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Call me Out

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Books. What are books good for?

But he nodded dutifully. "Aye. I'll find Fallon."

With his plate finished, he sat back again and marveled. It was a strange thing to have a voice, even a small one, in the company of lords, ladies, and wise maesters. He'd never get used to this. He also suspected he'd never live long enough to.

...Even if they left the Eyrie, she believed he still needed to learn certain things. If he was to claim his blood even in some tiny capacity, he would need to know words. Places. Maybe even histories. If his attitude towards food was any indication, she also suspected fee would require a steady hand to keep him from filling his lessons with the literary equivalent of sweets. She hat no doubt he would be like Arya: interested in all the wrong things.

But whose interests had turned out to be wrong in the end? Sansa frowned. All her fairy tales had failed her.

"I have my own things to pack," she announced, standing from her chair in one motion.

He watched her rise with mixed feelings. But there was little gained in objecting. So instead he licked the pit of tart off his thumb and stood.

"I should see to the forge. M'lord, m'lady." He nodded at each one respectively. "Thank you for the feast."

Hey. Hey. I didn't leave it behind, pal. That was Beast, running from the Adversary with his tail between his legs. But that's not the point. There's no curse.

[Or at least, there was no curse he was aware of. That was the sticking point.]

As for the way there... that's the tricky part. [Jack turns to Raven with his fingers steepled.] What do you know... about Santa Claus?

[Santa Claus?]

The fat guy from Christmas?

[Short of marketing around December, Raven's knowledge of the jolly man was limited. And given that he didn't even realize St. Nick was a Fable, Jack's train of thought seemed...derailed.]

Look, Jack, maybe it's better if we just keep heading North. At least we have something solid to go off there.

[Because "magic mirror", "homelands", and "Santa Claus" didn't really connect in any coherent way as far as the Native American was concerned.]

I want the treasure back as much as you do, dude, but this is starting to get ridiculous.

Ridiculous? You're starting to sound like a Mundy. [Jack rolls his eyes. In his approximation, Raven could be pretty stupid at times. Which is why he liked Raven. He wasn't smart enough to outsmart Jack and that was the kind of thing that was valuable in a relationship between scoundrels.]

Listen, back in the fifties, I managed to bust the big man's vault. That was just for his naughty or nice list. That was small bananas, though. The real jewel he has up at the Pole is a gateway back to the Homeworlds. The others have been closed or lead to places you don't want to be mixed up in. But that one? That's our winning ticket. But only if you've got the balls to get past his defenses.

So like you said. We keep heading north. Or we try to find goddamn Zorro.

[The name rolled off his tongue with purpose. There were many scoundrels out there, but Zorro was one that could out smart them both without even trying. His popularity with the Mundies only made it worse.]

Zorro? What does he-

[The realization dawned on Raven's face and he turned abruptly toward Jack.]

Zorro has our briefcase?!

[Beat.]

Er. Your briefcase.

[More importantly though, had it just slipped Jack's mind to mention this until now? No, Raven knew full well that Jack didn't "forget" things like this. That son of a bitch was calculating.]

And you think the only way to catch someone like Zorro is with a magic mirror.

[Raven couldn't exactly deny the claim, as he had no great ideas of his own. Still, Zorro? How he he learned of the treasure? It was squirreled away out of sight and it wasn't as if either of them went around bragging about--

Scratch that.]

...what exactly did you tell that woman you were with last night?

[Because obviously someone had heard about the contents of that briefcase.]

Edited 2013-12-15 01:21 (UTC)

She didn't have to patrol. Not anymore. These days, Buffy Summers -- Paramount Prophecy Girl and Slaymaster General -- had other girls to patrol for her. Hell, they needed the experience. But when the ever-accumulating paperwork and tricksome red tape of a new-born bureaucracy threatened all to overwhelm her, she escaped the stifling stone of Castle Summers. She took to the cobble streets of a small Scottish hamlet. She paced its side pavements until the comforting gloom of the boneyard greeted her at the town's far outer limits. The whole cemetery was raised from the one road leading out of town, and it stood in the shadow of a worn cathedral.

There were no fresh graves here. Everything on the cathedral's grounds had stood there for centuries. Even so, it gave her purpose. And you never know, she would off-handed tell Xander, there could be some serious reliquary jackpots under all that dirt. Someone's gotta make sure it's not getting pilfered.

So she walked between the old stones, hunched over as they were like old peoples' shoulders. Tilted and askew with time and weather and weight. She tested the give of the ground beneath her feet, and she talked out loud to the stars and to the pious statuary guarding the tombs of the graveyard's wealthier residents.

"Gee, Mister Featherton the Third," Buffy spoke to one particularly ornate stone -- fingers touching the carved name as she walked past and noted fresh flowers on the grave. "Someone cares about you. Surprising, seeing as how you died around the same time they invented the wheel."

Kids, she thought. Kids leaving wildflowers to scare other kids into believing ghost stories. But I know better, Buffy thought. I know the ghost stories are real.

Using a pair of night vision binoculars, the Satedean specialist watched as the blonde Slayer weaved her way from one grave to another. It was boring observation work, but you didn't approach just anyone about the fate of another galaxy without doing the proper homework first. With him was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Airforce. Both had received clearance from the British government to set up their own surveillance of Castle Summers, but only under the auspices of an MI6 agent who had filled an entire cabinet full of case files ever since the once abandoned castle had become occupied again.

Ronon didn't care about any of that. No, it had been talking to Riley Finn that had made him interested. This woman was a killer in every sense of the word. If what he heard was true, she'd even have given Teal'c, back when he still carried a symbiote, a run for his money. But she was still in her prime. Or so that's what he'd heard.

"You know, buddy, if this Wraith slaying thing doesn't work out for her, you could always go out on a date. Women love foreign guys." John's deadpan humor came with no smile, nor did he even look at Ronon to deliver the line.

"I'll pass," Ronon said. He looked to the MI6 Agent with them. She was a tightly wound kind of woman who seemed to be half special ops and half librarian. Apparently she was known to have connections to an organization known as the Watcher's Council before coming to work for the government's interests instead. Coincidentally around the same time a Goa'uld ship crashed into the Earth's ocean and was explained away as an unexpected meteor storm. "Did your people drop the package yet?"

She sat behind the hill, out of sight, and tabbed through her tablet to confirm the information. "The corpses should be en route soon."

John frowned. "Does any of this seem, I dunno, inhumane to you? I mean, sure, they're soulless corpse-demons doomed to walk the Earth. But the Irish one was pretty funny, even when he threatened to chew on my insides."

Ronon snorted. "If she's not the real deal, you can dust him yourself."

"Oh, well, thanks. I appreciate that."

The night was looking uneventful. Buffy hadn't really expected it to be anything but; however, her validated expectation came with a note of disappointment. The younger girls had all the fun, lately -- though Buffy would never dare to call it fun to their faces. When addressing them, she had to be Miss Doom'n'Gloom. She had to remind them of their birthright, of the opportunity they had, and of how fortunate they were to all be exceptions to an ancient rule. We are no longer one -- we are many.

She spun a gnarled wooden stake in her palm, and she hummed a few lines from a Britney Spears song. And then she stopped. It was like being plunged into an ice-bath, or else having a parade of spiders walk up her spine. Either way, the sensation was an intimate one. She knew it better than she knew a dozen other common-place sensations. Some of the girls who were just learning how to hone their senses understood it as the same shiver you got when someone walked over the future plot of your grave. Buffy only knew it as the immediacy of the undead.

"Really? Tonight? Here?" She announced to the old oak shading this corner of the yard. But for all the annoyance in her words, her voice held a wicked kind of delight. A delight she'd deny, given half a chance.

A trio of vampires swaggered out of the mist. Buffy threw up her arms in mock surrender, practically seducing the first to charge in and grab for her neck. He was dust within moments, and the second two circled wider. They were not stupid like their friend; they didn't want to rush into a slaying.

And so the show began.

Once she was distracted by the vampires, Ronon was on the move. Sheppard tried to grab his friend to stop him, but it was too late. He scowled and stood up and reading his P90, following just behind, but not nearly so quickly as Ronon.

She's good. Ronon watched as she took down the vampires almost as if it were a dance. Teyla had a certain elegance to her style of combat, but only in hand to hand gainst other humans. She never fought like this against wraith. They were faster and stronger than her. But this Slayer seemed to move with the vampires as if they were the slower ones. She's toying with them.

One. Two. Three. They all evaporated into dust. But there had been four. The fourth one was older and cleverer than the other three. He'd been the most dangerous of the lot. He should probably let her fight him off. The vampire propelled itself off a grave through the air, sailing through the air to take her from behind. So Ronon fired a single shot.

You can't shoot vampires, Riley had told him. They only die if you stake them, decapitate them, or expose them to sunlight.

That's what Finn had said. He hadn't expected Ronon's gun to have the raw power to simply remove the vampire's head cleanly off its body. It exploded into dust. Somewhere far behind him, John was rolling his eyes and muttering, "Show off."

Ronon twirled the gun in his hands before holstering it again. He'd always liked to make an entrance. But then John had made the mistake of introducing him to Westerns while they were stranded on Earth.

"Ugh...!"

The shot vampire -- whom Buffy certainly had missed and who certainly would have knocked her to the ground for at least a brief tussle -- had dusted into the wind, and most of that dust had spattered disgustingly onto her face and shoulders. And her hair, which she seemed genuinely upset about as she tried to furiously shake the remnants of her enemy from her high ponytail. "Wow. Interrupt, much?"

She fixed the gun-toting lug with a bit of a glare, barely registering his appearance beyond the hair and the gun. The freaking gun. Buffy tucked her stake into her back pocket and proceeded to waggle her finger at the gun's whole existence. "Don't you know this is a quiet neighbourhood? The crime rate is uber-low. Gunfire's gonna bring the bobbies down on us. Hard. Thanks for that, as if I haven't spent enough time in the local station."

"Bobbies?" he asked, suddenly having entirely lost the upper hand of their meeting.

Fortunately Sheppard caught up about then. He was disappointed to have missed the fighting and lowered his gun into a safety position. "She means police, big guy. It's a British-ism. For some reason."

Why can't this whole planet speak normal Alteran like the rest of the galaxy? But Ronon didn't dwell on Earth's oddities. "You don't need to worry about them. Those were good moves. Who taught you?"

And then there was another. God dammit, this was not her night. First, her contemplative (if a bit macabre) stroll was interrupted by vamps. And then her vamp-slaying was interrupted by...who? The guns made her suspicions jump into the paramilitary column.

She met the second man with a grimace and and a snap of her fingers, indicating that he would be correct. It was, indeed, a Britishism. For some reason. Though she herself was certainly about as British as a fourth of July firework.

"Thanks. Everything I know I got from Kung-Fu for Dummies. I'd say you ought to check it out at your local library, except you don't look like the library type. The both of you seem a little more army surplus."

She began to walk towards them, fully intending to petulantly shoulder her way between the two and continue on back to her castle. Raise the reveille. Get some thinkers on the question of who the hell is invading our turf with guns.

The attitude was something else. As if all of the combined snark and comebacks of John Sheppard and General Jack O'Neil had been condensed into one tiny Teyla-sized package. Woolsey was going to just love this one.

"I can't let you walk away," Ronon said as he stood squarely in her way. "We need you for something a little more important than pest control."

She had to tilt her chin rather high just to look the big guy in the face. The second -- the chiller one, as far as Buffy was currently concerned -- barely earned a second glance now that the first had made himself into her obstacle. God, but he was big. She noted that his arms were made up of the flesh-equivalent of four of hers. Maybe five. To others, that might have been intimidating. To Buffy, all she saw was a wall what needed a bit of busting.

"Look. I don't know if you're familiar with a little thing called self-governance but I'm not exactly out for hire by anyone. Especially not anyones with guns. I choose my own missions."

Ronon allowed himself the barest hints of a smug grin. "You're going to choose mine. You just don't know it yet."

Her size did not full him. Teyla defeated her foes by sheer skill and using gravity against larger foes. But Ronon could tell that she was fighting with a little more than that. He'd seen more than one Wraith Queen in a fight. They were small, but deceptively powerful. That was why he didn't dare take his eyes off her.

"...God, I really hate a cocksure man. They're loaded up with so many turn-offs you'd think the only things inside their thick skulls are drinking contests and the inability to put the toilet seat down."

Buffy took a step back, adjusted her chosen path, and tried once again to walk around him. For all the body language bravado, she was not prepared to lay a hand on the stranger. Not because of any moral code, but because she preferred her space to remain her own.

"The galaxy needs you," he said as he turned to watch her walk away. "Not this one. Mine."

Perhaps need was a strong word. No, he didn't expect she was vitally crucial to the plan. And if she turned out a bust, there was the other Slayer that had been around nearly as long as this one had. She was more of a loose cannon, according to Riley. And if not her, well, there was apparently a whole lot of them around the world now.

But Ronon would settle for nothing but the best.

Save a world, and next they'll come warning about the galaxy. Nevermind that the brute of a man implied some separate galaxy. Nevermind that she barely believed in aliens, suspecting most of those stories to just be cosmic demons with funny shaped heads.

But she was a sucker for the word: need. So her steps stopped a handful of feet away, but when she spun back to the two men, it was the second she addressed. "Is he for real? Are you sure I haven't just fallen asleep after watching too many b-movies and am now suffering at the hands of the peanut-butter-banana-anchovy quesadilla Dawn called me up just to demand I make? Because he just lost me at his galaxy."

"Well it's not my galaxy," John said almost defensively. "We already saved this one. Several times, actually. You think vampires are bad, let me tell you about Replicators--"

"My galaxy," Ronon repeated, if only to stop John from derailing them both. "You get once chance at this. You say no? We're gone. You won't see us again. But if you're in, you can do more than playing babysitter here."

"Someone has to play babysitter," she countered -- loath to admit just how dull it had become to be a den mother to teenage girls. Except for when it wasn't dull at all, and then it was just annoying.

Either way, it wasn't yet a no. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, US Airforce. Up over that hill is Agent Jane Hill from MI6. And the big guy here is-"

"Ronon Dex. Specialist of the Sateda Militia. Or I was, until the Wraith wiped out my planet," he said.

John looked to her almost sympathetically. "Look, I know this seems really far fetched. We usually like to hold out on the disbelief by throwing in a few more facts, sweeten the deal, possibly make it sound even more impossible. But if you want to go ahead and skip straight to the Beam Me Up, Scotty, we can go ahead and do that. You just have to promise not to smash anything."

This is why I should have brought Teyla, Ronon thought to himself. Even when he's not leading, he has to run the show.

Perhaps it didn't matter to Buffy who was trying to run the show -- after all, she breezed through her days fairly confident that she was the only one worth putting in charge. Because although she listened to Sheppard's spiel, it was Ronon's simple addition that snagged her attention and made her focus once again on him.

"What the heck is a Wraith?" It seemed like the most important piece of information buried in a whole lot of BS.

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