judgment on whether or not the room suited his personal needs until after he saw what was available. For now, he played along the realtor's game, and let her have her moment.
Abandoning his beloved berth, the Brit rose slowly to his feet. With a reluctant sigh, he stepped out of the marvel he had come to think of as his own, and taking his place beside his young companions, he smoothed the creases from his pant legs, and straightened his tie to a respectable state of neatness, his self-possession fully restored.
A library sounds simply lovely,
he said with a gallant gesture to the realtor, inviting her to lead the way.
As he dogged Mrs. Callaway's retreating heels, the others joined in the parade with Buffy taking her place at his side.
For your sake, there better be some redeeming gems in this fabulous fixer upper of yours,
she lectured the Watcher under her breath so only he could hear. It's going to take a lot more than a fancy schmancy bathroom before this dump is sweet enough to be called a home.
This bath is nearly enough to satisfy me,
Giles returned, but he conceded the wisdom of her warning with a sigh. With one last longing look back toward the object of his desire, he lengthened his stride, and fell easily into step with the realtor, leaving Buffy and the remaining Scoobies tagging along at his rear.
Mrs. Callaway smiled sweetly at her client, who returned the gesture with a polite a meekly nod. The realtor retraced their steps, leading the way back through the dining room, then up the staircase to the home's upper story, where she proceeded to extol upon the virtues of having five additional bedrooms, and three separate bathrooms, while quickly dismissing the begrimed, outdated condition of the latter much to Buffy's perturbed chagrin.
With the second story out of the way, Mrs. Callaway herded her client and his charges back down the stairs, directing them on to the final stop within the house. The library. As she trailed just behind the squabbling group, she was struck by how unusual their various interactions were. Mr. Giles and his young friend Buffy were possibly the strangest couple she had ever encountered. She couldn't wait to sell them a house, and send them on their way.
And a couple they were, in spite of the noticeable differences in their cultures and their ages, or anything they might claim to the contrary. Not only did the one obviously complement the other, but only a couple could so voraciously bait and argue with each other, and still remain together. Besides, if she were any judge of human nature, and she had to be to succeed at her job, these two were inseparable.
Yes, this sale was beginning to look better with every minute. The vintage mansion fit every one of Mr. Giles' needs, and so much more. It supplied ample living space, and there were multiple outbuildings on the property, any one of which he could renovate to use as the school he and his partner
were opening. She was confident the library would clinch the deal. She had this sale sewn up for sure.
Of course, there would be negotiations with the seller, as well as the bank to contend with, but she had her connections, and was willing to use them just to wrap up this difficult sale. The house had been a blight on the firm’s listings, with every offer falling through for one reason or another. It would be a relief if she could get this cursed dinosaur off the realty books, and of course, the big fat commission she brought down wouldn't hurt either. She was already ahead in the running for top sales brought in, and a transaction of this magnitude would definitely qualify her for realtor of the month. She might even have a shot at that extra bonus Mr. Wannaman handed out to his very best seller. Yes, things were definitely looking up for Fiona Callaway.
First, she had a few loose ends to tie up here. After the library, she would take Mr. Giles on a stroll around the property to view the multiple outbuildings. She would hand out helpful hints, and offer encouragement. Hopefully, she could separate him from the others long enough to throw in a few flirtatious smiles and some strategic display of cleavage. It never hurt to add in a little sex appeal.
Bolstered with growing assurance, Mrs. Calloway forged ahead of her retinue, and led them down the wide center hallway toward the tall doublewide entry of the promised library. With a wave of her hand, she threw open the doors, and invited them to proceed inside before her, announcing in her best selling voice. . .
I can't wait for you to see what treasures await in here!