FIC: Ashes05-Cryptic (2/2)

[Mad Hamlet <Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx>]

Caritas was not that hard to find. It took a nearly an hour to walk back to
that part of the darker half of LA but that was about the only problem she
had. She eased through the entranceway. She worked her way through the various
clientele, intent on reaching the bar. That was until she heard a specific
voice. 

"It's been three years!"

"I know. I know and I wish I could help, but you've come here and sang and
sang and sang and I still see nothing. You could probably sing a karaoke
version of 'The Three Tenors' and nothing would change."

"But she has to be somewhere!" The first voice spoke again.

'Angel.' The name flashed across her mind and instinct took over. She darted
for a dark corner and tried to get lost in the crowds. 

"Maybe. Maybe not." The Host shrugged. "I don't read the future Angel. AllI
can tell you is what I see. And everytime you come here, sing a song and then
ask about finding Faith all I can tell you is that I see the same thing over
and over again."

Angle slammed his fist onto the bar cracking the top. "I'm adding that to
your tab." The Host pointed out. 

"What does the image of 'black feathers' mean?" Angle snarled ignoring the
slight chastisement. 

The Host reached for a glass and began polishing it, it didn't need it butit
was something to do. "I don't know Angel. I've asked around y'know. I don't
just stick to this aura reading stuff. True, it's a defeinite bonus but..."He
sighed. "I'm just the messenger, not the message."

"Fine." Angle said in a clipped voice. "She kills them, butcheres them and
all anyone can tell me is 'That she's in LA' somewhere. From you I get 'black
feathers' and from every other source of scrying and 'third eye' mumbo jumbo
is 'the sound of wings'."

"And the number three." The Host added.

"It was Three. Two days ago, third anniversery of...of.." He rubbed his eyes.


"Yeah. Yeah I know. You told me. I heard too. Man, what that dark slayer did.
Gave even some of my demonic clientle the creeps."He set the glass down. 

"Look." He leaned on his elbows moving closer to Angel. "I'll ask around
again. Maybe something's come up, I've gotten a few more contacts in the last
few weeks, maybe one of them heard something."

"Sure." Angel nodded. He examined his drink carefully. It was orange with a
tiny umbrella. He picked up the decoration and carefully closed his hand into
a fist, crushing the fragile paper and snapping the wire thin pieces of wood.
Then opening his hand he allowed the crushed umbrella, now pulpled into a
splintered lump, fall to the floor. He ground it underfoot. 

"Feel better?" The Host asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No." Angel replied.

"If I let you kill every demon in this place and pull my bar down around my
ears, think that would make you feel better?"

Angel shook his head. "Probably not."

"Go home Angel." The Host sighed. "Be with your friends. I'm sure this
anniversery is still hitting them pretty hard."

"Cordy hasn't come out of her room for days." Angel said. "This time of 
year, she just vanishes for a while."

"If anything comes up I'll be in touch." The Host said.

"You won't be too offended if I reply 'I won't hold my breath'?" Angel
asked.

"You don't breathe." The Host pointed out.

Angel gave a short nod and, without a word, spun about and worked his way to
the exit.


She watched him leave from her corner in the dark. A slight weight settledon
her left shoulder and she could feel It's talons sinking into the material of
her jacket. She began to shoulder her way past the other 'people', steadily
moving toward the bar. It never lost It's balance.

The Host had his back to the rest of the bar, he had just recieved a large
list of rather exotic drinks and was rushing to gather the required
ingridiants. 

"Just had to have Wallaby Eye, didn't you." He grumbled. "I don't see the
point. An olive is just as good but do these demons ever listen? Nooo..it's
always something fancy." He heard a familiar 'squeak' behind him.

"Aha." He said aloud without turning around. "You must be new here, or you
have a problem."

"How can you tell?" The redhead asked softly. 

"Easy." The Host said pushing some bottles out the way. "Everybody who know's
this place know's that's the 'I Want to Sing Next Cause I Have a Problem So
The Host Will Read My Aura And Help' stool." 

"Long name." She answered.

"Well the abreviation 'IWTSNCIPSTHWRMAAH' doesn't really flow of the tounge
either." He paused. "And I think it's very insulting thing to say in Thornian.
Not sure. First and last time I used it a Thorn demon overheard and broke down
a wall."

"So you think I have a problem?" She said.

The Host was now on his hands and knees poking about a cupboard under the
sink still looking for ingridiants. "I know you do." 

"And for your help I have to sing so you can read my aura?" 

"Yep." He said. "Aha! Found you." He pulled the bottle of Wallabye Eyes from
it's place deep in the cupboard.

"What if I have no songs?" She asked, more to herself than anyone else.

"Don't be silly." The Host said climbing to his feet. "Of course you..." He
finally looked at her. At her white face, black smile, and her black tears.

"... have songs." He finished lamely. With a quiet sound of
wings It hopped off the redheads shoulder and landed on the bar. The Host
involuntarily took a step backwards. He glanced from the black bird to the
girl, and back the the bird. His jaw worked a few times but no sound came out.


"Ch'Hio Kai'CsKkull!" He gaped finally. "Gods. Ch'Hio Kai'CsKkull, I should
have known."

The redhead cocked her head to one side and It, in sinister symetry did the
same, two sets of black eyes peered at him curiously. 

"You know of us?" She asked quietly.

The Host nodded, nervously grabbing a rag and began wiping down the spottless
bar. "I've heard stories. Even where I'm from we have tales of..."

"It's a Crow." She filled helpfully.

"No." The Host shook his head. "It's Ch'Hio. Many Faced Dancer. Trickster,
carriorn eater, dead lord, judge..." He shrugged. "Ch'Hio Kai'CsKkull." The
Host tapped crossed his arms and appeared to be thinking furiously. "I suppose
something is lost in the translation." He finally admitted with a shrug. 

"I'm looking for someone." She replied; she no longer cared about who or what
her master was.

"Your kind always are." The Host replied. "Who are you seeking? Who wronged
you so terribly that Ch..it," He nodded in It's direction. "Came for you?"

"Faith."

It was just one word, a name. Five letters, nothing threatening. Yet the
host's normally green skin became a unhealthy shade of pastel, the red of his
eyes bleeding away to a dull, ugly rose pink. He leaned on the countertop but
never took his eyes from his newest 'guest'. 

"We..Angel..er.." He tried again. "You're looking for Faith? That would
mean..." His eyes, became even more pink as the fresh revelation rocked him.
The Host was not easily distressed, always there with a quick jibe, a small
piece of advice. He was a bartender as well as the Host. It takes a lot to
shock those types. This one time the situation warrented it. And Horror and
not a small amount grief.

"You?" He finally managed to wheeze.

She nodded slightly, changed her mind and gave her head a tiny shake. "Once
upon a time."

The Host rested his head on one hand, the fingers of the other drumming on
the table top. He remained this way for a while and she didn't say anythingin
the interim.

"I can't help you." He said at last.

"Because I have no songs?" She asked.

"I believe that." The Host sighed. "I didn't two minutes ago but I believe
that now. Not a good thing to learn this late in life. But even if you could
sing... I wouldn't read your aura."

"Why not?" Again the quiet voice of someone lost.

"Because I'm terrified of what I might see."

"I had a song." The redhead said. "She was..beautiful. She had long, pale
hair..blue eyes. A work of art, capable of many things." Her eyes glazed over
as the familiar torture of memory worked through her. She was used to it by
now. "A voice..well, not like an angel's. His was deep and quiet. Her's
was..just like the rest of her. Caring. She cared so much, not like anybody
else. Why, why not..was it part of what she was or was it part of who she
was..I don't know."

The Host said nothing, just hearing the girl speak. He was a bartender,
they're very good at that but this time it was diffrent, this time he was also
listening. 

"She was strong..and fast. A protector and she had to pay and pay and pay
simply because she wanted to live. She wanted a life, good times, bad times,
tears and laughter and for these things, stuff everybody else expects, she had
to pay. That's what made her..like .." Her voice faded away. 

"She danced." The redhead said after a moment of silence. "She danced and
spun and laughed when she could. Cried when she had too. But she never
stopped..except for once and after that never again. We were happy you know?
Despite everything we were happy. Lots of people told me that I couldn't
really help her, that I should have gotten out of her way but I didn't listen,
I didn't care I just had to be around her. She was addictive like that."

She again drifted off into silence and without a word, or even looking what
he was doing, The Host made a quick drink and set it in front of her. She
ignored it but gave him a nod of thanks. It did not ignore the offered
beverage and, hopping onto the rip of the glass, dipped it's beak into the
concoction. It lifted it's head and clicked it's beak together a few times,as
if considering the taste. Then it bent back over the glass and gorged Itself.


"Then one day, something wonderful happened." The girl sighed. "And the next
thing I knew we were dancing, together. Not only was I welcome but needed,
like I had always needed her. And it was we who danced, and spun..and
laughed." She rubbed her eyes with one hand. "And at it's height, the cresendo
of the music, when we thought the paying was finally over...Well. Then it
ended. She was my song. I don't have any more."

"Yes." The Host nodded. 

"But I came back."

"Yes."

"But you can't help me." The redhead sighed. She quietly chuckled to herself.
"May your threads never be cut." She chuckled again, an empty sound. "False
hope flesh."

The Host couldn't meet her eyes any longer.

It finished with the drink and clambered off the edge of the glass. Extended
one wing, it shook the limb once, and a single black feather fell out to
fall, without a sound on the top of the bar. 

"Your payment I guess." The girl shrugged. "For the drink."

The Host eyed the feather like one would a large, nasty looking, snake. 
                
The moment was shattered by the Karoke machine being cranked up to full power
and a drunken gang of demons clambering on the stage. She and The Host both
ignored the caterwauling. With a mumbled "What the hell." The Host snatchedup
the feather. If either of them were expecting some sort of reaction from the
universe they were in for a dissapointment. 

The Host held the feather up before him, studying it closely. He turned it
over and over under the harsh glare of the overhead lights. "Looks normal
enough." He muttered. He moved his hand through the air, sweeping it back and
forth and the air around the feather began to thrum and beat with every pass.


"The sound of wings." The Host still muttered. His knees as his head snapped
back as if someone had just shot him between the eyes. He tried to keep
himself from falling, one elbow alwkardly snagging a tray of glasses that
followed him to the floor, splintering into thousands of shards as they
collided with the concrete floor. The comotion drew the attention all the
people in the bar and the usual dull roar of a thousand conversations fell
silent, even the person on stage stopped singing, letting the music track play
on without him, now sounding foolish without a voice accomonying it. 

The girl didn't do anything, didn't react in any way to the stares of many
eyes upon her back. What did she have to be worried about anyway? Not like
they could kill her. 

A chair scraped across the floor as someone pulled away from their table,
maybe bent on finding out what this stranger at the bar had done to
everybody's favorite Karaoke demon. 

The Host popped up from behind the bar looking none the worse for wear and
sporting a huge grin. "Whoops!" He said loudly. "Gotta watch those slippery
spots. Seems even I can have a bad day eh? Sorry about disturbing all you fine
people. Next rounds on the house."

The resulting cheer banished any thought of violence or feelings of
misgivings and as a few clientle made their way to the bar to recieve their
free drink The Host hastily scribbled something on a pad of paper and pushed
it across the bar toward the girl. 

"My advice? Go to that address. Now, no offense but...could you leave please?
I had good reason to say I was terrified of what I might see..and I was
right." He set the feather on the table. "Take that with you too."

"On one condition." The girl replied.

"That being?"

"Don't tell anyone. Not Angel, or anybody. Please."

"Fine." The Host nodded. "No, no explinations why or why not, I ..just can't
care right now. You want it, you got it."

She nodded, scooped up the feather and piece of paper and crammed them into
her pocket. It alighted on her shoulder and she turned to begin forcing her
way through the growing throng of people moving to the bar. From behind her
she could hear the Host's final words. "Ch'Hio Kai'CsKkull be kind!"

She ignored him. The Dead didn't need kindess. All they needed was time.



The sun would rise in a few hours. This much she knew even though the exact
time was beyond her concerns. The night felt..heavy, bloated. Like a beast
that has fed too much and needs to rest. Heavy the LA Night hung upon the
city, ready to sloth off to a corner and rest while the day went about it's
doings. Then to spring upon the city again after the light had fled. But that
was okay. Night..day..the enviroment didn't matter, the timing didn't matter.
All that mattered was the goal.
Most people argue that it's not the end of the journy, but how you got there
that's important. Well. She had died. And here, on the other side of a dingy,
dirty, apartment building that should have been condemnded a long time
ago...on the others side of the door she stood in front of, was, in theroy,
the ending of her journy. 

She didn't give a damn about how she had gotten there. 

The single naked bulb was the only illumination in the entire hallway. Waste,
human and animal, crusted the cracks of the hall, and either end were shrouded
in darkness. She had had to pick her way past more dreges of humanity while
climbing the stairs. They lay scattered about the floor like flecks of rotten
flesh. Sleeping in corruption, feasting on corruption and adding to, while
becoming, corruption. At one time she might have sympathised. Now she was no
longer able too. This close..this near..to the end, the driving, pulling,
screaming inside had clouded out all other thoughts. She thought she had known
need before, she thought she had experienced hunger and desire on hot nights
before; in the arms of another, in the arms of friend, wife, lover... but
this. This cry from deep echoes made everything before pale and vapid in
comparsion. 

She shuddered. 

There was no anticipation though. No tiny thrill at waiting just a little bit
longer.

A little bit longer.

There was nothing, just the pushing. From inside. 

Far away, at the end of the hall, standing on the sill of a broken window It
watched. It always watched. 

Her foot lashed out, impacting with the apartment door and blasting it clear
off it's hinges, across the room, now revealed to her, and impacting with the
far wall. She stalked through the now broken doorway. She was ready for
dissapoinment. She was ready for an abandonded place, a ramshackle, run down
'home' long left behind by the dark slayer, leaving only slight clues which
would lead the redhead on and on and on.

So, she wasn't quite ready when, crossing the threshold she found exactly
what she had been looking for. 

Compared to the hallway the apartment was paradise. The plaster was fresh and
white, not rotting and covered with garbage. The rug was clean, the windows
intact. The furnishing looked old but comfortable. All in all, it was,
somewhat pleasing if a small home. In the middle of the far wall, just missed
by the flying door stood a television. It was on. It was playing the news. An
easy chair sat centered in the room, directly across from the television and
anyone who sat in it would have their back to the door. A fold down table was
on the right side of the chair, covered in take out Chinease food boxes. On
top of the television was a mirror. 

She was sitting in the easy chair, and watching the television. Her long
brown hair was done up in a loose scraggilly bun that fell down, twisted and
curled, over her shoulders. 

"Faith." The redhead said in a flat voice. 

It flew through the open door and across the room. It landed on the
television set, beside the small mirror.

"Nice bird red." Faith said without getting up. "I should be terrified. I
think. Coming back from the dead a three whole years later. You're not a
vamp..that wouldn't be much fun anyway. But I should be terrified. Oddly
enough, all I am is not very surprised."

"Get up."

"Okay." But Faith remained sitting. She was looking in the mirror, watching
the redhead from her reflection. The Dark Slayer's reflected eyes met the
girls. She could see the brown eyes crinkling around the edges, she knew the
Slayer was smiling. 

"Nice look Red. Wow. That is rather disturbing."

"Get. Up." The voice expressing barely restrained hate and bloodlust. A hate
and a bloodlust strong enough to deny death itself..and she was holding it
back. 

"Alright, alright..don't get your panties in a bunch..." Faith chuckled. "You
are wearing panties right? God, I hope they're not the same ones they buried
you in..cause..yuck."

Faith shut off the television with her remote, rested her arms, thin, strong,
pale arms, on the rests of the chair and alkwardly pulled herself to her feet.
She didn't turn around for a moment. She just stood there.

"Turn around." The redhead snarled.

Faith obeyed.

She was not her best. Dark circles ran under her eyes and the bright, fiery
passion, the brutality of life on the edge, that had lit up her eyes in years
past, before becoming all consuming madness, was less so. Her shoulders were a
little more bent and she looked rather pale. Her hair, before so dark and
luxerious, was now stringy and thin. What little of it was actually hanging
free. 
She was wearing blue sweat pants and a white tank top. Pale grey racing lines
went up the sides of the pants. One time they might have been white, but time
and too many loads of laundry had changed them. The tank top was also a bit
dirty. Not filthy, but definetly not fresh off the shelf. A few stains of
various sauces dotted the upper half, probably from the chinese food.

All in all, Faith wasn't looking too good.

But that was not what made the redhead gasp. Faith's appearence had nothing
to do with the incredible rage that had sustained her for so long, edged with
hate, and boosted by pain just sliding away leaving an empty void inside the
redhead. One that was quickly filling with sorrow. 

No, what caused the girl to lose all sense of her goals, her mission on this
earth; made her muscles weaken and beging to tremble; made tears of grief
begin to pour over, and threaten to wash away her bloody black tears of rage, 
was how the tank top fit the dark slayer. Or..more exactly how it barely fit.
How it rolled up and couldn't quite cover Faith's navel, because it was too
small, and Faith's swollen, fat, pregnant belly...was too big.

"What can I say Red?" Faith smiled patting her large stomach. "I guess oneof
my 'Get Some, Get Gones' left a little something behind."



Authors Notes: Caritas is Latin. It means 'Charity' or 'Mercy'. Also I made
up the name 'Ch'Hio Kai'CsKkull' (Chee-Heeio KySSSssKULL)



Do not cross a storyteller.
A storyteller is, perhaps, the most powerful thing in all of creation.
At their beck and call they have the powers of What Might be, What Could Be,
What Should Be and What Will Be.
All anyone else has is What Is. 
All the pontential versus mere reality. 


-Mad-Hamlet