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brat_inslayage"Out of my way!" Kennedy yelled, shouldering three people aside in a panic-fueled frenzy the second the train car doors hissed open at her stop. She ignored the protests and accusations they shouted after her as she shoved her way across the platform and up the stairs, oh god, too fucking many people in her path.
It was three blocks from the station to Constance's apartment. It should barely have made her break a sweat, but Kennedy's heart was pounding and her breath ragged by the time she made it to the third floor and found the splintered wood in the hallway that said her guess had been right. Two steps into the living room, the acrid tang of blood hit her; she thought she'd be used to it by now, but she had to choke back bile. Blood was everywhere-- the floor, the walls, even up near the base of that stupid chandelier she'd always made fun of. That much blood, in that many places...
("How much does a vampire have to drink to kill you?" "Well, you see..." Seven years old, listening wide-eyed as Constance expounded on how much blood was in the human body. She never forgot that lesson.)
She thought she knew what she was in for. She didn't want to find out, but she had to.
"Oh, god." No, she hadn't been prepared for this. She wasn't the tough badass girl now. She didn't care. Who gave a rat's ass about being tough when she had to look all over the goddamned living room to find all of the woman who'd been her mentor for most of her life? "Oh, god, what did they--"
She saw a foot sticking out from behind the weapons chest and-- forcing herself not to think about what exactly Constance must have gone through, despite the evidence of it everywhere she looked-- moved over for closer inspection. A human figure, clad in a rough black monk's robe, blood puddling out onto the ground beneath it...
And, as Kennedy got close enough to get a good look, creepy arcane-looking scars where its (his?) eyes should have been. So Constance had gotten at least one of them. "Way to go," she murmured, and couldn't help a hysterical snort at how stupid that sounded. What the hell good had it done in the end?
She didn't have an answer for that, but she knew, when she heard police sirens screaming down the street, that they couldn't find her here. This was no run of the mill burglary, and there'd be questions, and--
"I'm sorry," she murmured shakily, eyes on Constance's body-- what parts of it were in her field of vision-- as she backed toward the door. "I'm so, so sorry."
She turned and ran.
***
Home was her first stop, but as soon as she climbed up the station steps and saw the squad cars parked outside her building she realized-- with a sick, sinking feeling that everything was spiraling out of control and she hated ever being out of control-- that she wasn't even going to be able to arm up. She wanted to go see what the hell had happened to her apartment, but something told her that would be a bad, no good, horrible, in-trouble-getting idea. Quickly, before anyone had a chance to spot her, she turned and headed south, absurdly grateful for her ability to maneuver through New York crowds.
The next station for the Lexington Avenue Express was just south of 60th Street, and she called her sister on the way.
"Hello?" came Jañe's voice on the other end of the line, and Kennedy realized belatedly that she'd been holding her breath, afraid no one would answer or she'd hear something awful when the call went through. That was dumb; she was panicking; why would someone be after her family?
"Hey. It's me," she said-- stupid shaky voice. She never sounded like this.
"Kennedy? Is something wrong?" Damn. She should have known her sister would notice. "Are you okay? What happened?"
She gritted her teeth and swerved around a street vendor. "Nothing. Listen, I'm fine, but you gotta do what I say, yeah?" Dad was still out of town, but-- "When your mom gets home, tell her you want to go out somewhere. I don't have time to explain--" and she was doing the exact same thing Constance had just done to her, wasn't she?-- "But I will, as soon as I can. Promise. Just go. Get out of town for a few days. Got it?"
"I'll tell her," Jañe said dubiously, "but you're all right, aren't you? You're going to be okay?"
She opened her mouth to say she would be, and hesitated. "I hope so," was what she settled on, "but I need to know you will be. Do what I said, okay?"
Jañe hesitated for an agonizing second or two before replying, "Okay. Be careful."
"Do my best. Love you, mija." Crossing her fingers that Jañe would listen, and hoping she wasn't freaking the kid out for no good reason (though god, it would be nice if she was, wouldn't it?), Kennedy hung up and ducked into the subway station.
***
It was a couple of hours later, in a coffee shop on the edge of Prospect Park, that Kennedy finally got herself together enough to figure out a plan. There had been that spell once, back in Bon Temps, that Queen Sophie-Anne had given them to figure out who killed Hadley. Her friends could do it again, couldn't they? Rinoa and Karla and Tara? Barring that, Wesley might know something, and he and Tara, at least, deserved to know what had happened. It was simple: she had to get back to Fandom, round up the cavalry, put them on the case. Hit the books, find a spell, get it done, just like they always did things. They'd find out about these black-robed freaks who'd done this and why, and then no one was going to stop her from making them pay.
She made a quick call to Portalocity, and there was no time to feel bad about haranguing the customer service rep who sounded like he'd had a Very Long Day already. Leaving a fifty on the table for her food, she slipped out and into the alley. Time to get the troops together.
***
Talk about insult to injury-- the portal kicked her out right back in Queens. Right outside the international terminal at LaGuardia and bare seconds later, to be specific, although Kennedy didn't care about specificity beyond the fact that this wasn't Fandom. Swearing a blue streak under her breath as a warmup for the bitching out she was going to give the Portalocity rep, she hitched the strap of her bag up on her shoulder and tried to dig her phone out of her pocket only to realize it was jammed up against her keys. When she finally wrenched it free, she dialed Portalocity again, held the phone to her ear, and--
We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is--
"Dammit, I don't have time for this!" she snarled, half on the verge of tears as she spun around and nearly walked right into the three people in her path.
Two girls, both of whom looked a couple of years younger than her or so, accompanied by an older man with glasses and the same sort of preoccupied, more-going-on-than-you-realize look in his eyes that Constance had always had... and to some degree, if she thought about it, Wesley, too.
"Sorry," Kennedy muttered sullenly, biting back an acidic comment that wasn't really in her right now anyway. Being tough and standoffish was a hard sell with puffy, red eyes, which--
"Say," observed the younger girl, the one with the pigtails and the lunchbox purse. "You're a right mess... everything all right?"
The older one-- all legs and posture and good breeding-- shot her a disapproving look. "Don't be nosy, Molly," she chided, glancing at Kennedy as if to say she doesn't mean to, really, she can't help herself.
Kennedy shrugged and looked Molly in the eyes, defiantly. "Whatever. I'm not even-- look, it's kind of hard to explain, but there's this place I'm trying to get to that--"
"Sunnydale? That where you're heading too?" Molly blurted out, not seeming to notice the other girl's exasperated reaction or their companion's wince. "Oh! Sorry, Mister Giles, Annabelle, it slipped out..."
Kennedy's attention veered sharply toward this Giles guy before Molly could finish stammering apologies. "You're going to Sunnydale."
Giles sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I wasn't planning on advertising it. no. Are you...?"
"Someone told me I should," Kennedy replied, her throat tightening again. "Wasn't planning on it, but..." She had meant Constance, but Xander had said it too, forever ago. Of course, she hadn't exactly asked for details. Fucking twenty-twenty hindsight. "Can't really ask for a second opinion now."
Annabelle and Molly exchanged wary, curious glances as Giles cast a look around the terminal and moved a step closer to Kennedy, who tensed instinctively.
"Watcher?" he asked in a low voice.
Kennedy nodded. "Constance Aluko," she answered, and at the flash of recognition--and grief, even-- in his eyes went on. "I was on my way to meet her, and..."
"Were you attacked?" he cut in, still quietly.
She shook her head. "No. I... found her." And just saying that was enough to bring the visual memory back, so vividly she closed her eyes... not that it helped. "Hey-- how'd you know...?"
Giles inclined his head toward Annabelle and Molly. "It's happening everywhere," he answered, "and you're not safe here. You need to come with us."
They were Potential Slayers too? Still, Kennedy, balking, shook her head. "I need to find my friends," she protested, although she could feel her stubbornness draining out of her with every word. Not that she thought they couldn't handle it, but... "This is a big thing, huh?"
"Bigger than anything that's ever happened before," Giles replied.
Kennedy looked down at the phone in her hand, the speed dial screen open and her thumb hovering over Tara's number. Biting her lip, she tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear: three rising tones, then that overly cheery recorded voice. She tried Karla, then Sookie, then Bobby. Rose. Dru. Dinah. Same thing.
Well. Shit. She'd just about given up on this day ever really happening, and she'd never expected it to happen like this. On one hand, if something big was about to go down, that was exactly where she wanted to be; on the other hand, she'd just thought she'd be more excited about it when the time came. With a wrenching sensation in her gut she thought of the college classes she'd meant to start like she'd promised, and eight-year-old Adrienne in her self-defense class who was just starting to really get the hang of things, and the whole normal-life thing she'd been easing into; her shoulders sagged, and she nodded.
"Then I guess that's where I need to go." Constance must have known something was up, but she hadn't said. Kennedy could almost be mad at her for it, but right now she was too tired and the thought of her Watcher just hurt. "No time to go home and grab my stuff, huh?"
Giles shook his head, a rueful almost-smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "The longer we stay..."
"The more we're sitting ducks. Got it." Maybe there was something wrong with her, but she was too numb to want to make a fight of it.
He patted her on the shoulder. "Let's go catch a plane, shall we?"
***
Half an hour later (and Kennedy had to hand it to Giles for his persuasive skills at the ticket counter, way more finesse-y than hers but super effective) they were sitting on the tarmac waiting to take off; in the row behind her Molly was already chattering up a storm at Annabelle. Any minute now the pilot would tell them to shut off the electronics, but before he did?
Heading for Sunnydale, she tapped into a mass text message. Shit just got super mega real. Big stuff going down. Keep in touch if I can. Love you guys.
She hit send, and prayed like she hadn't in years that it would go through, then shut the phone off and pocketed it. Looking out the window, she got one last good eyeful of her city and blew out a long breath. "And here we go."
[[warning for fairly gruesome npc character death. part 2 of 2. i'd like to give![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glacial_witch a shoutout for helping me tweak some things in this post, and by the way it was her suggestion that i break this up into two parts, so blame her for that. if you think kennedy would've sent you the text message, she did; this one will go through, but unless otherwise noted in future posts she'll be out of contact until this is all over. nfi, nfb, ooc okay. ic replies okay too, i suppose, though she won't get them. to be continued tomorrow...]]
It was three blocks from the station to Constance's apartment. It should barely have made her break a sweat, but Kennedy's heart was pounding and her breath ragged by the time she made it to the third floor and found the splintered wood in the hallway that said her guess had been right. Two steps into the living room, the acrid tang of blood hit her; she thought she'd be used to it by now, but she had to choke back bile. Blood was everywhere-- the floor, the walls, even up near the base of that stupid chandelier she'd always made fun of. That much blood, in that many places...
("How much does a vampire have to drink to kill you?" "Well, you see..." Seven years old, listening wide-eyed as Constance expounded on how much blood was in the human body. She never forgot that lesson.)
She thought she knew what she was in for. She didn't want to find out, but she had to.
"Oh, god." No, she hadn't been prepared for this. She wasn't the tough badass girl now. She didn't care. Who gave a rat's ass about being tough when she had to look all over the goddamned living room to find all of the woman who'd been her mentor for most of her life? "Oh, god, what did they--"
She saw a foot sticking out from behind the weapons chest and-- forcing herself not to think about what exactly Constance must have gone through, despite the evidence of it everywhere she looked-- moved over for closer inspection. A human figure, clad in a rough black monk's robe, blood puddling out onto the ground beneath it...
And, as Kennedy got close enough to get a good look, creepy arcane-looking scars where its (his?) eyes should have been. So Constance had gotten at least one of them. "Way to go," she murmured, and couldn't help a hysterical snort at how stupid that sounded. What the hell good had it done in the end?
She didn't have an answer for that, but she knew, when she heard police sirens screaming down the street, that they couldn't find her here. This was no run of the mill burglary, and there'd be questions, and--
"I'm sorry," she murmured shakily, eyes on Constance's body-- what parts of it were in her field of vision-- as she backed toward the door. "I'm so, so sorry."
She turned and ran.
***
Home was her first stop, but as soon as she climbed up the station steps and saw the squad cars parked outside her building she realized-- with a sick, sinking feeling that everything was spiraling out of control and she hated ever being out of control-- that she wasn't even going to be able to arm up. She wanted to go see what the hell had happened to her apartment, but something told her that would be a bad, no good, horrible, in-trouble-getting idea. Quickly, before anyone had a chance to spot her, she turned and headed south, absurdly grateful for her ability to maneuver through New York crowds.
The next station for the Lexington Avenue Express was just south of 60th Street, and she called her sister on the way.
"Hello?" came Jañe's voice on the other end of the line, and Kennedy realized belatedly that she'd been holding her breath, afraid no one would answer or she'd hear something awful when the call went through. That was dumb; she was panicking; why would someone be after her family?
"Hey. It's me," she said-- stupid shaky voice. She never sounded like this.
"Kennedy? Is something wrong?" Damn. She should have known her sister would notice. "Are you okay? What happened?"
She gritted her teeth and swerved around a street vendor. "Nothing. Listen, I'm fine, but you gotta do what I say, yeah?" Dad was still out of town, but-- "When your mom gets home, tell her you want to go out somewhere. I don't have time to explain--" and she was doing the exact same thing Constance had just done to her, wasn't she?-- "But I will, as soon as I can. Promise. Just go. Get out of town for a few days. Got it?"
"I'll tell her," Jañe said dubiously, "but you're all right, aren't you? You're going to be okay?"
She opened her mouth to say she would be, and hesitated. "I hope so," was what she settled on, "but I need to know you will be. Do what I said, okay?"
Jañe hesitated for an agonizing second or two before replying, "Okay. Be careful."
"Do my best. Love you, mija." Crossing her fingers that Jañe would listen, and hoping she wasn't freaking the kid out for no good reason (though god, it would be nice if she was, wouldn't it?), Kennedy hung up and ducked into the subway station.
***
It was a couple of hours later, in a coffee shop on the edge of Prospect Park, that Kennedy finally got herself together enough to figure out a plan. There had been that spell once, back in Bon Temps, that Queen Sophie-Anne had given them to figure out who killed Hadley. Her friends could do it again, couldn't they? Rinoa and Karla and Tara? Barring that, Wesley might know something, and he and Tara, at least, deserved to know what had happened. It was simple: she had to get back to Fandom, round up the cavalry, put them on the case. Hit the books, find a spell, get it done, just like they always did things. They'd find out about these black-robed freaks who'd done this and why, and then no one was going to stop her from making them pay.
She made a quick call to Portalocity, and there was no time to feel bad about haranguing the customer service rep who sounded like he'd had a Very Long Day already. Leaving a fifty on the table for her food, she slipped out and into the alley. Time to get the troops together.
***
Talk about insult to injury-- the portal kicked her out right back in Queens. Right outside the international terminal at LaGuardia and bare seconds later, to be specific, although Kennedy didn't care about specificity beyond the fact that this wasn't Fandom. Swearing a blue streak under her breath as a warmup for the bitching out she was going to give the Portalocity rep, she hitched the strap of her bag up on her shoulder and tried to dig her phone out of her pocket only to realize it was jammed up against her keys. When she finally wrenched it free, she dialed Portalocity again, held the phone to her ear, and--
We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is--
"Dammit, I don't have time for this!" she snarled, half on the verge of tears as she spun around and nearly walked right into the three people in her path.
Two girls, both of whom looked a couple of years younger than her or so, accompanied by an older man with glasses and the same sort of preoccupied, more-going-on-than-you-realize look in his eyes that Constance had always had... and to some degree, if she thought about it, Wesley, too.
"Sorry," Kennedy muttered sullenly, biting back an acidic comment that wasn't really in her right now anyway. Being tough and standoffish was a hard sell with puffy, red eyes, which--
"Say," observed the younger girl, the one with the pigtails and the lunchbox purse. "You're a right mess... everything all right?"
The older one-- all legs and posture and good breeding-- shot her a disapproving look. "Don't be nosy, Molly," she chided, glancing at Kennedy as if to say she doesn't mean to, really, she can't help herself.
Kennedy shrugged and looked Molly in the eyes, defiantly. "Whatever. I'm not even-- look, it's kind of hard to explain, but there's this place I'm trying to get to that--"
"Sunnydale? That where you're heading too?" Molly blurted out, not seeming to notice the other girl's exasperated reaction or their companion's wince. "Oh! Sorry, Mister Giles, Annabelle, it slipped out..."
Kennedy's attention veered sharply toward this Giles guy before Molly could finish stammering apologies. "You're going to Sunnydale."
Giles sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I wasn't planning on advertising it. no. Are you...?"
"Someone told me I should," Kennedy replied, her throat tightening again. "Wasn't planning on it, but..." She had meant Constance, but Xander had said it too, forever ago. Of course, she hadn't exactly asked for details. Fucking twenty-twenty hindsight. "Can't really ask for a second opinion now."
Annabelle and Molly exchanged wary, curious glances as Giles cast a look around the terminal and moved a step closer to Kennedy, who tensed instinctively.
"Watcher?" he asked in a low voice.
Kennedy nodded. "Constance Aluko," she answered, and at the flash of recognition--and grief, even-- in his eyes went on. "I was on my way to meet her, and..."
"Were you attacked?" he cut in, still quietly.
She shook her head. "No. I... found her." And just saying that was enough to bring the visual memory back, so vividly she closed her eyes... not that it helped. "Hey-- how'd you know...?"
Giles inclined his head toward Annabelle and Molly. "It's happening everywhere," he answered, "and you're not safe here. You need to come with us."
They were Potential Slayers too? Still, Kennedy, balking, shook her head. "I need to find my friends," she protested, although she could feel her stubbornness draining out of her with every word. Not that she thought they couldn't handle it, but... "This is a big thing, huh?"
"Bigger than anything that's ever happened before," Giles replied.
Kennedy looked down at the phone in her hand, the speed dial screen open and her thumb hovering over Tara's number. Biting her lip, she tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear: three rising tones, then that overly cheery recorded voice. She tried Karla, then Sookie, then Bobby. Rose. Dru. Dinah. Same thing.
Well. Shit. She'd just about given up on this day ever really happening, and she'd never expected it to happen like this. On one hand, if something big was about to go down, that was exactly where she wanted to be; on the other hand, she'd just thought she'd be more excited about it when the time came. With a wrenching sensation in her gut she thought of the college classes she'd meant to start like she'd promised, and eight-year-old Adrienne in her self-defense class who was just starting to really get the hang of things, and the whole normal-life thing she'd been easing into; her shoulders sagged, and she nodded.
"Then I guess that's where I need to go." Constance must have known something was up, but she hadn't said. Kennedy could almost be mad at her for it, but right now she was too tired and the thought of her Watcher just hurt. "No time to go home and grab my stuff, huh?"
Giles shook his head, a rueful almost-smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "The longer we stay..."
"The more we're sitting ducks. Got it." Maybe there was something wrong with her, but she was too numb to want to make a fight of it.
He patted her on the shoulder. "Let's go catch a plane, shall we?"
***
Half an hour later (and Kennedy had to hand it to Giles for his persuasive skills at the ticket counter, way more finesse-y than hers but super effective) they were sitting on the tarmac waiting to take off; in the row behind her Molly was already chattering up a storm at Annabelle. Any minute now the pilot would tell them to shut off the electronics, but before he did?
Heading for Sunnydale, she tapped into a mass text message. Shit just got super mega real. Big stuff going down. Keep in touch if I can. Love you guys.
She hit send, and prayed like she hadn't in years that it would go through, then shut the phone off and pocketed it. Looking out the window, she got one last good eyeful of her city and blew out a long breath. "And here we go."
[[warning for fairly gruesome npc character death. part 2 of 2. i'd like to give
glacial_witch a shoutout for helping me tweak some things in this post, and by the way it was her suggestion that i break this up into two parts, so blame her for that. if you think kennedy would've sent you the text message, she did; this one will go through, but unless otherwise noted in future posts she'll be out of contact until this is all over. nfi, nfb, ooc okay. ic replies okay too, i suppose, though she won't get them. to be continued tomorrow...]]![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 12:50 am (UTC)[ooc: MEEEEEEP.]
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 12:58 am (UTC)You could always count on Wes for solid advice.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 01:21 am (UTC)It took her a moment to shake off the grogginess but once she did, she stared at the picture in dread. The surrounding details were rough but still recognizable as body parts strewn on the floor. But it was the figure she'd drawn that was looking at them in horror that had Dru worried.
The last time she'd done something like this, her father had wound up dead. Dru hoped it wasn't too late to warn Kennedy. Still staring at the picture, she reached for the phone she'd brought from Fandom the week before.
"Shit," she muttered when she saw the text.
Be careful she sent back, wishing like hell she was in a position to help.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 02:59 am (UTC)let me know if I can help, honey. you'll be in my prayers otherwise. love you. take care!!!!!
And clearly that was all the sleep she was going to be getting tonight. And after an attempt at studying, Sookie decided her time not sleeping tonight would be spent mainlining her Wendy the Werewolf Stalker DVDs
without a trace of ironyand worrying.no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 03:25 am (UTC)I am sorry I was not able to see you while you were here. Please be careful, and if there is any way I can help, let me know.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-25 07:10 am (UTC)She waited and waited and waited for a reply. And tried to convince herself that Kennedy was just too busy to call back.