Terror Aboard the Persephone! (part 6)
Jun. 17th, 2009 06:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlpireTitle: Terror Aboard the Persephone! (Part Six)
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG-13 (or FRT)
Warnings: None in this part. Unless you count silliness.
Characters: Angel, Spike, Gunn, Connor, Wesley, Xander, Riley, and Kate, plus more OC's than you will probably be comfortable with.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: A series of highly improbable coincidences aboard a cruise ship makes stopping this particular apocalypse a bit more complicated than usual for the fang gang.
Author's Notes: This story takes place at some ambiguous point during season five of AtS. Spike is solid, Connor doesn't know who Angel is, and Xander is both-eyed and didn't participate in the BtVS comics. The entire fic spans the course of about five hours.
[Part 1]
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
[Part 4]
[Part 5]
Didn't post a recap cause I'm lazy. (Heh.)
***
Terror Aboard the Persephone!
Part Six
***
"Dude, that security guard was like, so into you." Riley's companion was still snickering. The fact that Riley wasn't amused didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Hey, you wanna go back and get his number? It's cool if you do; I don't mind waiting." A pause. "You can maybe go in that closet with him and check out his giant weapon." More snickering. "Or you could come out of the closet first--"
"I'm going back to my table," Riley interrupted. "We've been gone too long."
The guy stopped walking. "But we haven't found a janitor yet. There's puke all over the--"
"Not my problem," said Riley. The truth was that he hadn't been all that concerned with the mess in the game room anyway, had just used it as an excuse to explore the ship and look for Phlegethonites. But they hadn't come across any Phlegethonites or custodians, and now he was going back to his station to check on the weapons he shouldn't have abandoned in the first place, and that was that.
Why were so many people hitting on him tonight? Was it his cologne? It was probably the cologne. Couldn't be the uniform.
Maybe it was the uniform. He'd ask Sam.
"Screw you too, man," sulked the other dealer. Riley felt a brief twinge in his conscience, but reminded himself that his mission was the important thing here. Even if there were no blue-haired, lemony-smelling demons on board Persephone, it was his duty to stay vigilant. The other dealer wandered off in another direction to continue the search for a custodian as Riley headed back to the crowded casino room. He was really looking forward to the end of this night.
Oh, crap. He knew he'd been gone too long! There were several people gathered around the five-card stud table, all talking to each other and looking somewhat anxious. Riley hurried over to get behind the table, grabbing a deck of cards on the way.
"Sorry about the wait," he announced. "I was just--" But when the people looked up at him, he realized that there was already another dealer at the table. Sitting down with the other players. "Oh," said Riley. "I thought... I mean, are you... is this a game?"
One of the two old ladies he'd noticed earlier answered him first. "Young man, this is no game; it's very serious! There is a terrorist aboard this ship." She said the word terrorist as though expecting a big reaction, but Riley just stared at her.
"Terrorist," he repeated.
There was a chorus of earnest nods from the group of people.
"On the ship," said Riley.
More nods.
"His name," said the seated card dealer, "is Steve."
Okay, this could in no possible way be a good thing. In a quick, graceful move, Riley reached up as though to scratch his chest and managed to swipe his magnetic nametag into his palm before dropping his arm again. "That's... that's pretty strange," he said.
"That's not all," the other dealer went on. "The dude is like, completely naked, bro. But with socks."
"Socks?" gasped an old lady. "You didn't tell us he was wearing socks!"
"Black ones," the guy confirmed. He turned to Riley. "By the way, I'm Jeff. You're...?"
"Sam," said Riley. He slipped the nametag inconspicuously into his pocket before shaking Jeff's hand. "My name's Sam."
Suddenly, a cell phone rang. "Oh, that's the police calling back!" exclaimed one of the old ladies. She answered it. "Hello? Yes, we're still fine, but I've got more information about the terrorist. He's wearing socks!"
"So, how did you find out about this... terrorist?" Riley asked.
Jeff leaned forward confidentially, but still spoke loud enough for everyone in the group to hear him. "A naked woman found his bag of weapons," said Jeff. "Right here at this very table!" He pointed at the table they were sitting at. "Isn't that wild?"
Riley could practically feel the bottom drop out of his stomach.
"She wasn't naked," a man corrected Jeff. "She was clad. Scantily!"
"Whatever, the point is she found all these guns and shit."
The old woman was still talking into her cell phone. "Yes, they were black socks," she said. "Well, I assume... hold on and I'll ask. Jeff? Were they on his feet?"
Jeff frowned. "What, the guns?"
"Oh, he had guns, too!" the woman said into the phone.
"Well, duh, of course he had guns," said Jeff. "That's how this whole thing started. With the guns."
Riley's hands were cold. He swallowed. Maybe he shouldn't look. If he didn't look under the table, he wouldn't have to know his equipment bag was gone. Maybe the naked woman found the guns and left them there?
Why was there a naked woman running around?
"Anyhow, so Agnes here called the LAPD," Jeff went on. "And that other guy was going to see the captain--"
"What other guy?" asked Riley.
"A very nice young man with blue hair," the other old lady chimed in.
Blue hair! Riley cursed under his breath. "He didn't happen to smell like lemons, did he?" he asked. "The guy with blue hair?"
"Why, yes, he did," the old lady said. "It was a very pleasant smell, I thought. And he was such a sweet boy, to go to the captain for us."
Riley took a deep breath. Okay, so the Phlegethonites were on board, and now some naked person had his weapons. He should never have left his station!
"No, the guns weren't on his feet," said Agnes into the phone. "Unless... Jeff, were the guns on his feet?"
"The guns were in his bag," said Jeff.
"He was carrying a bag," Agnes repeated dutifully. Then she asked, "And where were the socks?"
"Where are the guns now?" Riley asked Jeff.
"Dude, I have no idea. I think the naked chick took off with them."
"Oh, my," said Agnes. "Officer, the socks were stolen! Yes, I'll hold."
***
Kate ducked into the STAFF ONLY room, breathing heavily. She'd been running all through the boat carrying the black duffle bag and looking for the naked vampire, but she hadn't seen him anywhere, and her ass had been pinched a few too many times to merit a continued search in just her Victoria's Secret cheekies. She needed her clothes.
Only. They weren't there.
Kate did a slow lap around the room. Her clothes were definitely gone. She took a deep breath and, very determinedly, didn't cry. No clothes. That's okay. She could work with this. In fact, no clothes was an exaggeration. There were clothes here, just not her clothes. She breathed deeply again. She would just wear someone else's clothes, is all. That would do for now.
Until she could find the bleached undead asshole who had clearly hidden her clothes to sabotage her plan of hunting his ass down and staking him. Which she was so going to do as soon as she was dressed.
Kate dropped the bag of weapons onto the floor and went to the costume rack. Several of the costumes had already been removed, but there was one here that was her size. She took the red sequined dress off its hanger and quickly put it on, zipping up the side. It was very short, and there was a diamond-shaped cutout that showed her stomach, but it was better than nothing. The tag on the hanger said "Persephone." Well, Persephone would just have to do without her dress for a little while.
It actually kind of went with Kate's shoes.
She picked up the duffle bag again. It was really inconvenient to haul this thing around while vampire hunting. All she needed to be carrying was a stake. She glanced around the room and finally decided to leave the bag in here. Steve the terrorist would certainly never think of checking in the costume room for his bag of evil tricks, and she could come back to get it after she'd slain the vampire. She put the bag on a shelf next to a row of dance shoes, and it looked as if it belonged there. No one would suspect a thing. She finally picked up her stake and slipped out of the STAFF ONLY door, one thing on her mind.
Kate Lockley was going to dust herself a vampire.
Right after she got another drink.
***
"Do I hear six hundred thousand? Six hundred thousand from the gentleman with the horns, thank you. And that's six-fifty from the lovely betentacled lady down front. Do I hear six seventy-five? Thank you, sir. The bidding is at six hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Do I hear seven hundred thousand for the disembodied head of Noor? Remember, the head of Noor comes complete with this beautiful marble mounting surface-- Seven hundred thousand? That's seven hundred thousand from the Goddess Yesca, thank you. Do I hear--"
Gunn was standing at the back of the auction room, his arms folded in front of his chest as he listened to the auctioneer. He may have the laws and languages of several different dimensions downloaded into his head, but these fancy demon get-togethers still always gave him the skin-crawlies. Why the hell would anyone want a three-foot disembodied head on display in their house, anyway?
Suddenly, the little earpiece Wesley had given him made a tiny beep in his ear. "Charles?" said Wesley. "Can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, English," said Gunn quietly, turning his back to the rest of the room, "and have I mentioned how much you owe me for this? I'm getting serious creep vibes from this crowd and these freaky-ass things we're selling them. Lot 28 just bid on itself."
"The head of Noor?" guessed Wesley.
"That's the one." Gunn shuddered.
"Don't pay it any attention, Gunn. Noor has been dead for almost six centuries. The voice is just an echo, an elaborate parlor trick. It isn't actually alive."
"And that's supposed to make it less nasty?"
"Ah. I suppose not. Anyway, there's something rather urgent that we need to discuss," Wesley replied.
Gunn turned toward the ongoing auction again with a sigh. "If it's about those damn fainting bots--"
"It's not," said Wesley. "I've just received a phone call from the LAPD. Apparently, there are terrorists aboard the ship."
Gunn's eyes widened. "What?!" he asked loudly, stunned. Several of the auction attendees turned in their seats to look at him.
The auctioneer pointed toward Gunn. "Seven hundred fifty thousand from the human gentleman in the back," he announced. "Do I hear seven seventy-five for the talking head of Noor?"
"Shit!" Gunn exclaimed.
"Well... yes," said Wesley. "It was quite a shock to me as well."
"You just made me bid on that big nasty head!" Gunn hissed.
"Oh," said Wesley. "Well, I don't see how the head of Noor would be particularly useful against terrorists, but..."
"No bids for seven seventy-five? Very well, going once," said the auctioneer.
"I am going to kill you," said Gunn. "Slowly. Painfully."
"Going twice," said the auctioneer.
"Real painfully, Wes. I'm talking the kind of pain that makes other pain run crying to its daddy. And then its daddy runs away crying. You get my meaning here?"
"You're making yourself perfectly clear," said Wesley calmly.
Just then, the talking head of Noor let out an impressive belch.
"And that's seven seventy-five from the large disembodied head on stage," the auctioneer announced. "The current bid is seven hundred seventy five thousand dollars. Do I hear--"
Gunn breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you, baby Jesus," he whispered.
"Did you win the head?" asked Wesley.
"No, and your ass better be grateful that six hundred year old nastiness can get gas. Now tell me about these terrorists."
***
Connor felt pretty horrible about being the bearer of such bad news. The director of "Hell Queen: A Love Story" had been tremendously upset when Connor told him about Jessica's tummy troubles. It was the first time Connor had ever seen a grown man cry over something not directly related to sports.
While Phil patted the director awkwardly on the shoulder, Connor had slipped out of the backstage area through the nearest door. It wasn't the same door he'd used to come in, and it led down a hallway he hadn't seen before. His first instinct was to go back through the door and leave the way he had come in, but he would feel sort of lame wandering around backstage like Spinal Tap after he'd already made his exit, so he just headed down this hallway. Persephone's souvenir and gift shop was up ahead on the left, and even further down was a staircase that he was fairly sure led down one level to the dance club, Tartarus. Oh, well. He would find his way back to the staterooms and Jessica eventually. He'd always had a pretty good sense of direction.
***
"You're telling me," Gunn said quietly, "that there's a naked white dude with a bag full of guns running around on this ship."
"Yes," said Wesley.
"And he's a terrorist. Named Steve."
"Yes," said Wesley.
Gunn turned away from the stage where a severed hand was being brought out for auction and began walking toward the safe room, intending to check on the Hermaion again. "You know," he said, "I had just been thinking to myself, trying to stop an apocalypse on a boat full of rich demons buying all kinds of skeezy dead shit ain't enough excitement for one night. I'm real glad I got you here to give me a closet full of fainting mechanical perverts and a naked terrorist named Steve."
"Glad I could help," Wesley replied dryly.
Gunn slipped inside the safe room. "So tell me this," he said, noting with some relief that all the remaining items still looked safe. "What the hell kind of name is Steve for a terrorist anyway?"
"Well, he's clearly using an assumed name," Wesley reasoned.
"Dude needs to assume some pants," retorted Gunn. "What kind of messed up terrorist organization sends out naked guys named Steve?"
"In the interest of full disclosure," said Wesley, "I feel I should mention that he is actually wearing socks."
"Socks?" said Gunn. "He's naked except for socks?"
"Black ones. Apparently, they were stolen."
"He's wearing stolen black socks."
"Well. Yes."
"Do we care about that?"
"I'm just giving you the information that was given to me."
"And where'd you get it from?" asked Gunn.
"An elderly woman named Agnes called the LAPD from Persephone's casino deck after another woman found some weapons hidden there. She was described as being 'scantily clad.'"
Gunn frowned. "An old lady called the police in her underdrawers?"
"No, the other woman was scantily clad. I understand that Agnes herself is fully clothed. Although the dress code aboard the ship this evening does appear to be somewhat more relaxed than usual..."
"Why did the LAPD call you?"
"We own them," Wesley reminded him. "As soon as they discovered Wolfram and Hart's involvement with Persephone, they called for permission to board the ship. They're awaiting my orders right now. I'd like to avoid police action tonight if we can, but I wanted to ask your opinion first; if you'd feel safer with them on the boat--"
"Wes. I just spent my Friday night schmoozing the evil forces of hell. While wearing a tux. You think I'm gonna be scared of one naked white guy named Steve?"
"It's settled, then," decided Wesley. "The LAPD will not be boarding the ship. I've already spoken with Captain Griffin, and he has orders to seal off the bridge. Persephone is in no danger of being hijacked. There is only the small matter of stopping the apocalypse..."
Gunn glanced over at the case where the Hermaion was still locked safely away. "Got it covered," he said.
"Have you activated any of the bots?" Wesley asked.
"Yeah, two."
"Just two?" Gunn could hear the frown in Wesley's voice. "Phlegethonites travel in clans of at least ten, Charles. Perhaps you should activate a few more."
"Chill out, Wes. I got those two guarding the door to the auction ballroom. If anything with blue hair tries to get in, I'll know in enough time to switch on a few more of your C3PO's."
After a brief pause, Wesley said, "They still make you uncomfortable."
"They stand too close," Gunn muttered. "I don't get why they're so... West Hollywood."
"It's something that has puzzled us in the lab for quite some time," Wesley agreed. "At first I thought it was a bad joke from the programming department, but I'm starting to believe it's because all the bots we produce are male. With no understanding of the dichotomous relationship between male and female within their own ranks, the bots simply don't recognize the difference. It's quite fascinating, really. But I think we've managed to erase those types of feelings from their programming."
Gunn begged to differ. "Why don't you just make some girlie-bots too?" he asked.
"Oh," said Wesley, "that had been on the agenda, but then Spike became recorporealized, so production was halted."
"Uh-huh," Gunn said slowly. "I'm not even gonna ask how that's related."
"Thank you," Wesley replied. "Now, I know that I said I don't want police boarding the ship, but I am a little concerned with this terrorist business. I'm sending a rescue boat to tail the Persephone until she docks again, just as a precaution. If anything does happen to the ship, there will be a smaller vessel nearby that can hold all of the passengers. It will be well within swimming distance. If you do need to abandon ship, just remember to take the Hermaion with you and make sure it's safe."
"Sure," said Gunn. "And by the way, this mission ain't getting more complex and disturbing by the minute at all. In case you were wondering."
"I do appreciate your help on this, Charles," Wesley said. "Believe me, you'll be compensated. I'll buy you something. The head of Noor has a cousin, I believe."
"You think you're funny," observed Gunn.
"I have my moments," Wesley agreed.
***
It had been a while since Spike had purposely killed anyone, but as the souled vampire stood naked in the last place he'd been clothed, hands on his hips, mouth pressed into a tight line, he contemplated the upshot of murder.
Solves your problems, it does. Quick. Efficient. Hell of a lot simpler than dodging an insane woman in a limited space for who knows how long while trying to remain inconspicuous (though naked) and scaring sick little girls half to death before watching them spew into a waste bin. None of this would have happened if he'd just killed the raving bint and been done with it.
And now this.
Spike's clothes were gone. After everything he'd endured to get here - all the squealing, groping, and arse-pinching (and hey, this was turning out a lot more like the last time he'd been naked on a boat after all) - he'd finally arrived back at the scene of the crime only to find that some sorry bastard had made off with not only his jeans and shirt, but his duster as well.
The thing about murder is it's so bloody easy. Makes it real tempting sometimes.
Well, he may not be a murderer anymore, but he sure as freaking hell wasn't going to just let this go. Oh, no. His coat was gone, and now someone was going to pay.
But he needed clothes before venturing out into the rest of the boat again. Even someone who enjoys a bit of arse-pinching now and then has his limits. Spike approached the costume rack, still pressing his lips together in frustration, and considered his narrow choices. There were only two costumes remaining: one was a white toga that would probably fit him, although it barely came down to mid-thigh, and the other was a long, brown robe that would probably drag the ground if he tried to wear it. Both had gold sequins in poofy patterns all over them.
With an irritated huff, Spike grabbed the little toga off of a hanger labeled "Hermes" and pulled it on. There wasn't much to it, leaving a lot of skin exposed, but it was better than going starkers. He tugged the hem down as far as he could. Bloody short, this thing.
Luckily, Spike's Docs were still where he'd left them. He pulled the heavy black boots onto his feet and tied the laces, knowing how ridiculous he must look in this costume with this particular choice of footwear but not caring in the slightest. He was on a mission now.
Finally clothed, Spike threw open the STAFF ONLY door and marched out of the costume room, dead set on tracking down a clothing thief.
***
At fifteen and a half years old, Zazz the Phlegethonite was the youngest demon currently on board the Persephone. His best friend Pezuzal had already turned sixteen, the age of majority in the underworld, which is why they were allowed to partner up on this important mission. If Pezuzal had been under sixteen as well, they both would have been stuck with older clan members as partners, and this whole thing wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.
Which isn't saying much, because it was already boring as hell. And they would know.
Zazz and Pezuzal were browsing through the boat's gift shop. What they were supposed to be doing was spying, trying to find out something useful about the ship's security or about that stupid necklace, but Pezuzal clearly had other things on her mind, and Zazz wasn't really that interested in bringing about the apocalypse either. He hadn't told his father Azra this, but his secret dream was to stay in LA and become a famous actor.
"What I don't understand," Pezuzal was saying, "is why the queen didn't run away with Hermes when she had the chance. I mean, she obviously didn't love the king. What was keeping her in the underworld in the first place?" She picked up a small ceremonial dagger and frowned at it. "Couldn't have been the weather," she reasoned. "And don't get me started on the public transportation system. If you want to ride a creepy little boat everywhere, just go to Venice, am I right?"
Zazz was flicking through a display of keychains with names engraved on them. As usual, he couldn't find one with his name. "I think it was the food," he said thoughtfully. "Didn't Hades trick her into eating something that meant she couldn't leave?" There wasn't a keychain with Pezuzal's name either. Figures.
She dismissed the topic with a hand gesture. "I never paid attention in history. I'm just saying that a place like LA is so much more awesome than where we come from." She sighed wistfully. "Don't you wish we didn't have to go back?"
"Yeah," said Zazz. "I really do." He sighed as well. Then he noticed the dagger she was holding. "That's cool," he said. "Are you going to get it?"
"Nah, I don't have any money." She made to put the dagger down, but he took it from her.
"You want me to get it for you?"
"You have money? I thought you used your last two coins to pay the ferryman."
"I'm an evil demon, right?" he said. "I could just, you know, walk out with it. Like, without paying."
Pezuzal rolled her eyes at him, taking the dagger back. She set it on the shelf where she'd picked it up. "Can't you at least try to be a little less stereotypical, Zazz? Geez. Next you'll be wanting to eat a dead person." Pezuzal, unlike most Phlegethonites, was morally opposed to eating human corpses. She was a vegetarian. One of the reasons the two were such close friends is because they were the only Phlegethonites in their clan that didn't eat human flesh, although it wasn't a moral thing for Zazz. He just didn't like the taste.
He was curious about the taste of vampire, though.
"Hey, I was thinking," said Zazz. "Instead of doing this whole apocalypse thing, which kind of blows, maybe we could hunt the vampire instead."
Pezuzal wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
"Well, the others pretty much have the necklace thing covered, right? So we could just bring back the vampire for the victory feast and... you know, impress everyone."
"We're not supposed to hunt vampires by ourselves," said Pezuzal.
"We're not by ourselves," Zazz pointed out. "We're together."
"I don't know..."
"Come on, Pez. It'll be fun."
"Yeah, but do you even know what to look for?" she asked. "I've never seen a vampire before. I don't think I would know one if I saw one."
"Well, Dad said this one was wearing all black and has on a long leather coat. So that narrows it down."
"We can't just go around attacking everybody wearing all black, Zazz," Pezuzal pointed out reasonably. "Some of them could be stage managers."
"I'm sure we'll be able to tell the difference," said Zazz. "Anyway, vampires smell funny."
"Fine," sighed Pezuzal. "If we come across anything wearing all black that doesn't smell human, I'll help you catch it. But this is a big boat, so the odds of that happening are..."
Just then, a young man in a long leather coat and wearing all black walked past the gift shop. He looked lost. And he smelled... funny.
"...better than I expected," finished Pezuzal slowly, staring after him.
Zazz broke into a wide grin, showing off all of his very pointy teeth.
***
Continued [here].
***
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG-13 (or FRT)
Warnings: None in this part. Unless you count silliness.
Characters: Angel, Spike, Gunn, Connor, Wesley, Xander, Riley, and Kate, plus more OC's than you will probably be comfortable with.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: A series of highly improbable coincidences aboard a cruise ship makes stopping this particular apocalypse a bit more complicated than usual for the fang gang.
Author's Notes: This story takes place at some ambiguous point during season five of AtS. Spike is solid, Connor doesn't know who Angel is, and Xander is both-eyed and didn't participate in the BtVS comics. The entire fic spans the course of about five hours.
[Part 1]
[Part 2]
[Part 3]
[Part 4]
[Part 5]
Didn't post a recap cause I'm lazy. (Heh.)
***
Terror Aboard the Persephone!
Part Six
***
"Dude, that security guard was like, so into you." Riley's companion was still snickering. The fact that Riley wasn't amused didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Hey, you wanna go back and get his number? It's cool if you do; I don't mind waiting." A pause. "You can maybe go in that closet with him and check out his giant weapon." More snickering. "Or you could come out of the closet first--"
"I'm going back to my table," Riley interrupted. "We've been gone too long."
The guy stopped walking. "But we haven't found a janitor yet. There's puke all over the--"
"Not my problem," said Riley. The truth was that he hadn't been all that concerned with the mess in the game room anyway, had just used it as an excuse to explore the ship and look for Phlegethonites. But they hadn't come across any Phlegethonites or custodians, and now he was going back to his station to check on the weapons he shouldn't have abandoned in the first place, and that was that.
Why were so many people hitting on him tonight? Was it his cologne? It was probably the cologne. Couldn't be the uniform.
Maybe it was the uniform. He'd ask Sam.
"Screw you too, man," sulked the other dealer. Riley felt a brief twinge in his conscience, but reminded himself that his mission was the important thing here. Even if there were no blue-haired, lemony-smelling demons on board Persephone, it was his duty to stay vigilant. The other dealer wandered off in another direction to continue the search for a custodian as Riley headed back to the crowded casino room. He was really looking forward to the end of this night.
Oh, crap. He knew he'd been gone too long! There were several people gathered around the five-card stud table, all talking to each other and looking somewhat anxious. Riley hurried over to get behind the table, grabbing a deck of cards on the way.
"Sorry about the wait," he announced. "I was just--" But when the people looked up at him, he realized that there was already another dealer at the table. Sitting down with the other players. "Oh," said Riley. "I thought... I mean, are you... is this a game?"
One of the two old ladies he'd noticed earlier answered him first. "Young man, this is no game; it's very serious! There is a terrorist aboard this ship." She said the word terrorist as though expecting a big reaction, but Riley just stared at her.
"Terrorist," he repeated.
There was a chorus of earnest nods from the group of people.
"On the ship," said Riley.
More nods.
"His name," said the seated card dealer, "is Steve."
Okay, this could in no possible way be a good thing. In a quick, graceful move, Riley reached up as though to scratch his chest and managed to swipe his magnetic nametag into his palm before dropping his arm again. "That's... that's pretty strange," he said.
"That's not all," the other dealer went on. "The dude is like, completely naked, bro. But with socks."
"Socks?" gasped an old lady. "You didn't tell us he was wearing socks!"
"Black ones," the guy confirmed. He turned to Riley. "By the way, I'm Jeff. You're...?"
"Sam," said Riley. He slipped the nametag inconspicuously into his pocket before shaking Jeff's hand. "My name's Sam."
Suddenly, a cell phone rang. "Oh, that's the police calling back!" exclaimed one of the old ladies. She answered it. "Hello? Yes, we're still fine, but I've got more information about the terrorist. He's wearing socks!"
"So, how did you find out about this... terrorist?" Riley asked.
Jeff leaned forward confidentially, but still spoke loud enough for everyone in the group to hear him. "A naked woman found his bag of weapons," said Jeff. "Right here at this very table!" He pointed at the table they were sitting at. "Isn't that wild?"
Riley could practically feel the bottom drop out of his stomach.
"She wasn't naked," a man corrected Jeff. "She was clad. Scantily!"
"Whatever, the point is she found all these guns and shit."
The old woman was still talking into her cell phone. "Yes, they were black socks," she said. "Well, I assume... hold on and I'll ask. Jeff? Were they on his feet?"
Jeff frowned. "What, the guns?"
"Oh, he had guns, too!" the woman said into the phone.
"Well, duh, of course he had guns," said Jeff. "That's how this whole thing started. With the guns."
Riley's hands were cold. He swallowed. Maybe he shouldn't look. If he didn't look under the table, he wouldn't have to know his equipment bag was gone. Maybe the naked woman found the guns and left them there?
Why was there a naked woman running around?
"Anyhow, so Agnes here called the LAPD," Jeff went on. "And that other guy was going to see the captain--"
"What other guy?" asked Riley.
"A very nice young man with blue hair," the other old lady chimed in.
Blue hair! Riley cursed under his breath. "He didn't happen to smell like lemons, did he?" he asked. "The guy with blue hair?"
"Why, yes, he did," the old lady said. "It was a very pleasant smell, I thought. And he was such a sweet boy, to go to the captain for us."
Riley took a deep breath. Okay, so the Phlegethonites were on board, and now some naked person had his weapons. He should never have left his station!
"No, the guns weren't on his feet," said Agnes into the phone. "Unless... Jeff, were the guns on his feet?"
"The guns were in his bag," said Jeff.
"He was carrying a bag," Agnes repeated dutifully. Then she asked, "And where were the socks?"
"Where are the guns now?" Riley asked Jeff.
"Dude, I have no idea. I think the naked chick took off with them."
"Oh, my," said Agnes. "Officer, the socks were stolen! Yes, I'll hold."
***
Kate ducked into the STAFF ONLY room, breathing heavily. She'd been running all through the boat carrying the black duffle bag and looking for the naked vampire, but she hadn't seen him anywhere, and her ass had been pinched a few too many times to merit a continued search in just her Victoria's Secret cheekies. She needed her clothes.
Only. They weren't there.
Kate did a slow lap around the room. Her clothes were definitely gone. She took a deep breath and, very determinedly, didn't cry. No clothes. That's okay. She could work with this. In fact, no clothes was an exaggeration. There were clothes here, just not her clothes. She breathed deeply again. She would just wear someone else's clothes, is all. That would do for now.
Until she could find the bleached undead asshole who had clearly hidden her clothes to sabotage her plan of hunting his ass down and staking him. Which she was so going to do as soon as she was dressed.
Kate dropped the bag of weapons onto the floor and went to the costume rack. Several of the costumes had already been removed, but there was one here that was her size. She took the red sequined dress off its hanger and quickly put it on, zipping up the side. It was very short, and there was a diamond-shaped cutout that showed her stomach, but it was better than nothing. The tag on the hanger said "Persephone." Well, Persephone would just have to do without her dress for a little while.
It actually kind of went with Kate's shoes.
She picked up the duffle bag again. It was really inconvenient to haul this thing around while vampire hunting. All she needed to be carrying was a stake. She glanced around the room and finally decided to leave the bag in here. Steve the terrorist would certainly never think of checking in the costume room for his bag of evil tricks, and she could come back to get it after she'd slain the vampire. She put the bag on a shelf next to a row of dance shoes, and it looked as if it belonged there. No one would suspect a thing. She finally picked up her stake and slipped out of the STAFF ONLY door, one thing on her mind.
Kate Lockley was going to dust herself a vampire.
Right after she got another drink.
***
"Do I hear six hundred thousand? Six hundred thousand from the gentleman with the horns, thank you. And that's six-fifty from the lovely betentacled lady down front. Do I hear six seventy-five? Thank you, sir. The bidding is at six hundred seventy-five thousand dollars. Do I hear seven hundred thousand for the disembodied head of Noor? Remember, the head of Noor comes complete with this beautiful marble mounting surface-- Seven hundred thousand? That's seven hundred thousand from the Goddess Yesca, thank you. Do I hear--"
Gunn was standing at the back of the auction room, his arms folded in front of his chest as he listened to the auctioneer. He may have the laws and languages of several different dimensions downloaded into his head, but these fancy demon get-togethers still always gave him the skin-crawlies. Why the hell would anyone want a three-foot disembodied head on display in their house, anyway?
Suddenly, the little earpiece Wesley had given him made a tiny beep in his ear. "Charles?" said Wesley. "Can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, English," said Gunn quietly, turning his back to the rest of the room, "and have I mentioned how much you owe me for this? I'm getting serious creep vibes from this crowd and these freaky-ass things we're selling them. Lot 28 just bid on itself."
"The head of Noor?" guessed Wesley.
"That's the one." Gunn shuddered.
"Don't pay it any attention, Gunn. Noor has been dead for almost six centuries. The voice is just an echo, an elaborate parlor trick. It isn't actually alive."
"And that's supposed to make it less nasty?"
"Ah. I suppose not. Anyway, there's something rather urgent that we need to discuss," Wesley replied.
Gunn turned toward the ongoing auction again with a sigh. "If it's about those damn fainting bots--"
"It's not," said Wesley. "I've just received a phone call from the LAPD. Apparently, there are terrorists aboard the ship."
Gunn's eyes widened. "What?!" he asked loudly, stunned. Several of the auction attendees turned in their seats to look at him.
The auctioneer pointed toward Gunn. "Seven hundred fifty thousand from the human gentleman in the back," he announced. "Do I hear seven seventy-five for the talking head of Noor?"
"Shit!" Gunn exclaimed.
"Well... yes," said Wesley. "It was quite a shock to me as well."
"You just made me bid on that big nasty head!" Gunn hissed.
"Oh," said Wesley. "Well, I don't see how the head of Noor would be particularly useful against terrorists, but..."
"No bids for seven seventy-five? Very well, going once," said the auctioneer.
"I am going to kill you," said Gunn. "Slowly. Painfully."
"Going twice," said the auctioneer.
"Real painfully, Wes. I'm talking the kind of pain that makes other pain run crying to its daddy. And then its daddy runs away crying. You get my meaning here?"
"You're making yourself perfectly clear," said Wesley calmly.
Just then, the talking head of Noor let out an impressive belch.
"And that's seven seventy-five from the large disembodied head on stage," the auctioneer announced. "The current bid is seven hundred seventy five thousand dollars. Do I hear--"
Gunn breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you, baby Jesus," he whispered.
"Did you win the head?" asked Wesley.
"No, and your ass better be grateful that six hundred year old nastiness can get gas. Now tell me about these terrorists."
***
Connor felt pretty horrible about being the bearer of such bad news. The director of "Hell Queen: A Love Story" had been tremendously upset when Connor told him about Jessica's tummy troubles. It was the first time Connor had ever seen a grown man cry over something not directly related to sports.
While Phil patted the director awkwardly on the shoulder, Connor had slipped out of the backstage area through the nearest door. It wasn't the same door he'd used to come in, and it led down a hallway he hadn't seen before. His first instinct was to go back through the door and leave the way he had come in, but he would feel sort of lame wandering around backstage like Spinal Tap after he'd already made his exit, so he just headed down this hallway. Persephone's souvenir and gift shop was up ahead on the left, and even further down was a staircase that he was fairly sure led down one level to the dance club, Tartarus. Oh, well. He would find his way back to the staterooms and Jessica eventually. He'd always had a pretty good sense of direction.
***
"You're telling me," Gunn said quietly, "that there's a naked white dude with a bag full of guns running around on this ship."
"Yes," said Wesley.
"And he's a terrorist. Named Steve."
"Yes," said Wesley.
Gunn turned away from the stage where a severed hand was being brought out for auction and began walking toward the safe room, intending to check on the Hermaion again. "You know," he said, "I had just been thinking to myself, trying to stop an apocalypse on a boat full of rich demons buying all kinds of skeezy dead shit ain't enough excitement for one night. I'm real glad I got you here to give me a closet full of fainting mechanical perverts and a naked terrorist named Steve."
"Glad I could help," Wesley replied dryly.
Gunn slipped inside the safe room. "So tell me this," he said, noting with some relief that all the remaining items still looked safe. "What the hell kind of name is Steve for a terrorist anyway?"
"Well, he's clearly using an assumed name," Wesley reasoned.
"Dude needs to assume some pants," retorted Gunn. "What kind of messed up terrorist organization sends out naked guys named Steve?"
"In the interest of full disclosure," said Wesley, "I feel I should mention that he is actually wearing socks."
"Socks?" said Gunn. "He's naked except for socks?"
"Black ones. Apparently, they were stolen."
"He's wearing stolen black socks."
"Well. Yes."
"Do we care about that?"
"I'm just giving you the information that was given to me."
"And where'd you get it from?" asked Gunn.
"An elderly woman named Agnes called the LAPD from Persephone's casino deck after another woman found some weapons hidden there. She was described as being 'scantily clad.'"
Gunn frowned. "An old lady called the police in her underdrawers?"
"No, the other woman was scantily clad. I understand that Agnes herself is fully clothed. Although the dress code aboard the ship this evening does appear to be somewhat more relaxed than usual..."
"Why did the LAPD call you?"
"We own them," Wesley reminded him. "As soon as they discovered Wolfram and Hart's involvement with Persephone, they called for permission to board the ship. They're awaiting my orders right now. I'd like to avoid police action tonight if we can, but I wanted to ask your opinion first; if you'd feel safer with them on the boat--"
"Wes. I just spent my Friday night schmoozing the evil forces of hell. While wearing a tux. You think I'm gonna be scared of one naked white guy named Steve?"
"It's settled, then," decided Wesley. "The LAPD will not be boarding the ship. I've already spoken with Captain Griffin, and he has orders to seal off the bridge. Persephone is in no danger of being hijacked. There is only the small matter of stopping the apocalypse..."
Gunn glanced over at the case where the Hermaion was still locked safely away. "Got it covered," he said.
"Have you activated any of the bots?" Wesley asked.
"Yeah, two."
"Just two?" Gunn could hear the frown in Wesley's voice. "Phlegethonites travel in clans of at least ten, Charles. Perhaps you should activate a few more."
"Chill out, Wes. I got those two guarding the door to the auction ballroom. If anything with blue hair tries to get in, I'll know in enough time to switch on a few more of your C3PO's."
After a brief pause, Wesley said, "They still make you uncomfortable."
"They stand too close," Gunn muttered. "I don't get why they're so... West Hollywood."
"It's something that has puzzled us in the lab for quite some time," Wesley agreed. "At first I thought it was a bad joke from the programming department, but I'm starting to believe it's because all the bots we produce are male. With no understanding of the dichotomous relationship between male and female within their own ranks, the bots simply don't recognize the difference. It's quite fascinating, really. But I think we've managed to erase those types of feelings from their programming."
Gunn begged to differ. "Why don't you just make some girlie-bots too?" he asked.
"Oh," said Wesley, "that had been on the agenda, but then Spike became recorporealized, so production was halted."
"Uh-huh," Gunn said slowly. "I'm not even gonna ask how that's related."
"Thank you," Wesley replied. "Now, I know that I said I don't want police boarding the ship, but I am a little concerned with this terrorist business. I'm sending a rescue boat to tail the Persephone until she docks again, just as a precaution. If anything does happen to the ship, there will be a smaller vessel nearby that can hold all of the passengers. It will be well within swimming distance. If you do need to abandon ship, just remember to take the Hermaion with you and make sure it's safe."
"Sure," said Gunn. "And by the way, this mission ain't getting more complex and disturbing by the minute at all. In case you were wondering."
"I do appreciate your help on this, Charles," Wesley said. "Believe me, you'll be compensated. I'll buy you something. The head of Noor has a cousin, I believe."
"You think you're funny," observed Gunn.
"I have my moments," Wesley agreed.
***
It had been a while since Spike had purposely killed anyone, but as the souled vampire stood naked in the last place he'd been clothed, hands on his hips, mouth pressed into a tight line, he contemplated the upshot of murder.
Solves your problems, it does. Quick. Efficient. Hell of a lot simpler than dodging an insane woman in a limited space for who knows how long while trying to remain inconspicuous (though naked) and scaring sick little girls half to death before watching them spew into a waste bin. None of this would have happened if he'd just killed the raving bint and been done with it.
And now this.
Spike's clothes were gone. After everything he'd endured to get here - all the squealing, groping, and arse-pinching (and hey, this was turning out a lot more like the last time he'd been naked on a boat after all) - he'd finally arrived back at the scene of the crime only to find that some sorry bastard had made off with not only his jeans and shirt, but his duster as well.
The thing about murder is it's so bloody easy. Makes it real tempting sometimes.
Well, he may not be a murderer anymore, but he sure as freaking hell wasn't going to just let this go. Oh, no. His coat was gone, and now someone was going to pay.
But he needed clothes before venturing out into the rest of the boat again. Even someone who enjoys a bit of arse-pinching now and then has his limits. Spike approached the costume rack, still pressing his lips together in frustration, and considered his narrow choices. There were only two costumes remaining: one was a white toga that would probably fit him, although it barely came down to mid-thigh, and the other was a long, brown robe that would probably drag the ground if he tried to wear it. Both had gold sequins in poofy patterns all over them.
With an irritated huff, Spike grabbed the little toga off of a hanger labeled "Hermes" and pulled it on. There wasn't much to it, leaving a lot of skin exposed, but it was better than going starkers. He tugged the hem down as far as he could. Bloody short, this thing.
Luckily, Spike's Docs were still where he'd left them. He pulled the heavy black boots onto his feet and tied the laces, knowing how ridiculous he must look in this costume with this particular choice of footwear but not caring in the slightest. He was on a mission now.
Finally clothed, Spike threw open the STAFF ONLY door and marched out of the costume room, dead set on tracking down a clothing thief.
***
At fifteen and a half years old, Zazz the Phlegethonite was the youngest demon currently on board the Persephone. His best friend Pezuzal had already turned sixteen, the age of majority in the underworld, which is why they were allowed to partner up on this important mission. If Pezuzal had been under sixteen as well, they both would have been stuck with older clan members as partners, and this whole thing wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.
Which isn't saying much, because it was already boring as hell. And they would know.
Zazz and Pezuzal were browsing through the boat's gift shop. What they were supposed to be doing was spying, trying to find out something useful about the ship's security or about that stupid necklace, but Pezuzal clearly had other things on her mind, and Zazz wasn't really that interested in bringing about the apocalypse either. He hadn't told his father Azra this, but his secret dream was to stay in LA and become a famous actor.
"What I don't understand," Pezuzal was saying, "is why the queen didn't run away with Hermes when she had the chance. I mean, she obviously didn't love the king. What was keeping her in the underworld in the first place?" She picked up a small ceremonial dagger and frowned at it. "Couldn't have been the weather," she reasoned. "And don't get me started on the public transportation system. If you want to ride a creepy little boat everywhere, just go to Venice, am I right?"
Zazz was flicking through a display of keychains with names engraved on them. As usual, he couldn't find one with his name. "I think it was the food," he said thoughtfully. "Didn't Hades trick her into eating something that meant she couldn't leave?" There wasn't a keychain with Pezuzal's name either. Figures.
She dismissed the topic with a hand gesture. "I never paid attention in history. I'm just saying that a place like LA is so much more awesome than where we come from." She sighed wistfully. "Don't you wish we didn't have to go back?"
"Yeah," said Zazz. "I really do." He sighed as well. Then he noticed the dagger she was holding. "That's cool," he said. "Are you going to get it?"
"Nah, I don't have any money." She made to put the dagger down, but he took it from her.
"You want me to get it for you?"
"You have money? I thought you used your last two coins to pay the ferryman."
"I'm an evil demon, right?" he said. "I could just, you know, walk out with it. Like, without paying."
Pezuzal rolled her eyes at him, taking the dagger back. She set it on the shelf where she'd picked it up. "Can't you at least try to be a little less stereotypical, Zazz? Geez. Next you'll be wanting to eat a dead person." Pezuzal, unlike most Phlegethonites, was morally opposed to eating human corpses. She was a vegetarian. One of the reasons the two were such close friends is because they were the only Phlegethonites in their clan that didn't eat human flesh, although it wasn't a moral thing for Zazz. He just didn't like the taste.
He was curious about the taste of vampire, though.
"Hey, I was thinking," said Zazz. "Instead of doing this whole apocalypse thing, which kind of blows, maybe we could hunt the vampire instead."
Pezuzal wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
"Well, the others pretty much have the necklace thing covered, right? So we could just bring back the vampire for the victory feast and... you know, impress everyone."
"We're not supposed to hunt vampires by ourselves," said Pezuzal.
"We're not by ourselves," Zazz pointed out. "We're together."
"I don't know..."
"Come on, Pez. It'll be fun."
"Yeah, but do you even know what to look for?" she asked. "I've never seen a vampire before. I don't think I would know one if I saw one."
"Well, Dad said this one was wearing all black and has on a long leather coat. So that narrows it down."
"We can't just go around attacking everybody wearing all black, Zazz," Pezuzal pointed out reasonably. "Some of them could be stage managers."
"I'm sure we'll be able to tell the difference," said Zazz. "Anyway, vampires smell funny."
"Fine," sighed Pezuzal. "If we come across anything wearing all black that doesn't smell human, I'll help you catch it. But this is a big boat, so the odds of that happening are..."
Just then, a young man in a long leather coat and wearing all black walked past the gift shop. He looked lost. And he smelled... funny.
"...better than I expected," finished Pezuzal slowly, staring after him.
Zazz broke into a wide grin, showing off all of his very pointy teeth.
***
Continued [here].
***
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 01:45 pm (UTC)The Gunn/Wesley convo had me in hysterics (very quiet hysterics, obviously).
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 02:40 pm (UTC)this story is always more fun!
Good work
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 03:16 pm (UTC)Glee!
The Gunn and Wes banter was sublimely awesome. I hurt myself grinning.
"The head of Noor has a cousin, I believe." heeeee
hurt! hurt!!
Poor Gunn.
Poor Riley.
Poor... everyone stuck in this story. :D
*rubs hands in glee*
My only regret is not being around to grope nekid!Spike when there was a chance. Still, short toga sounds properly minimal! WOO! :D
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:46 am (UTC)thanks! that hadn't been in the original plan, but i liked that i could work them in. of course, now there's sympathy for the bad guys, which is hard to work around...
Poor... everyone stuck in this story. :D
hehe, pretty much. *is evil* :D
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 07:42 pm (UTC)This made me laugh out loud: It was the first time Connor had ever seen a grown man cry over something not directly related to sports.
This, too: "You know," he said, "I had just been thinking to myself, trying to stop an apocalypse on a boat full of rich demons buying all kinds of skeezy dead shit ain't enough excitement for one night. I'm real glad I got you here to give me a closet full of fainting mechanical perverts and a naked terrorist named Steve." Gunn and Wesley are hysterical. Gunn's right, this isn't getting more and more complicated at all!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 04:24 am (UTC)Loving this so much!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 09:30 am (UTC)"You know," he said, "I had just been thinking to myself, trying to stop an apocalypse on a boat full of rich demons buying all kinds of skeezy dead shit ain't enough excitement for one night. I'm real glad I got you here to give me a closet full of fainting mechanical perverts and a naked terrorist named Steve."
Gunn/Wesley conversations just kill me.
Well, he may not be a murderer anymore, but he sure as freaking hell wasn't going to just let this go. Oh, no. His coat was gone, and now someone was going to pay.
*snort* What is it about vampires and their coats?
This is a hoot. Good work.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 12:19 pm (UTC)Lot 28 just bid on itself.
LOL! and this:
"Oh," said Wesley, "that had been on the agenda, but then Spike became recorporealized, so production was halted."
"Uh-huh," Gunn said slowly. "I'm not even gonna ask how that's related."
*dies*
Funny stuff. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-18 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 09:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 06:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-20 05:41 pm (UTC)Zazz and Pezuzal the teenaged Phlegethonites are pretty awesome. I find myself hoping that they'll somehow survive the story!
This story is just all-around wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 10:00 am (UTC)my favorite thing about the phlegethonites was naming them. is that weird? i just liked coming up with names that had Z's. azra, zazz, and pezuzal. heh. they're fun to say.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-21 06:57 pm (UTC)I love the two teen-demons, though I'm a little afraid about what Connor's going to do with them.
And hee to Spike in the Hermes outfit with his doccers. I do need a picture of that!
no subject
Date: 2009-07-14 08:46 pm (UTC)