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Date/Time: Nov. 28, 2007 / 12:57 pm
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| Subject: Tea and Crumpets |
Corbett’s phone sat on the coffee table, flipped open. And all the Watcher could do was stare.
A text message from Rhiannon, something that made Corbett’s blood run cold and sent a horrible shiver down his spine.
Elfleda de-throned. New Bride in town. ATIA. Research. Don’t engage,
One Bride of Leviathan was bad enough; Corbett remembered that much from the one time Elfleda decided to pay him a visit. He’d thrown up and slashed his wrists so much in an effort to rid himself of her corrupting influence, Corbett would’ve undoubtedly died were it not for the incredibly well-timed intervening from his Slayer.
But now there was another? One who apparently took the crown from Elfleda? That worried the Watcher most; that a being existed so powerful as to take control and power from one such as the Corruptress.
To Corbett, Elfleda was the worst being he’d ever been in the presence of. Desdemona was bad, but ultimately, she was just a vampire; fangs, sunlight allergy, an aversion to all things wood and Christian. But Elfleda? He still knew of no way to ultimately deal with her aside from never incurring her wrath in the first place.
And someone overtook her?
Corbett thumbed idly through one of his massive tomes, unsure what he was looking for. He had a name – Atia – and the assumption that she too was a Bride of Leviathan, but aside from that, he was momentarily in the dark. And considering how little he found on Elfleda – before she destroyed his research – Corbett wasn’t sure he’d have much more success this time around.
And what if Atia came by too? Decided to finish the things Elfleda couldn’t? The Watcher imagined the whole deal with the Defiler probably pissed off this Leviathan or whoever was pulling the strings in the background, and it would stand to reason the Big Bad would want retribution.
Was Atia that retribution? Corbett wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out.
Picking the phone up, Corbett pushed the Reply button before sending back:
“Hitting the books. Certainly not having Atia over for tea and crumpets.”
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Date/Time: Sep. 20, 2007 / 12:26 am
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| Subject: Bein' Square |
Progress was being made.
Between the combined efforts of Rhiannon, Connor and probably a few other outside parties Corbett wasn’t aware of, they had a time, place and possible method with eventually dealing with the Defiler. Not that disposing of Elfleda’s pet would be easy, but at least there were possibilities.
Metal armor had its drawbacks, or so the Watcher hoped – find a way to exploit weaknesses without actually coming into contact with the metal. Corbett remembered Connor’s warning and the fact that Whistler apparently almost died from touching the thing. As bad as what Elfleda did to him a few weeks before was, it apparently paled in comparison to what coming into contact with the Defiler could do.
So avoid the touching stuff.
Corbett couldn’t deny it; they needed as much supernatural fighting power as possible. And since Spike still hadn’t returned Corbett’s message, he assumed the vampire wouldn’t be part of the proceedings. Which meant he’d have to ask Faith. Not that he wouldn’t anyway, but the supposed Champion’s absence made her presence all the more necessary.
Speaking of … she should be getting back in soon. Sun would be in about a half-hour; time for what vampires she didn’t kill to go night-night.
Err … day-day. Or whatever those monsters did.
( Waiting up? )
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Date/Time: Sep. 5, 2007 / 9:21 pm
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| Subject: Conductivity |
One of the first things Corbett learned in the Watchers’ Academy was that when mystical solutions failed, it was never wise to ignore mundane ones.
And considering what little occult library the Watcher had left after Elfleda’s visit – and his visit to Unseen Insight had bore little, if any, fruit – it amazed Corbett how he didn’t immediately start looking into other avenues; specifically books normal, everyday people might use.
Hence the physics books Corbett had spent the past hour combing through, pencil clutched between his teeth as he read chapter after chapter on electricity and currents and the like.
He remembered what Rhiannon told him the day before about the Defiler’s metal being nothing more than a suit of armor, that there was probably something actually alive underneath it. Corbett hadn’t found any text to support that theory, but he didn’t see anything disproving it either, so for the time being, he was operating on that theory.
Which gave the Watcher an idea.
( It's like physics class all over again. )
( Voicemail for Rhiannon )
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Date/Time: Sep. 4, 2007 / 11:56 am
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| Subject: No shit, Sherlock |
Mallory had to force herself to wait until it was something like a decent hour to call Corbett. If she dragged him out of bed he would be much less likely to help her. So she loitered around the rooms Victoria had rented for her and Sonya, watching television and ordering breakfast from room service. Thinking about Sonya and how long it might take her to recover. She had a feeling that the Russian would be more or less all right in a couple of days, but she wasn't going to leave her alone until she was certain of that.
At exactly noon, the redhead flipped the television off and picked up the phone. Dialing the Englishman's number, she worked on her story and then waited for him to pick up. This was not jumping the gun, this was just ... gathering information.
When she heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line, she said, "Good morning, Corbett. Well, afternoon at this point, I guess. Are you busy right now? I have a few questions, and I think you're the only one close enough at hand to answer them."
( Again with the succubi ... )
"Oh, I'll be in touch." Mallory almost sounded amused now, as if the idea of her going anywhere was a little joke she and the Watcher were sharing. "Don't get beat up by anymore vampires while I'm gone, okay? I don't have much free time to dispense lectures right now."
The redhead paused, checking to see if there was anything else she needed to say, then decided that there wasn't. "I'll talk to you later, Corbett." She placed the receiver gently back into its cradle, then looked broodingly at the still-silent television.
Soap operas or Jerry Springer?
The question made the thought of dealing with a half-succubus almost appealing.
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Date/Time: Aug. 27, 2007 / 12:56 am
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| Subject: In the Nick of Time |
There were times in life sometimes when a girl just had to go away for a while. It never seemed to matter where she was or who was in her life -- when the urge to run took over, there was really no resisting it. The truth of the matter was that when faced with a pack of bloodthirsty demons, Faith was fearless, but when it came to facing some of her demons, she went running scared in the opposite direction.
Things had just become too close.
It was nice enough to have friends, nice enough to have a Watcher and a fuckbuddy and a city full of evil creatures to slay. But there was a danger of getting too comfortable and letting her guard down. Over the course of the last year, she'd slept with Spike consistently enough that she may as well call him her boyfriend and Corbett had become a trusted enough companion that she hadcried in front of the old man. It wasn't like her to do either of those things, but she hadn't worried. She was growing up, and that's what happened when you grew up, right? You got soft and started letting undead vampires share your bed and Watchers hold you when you cried about your former Watcher who died over ten years ago.
And yet, there was a difference between letting someone in and being turned into your six-year-old self who didn't know enough not to babble incessantly about mothers who were alcoholic and abusive. Little Faith told everyone enough to know that her life hadn't been peachy, and it still made her skin crawl now to think about Corbett, Spike and everyone else she came in contact with knowing those things about herself. Maybe if she just stayed away long enough, everyone would forget and she could come back with a clean slate again.
So, after months of being away, she was back in the town that knew some of her deepest, darkest secrets.
Walking into the apartment she shared with Corbett, she had no idea what to expect. Would he be angry at her for leaving without a word? Or would he be so happy to have her back that he'd force her to engage in some embarrassing display of affection that consisted of hugs and fatherly concern about where she'd been and how she was? Maybe he wouldn't even be home, and she'd have time to unpack and surprise him when he walked through the door and she was planted on the couch with a beer and a slice of pizza.
What she was greeted with was an eerie silence and an awful smell.
( First the Bathroom )
( To the Bedroom )
"Now that my fingers are rusty, you might just get your chance at beating me, old man," the Slayer teased. "Relish it while you can, 'cause once I get my game back, it'll be on."
Truth be told, it was nice to have this teasing banter back with someone she knew and could trust. It was almost as if they'd never been apart, and Faith was grateful for that. He had been on death's door that night, but the Slayer was sure that he'd be making a full recovery as long as he had her by his side.
In a way, it was kind of ironic that last time she saw him, she was six years old and he was the one helping her into her clothes and comforting her at night when she had a bad dream. Now the roles were reversed and she was the one who was taking care of him. Life sure was funny that way, wasn't it?
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Date/Time: Aug. 7, 2007 / 12:55 am
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| Subject: The Proverbial Feline |
The candle burnt out hours ago.
Even the smoky remnants had dissipated, leaving nothing but dried-up wax in the holder. The physical embodiment of Corbett’s remembrance of someone he barely knew was gone; all that left was the intent and the feeling behind the gesture. And as much as it sucked to know someone so young was gone, the Watcher actually appreciated the diversion, taking a much-needed break from his fruitless research.
Never before had a case vexed Corbett so. None of his volumes had anything of use on the Defiler, and if his collection were anything to go by, no being named Elfleda existed. But the Watcher knew the Corruptress was real; he’d heard accounts of people having run-ins with her, and Faith told him about how Elfleda kept her on-edge.
So if a Slayer was skittish about the Corruptress, it definitely existed. Just don’t ask Corbett’s books.
So the old man sat by his window, lit cigarette hanging idly from his mouth. Corbett wasn’t actively smoking, but having the smoke there was a calming influence on him. Between the research and Faith’s need for space, the Watcher felt near his wit’s end. Not even the moonlight could calm Corbett … mostly because in the Nevada desert, moonlight meant the bad things could come out.
( On Your Knees )
Corbett stared at the blood on his wrist … his blood. Tentatively, Corbett leaned toward his wrist, his tongue gathering up some of the vitae. He swallowed it, surprised to feel his churning stomach calm. His eyes darted from the blood to the blade, his grip on the handle tightening.
Then, without another thought, Corbett brought blade to flesh.
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Date/Time: Aug. 4, 2007 / 3:59 pm
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| Subject: Burn On |
The newspaper was a sanctuary for Corbett.
Which was sad on a level, but he was learning more from the daily collection of shootings, muggings, murders, drug deals and political scandals than he was combing over his tomes in search of something on the Defiler and Elfleda. A part of him almost hoped the Clark County Beacon would have an article detailing everything he wanted to know about the creeptastic duo, but that was so unrealistic – mostly because that would require the general populous to acknowledge that things beyond their scope of comprehension and idea of normal existed.
And they weren’t about to do that.
But as the Watcher’s eyes combed through the Obituary section – a habit he picked up from his profession, always glancing at the names to see if any of them looked familiar – he did catch a name that rang a bell in his mind.
Hannah Flynn.
Corbett’s brow furrowed and his lip puckered in thought. For a moment, he couldn’t recall why that name seemed so familiar to him. The Watcher didn’t have a large social circle in Searchlight, and at first he thought it was just a name he’d seen in print before.
But then he remembered … he’d met her once before, a little over a year ago. Kris was still his Slayer, and he recalled his bum shoulder from a crossbow training session gone horribly wrong. She’d suggested Aspercreme for his shoulder … and then mentioned something about meat loaf.
Corbett allowed himself a short chuckle before continuing to read the obit piece. She was just 23 … for that, the Watcher actually felt a twinge of regret and mourning. He’d only met Hannah the once – and mistook her for a Slayer when he did. It was an unfortunate side effect of his job; meet a young woman and automatically think or wonder if she was one of the Chosen Ones.
Hannah wasn’t. She was just some girl who rambled on about a big rock and was so glad to know Corbett was a Watcher … he couldn’t recall if he ever actually found anything out about said rock, but he at least remembered he telling him about it.
The he walked her home. That whole male chivalry thing … not to mention the fact that Searchlight was a little light on the normal and heavy on the monsters that thrived on the darkness to snap people like twigs and digest their entrails.
Details of her death were sketchy, which told Corbett it was out of the ordinary. The Watcher wondered who she was close to, who in this tiny desert town connected to her. In a way, that was what Corbett felt the worst about. He felt bad Hannah died so young, and he didn’t like the scarcity of information regarding her passing, but more than anything he wondered who was suffering because of her loss.
He thought back to Kathryn for a moment, thinking of how he felt when he found out she was killed. He then thought of his Slayer and that bond they had. A bond he was glad for, but never wished upon anyone else.
Faith still hadn’t called or came by. She was fine – Corbett was sure of that – but it seemed there was a wedge between them since she returned to normal.
The Watcher frowned, folding up the newspaper and placing it on the coffee table. With a sigh, he rose and walked to his bedroom. On his dresser sat a makeshift altar, with a gold-encrusted pentagram situated in the center. On top of it was a candle holder, in which Corbett placed a black candle.
Igniting his Zippo, the Watcher lit the candle, staring intently at the flame. Taking his glasses off, Corbett spread his hand open, holding it palm-down inches above the flame. Feeling the warmth against his skin, Corbett’s eyes closed and he muttered quietly to himself:
“Peace be with you, Hannah Flynn. May your future journeys be fruitful and vibrant.”
Opening his eyes, Corbett put his glasses back on. He then returned to the living room to go about his research again, letting the candle burn on in rememberance.
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Date/Time: Jul. 17, 2007 / 10:07 pm
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| Subject: Not So Good With the Books |
The living room was littered with books, volumes of open text strewn about the floor and the coffee table.
Corbett, for his part, looked a bit the worse for wear. Sitting in the couch staring intently at the copious tomes surrounding him. His glasses were off, half-smoked cigarette sitting ignored between his fingers. The man looked as if he hadn’t shaven in a few weeks … because in all reality, he hadn’t.
While he was relieved that Faith finally grew back up, he was concerned over her apparent need for space. She hadn’t been to the apartment often, if at all, since returning to her adult form, and Corbett got the hint the second time she failed to answer her cell phone that she didn’t want to be around.
He figured she didn’t want to see Corbett after the childish episode, wondering if perhaps he’d see her differently after what he learned from her six-year-old self.
Which would’ve been fine, if Spike hadn’t been persona-non-there for virtually the same amount of time. That unsettled the Watcher the most.
Regardless, he still had to read up on the Defiler and Elfleda. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off anything about demons with the ability to enact metaphysical change in a person. Though Faith and Spike were adult again, Corbett’s natural curiosity made him wonder just what made them children in the first place.
Demon, spell? Demon spell?
( Tin Man? )
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Date/Time: Mar. 31, 2007 / 11:17 pm
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| Subject: Cowbit! |
Ten in the morning, and Corbett was just now slumping out of bed.
Granted, he didn’t sleep well the night before, the whole episode with Spike keeping his mind too busy. He’d screwed up in going behind Faith’s back to warn the vampire, and while he trusted Faith, the Watcher understood how she would think he didn’t given what he’d done.
But if there was a resumption of the night before’s argument to be had, it would likely wait a while; while 10:00 was late for Corbett to be up, he knew Faith wouldn’t be awake for at least another two hours. So the Watcher fired up the PlayStation3 before bumbling his way to the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. He still preferred tea, but coffee did a better job of getting him awake.
Halfway to the kitchen, Corbett spotted something yellow on his bedroom door. He grabbed at it, squinting at what was a Post-it Note. A note from Faith.
Hey C -
Ran into something weird on patrol last night and might be infected with something nasty. We gotta talk in the morning.
- F
P.S. Spike stayed the night 'cause he might be infected too. Don't freak out!
( Hell of a wake-up call. )
( The kids find the TV. )
( Voicemail for Mallory )
The Watcher hung up the phone to see Billy staring at him with a quizzical expression on his face and a droplet of milk running down his chin. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the phone.
The Watcher smirked again, showing the little boy the phone. “It’s a phone,” he explained. “It allows me to talk to people without actually being right in front of them.”
Billy nodded and went right back to eating his breakfast. Corbett just stared at the boy, thinking how much the world had likely changed since the days in which William was actually a six-year-old boy.
Oh yeah … this was going to be a ton of fun.
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Date/Time: Mar. 11, 2007 / 1:33 am
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| Subject: Closing Time |
It had been a busy night at the Lighthouse, and Julie was relieved when the basketball games on TV had ended. The werewolf hadn't minded the packed house that the college tournament season brought; the tips had been excellent and it had made the night go fast, but by the time the last game was over she was running on empty.
Once the games had ended, it hadn't taken much time for the customers to pay their bills and shuffle out the door. She'd cleaned the tables and wiped down the bar, then decided to get a head start on closing. After all, there wasn't much likelyhood of customers popping in at the last minute, was there?
Corbett needed a drink. So badly, he hadn’t bothered checking the time to make sure the Lighthouse was still open. He thought about getting something in Vegas, but given how far a drive he would’ve had back to his apartment, that wasn’t an option. And he really didn’t feel like stumbling in the next morning and having Faith ask him where he’d been all night.
The irony of that was simply too palpable for the Watcher.
So he pushed through the doors into the bar, stopping only once he saw how empty the place was. He blinked once, furrowing his brow and checking his watch.
1:47 AM.
“Bloody hell,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and placing his hands on his hips in frustration.
( Late, early, or neither? )
( Yeah, daughter...sure, whatever, dude. )
( Blast from the past )
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Date/Time: Mar. 8, 2007 / 1:28 pm
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| Subject: Well...You Know |
Pontiacs were nothing if not reliable.
Since his old ride had pretty much died on the way to Searchlight, Corbett had found an old 1997 Grand Am in pretty decent condition. The thing had some miles on it, but whoever’d owned it before the Watcher took really good care of it. Nearly 14 years old and that car was running almost as well as the day it pulled off the assembly line in Detroit.
Which was good, because that car had been the only way Corbett could meander his way to Las Vegas in search of his Slayer. He really thought he had gotten somewhere with Faith earlier that evening, with the letter and the crying and all that, but then she got a call from Spike -- bloody Spike -- and bolted out the door with hardly so much as a “Don’t wait up for me!”
Which normally wouldn’t have bothered Corbett; he did, in fact, trust Faith. But this was Spike, William the Bloody. Soul or no, under control of The First or not, Spike was responsible for what happened to Teresa, and the Watcher was not about to sit back and possibly watch that monster take another Slayer.
He wasn’t going to let Spike take his Slayer.
Cutting the engine, Corbett stepped out of the car and immediately grabbed hold of a stake and cross. He was well off from the Strip, and after what happened in Vegas, the Watcher couldn’t be too sure what might be lurking around in the aftermath. So of course, he came prepared.
Not as prepared as a Slayer, but hey…
( Looking for Faith )
( Potentially enlightening )
She watched the red tail-lights disappear, then turned on one booted foot and wandered off in the other direction. She'd see the old dude again, somehow she already knew that. Maybe next time they'd have a more social sort of chat. They could even have a drink.
Have a drink and talk about killing.
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Date/Time: Feb. 19, 2007 / 2:26 pm
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| Subject: Knowing Almost Everything |
(NOTE: Takes place before the snow melts.)
Although the Lighthouse did a fair amount of trade in beer and stronger beverages, the past few days' worth of freakish weather had the bar selling quite a lot of coffee and hot chocolate as well. Connor didn't think he'd seen the regular crowd in such a cranky mood since he'd been in town, but he could understand. Snow in the desert was unnatural and no one who lived in Searchlight seemed to think the white stuff was pretty for long.
The young man was emptying the filter of one of the coffee makers to get a fresh pot started when the door of the bar opened, letting in a blast of cold air. One of the regulars turned around on his stool and faced in that direction with a scowl plain on his face, pulling his heavy plaid coat tighter around himself.
"Watch the door," he griped. "Bad enough it’s freezing outside, there's no need to bring it in here with you."
Ah, yes. The surly drunken crowd. Nothing better on a chilly winter’s evening than to liquor yourself up and bitch about everything wrong with your life – and with everyone around you.
( All leaded )
The cash register drawer dinged loudly as Connor closed it, tucking Corbett's change into the pocket of his apron. Okay, so the older man really wasn't like Wesley at all, but who was?
Tonight, he might try to write his parents. They were always worried about him out here, and though he felt as if there was nothing to be concerned about, they hardly knew everything. Maybe putting pen to paper for them would calm their nerves.
Somebody deserved to sleep soundly at night, after all.
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Date/Time: Feb. 10, 2007 / 1:01 am
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| Subject: Pow-wow With the Powers...Well, Sorta |
155 Hobson.
Yep, this was the place. Where the man called Whistler lived. Corbett didn’t know much of what Rhiannon had told him about Whistler, other than something involving the Powers That Be and the fact that he could possibly be of help in dealing with Elfleda and the pet she was apparently trying to break in.
Because anything that made Faith’s life safer and a little simpler was something Corbett was devoted to doing – even if that meant knocking on the door of strange men he didn’t know who were probably actual high beings. The Watcher had always had his doubts about the so-called Powers That Be, deciding it was nothing more than religious dogma. Which religion, he didn’t know, but still…it had that holy stink to it.
But maybe he’d been wrong. Not that it mattered; he just wanted the thing Elfleda was raising gone and Faith safe. Well, safer.
So with a heavy sigh, Corbett killed his cigarette with the toe of his boot and knocked on the door bearing a faded “155.”
( Corbett's books don't say this )
( WTF, mate? )
Corbett glanced at the door as it shut behind him, a look of confusion and what the hell--? etched into his aging features.
Yup. You will. What did that mean? Was that yet another one of those Powers things? Cause if it was? Ooh, creepy.
Corbett shook his head, deciding for the moment to ignore it. He lit a cigarette as he wandered into the winter cold, figuring there’d be plenty of time to decipher Whistler after Elfleda and the Defiler had been stopped.
But damn, if that wasn’t creepy…
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Date/Time: Jan. 28, 2007 / 11:28 pm
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| Subject: Moving In |
As Faith stood in front of Corbett's apartment complex, she could only think one thing -- she was so screwed.
Ever since Corbett's phone message, that's all Faith could think of. Her new witchy friend was apparently some big bad about to raise something big and nasty and Corbett was not going to be pleased to find out that she'd been hanging out with Elfleda as if they were old college buddies looking for a little misdemeanor fun. It hadn't stopped there, either. After their night together, Faith had liberated herself even more things. Nothing major like diamonds or big screen TVs, but she now had a duffel bag full of clothes and couldn't help but grab herself some neat-looking weapons, too. All of hers had perished in the hotel, so why couldn't she reimburse herself with some new ones?
By the looks of it, Faith's little shoplifting habit was in full force again. But that little tidbit of information could be kept secret for now. No one knew how much money she did or didn't have, so there was no way anyone would know that all her belongings were stolen goods.
Either way, it was time to suck it up and face the music. With a sigh, the Slayer adjusted her duffel bag around her shoulder and climbed up the stairs leading up to the second floor. She had never actually visited the Watcher in his home before and had no idea what to expect. Probably wouldn't be too different from Wes' old apartment. There'd be books lining the walls and tea and scotch in the cupboards, but anything beyond that was up in the air.
Lifting her hand up, she knocked firmly on the door that bore the number Corbett had told her back when they first decided to do this Watcher/Slayer thing together.
( Moving in, and getting right down to business )
( A welcome-home present...and a Watcher's secret )
( Dinner and a toast )
Corbett smiled, clanking his beer bottle against Faith’s. “Hopefully not mine,” he offered. “It would seem a few of my predecesors were a tad…clumsy. Don’t particularly fancy getting knocked over the head every other time the world threatens to end.”
The Watcher finished off his first pizza slice before emptying yet another beer bottle. With all the work he’d been doing in the days since hearing Rhiannon’s voicemail, he was due for a night of fun and relaxation. And now that he had food to go along with the beer, it’d be a good while before Corbett would come even close to getting tipsy.
So, picking up his controller and pointing at the television, the Watcher gave Faith a knowing grin. “Now, ready for that arse-kicking?”
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corbett_renfroe
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