Re: FIC; The Chosen: Where Do We Go From Here? (1B/3)

["amberfan12001" <willow@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Hi there

Just wanted to say that I'd be interested in helping on your 
project if you're interested. Buffy is my ultimate hobby and I love 
all the characters, especially Willow and Tara before her unfortuante 
demise.

I am new to the fan fiction arena but have been writing for years.

If you'd like to see some of my work I'll send it to you.

Thanks for listening.
Regards Amberfan 









--- In buffyloveswillow@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, Kirayoshi@H... wrote:
> And here's the rest of it.
>
> Sorry about the mess, hope it works out.
>
> I've spoken my peace and counted to three,
> Kirayoshi
>
>
> ======== 
>
> Twenty minutes ago;
>
> "Do I have to change my name?
> Will it get me far?
> Should I lose some weight?
> Am I gonna be a star?
>
> I-
> Tried to be a boy,
> Tried to be a girl,
> Tried to be a mess,
> Tried to be the best,
> I guess I did it wrong,
> That's why I wrote this song
> This type of modern life,
> Is it for me?
> This type of modern life,
> Is it for free?
>
> So-
> I went into a bar,
> Looking for sympathy,
> A little company,
> I tried to find a friend,
> It's more easily said,
> It's always been the same.
> This type of modern life,
> Is it for me?
> This type of modern life,
> Is it for free?"
>
> Madonna's voice rang out of the speaker system as Buffy entered the 
Bronze and made her way to the bar. "Hey, Buffy," Steven announced 
the moment his boss made her appearance. "We're running short on 
pineapple juice."
> "I'm fine, Steven, you?" Buffy quipped at her assistant 
manager. "I'll call the food services company and holler at them.  
How's business?"
> "The joint is jumping," Steven announced happily. "We're still 
doing steady business with the crowd from the Cinerama."
> "Great," Buffy smiled. She looked around at the dimly lit 
cavernous interior of the Bronze, her new home away from home.  
Steven was tending the neon-lined juice bar with the assistance of 
their regular bartender Marcus, while several teens were playing pool 
by the western wall, and a large crowd was gathered on the main dance 
floor, grooving alone, or in groups of two or more to the loud 
percussive beats her sound system provided. She smiled; dozens of 
young people, drinking mochas, dancing, having a good time. Just 
like the original Bronze, she mused. Before all Hell broke loose.
> After Sunnydale fell, the first stop for the survivors was a 
hospital in Los Angeles, where Buffy and the others were treated for 
injuries sustained against the Bringers and the First. The doctors 
were able to heal her wounds, astonished that she had recovered so 
quickly, but the gash was too severe to heal without scarring, or a 
faint debilitating pain. As she recovered, Giles laid down the law; 
Buffy was hereby retired as the active Slayer, a decision that she 
and most of the former Scooby Gang seemed to agree with. Buffy 
loudly announced to anyone who cared to listen that she was hanging 
up her stakes, and named Faith the true Slayer.  
> Once they had relocated briefly to Los Angeles, Giles made 
arrangements with Angel Investigations, who now controlled the legal 
firm of Wolfram and Hart. With Angel's legal connections, he managed 
to acquire and liquidate the funds of what used to be the Watchers 
Council before it was destroyed by the First Evil. He kept half of 
the sizable total in a private account, with the intention of 
rebuilding the council, and split the rest equally between Buffy and 
the former members of the Scooby Gang. "A reward for services 
rendered," he had stated simply. Each of the Scoobs received well 
over a million dollars, enough to restart their lives anywhere and in 
any way they saw fit. Buffy decided on Seattle, mainly because she 
had no family there, and no one knew who she was. A chance to fade 
into the crowd, to simply leave her past behind her and rebuild her 
life.
> The Red Hot Chili Peppers replaced Madonna on the house sound 
system as she examined the receipts from the previous night's 
business. A tall black man approached her, coughing slightly to get 
her attention. Buffy lifted her head and asked, "May I help you?"
> "I'd like to speak to the manager," he stated clearly with gentle 
authority.
> "You've got her," she answered with calm professionalism, offering 
a handshake. "Buffy Summers, owner and manager of the Bronze."
> "Lieutenant James Richardson, Seattle police." he replied, removing 
his wallet and flashing his badge for Buffy to see. Buffy squirmed 
slightly, and the Lieutenant nodded knowingly. "I only wanted to 
talk for a little, Miss Summers. You've recently opened this bar, 
but I didn't see the notice in your window for a liquor license 
application."
> "There's a reason for that, Lieutenant," Buffy answered coolly. "I 
don't sell alcohol here. I don't allow underage drinking or smoking, 
and no dealing. I opened the Bronze as a place for teenagers, a safe 
haven and a hangout spot. There was a similar place in my hometown 
in California, so I thought that the Bronze would sell well here in 
Seattle."
> "Hmm," Lieutenant Richardson hummed as he looked around. Indeed 
most of the patrons were in the high school age bracket, and all of 
them seemed to be behaving themselves. He glanced back at Buffy, 
whose attention was suddenly fixed toward a group that had just 
arrived and were making their way to a corner table. They sat down 
at the table and hunched their heads towards each other, murmuring 
quietly.
> "Excuse me," she walked around the bar and past the police officer, 
and steadily toward the table in question. She scanned the table 
quickly; four white men, all dressed in black leather duster jackets 
with their collars hitched up high over to partially obscure their 
faces and mirrored shades, their de facto leader sitting with his 
back to the wall, an air of cold menace around him. Not supernatural 
as far as she could sense, but sinister nonetheless. Street gang, 
probably drug dealers.
> "Is there anything I can do for you gents?" she asked civilly. The 
three 'lieutenants' chuckled slightly and mirthlessly.
> The leader rose his hand slightly, silencing the others. "Do you 
mind, missy?" he snarled through a gold-toothed shark's smile. "My 
associates and I are trying to do some business."
> Buffy folded her arms over her chest, her posture an unspoken 
challenge. "I should inform you," she smiled sweetly, "that this is 
my place of business, not yours. And I have a zero-tolerance policy 
regarding illegal drugs, or possession of weapons on the premises-" 
Her right hand shot inside the jacket pocked of the 'associate' to 
her left with lightning speed. Before any of the gang could blink, 
she displayed a semi-automatic handgun in her hand, causing the 
gangsta wannabe to blanch. "Hey, that's mine, gimme!" He lunged at 
her, only to find himself skidding face-first on the floor. He tried 
to get up, but Buffy slammed her boot firmly into his back. "Y'see, 
the way I see it, you got two choices," Buffy told the fallen 
gangster, but addressing the entire table. "You can leave in peace, 
or you can leave in pieces."
> "Actually," Lieutenant Richardson announced, approaching the scene 
of the brief altercation, "he's leaving with me." Buffy took her 
foot off of the young punk's back, and Richardson grabbed him by the 
collar of his duster. "Well, well, well," he greeted the punk with 
mock familiarity. "If it isn't 'Iceman' Isaacs. Long time no see, 
Ice. And that must make you," he turned his attention toward their 
leader, "'Phat' Albert Moretti! Oh, you've been a bad boy, Phat."  
He flashed his badge to the gangleader, making certain that Phat 
Albert knew he was no longer in charge of the situation.
> "You don't have nothin' on me, officer," Phat Albert grumbled 
menacingly. "Ain't that right, Ice?" He eyed his lieutenant with an 
unmistakable threat in his eyes. Iceman said nothing; he simply 
glared at the cop, eyes flashing fire and defiance.
> Richardson simply smiled, turning his attention to Iceman. "What 
say we take this thing downtown, so we can talk alone, without your 
buddies?" Turning to Buffy, he added, "It's been a pleasure talking 
to you, Miss Summers. I had been concerned about your security, but 
it seems like you have things well in hand."
> "Thanks, Lieutenant," Buffy smiled. "Feel free to look me up any 
time."  
> "Glad to," he waved briefly with his free arm as he held Iceman's 
arm behind his back. Producing his handcuffs, he slapped them on 
Iceman's wrists, dragging him out of the Bronze. "Marcus Isaacs, you 
are under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm. You have the 
right to remain silent. If you give up that right to remain silent, 
anything you say-" The door swung closed behind the cop and his 
suspect.
> Buffy then turned her attention to the remaining three gangsters, 
who suddenly seemed significantly smaller and less cocky. "Now 
then," she announced, "I want you guys to do me a favor. I want you 
to put the word out on the street. The Bronze is off-limits to 
gangs, drug dealers, or any of your criminal buddies. I ever see 
you, or anyone whom I think might be buddies of yours, anywhere near 
my joint, well, let's just say that I won't be happy." She leaned in 
toward the cowering Phat Albert, her eyes flashing sparks. "And we 
want to keep me happy, don't we?"
> Phat Albert sat silently, eyeing Buffy in a stare-down. Buffy 
simply stared back, unblinking, giving him what Giles had once 
called 'The Eye of the Wolf', a stare guaranteed to intimidate ten 
newbie vampires at once. The Eye had the desired effect on Phat, who 
looked away, then raised his hand to his remaining 
lieutenants. "We're outta here," he commanded his troops, who filed 
in behind him as he left the table. "This place ain't fun no more."
> "What can I say," Buffy shrugged her shoulders, "you're not my 
target demographic. Toodles!" She chuckled merrily as the gang left 
silently, their tails firmly between their legs.  
> Sean Paul replaced Chili Peppers on the sound system, imploring the 
dancers to 'Get Busy'. Buffy watched as the thugs filed out the 
front door and then turned to some of the customers who had witnessed 
the altercation. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "there's no 
reason to be alarmed, just taking out the garbage. Go back to having 
fun, the floorshow's over for tonight." Steven offered her a high-
five as she returned to the bar. "Way to take out the trash, boss-
lady," he announced.
> "Aww, 'twern't nothing'," she drawled casually. Inside, however, 
she grinned hugely; it was an unusual experience for her to earn the 
trust of a police officer. And now that the word was out that she 
wouldn't tolerate criminal activity in her club, she felt that she 
could relax a little more.
> Returning to the cash register, she spent the next few minutes 
tallying the receipts before placing them in the bottom of the till 
drawer. As she finished her paperwork, she became aware of someone 
on the other side of the bar. Turning toward her potential customer, 
she announced, "Welcome to the Bronze. My name's Buffy. How may I 
serve...?" Her voice caught in her throat as she saw the greenest 
eyes God ever made gazing warmly back at her through a forest of 
reddish bangs.  
> "I don't know about you," the sweetest voice Buffy ever knew 
bubbled merrily, "but right now I feel the need for more sugar than 
the human body can consume."
> Buffy gawked in stunned silence for a moment, her breath coming in 
short gasps, as she made several futile attempts to speak. Finally, 
one word managed to squeeze out past her lips; "Mochas?"
> "Yes, please," Willow Rosenberg regarded Buffy with an elfin grin 
that never failed in the past to warm her heart. "Hi, Buffy. Nice 
place you got here." She gave a brief sardonic glance at her best 
friend, then asked, "So, you gonna hug me or what?"
> Buffy swallowed one last gasp, then whooped loudly enough to drown 
out the sound system and grab the attention of nearby customers.  
Diving across the bar, she grabbed Willow in a bone-crunching hug, a 
hug that the redhead eagerly returned. "Oh God I missed you, 
Willow," she whispered hoarsely, half-laughing, half-crying.
> "I missed you too," Willow replied emphatically. For a solid 
minute the two long-lost friends embraced fiercely, not caring about 
the odd looks surrounding them, simply reveling in their closeness.
> Steven lifted his hand to his mouth and coughed theatrically.  
Buffy and Willow glanced toward Steven and clumsily disengaged the 
hug. "So," Steven drawled comically, "I'm gonna go out on a limb 
here. You two know each other?"
> "Steven," Buffy announced proudly, "I'd like you to meet the 
greatest, sweetest, best friend anyone ever had, Willow Rosenberg."  
Willow waved slightly, then extended her hand. "Willow, this is my 
assistant manager, Steven Shea." Steven accepted Willow's handshake, 
gallantly kissing her knuckle. "Hate to break it to ya, Steven," 
Buffy joked, "but she's gay."
> "Then we have something in common," Steven countered. As Buffy 
turned bright red, Steven quipped, "We tease each other like this all 
the time, Willow."
> "A pleasure to meet you," Willow answered, smiling. She scanned 
her surroundings approvingly, admiring the lounge chairs and sofas in 
some of the corners and hutches along the side wall. "Man this place 
takes me back," she whispered. "You done good, Buffy. Congrats."
> "Yeah, I like it," Buffy answered with faint pride in her 
voice. "Pays the bills. Uh, Steven, can you-"
> "Say no more," Steven waved his hands in a dismissal gesture, "go, 
catch up, do the bonding thing. I'll hold the fort."
> Buffy bowed toward her favorite corner of the club, saying, "After 
you, Willow."
> "Delighted," Willow nodded, taking Buffy's arm in hers and letting 
her lead the way. Buffy called out to Steven, "Oh, and two hazelnut 
mochas over at Booth three, please."
> As they reached their private booth, Willow took a seat on an 
overstuffed lounge chair while Buffy sat down on an upholstered 
ottoman. "So," Willow smiled, leaning forward with her elbows on her 
knees, her hands clasped and her forefingers steepled and pointing at 
Buffy. "Tell me everything that happened to you since we left Los 
Angeles."
> "What kind of details do you want?" Buffy asked.
>
> "Vivid Technicolor and Surround-sound," Willow answered.  
>
> "Sorry to disappoint you," Buffy sighed, "but this is pretty much 
it. I brought Dawn here for a change of scene, purchased a condo and 
this club, and I've lived a nice quiet life from there. Oh, and I 
just got accepted at the University of Washington."
> "Go, Buffy, you bomb, uh-huh, uh-huh," Willow chanted gleefully, 
raising her fist in the air. "So, that's it? No vampires, no sudden 
end-of-the-world situations to deal with?"
> "No and no," Buffy shook her head.
>
> Willow made tut-tut noises with her tongue against her 
palette. "How boring."
> "Hey," Buffy protested. "After seven years of covering the 
Hellmouth, I like boring."
> "Was I complaining?" Willow asked. "I've been kinda low-key myself 
here. Andrew and I, we've collaborated on a new company, TechnoPagan 
Games. We've debuted our first platform game, 'Night Shift' at 
Chicago's GameFest this year, and we've scheduled a release this 
November, just in time for the Christmas rush. Oh, you got a game 
system?"
> "I splurged and got Dawnie an X-Box for her birthday," Buffy 
admitted.
> "I'll send you guys a freebie," Willow promised.  
>
> "Here you are, Buffy," a waitress interrupted, carrying two 
steaming cups on a tray, "two hazelnut mochas."
> Buffy glanced at the waitress to thank her, but stopped suddenly as 
she recognized her. "Dawnie," she regarded her sister in a scolding 
tone, "haven't we discussed your working here?"
> "You said I could work here part-time," Dawn answered, placing the 
drinks on a nearby coffee table, "if you needed someone to fill in.  
Shelly called, she said that she was stuck at the DMV, and would be a 
half-hour or so late for her shift. Didn't Steven tell you?"
> "I guess he did mention that," Buffy admitted. "Okay, but I also 
told you that your homework comes first."
> "Way ahead of you," Dawn chirped. "I did two pages of story 
problems, read ten pages of twentieth century history regarding World 
War Two, and just ran a spell-check on a three-hundred word 
essay; 'Othello, the Douche-bag of Venice'."
> "Dawnie!" Buffy yelped. Dawn raised her hands defensively. "Well 
he was!"
> "Maybe," Buffy shook her head, "but I hope you didn't use the 
phrase 'douche-bag' in your report."
> "I used the term 'misogynist'," Dawn answered. "But 'douche-bag' 
fits. I mean, really, the way he let Iago screw with his head!"
> "I'm gonna have to agree with her on that," Willow piped in. "I 
mean, did he even once ask Desdemona for her side of the story?"
> "Thanks for the support, Wi-" Dawn did a double-take as she first 
noticed the redhead sitting with Buffy, her mouth hanging open for a 
second before morphing into a broad grin. "WILLOW!" she shrieked as 
she launched herself into the redhead's arms. "Oh my God, it's 
really you! I missed you so much!"
> "I missed you, too, Dawnie," Willow assured the teen, returning her 
embrace as warmly. After a few seconds, Buffy cleared her throat 
dramatically. "Dawnie," she reminded her sister sweetly, "if you're 
gonna fill in for Shelly, you do have other tables to take care of."
> Willow disengaged the hug, leaving Dawn standing alone, grinning 
sheepishly. "Right. Let me know if you need anything else, Buffy."
> "Sure," Buffy answered. "When Shelly clocks on, you clock off, 
then have Steven fix you something, on me. We're celebrating!"
> "You got it," Dawn grinned, rushing off to her next table.
>
> Willow cocked an eyebrow in Buffy's direction. "What are we 
celebrating?"
> "We're alive," Buffy answered, "and you're back in my life. If 
that ain't a reason to celebrate, I can't think of one!" She lifted 
her mocha cup, touching the rim to Willow's. "Cheers."
> ======== 
>
> "I am a Man Of Constant Sorrow,
> I've known trouble all my days.
> I left my home in California,
> The place where I was born and raised!"
>
> The guard at the courthouse lockup rattled his truncheon against 
the bars, silencing the hung-over impresario. "Harris!" he barked at 
the prisoner.
> Xander Harris glared at the guard with a single baleful eye, 
acknowledging the guard without speaking. The burly guard shoved a 
key into the cell door, and announced, "You're free to go, Harris.  
Get out of here!"
> Xander rose slowly on too-tired legs, staggering as he made his way 
to the door. Looking dolefully at the guard as he left, he 
grunted, "See ya 'round."
> "I hope not," the guard answered tersely. Xander nodded slightly 
as he left the cell, the guard following closely behind him.
> As he entered the waiting room, he saw a familiar, if not entirely 
welcome face. "Hey, Xander," Angel greeted him sternly. Xander 
regarded Angel with a raised eyebrow, before leaving the courthouse 
and ambling aimlessly down the street, absently rubbing at the 
leather patch that covered his empty eye socket.
> Angel ran briskly, catching up with Xander with minimal 
effort. "You'll be glad to know that Lorne's agreed not to press 
charges," he announced happily, stopping Xander in his tracks for a 
moment. "I doubt you'll be welcome in Caritas anytime soon."
> Xander turned away from the vampire, his head hung low. "That 
makes it unanimous, doesn't it?" he grumbled. "I guess I can say 
I've done it all now. Look, thanks for bailing me out and all, but I 
want to be alone now, okay?" He started to walk away, only to feel a 
cold hand clamp down on his shoulder.
> "Not okay," Angel answered. "You've been alone since the Hellmouth 
closed. You've done nothing but get kicked out of every bar in the 
greater Los Angeles area."
> Xander turned around slowly. "I guess there's one thing left to 
do," he quipped. "Move to San Francisco."
> "Not funny," Angel grimaced. "Look, I know I'm probably your least 
favorite person in the world right now&"
> "Actually that would be Marilyn Manson," Xander replied archly. "I 
generally don't give you enough thought to even rank you."
> "Shove it, Xander!" Angel barked at the younger man. "You try to 
convince me you're fine by making wisecracks, but we both know 
better. Look, I know you've lost a great deal this last year..."
> Xander shoved Angel away, and the vampire staggered briefly before 
regaining his balance. "You know exactly Jack Squat about what I 
lost!" Xander yelled. "I wasn't even there for Anya when she died!  
I never even found her body, before Sunnydale got swallowed up by 
that crater! I just stood there, too shocked to even register what 
happened. I was making jokes about losing the mall, when Anya's body 
was dragged to Hell!"
> "And somehow you think you're to blame for that?" Angel 
asked. "Look, only her body was lost in Hell. She sacrificed 
herself for you, Xander, for all of you. I have to believe that her 
soul's in God's keeping now. And she wouldn't want you to waste your 
life."
> "Yeah," Xander barked a mirthless laugh. "I can hear her 
now; 'Don't you dare throw your life away now, Xander, not after all 
the trouble I went through to save you and all'." A few more harsh 
chuckles, then Xander lowered his head in genuine sorrow. "Gods I 
miss her."
> Angel nodded sadly, seeing the grief in his slumping shoulders, the 
tear threatening to escape his good eye. "Then honor her. Prove 
that her sacrifice wasn't in vain. Live your life in her memory, but 
live. Look, I've been working with Giles, helping him with the 
rebuilding of the Council. He told me he was looking for 
construction personnel to build a new headquarters. First person I 
thought of was you."
> Xander shook his head slowly, hearing and recognizing the truth of 
Angel's words, but still not able to feel them in his heart. "I wish 
it were that simple, Deadboy." Angel bit back his usual request for 
Xander not to call him Deadboy. "I tried to contact the rest of my 
construction company after Sunnydale fell. Most of them have hooked 
up with other companies. And funny thing, most construction firms 
won't hire someone with a total lack of depth perception. Something 
about insurance rates going through the roof and all..." He allowed 
his line of conversation to die out.
> Angel regarded the sad young man with a measuring eye. Giles had 
informed him about the battle with the First Evil's minion Caleb.  
The battle that resulted in Xander's eye being gouged out of his 
skull. "What would you say," Angel spoke in measured words, "if I 
told you there was a surgeon who could give you a new eye?"
> "I'd say 'Put down the pipe'," Xander huffed. "I know that whole-
eye transplants aren't possible. This isn't 'Minority Report' here."
> "I saw that movie too," Angel answered. "But since Angel 
investigations took over Wolfram and Hart, I've been introduced to 
some interesting people. The law firm has connections that Spielberg 
never dreamed of."
> Xander stared hard at Angel with his one good eye for ten seconds.  
He saw no twitch in Angel's lip, no telltale sign that he was lying.  
And he knew in his gut that, while he and Angel would in all 
likelihood never be friends, the vampire detective would never 
intentionally deceive him.
> "I'm listening," Xander muttered.
>
> ======== 
> TBC 
>
>
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