Snippet: 24 12:00:00 - 12:05:00

["sochankitsune" <annelise@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Just to see if you like then...

--

Prologue. (Based on the fictional works of John Grisham, adapted to 
set the scene for this fanfic.)

For two long, hard months Congresswoman Rosenberg and Governor 
Warren had gone head to head, toe to toe, coast to coast, in twenty-
six states with almost twenty-five million votes cast. They'd pushed 
themselves with eighteen-hour days, brutal schedules, relentless 
travel; The typical madness of a presidential race.
Only, there was nothing typical about Congresswoman Willow 
Rosenberg, and they'd worked extremely hard to avoid a face-to-face 
debate. Warren didn't wish one in the early primaries because he was 
a front-runner, and making Rosenberg look bad would be seen as an 
attack on women's rights and feminist issues. After all, he had the 
organisation, the cash. favourable polls. Why legitimise the feeble 
single-plank opposition? Willow'd avoided the debate because she was 
a newcomer to the national scene, neophytical in highstakes 
campaigning, and besides... She hated being in front of the cameras. 
She still thought that maybe some media-jockey would rip off her 
designer frock and there she'd be... A scared high school nerd hidden 
underneath layers of expensive clothing.
The risks and horror of a live debate were simply too high.
But campaigns change. Front-runners fade, small issues become big 
ones, and the press can create a crisis simply out of boredom and a 
lack of current events.
A female, gay presidential candidate brought forth an avalanche of 
speculation and media frenzy. Hell, there hadn't even been an African-
American president-elect yet!
Warren decided he needed the debate because he was running short on 
funds. The backers only seemed to bet on winning horses, and he was 
losing one primary after another.
"Congresswoman Rosenberg is trying to win over this election with 
her single-issue campaign!" he repeated over and over. "And I want to 
confront her on it!" It sounded good, made a good sound-byte, and the 
press beat it to death within hours. "She's running from a debate!" 
Warren declared, and the wolves loved that one too.
Willow's response was to look the cameras in the lens and respond 
with, "Governor Warren's been dodging a debate since I minced his ass 
back in Michigan!" Her quirky grin and cheeky comments were played as 
headline news for almost two days.
Willow was reluctant, but her public relations counsel informed her 
she needed to do the debate. Though she was winning week after week, 
she was also rolling over an opponent who'd been fading for quite 
awhile. Her polls showed a great deal of voter interest in her, but 
invariably because she was new, gothically attractive, a woman, and 
eminently electable considering the smelting pot of crap the 
presidential race normally sludged up.
Unknown to outsiders and the press her polls also showed some very 
soft areas. The first was on the question of Rosenberg's single-issue 
campaign. Women's rights, feminism and the whole gay issue can excite 
the voters for only so long, and there was great concern over where 
Rosenberg stood on other issues.
Second, Willow was still five points behind the Vice President in 
their hypothetical November matchup. The voters were tired of the 
Vice President, but hell, at least they knew who he was. Willow, who 
had the nomination in hand, remained a mystery to many and needed the 
experience of live debate.
Warren didn't help matters with his constant query "Who is Willow 
Rosenberg?" With some of his few remaining funds, he authorised the 
printing of bumper stickers with just that as a caption.
The setting of the debate was in California at a small university 
campus in Sunnydale with a cosy auditorium, good acoustics and light; 
a controllable crowd. Also, there seemed to be plenty of vacant plots 
and boarded-up housing that the film crews and press could use to 
park their vehicles in front of.
The day of the debate approached. the California presidential 
primary seemed to depend on its outcome.

12:00:00 - 12:05:00

A man, nondescript except for the tell-tale bulge of a handgun in 
his belt-line scurried nervously through the street-markets of Kuala 
Lumpur. He dodged into a darkened alleyway and unlocked a water-
damaged door with a rusty key. he stepped into an inner sanctum where 
the facade of decay gave way to freshly-painted plasterboard walls 
and a security door with palm-print scanner.
he let the scanner take his print, and the doorway opened into 
barely-luminescent darkness. In the gloom, he made his way to a 
Telstar global satellite transmitter, and hit the scramble option 
before dialling.
"Identify," a computer generated voice demanded.
"Victor Rovenor, requesting permission to transmit."
"Login," the computer voice requested after a pause.
Rovenor punched in his username and password, and typed quickly as 
raised voices seemed to be coming closer from the other side of the 
door.

*

Walking amidst the various functionaries and aides, the secret-
service operative took a moment to stare at a mural on the oak-beam 
wall. His momentary reverie was broken by the chirp of his mobile 
phone. "This is Walsh," he answered.
"Sir," a crackly voice came through over the whup-whup of a 
helicopter. "we just heard from Rovenor. He confirmed that there will 
be an attempt today."
"Did he say who the target is?" Walsh asked.
"Congresswoman Willow Rosenberg."

*

"On this historic occasion?" Congresswoman Willow Rosenberg repeated 
with a distasteful expression.
"Well," Anya considered. "It *is* an historic occasion!"
Willow was forced to concede the point. "Yeah, but isn't it kinda 
egotistical and self-serving to say it though?"
"Hell, yeah!" Anya enthused "You should play on it. Trample Warren 
into the ground like the grease spot he is!"
Willow nodded bleakly. "Or I could just rip off his skin on 
nationwide TV." Willow referred to the similarity in names with an 
older nemesis she'd once had to deal with.
"That would be bad," Xander pointed out as he walked in. "How about 
on this historic day?"
Willow nodded slowly. "Sounds much better than historic occasion. 
Occasion sounds like we're having brunch. Ooh!" She squealed happily 
as she noticed what Xander had brought her on a tray. "Mocha and 
cookies!"
Xander grinned. "Knock yourself out!"

*

Buffy grimaced in concentration as Giles span the counter.
"Left hand. Green!" Giles called out in a resigned tone.
Dawn collapsed under the strain, and Buffy landed on top of her in 
a giggling mess.
Buffy slowly let the giggles subside, and turned to kiss her 
beautiful sister who leaned needfully in.
Giles decided now was a good time to hunt in the kitchen for the 
Scotch bottle. "I'll just be... Ah." He shut the door behind him.
The two girls explored each other's mouths a little longer, hands 
caressing.
"Buffy," Dawn gasped as she came back up for air. "We really 
shouldn't... Not with Giles still..."
Buffy reluctantly let her sister out of her embrace. "You're 
right," she sighed. "But its just this sort of social misconception 
that Willow's gonna try and change!" She grinned.
"Will she be coming home soon?" Dawn asked. "Its not the same 
without her... the nights seem colder somehow."
Buffy's grin faded. "Soon enough." She relented. "CTUs in charge of 
her security tomorrow. She'll stop by if she has the time, I'm sure!"
Dawn's surprised squeals gave Buffy a glimmer of warning before her 
sister launched herself bodily into her arms, and they shared another 
kiss.
Breaking glass caused them to part, and Dawn raised a querulous 
eyebrow. "Sounds like Giles dropped the whisky bottle... What's 
wrong?" She stared as Buffy whipped out her service pistol and 
approached the kitchen door slowly.
"That wasn't bottle-glass, Dawn. Too high-pitched. That was the 
kitchen window." She flung open the door and burst in, pistol jerking 
erratically in the motions used when two-by-two cover formation is no 
longer an option.
The kitchen was empty. The back door flung open. The window broken.
"He's gone," Buffy said, as the phone began to ring on the wall 
mounting.