keepsmehonest | Luceti Appointment Post!

GEORDIE--

Wondering if we could meet up for coffee tonight. Nothing too serious -- just some housekeeping. How does 6PM sound? Meet me outside the bar. Dress warmly.

--BUFFY SUMMERS

[The note in the journal seemed almost fortuitous. Jilly hadn't been by the apartment for two days now. And she hadn't been in any time he went by her house. He was growing concern.

Meeting up with Buffy had been in his mind regardless.]

Buffy,

I'll be there.

Geordie.

So there the Slayer stood. Two travel mugs on hand and a scarf wound tightly around around her neck. The bottom half of her face. Draped over her shoulders. It was a very long scarf. Buffy stamped her feet to drum up warmth and -- every so often -- nudged her toes against her favoured red-metal scythe as it stood against the bar's outer wall.

And she peered at every figure passing by in the growing darkness.

He wasn't dressed nearly as warming. Then again, Geordie was northern New York born and bred. Cold winters were something of a custom to him and the clothing available here was far better than some of the threadbare pieces he still insisted on using back in Newford. But still, he wore a jacket and a scarf that hung from his neck. Hat and gloves had been forgotten.

Because of that, he rubbed his hands together as he neared Good Spirits. Perhaps it had been a little dumb on his part, but he was otherwise occupied. Upon seeing the woman, he offers the best of friendly grins he can muster at the moment.

"Hey, Buffy."

"Geordie!"

Her smile wasn't as sincere as she might have hoped. But she did, at least, offer him one of those travel mugs. "I hope you like lots of cream and sugar in yours. And caramel. I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, so I just went and ordered for you."

"I've never had caramel in it before," he answered with a slight grin as he accepted the mug. That had been mostly because he couldn't afford it. Neither could Jilly or most of their friends. The same with cream. But the sugar, he'd live with. Normally, he'd only use one teaspoon in his own mug. But with Jilly's cowboy coffee, the product of reused rinds, he always used two.

"Thanks, though." Geordie took a long sip and tried not to grimace too much at how sweet it was. "It's kind of a Riddell tradition. In times of crisis, make and drink lots of coffee."

"...The Ridell and Summers families have much in common, then."

Buffy drank deep. This wasn't going to be a happy walk, she feared. But the first step was the hardest. She stepped it with grace.

Geordie smirked a little at that, not bothering to correct her. For him, it's not so much a Riddell family tradition as a Riddell brothers tradition. He doubted his parents had any kind of worthwhile traditions.

He began to walk beside her. The silence is almost comfortable. Almost. But it doesn't make the worry die down. "Has Jilly been sick?"

"That's...kinda why I called you up, Geordie."

Buffy pursed her lips and did nothing -- for a moment -- but suck in the heat of her drink and idly spin her scythe on her shoulder. "I'm hoping Jilly explained the occasional...absences once can have, here."

She didn't want to say kidnapped.

She had mentioned something of the sort. In their very first discussions after his arrival, she had told him about all the various ways the Malnosso used them.

He hadn't liked any of it.

Geordie stopped walking and turned to stare at the woman. His eyes narrowed, his look incredulous. A look that quickly becomes angry despite knowing it wasn't Buffy's fault. Finally, it settled on fear.

"She was kidnapped?"

...The Slayer was prepared to take the brunt of the man's anger with her chin up and her eyes unwavering. There were few people who possessed anger enough to make her so much as stumble -- especially when she understood that their feelings were natural. Necessary. And not directed at her -- not really. Needling him on the account would only make it worse.

So she turned on her heel and watched him carefully.

"Kidnapped," Buffy echoed. "At first I thought she was just off a-rambling 'cause, well...you don't need me to tell you what Jilly's like. But she'd gotten into the habit of telling me when she left. Every time. Just in case. So I'm thinking a little sojourn with our keepers is exactly what's up."

A deep breath. This was the lie she didn't want to give: "She will be back."

But what assurance did she have of that? Willow had just went home during a kidnapping.

He knows all too well what Jilly's like. Geordie's lost count of the number of nights he's spent wandering the streets of Newford with his best friend. Or the number of nights he's gone out looking for her when she hasn't been home.

But tonight, it doesn't bring a smile to his face like it normally would. That pit of worry continues to build in his stomach. Hearing that she will be back does little to reassure him.

Geordie shakes his head, not really sure where to begin. "Tell me there's something we can do."

"Geordie."

Buffy's shoulders slumped. "I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could tell you that we could all ride in and rescue her. Only...only I've been here so very long and that's never been allowed except for one time when it suited the Organization's needs."

His own shoulders slump and he's nearly tempted to send the coffee mug flying. But that would be giving in to his temper, the same temper he hated his father for having. And Buffy doesn't deserve it. She cares for Jilly same as him.

Even though Geordie already knows the response, he can't stop himself but asking anyway: "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she pointed at the path ahead of them, "except for this. Being out here and prepared to find her when she comes back. I'm doubling my patrols. It.."

It doesn't make her feel useful</>. "It's a little like tricking yourself into thinking you're not doing nothing. If you follow that logic."

He can understand that. It's a coping mechanism more than anything, like the way he plays his fiddle during times of stress just for the reassurance.

It's not such a bad idea.

"Where do they usually leave the people they return?"

"Anywhere. So I figure her waking up in her own bed or in an aisle at the grocery store isn't the worst case scenario. But the woods? When it's getting colder and colder? That's where I focus my efforts."

That really doesn't help the pit building in his stomach. He's been out in those woods a few times since coming here, usually on a stroll with Jilly. He wouldn't want to go out at night.

"Good idea," Geordie finally replies after taking a few more calming sips of the coffee. "Thanks, by the way. For letting me help."

"You have as much a right to search as I do. More so, really."

But she'd hate to send him out alone. "There's no need to thank me."

"I'm man enough to admit when I'm not good at something." Were it not for Jilly's absence and news of her probably kidnapping, the tone would have been much more amused. But it's still somewhat light. "If I had gone out to try and find her on my own at night, you'd just have another missing persons case on your hands."

"...The boy has a brain." A sly, sideways look. There aren't many souls in Luceti so willing to admit to their weaknesses as well as their strengths -- Buffy included.

"Well. You could use the muscle and I could use the company. Kidnapping patrols are the loneliest of all."

His eyebrows raise. "Hey, I'm a proud owner of a G.E.D."

An accomplishment he's very proud of, given that running away from home at fifteen also meant dropping out of high school.

But his look turns more sincere and he nods. He can imagine just how lonely searching for an kidnapped friend could be, even if he wish he couldn't. "I'd also be happy to join you any time you want."

"Be careful with your offers, Geordie. Or I'll be calling you up even after she's back."

It was an empty threat, really. Buffy treasured the alone time her patrols offered her. It wasn't that she resented sharing it with someone -- for Geordie was certainly welcome now. But she didn't actually require company on a normal night.

Of course, tonight wasn't a normal night.

It would be easier to stay as gloomy and morose as he felt. And a large part of him wanted to. Jilly was missing - no, kidnapped by the Malnosso for some crazy experiment that was being conducted against her will. But Geordie generally had little patience for the sad and gloomy, and that included himself.

So he attempts another wry chuckle. "Desiring your very own travelling minstrel?"

"Hey. It worked for the warriors of old, didn't it? I sometimes think it wouldn't be too gauche to -- say -- have my very own ballad about me."

"I've dabbled in composing once or twice." He pauses to take a sip of the coffee concoction. "Never tried a ballad though."

"Give it time. Perhaps you'll get bored enough between the Shifts, here, to give a go..."

"The Ballad of Buffy..." Geordie frowns slightly, trailing off. "Come to think of it, I don't know your last name."

"...Summers. It's Summers. So: The Ballad of Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer. It has a ring."

It feels good to laugh a little, even despite the worry he feels. "The Ballad of Buffy Summers, Vampire Slaywer. I like it."

"Just...try not to teach it to Jack. I somehow think I'd never live that down."

Humour was needed, in these moments. Humour could be clasped around you like armour.

"Jack," he mused, bending his arm to scratch the back of his head, "is a very interesting man."

He still wasn't certain if he liked him. No matter how much the pirate seemed to care for Jilly. First impressions could be lasting.

"...Interesting only covers about half of it," she said -- surprising dryly, one might think, for a woman purported to be in love with this man. "Let's just say that he, too, has a musical soul. Only not always so endearing."

Geordie snorted lightly, and maybe just a little bit doubtfully. But not wanting to offend the man's girlfriend, he kept back any unkind retort and asked instead, "Is Jack a musician, too?"

"Jack's...a hummer. And a singer of great gusto, if not the clearest voice."

But Buffy had come to love the rough gravel Jack brought to every new song. And the way he wandered from one folk piece to the next. Sea shanties and things of his own design.

"His father, I think, plays the guitar."

"Sometimes all that matters is the pleasure you get out of the music," he answers slowly. "I'd rather listen to the worst voice singing with the greatest zeal than an impassioned but lovely voice any day. That's what music should be about. Not how good you are or what the composer intended, but what you the listener or musician get out of it. You can't really do that with other fields of art."

"Surely it's also about having something to sing about. For."

Her question was carefully phrased and she eyed him warily as she asked it. Buffy rarely found herself prepared -- emotionally -- to sing a single note. She hardly hummed, except when legitimately happy. Or blind drunk. It was yet another reason she loved Jack's clumsy bars: he could find something song-worthy in anything.

He shrugs, hearing the question in there. He can understand how some people tend to be more hesitant. Geordie had been extremely shy in his younger years, only losing that shyness when he was really able to lose himself in his music. Being friends with Jilly had also helped.

"For me, the joy of song tends to be enough."

"...I guess that's what makes you a musician and me a -- well, whatever I am. These days."

"...are there any vampires here to kill?"

"There was. There used to be. Though you don't kill a vampire. You slay it." This, it seemed, was a point of importance to the Slayer. "You can't kill what's already dead.

Of course, Spike's still here. But he only semi-counts."

"Spike?"

"Spike. Vampire? Sure. But one of the rare...not-wholly-evil kinds. So rare that there's only been two."

And Buffy Summers has dated both of them. Yawn.

"He's in town but he's not really on the stakeable-list."

Edited 2012-12-17 19:13 (UTC)

He falls quiet for a few seconds, not exactly certain how to deal with this bit of information. Sure, he knew that Buffy claimed to be a vampire slayer. Okay. But assertions of actual living, breathing (did vampires even breathe?) vampires seemed to be something else entirely.

Like meeting a walking, fiddle playing skeleton, this kind of statement was the type to adversely affect his world view in a way he really didn't like.

"I'll, um, keep an eye out for him."

"You can hardly miss him. Peroxide blonde. Painfully British. Pale. He's obnoxious but not...dangerous. Not to people."

Not to people who aren't me.

Luceti Appointment Post!

[ november 10th ; written ]

[ november 10th ; written ]

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i like prose!

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