Project Infinity - Monday, August 20, 2001, 1:36 AM
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Somewhere just past midnight, Beacon Harbor time. Though that's not accurate for much longer, as the small charter plane will be heading into international waters quite soon.

The pilot introduced himself as Jude Thaddeus, and seemed in a rush, so the flight took off almost right away, leaving little time for talk. "Ladies and gentlemen," he says in a Spanish accent. "You may now remove your seatbelts."

Lara grins just a touch. She recognizes the tone and timbre, even if the accent is very, very good. She looks over at her fellow passengers. "And how are we all?" she asks delicately.

Constantine takes advantage of the fact that this isn't a commercial plane in order to sprawl, taking up more room than he physically should be able to. "Not dead. Yet. That's what counts, innit? Will the plane explode if I smoke?" No, but two rather nice femmes fatale will kill you, stupid.

Buffy doesn't care. She's been staring out of the window the whole time, and now watches the ocean, obscured by the occasional fluffy cloud. She's tucked herself into her seat, legs curled up underneath her, chin propped in her hand as she just stares out. Something in the back of her mind tells her she's being addressed. "Fine." is all she says. Maybe she's got a fear of flying.

Jude leaves the plane to itself for the time being, there's not much to hit up there, and twists in his seat. "It is not the plane you should worry about," he says with a grin. "I can assume everyone here has a passport, yes?"

Lara says serenely, "I do." her eyes dart over. "Buffy," she says crisply, "A word with you in the back, if I may?"

Constantine pauses. Eyes Lara. Eyes Buffy. Looks back at the pilot. "I see what you mean." Damn. "Yeah, I have one." Wait a second. They're going to talk about something and not tell him? He hates not knowing things.

Buffy looks up guiltily. I don't have a passport. I probably don't want to say that out loud. Then Lara speaks and the girl nods, stretching out cramped legs and getting up. "Sure." that could answer the passport question -or- Lara. Or both! When the other woman gets close enough, Buffy does drop her voice though "...I don't suppose Customs would buy that I thought Spain was in Georgia?"
 

Lara moves to the back of the plane, and once Buffy joins her, her voice is low and serious. "What's wrong?" she says plainly, looking the little blonde Californian right in the eye.

Jude arches an eyebrow at Buffy. She is a poor liar. We'll deal with that later. Jude drapes an arm over the back of his seat, and crooks a finger at Constantine. Come hither.

Constantine lifts his brows, curious, but shrugs and gets up anyway. "What is this, girls in the back, boys in the front?" He has to make comments like this. It's part of the job description. Not that he has a job.

Buffy blinks at Lara "I haven't got a passport." she thought that was obvious. And more reluctantly "I had a run in with my ex this morning." And no power on this earth is going to make her tell you the rest of the story. Never mind that this Angelus isn't her ex here. Its just really, really upsetting right now.

Lara says dismissively, "Your passport has been taken care of." she eyes her. "There's something a lot more serious going on with you, and I imagine that your encounter is far more serious then you let on. No matter - no doubt he did you a similar turn that he did to me." She leans forward, looking intently at the Slayer. "Buffy, I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm going to say."

Jude smiles and inclines his head in acknowledgement. "It is something like this, yes. Can you do an American voice I wonder?" Jude raises his eyebrows, waiting expectantly.

"I don't know. What do you think? Can I?" John asks. His American accent isn't of the same calibre as Jude's Spanish one by a long shot, but it's certainly passable.

Buffy can only nod with a tremendous feeling of guilt. The girl almost sags a minute, before setting her shoulders. No, see, you're better than I am because you fell for an act. I -knew- it was an act, and I still did it. And I'm going to think about it later because I can't deal with it right now. She looks back at Lara, steeling herself inwardly. Be strong. "I'm listening."

Lara says intently, "Buffy, I do understand what you're feeling right now, and that pain in and of itself, can be very comfortable. But it also drains, and it makes you doubt. You're a lot like me - you need to have focus, because if you don't, if you let everything you're feeling beat down on you, you will doubt yourself. And when you doubt yourself, you're not able to do the things you know in your bones that you can do - all it takes is that little bit. So my girl, what I'm going to tell you as of right now is this: Suck it up, weep later. Focus. Everyone contributes, no one quits. If anyone looses focus, I'll shoot them myself." It's not a threat, it's not a testosterone/estrogen thing, it's just Lara. "There's too much at stake here for you to doubt yourself. /You/ above all people know who you are, and you are the only one that defines yourself. Not me, not John, -not Angelus-."

Jude nods slowly. Well, everyone has their own specialties he supposes. And manages to feel only a bit superior. "It would be easier, for us, to not leave as we came, you see? Time may be short on the return trip as well. You shall be Richard Sloan, yes? The young woman's father." He indicates with a nod towards the back at Buffy.

"All right," Constantine starts to say, dropping back into his own accent. Then, as the latter part of the explanation registers, he gives Jude an accusing glare. "I'm only fifteen years older than her! I don't *look* like her father!" Well, they are both blond and blue-eyed.

Buffy blinks. "Okay." She has no idea how to follow that up. Half of her rallies at that as a challenge. The other half wants to run and hide. There's a half hearted glare as she tries to figure out how she should react to that. "Just for the record, I wasn't losing focus. I was totally in focus, no blurry edges. Blur-free. Really."

It's like Giles is suddenly there, reincarnated in a voluptuous, female form. "Just keep an eye on the prize, Buffy." Lara says with a small smile. "It's what I do." She gestures that they should both move back up.

Jude smiles at the little outburst, and hangs his head a bit to conceal it. "In good time, John, yes. It is easier to make someone look older than younger. It is the ID I have brought, in any case, and it is too late to change, you agree?"

Constantine glowers some more, but only half-heartedly. "Yeah. I s'pose you're right." These people seem so set on abusing him! An entire trans-Atlantic flight during which he can't smoke, *and* he has to pretend to be Buffy's father. Woe. Sulking just a bit, he heads back to his seat.

"Eye on the prize. So long as that still consists of shoving a sword through Angelus' heart and sending him to hell, I'm all onboard." and the plane isn't that big. Buffy heard that. She doesn't go back to her seat but instead walks over to drape an arm on Constantine's shoulder. "Does this mean you'll take me to the ice-capades when they're in town?" a beat. "Dad?" she does feel a little better.

Lara grins a touch. Why couldn't there have been more girls like Buffy in /her/ secondary school?


Flash forward:

Buffy has become Sarah Sloan, young American daughter of Richard Sloan, because as Jude says Buffy sounds more false than anything he could come up with. little to be changed on Buffy. John has been given a beard and many grey hairs. Simon is of course already disguised. Lara was offered the identity of the missus Thaddeus, a new hair colour and outfit. Customs never looked twice.

A rented jeep paid in cash is now bringing them towards their destination, luggage in the back. "I think this was the least attention I have ever had at an airport, yes?" The idea tickles the saint.

"I wouldn't know," the sadly disguised Constantine points out. He doesn't like having a beard. He only has a beard when he's too drenched in angst to bother shaving. He also doesn't like having gray hairs. But then, who does?

Buffy's lips are still set in somewhat of a pout. "There's nothing wrong with 'Buffy'," she says for the eighteen millionth time since the airport, although at least its mostly to -herself- this time. "I don't know, I kind of liked the way those guys hung out of the restaurant and asked if I wanted a Spanish boyfriend. I need to travel more often."

Lara frowns vaguely at her hair. She looks Irish with that red job - Simon promised it would wash out in two or three washings. It /better/. She looks up, just as they arrive on a flat plain overshadowed by some hills in the distance, and within them, a town. "Look," she says. "San Lorenzo. That's it."

Jude looks at John in the rearview mirror, and tries not to smile too much. Let's have what fun we can if the world is going to end in a few days. "You all look mahvellous," he says, imitating Billy Crystal's character from the days of yore on Saturday Night Live. "It is in the town?"

Constantine says nothing more, instead turning to look where Lara points in a swirl of smoke. He's been smoking since he got outside, and God help anyone who said he can't. That was a long plane ride without a cigarette, dammit.

Holmes didn't show up at the airport. He didn't make the plane. His luggage wasn't on the plane. And he's been nowhere to be seen.

Lara frowns, watching the road get worse, and the sun go down. "You may as well park, S- Jude. The car won't handle the road an further, so we may as well hike the rest of the way."

Buffy is somewhat excited. She hasn't been out of the country before. She's like a kid on Christmas. "Think they'll be any interesting things to kill on the way?" she sounds wistfully hopeful. She reaches over to pat Constantine's shoulder. "I like the beard. Not that I can see it, in the smoke."

Jude pulls over slowly and parks. A quick glance at Lara for the near slip. Hard to care about that kinda thing with a world hanging over it. "As my father used to say, getting there may be a large part of the fun, but only if you actually get there. A nice relaxing trip would be nice, yes?"

"Good," Constantine mutters. He doesn't want this beard being seen. "Ten to one there'll be more than enough interesting things to kill on the way," he predicts darkly. He's not a particularly optimistic man. "It'd be nice, mate, but I doubt it'll happen." How cheerful.

Buffy gives Constantine a Look. "If you're going to be all dark and angsty, you're staying with the car. I did the brooding angsty type before." this afternoon, actually. "I'm so over it. Look on the bright side. They can't kill you if you kill them first.

At the little rough-hewn spot where the road gets too rough for cars to easily travel, there's a bit of a cleared space where travelers usually park in the isolated mountains. And standing by the rough road is a half-hunched old man, face wrinkled, grey hair wispy, and he's carrying an incongruously modern case. A small button on his coat says "Bienvenido A San Lorenzo!" He leans heavily on a thick cane and has a cloak thrown over him. Glasses cover rheumy eyes. He waves a frail hand at the car as it parks and moves towards it with slow hunched steps.

Lara eyes the man a touch warily, her hands settling in the area of her hips. She replies cordially in Spanish, <Good evening, sir. May we help you?>

The old man speaks quavering Spanish with the local accent. < Welcome, welcome travelers, to our beautiful valley! The mayor of our excellent town has given me the honor of greeting those who come to visit us and to give them a gift, and your gifts are particularly exquisite. Are you all British? Some Americans, I see? > He rummages in the case with his hand as if searching for the gift.

Jude is equally suspicious, but one must play the part they have cast themselves in. The haughty Spanish rich man pays little attention to the old villager. <Excuse us, sir> he says dryly. "Please pay him no mind. I am sure we shall be asked for a small donation next."

Constantine blinks a few times. "What's he saying?" He can make out a few words. "It's a regular tourist greeting speech, innit?" He feels almost insulted.

Buffy climbs out of the car, looking none the worse for wear, blinking at Lara and trying to keep up with the conversation. She leans closer to Constantine to say quizzically "...Good nachos, man, can I add you?" then the man speaks again and she shrugs "And I'm lost. I failed English, I'm not even gonna -try-.

Lara gives Simon a /look/ - she's well traveled, and she knows beggars and con artists when she sees them - she figured John out in under three minutes, after all. To the old man she comments, <Thank you very much sir, but as you can see we are busy, and must be on our way.> With that, she sets off at a very brisk pace.

The old man chuckles brightly and produces a collection of rather expensive-looking sunglasses bound up in a leather cord. < These sunglasses will assist in your walk down the path towards the village. The /saints/, sir, the saints may guide your feet but what good is that if the setting sun blinds you? They are /very/ scientific sunglasses. I need no donation of monies, this is all for your benefit and the service of God. > There are two pairs and he pushes them at Lara and Jude. < For the young lady and the gentleman with the striking beard...let us see. > A bit more rummaging, then he produces two plain metal medallions. < For you, these medallions of Saint Lawrence. > "San Lorenzo" is in there, at least. < Wear these and the kindness of the village will be with you and the saint shall bless you. > Perhaps he is a little bit crazy, because he forcibly /insists/.

That gets Jude's attention, his head snapping back towards the man. A hand reaches slowly for the sunglasses offered. <I am Jude Thaddeus. I was named for a saint, who was beaten with a club then beheaded.> "He says the medallions are for you."

The old man nods his head almost exaggeratedly, his whole hunched body slumping a little bit. < And you still travel with lost causes on your shoulders, sir, I can see it yet. Here. Take this small gift with the blessing of God. > He presses the sunglasses to Jude's chest. (The medallions, if my last pose wasn't clear, are going to Constantine and Buffy.)

Lara presses her lips together. "If it'll get rid of him..." she says with a shrug as she walks back. "Accept the gifts, and let's move on. She takes the sunglasses and sticks her preferred pair in a side pocket, shoving the new ones on top of her head before walking off again. "Come /on/, people."

Well, unless he's actively trying to deceive, John isn't hard to figure out. And he wasn't trying to deceive Lara when they first met. He was trying to get her in bed. And doing a bad job of it, too, but oh well. "Yeah? Bugger the medallions." Paranoid people who work with magic do not just accept mysterious medallions. It's simply a Bad Idea. "Who the fuck is he?" He does take one of the offered medallions, gingerly, but he's not about to put it on.

The old man gestures a little. < You're not wearing it right. > he says to Constantine, pretending to slip one on over his own head. < It's quite safe. > he teases. < The road ahead is the treacherous one. > Lara only gets a lecherous leer at her rump as she goes.

"I definitely need to travel more often." They give you FREE things! Buffy accepts the medallion almost gleefully. She shows John. See? Free things! She does put it on, she's not that suspicious. "This just gets better and better." and she's off following Lara, skipping a few steps to keep up. "Do you -always- get presents in another country, or is this just like, medallion day?"

The sun continues to go down, and the lights in the town turn on as the last rays of the sun peep over the edge of the horizon.

Jude puts the sunglasses on, tucking his other ones away. The old mans seems to know a lot for an uneducated villager. Jude goes to the back of the jeep. Can't go without his gear, after all. After slipping on a hiker's backpack, he starts to follow.

The sunlight does, however, strike the road with a terrible glare just right at the last minute. Sunglasses are almost certainly needed for a bit of descent. And they're easy to forget because they polarize perfectly with the fading light.

"Usually you have to buy the presents. But they *insist* upon that, too," Constantine says dryly. Tossing his cigarette end at the ground, he cringes at the last of the sunlight. "Christ." Reluctantly, he puts the medallion on.

Lara sets the pace, and the town looms closer after a time. They're almost at the gates, the sun now gone but for the last final reddish emotes of light.

"I hope that was a prayer," Jude says dryly from the back of the pack, suddenly grateful for the polarizing glasses.

Buffy is just loving this. Its what she needed. To get away. Really away. Across the ocean away. And she got a present. "Which is why I still say I should've accepted a Spanish boyfriend back at the airport," she explains, brushing some dirt from her shirt "since then I wouldn't -have- to buy the present--never mind. If you could get it you wou--" and then she pauses, tilting her head slightly. "Huh." a hand reaching back to draw out her stake and she moves forward, putting a hand out for Lara's shoulder. "Trouble." she isn't sure where, or how many. But still.

Lara looks down her shoulder at Buffy. "I believe the Slayer senses something," she says, flicking her coat back. Who knows how she managed it, but in the front holster pair are her usual 9 mm's, but in the back - she withdraws two wooden stakes. Angelus taught her well. She whirls, and suddenly there's a crowd of vampires, easily a dozen, most talking in Spanish, game faces on, and looking very hungry.

Suddenly Constantine and Buffy hear a clear, crisp English-accented voice speaking very close at hand. "Turn around." it says. "Quickly!" It is Holmes, yes, but it's also the voice of command, of urgency.

Constantine spins around; he's hardly slow to react, or he'd be long since dead. "Fucking hell." He doesn't bother to ask about Holmes. That can come later, when there are fewer undead hordes hanging around.

Jude wonders for a moment what a slayer is, as a proper noun, before turning around. If it slayers whatever those things are, then he's glad they brought one with him. "Holy shit," he exclaims in Simon's voice. It's startling, okay? He goes for the closest weapon at hand, a long bladed knife up one sleeve.

Buffy spins around, the first look of confusion replaced very quickly with a fighting stance and a grin. "When I said Spanish boyfriend," she informs the group, both dead and undead "I should've specified a pulse. The quickest way to a man's heart is through the breastbone, people." another stake is pulled from her pocket. Oh like she doesn't travel with one in each, and shoved towards Constantine "Here we go."

Not only does turning around make Buffy and Constantine look at a second group of vampires skulking up out of the shadows, it means that the sudden glare of extraordinarily bright klieg lights mounted in the trees doesn't blind them. CRACK-SCCNNKKKZT, they go. Jude and Lara are naturally unharmed - the sunglasses immediately re-polarize to keep them seeing perfectly well. The vampires on the other hand, /all/ of them...shriek and hiss, some flailing helplessly at the light, some so directly in it that they appear in physical pain. Others simply look dazed. Still others were hidden by shadow or by their more blinded friends and are simply surprised. There were at least forty vampires in fighting trim. Now there's about half that number that are mewling in pain, another 5-8 which are a bit dazed, and the rest are suddenly realizing this may not quite go as expected. Holmes remains nowhere to be seen.

Lara has already turned around, and with her stakes ready, she faces as Holmes directed, throwing one of her stakes backhanded and flipping the other over to readiness. The dazed vampire is little more then dust, leaving twenty four, of which four aren't doing little more then standing and blinking like idiots.

Constantine is not entirely shocked by the vocal change from Simon. He doubted the man was as he seemed. "If it's holy, use it against them," he suggests brightly. Yes. He's still making snide quips now. He blinks at the stake. "What am I meant to do with--yeah, yeah, slay vampires, I know..." He's just not much for physical fighting, that's all. In any case, he doesn't have much of a choice here.

Well that was helpful. Still, Buffy blinks at the sudden increase in light. That still doesn't stop her with utmost grace and confidence, from staking the closest flailing vampire. "Well you could name it. But mostly? Just hold it up and I'll throw them at you." now that's comforting.

Holmes' voice comes again. "On your left, Mr. Constantine." And a rifle shot rings out - then another. It's a lot easier for Constantine to stake folk when they have no knee bones that aren't splintered. A pair of vampires seems eager to abandon the main brightly lit fray to leap out after where they heard the rifle shots come from. They disappear into the blackness.

Lara says a bit crossly, "Holmes!" she exchanges blows with a vampire before staking him. "I told you bullets don't work!"

Stabby stabby. Simon attacks the nearest vampire. Knife goes in, vampire doesn't seem fazed, the Saint looks less than pleased. "Oh son of bitch," he says in the Spaniard's voice again, and lands a fist into the vampire's crotch. He's about efficiency at the moment. Jude makes a dive for Lara's discarded stake, rolling to his feet with it in hand. "So that is wood only then?" He probably should have known.

That makes it easier. John spins around, stake aimed at the already incapacitated vampire. Even if he isn't particularly comfortable with how little he *knows* about this situation.

Buffy doesn't know who that is that's speaking, but he can keep it up. She blocks at punch from one vampire, landing a kick to its stomach "Go for the neck! if you cut off their heads its the same th--" ooof. She gets knocked from the back and goes sprawling into the arms of the awaiting vampire--who rather instantly goes from grinning to groaning and *dust*. She kicks behind her without looking, another vampire doubling over as she impales him through his back. "...still got it."

Halved before most could move - and of those, half taken down by the Slayer alone, there's three left, hissing and defiant, and they /all/ make to converge on Buffy. Lara's left alone, the one fighting Jude tries to disengage him to go attack Buffy, and one simply leaps from his spot near the shadow edge in a wild grab for the teenage girl.

Suddenly from the forest where the rifle shots came from, there's a WHOOMF of flame and the shriek of a couple of vampires suddenly burning. Holmes himself steps into the light wearing sunglasses and a cloak, apparently unarmed, from a completely different direction. "I'm so /sorry/, Lady Croft." he says brightly, as a vampire charges him with preternatural speed from his right. "I do hope everything's to your liking here. There's some tea up ahead." Holmes throws back his cloak to reveal a rather impressive looking crucifix in his hand, which he displays at the vampire with such speed and rapidity that the vampire's feet don't stop before the top half of his body does and he falls to the ground - right on a stake which, by golly, someone has taken the time to bury exactly in that spot. Dust blows away. Awfully theatrical.

"Boys, boys," Buffy blocks, kicks, spins--you name it she's doing it, with impressive speed and she doesn't look a bit tousled. It so unfair really. The first is impaled when he tries to grab her from behind. The second she doesn't see until a minute too late because of it, turning to be tackled and landing hard on her back with a snarling vampire attached, as her stake goes rolling away. "...maybe I didn't make this clear." she grabs the front of his shirt and flips him off, rolling and diving for her stake. "I never get physical on a first date." he lunges, she stabs. *dust*. You can't fight without banter. Its in the Handbook.

Lara grins, looking terribly pleased. "That would seem to be that." She turns and strolls into town. The curiously deserted town. Well, maybe not so curious - the vampires ate the townsfolk, surprise surprise. "Come on, milords, milady."

Holmes tsks gently, and waves his hand, and the lights cut off. He takes off his sunglasses and saunters in. "That's all of them." he says. Tied up just outside the gates are three confused-looking people. "Their servants. Guarding the town during the day. They never noticed me. None of them know anything of importance." Inside the town just on the porch of a battered, smashed cafe' is a tea service which has been set up with a little kerosene lantern providing light. "Some refreshment before proceeding to the church? I'm sorry, I don't think I've been properly introduced to these...specialists."

Alas, the church is uphill, dear Slayer. Very far up hill, on a crag that overlooks the now desolate town. Even from the now vampire-dusty main square of the town the light of its lone window is visible in the dark.

Lara says briskly, "No time, Holmes. Meet John Constantine, Jude Thaddeus, Buffy Summers. No lagging!"

Constantine follows Lara into the town. "I'll bet money that we'll get to see lots of dead people drained of their blood in the town," he says brightly. "Come on, doesn't anyone want to take me up on that offer?" He has a twisted sense of humor. He eyes the tea service. *Tea*? Now? Oh please. He prefers alcohol anyway.

Just like that then? Simon knew it. He's surrounded by crazy people. Tres exciting. He retrieves his knife from one of the piles of dust, sliding it back up his sleeve. After a twirl. "Did she say Holmes?" Jude asks of John or Buffy, whichever is most likely to listen.

Holmes sighs a little. His lovely tea service, so dramatic and smooth, just flat out going to waste. "Yes. That is what she said." he mutters to himself, and proceeds up the hill with the rest, graceful steps of his long legs. He looks a bit sulky. Nobody's even asking him what he's doing here! God. Depressing.

Buffy follows too, feeling so much better, she's almost glowing. There's certainly a better bounce to her step, which coincidentally, falls in with Jude's. "I think she means 'homey', but she's English and we should forgive her." and it is uphill isn't it. Nuts.

"We're easier to forgive?" John asks innocently. "That's a relief to know. I've a lot of sins on my soul." He doesn't sound particularly mournful about this.

Lara mutters under her breath, making her way to the church before sliding her remaining stake back into its sheath. On an afterthought, she tosses the trench entirely, leaving her in the clinging black t-shirt, tight pants, and gun holsters. Ahh, the Blessed Lara of Tomb Raiding, be with us this day. "There's the church." she points down the street.

Holmes says "I didn't have a chance to investigate it much. But the sword's there, that much is certain."

The church itself is up a winding path better suited for mountain goats then people - it curves in and out of the contours of the crag to end in a little round plaza before the doors of the church. The church itself is apparently carved from the living rock itself, rather like a miniaturized version of the Grail temple that Indy visited, in the Canyon of the Crescent Moon. A little light burns just above the pointed arch of the door, sheltered from the winds that scout the part. The night is silent, save for the dry wind off the plains of Andalucia. Really very peaceful.

Until the almost rhythmic cascade of clicks - the sound of multiple rifle safeties going off.

"Good evening, ladies, gentlemen. Please put your weapons down. All of them."

"Thank you for the glasses, senor Holmes," Simon says, a curious glance in the famous detectives direction. ...nah, it couldn't be. The clicks freeze him in place, and Jude slowly raises his hands, looking for the weapon bearers.

Buffy grins at John, an entirely playful and lively grin, so much the opposite of how she was this morning. But something flickers across her face a minute "Its the accent, gets me everyti--" whoa. Instinctively, she half crouches. "...uphill. Yeah."

"Bugger." says Lara softly, and removes her guns, taking a quick count of clicks. She crouches briefly, and sets them near her feet. "You seem to have the advantage." she calls out smoothly to the voices. "May we have the honor of knowing the identity of those who have us rather rudely outnumbered?"

Holmes does not look nonplussed or disturbed hardly at all. He rather ostentatiously takes a pistol out of his pocket and lays it down on a nearby rock. At least he's not sulky anymore. It's so rare that he's surprised even a little bit, the fact that the voice is speaking English makes him tremendously happy.

Constantine doesn't ditch his own trenchcoat. It stays on him. He needs the pockets. On the other hand, he's not about to protest Lara taking hers off. He stares at her, unable to help himself. Soon enough, though, he's got other things on his mind. By the time they reach the church, though, he's breathing heavily and coughing a little, and, of course, still smoking. What did you expect? At the sudden rain of unpleasant little clicks, though, he looks even *less* happy. He raises his hands. "I haven't got any weapons." This is true. Well, except for his wits, and like hell he's putting those down. He has to cling tight enough to keep hold of them anyway.

Buffy doesn't deal well with guns, they make her uneasy. Its the whole Killing You In An Instant factor. At least vampires are sporting, and let you knock them around a bit. She doesn't have any weapons. She edges closer to Constantine. On second thought, he's altogether too preoccupied lately with staring at Lara and he doesn't have any weapons. So she edges closer to Jude, clearing her throat "...we didn't bring the bullet proof backpacks, did we?" she wonders if the stake in her back pocket counts as a weapon. Nah. "I'm American?" she announces to the scary gun totting people who she can't see. Does that count?

"-All- of your weapons, Mister Holmes, if you please," comes the smooth, urbane voice from the darkness above. It's tinged with the very purest of aristocratic Castilian Spanish. "Lady Croft, you as well," A flurry of laughter at her question. "Rudely outnumbered? I fear that this is not a cricket match, my lady...but my name, perhaps, you may have," A dark-robed form detaches itself from the shadows at the side of the door, and glides forward. It might pass for the ghost of a Dominican.. save that Dominicans were never armed with Kalashnikov rifles. The hood of the robe is pulled back, though, to reveal a lovely young woman. "Elena de la Vega, at your service,"

Jude in response moves closer to Buffy, turning, and nudges against her. Not just to touch her with his butt either. There's a knife tucked in to the back of his waistband. They know us, which makes bluffing hard.

A bullet pings off the stone by Jude's foot. "And your knife, as well," Elena amends, with a quiet smile. "If you seek the sword, profane weapons will avail you little, senor,"

Lara frowns a bit, removing her back holstered stake, and the two extra guns. And the ammo. "Ms. de la Vega," she says. "If you know we seek the sword, surely you know why we must have it." Talking annoys Lara. She's used to getting objects that don't have people around them that talk back - they're usually dead.

Jude narrows his eyes and reaches slowly for the knife, letting it clatter to the stones. Still, he looks smug. He's got more. Don't think that too loudly.

Buffy jumps, as she is wont to, stumbling back a few steps to Constantine "...I like you better without weapons. And can we say PMS?" that is directed at Vega, although not overly loudly, not entirely quietly either.

Constantine frowns at the lead shadowy figure. For once, he actually manages not to be swayed by the fact that she's lovely. "She doesn't look much like the ghost of a friar," he mutters. So much for legends. When Lara speaks, though, he raises his voice to add, "I shouldn't think the world being sucked into Hell would appeal to any of us." He waves a hand (trailing smoke in the air behind it) to indicate both their own little group and the church's mysterious guards. "Course, I could be wrong."

The young woman in the robe gives a slightly pained sigh. "if I repeat myself a third time, senor, none of you will reach the sword. And time is of the essence, we are well aware. All of your weapons," she waves a hand that's nearly hidden in the sleeve of the robe. "If you have studied the sword of San Lorenzo enough to have come this far, surely you are aware that mere force will be of no help. It is to prevent precisely that eventuality that we are here, magus." She comments to Constantine. "But we may not free the sword into the wrong hands, no matter how well intentioned,"

Holmes says almost prissily, a bit exasperated. "Senora de la Vega, I have put down the only weapon I am carrying. I am disappointed you did not surmise it. The others I have secreted in places where I'll need them. I trust you've found the clues I intended your men to find. They certainly found the right clues when they passed through on their scouting mission six hours ago, and then the second, covert, scouting mission four hours ago that you did not intend me to see. And then the band of three which came down to try to loot the town against your orders, I think they might have found what I intended them to find as well. So you /do/ know why we are here, and there is no need to threaten us." He /yes/, actually puts his fists on his waist. "Your quaint superstitions about a test I cannot gainsay. But there is no need to be indecent about your demands. As your /brother/ was wont to do." Now /that/ was meant to /sting/, and there's /no/ way he could have known that.

Holmes then goes striding up towards the door of the church, having said his piece. Bullets or none.

Buffy just blinks at Holmes. "...Its like, Giles on Jolt. Its...the scariest thing I have ever heard in my life. You left them CLUES?! Are you a raving lunatic?!" and then he starts walking. "Well. One question I won't lose sleep over."

Lara rolls her eyes, and turns to de la Vega. <Forgive him,> she says, <He's a bit of a priss.>

"This would have gone easier," Jude comments, as he takes a knife from his sleeve, "If you had been more clear from the start senora." He's sulking. Another life comes from a strap on his calf, and he hesitates before withdrawing the one actually built into the sole of his shoe. If they were meant to be found, might as well listen to them. "Did Giles ever mention anything about appropriate times to hold your tongue?"

The young woman's smile remains serene, motherly. She simply steps aside to let Holmes pass. The doors.. don't yield. Not at all. <It's not his fault. But this is a place where faith reigns, not the mind. He is not the one who will retrieve the sword,>

Holmes doesn't actually try to open the door. He just stands there expectantly, gesturing impatiently at the rest of the group.

"The wrong hands?" Constantine repeats. Oh dear. If they're going to question them about ethics, he...should probably sneak quietly away. He casts an annoyed look at Holmes. Showoff. "No, Buffy," he says tiredly, with more than a little agreement in his voice, "he's Sherlock Holmes. But he might also be a raving lunatic, I'll admit." He starts to follow the detective, nevertheless.

Holmes explains to Buffy as she nears. "I am not a lunatic, young lady, Mr. Constantine." he says in the voice of the instructor. "They simply never would have surmised what was happening unless I demonstrated it to them. Perhaps in three or four days they would have gathered the necessary information, but we do not have three or four days. They must be assembled /now/, either that or there was a good possibility we would be stymied here. Isn't that right, Senora?" he says crisply to de la Vega. He's oh so insufferably smug at this point.

Lara is ignoring them all. <Who is to retrieve the sword, madame?>

Buffy gives Jude a half-grin. It'd be more, but there are guns and weird things going on. "Usually every five minutes." and then she blinks, "He's who? But--but--but he's not wearing the hat. And where's the pipe?" its much easier to focus on details than the fact that you could be shot. She follows Constantine out of habit. "And that...fat guy with the glasses? Wallet. Wallston. Walrus. Are they going to shoot us, do you think?" when Holmes talks she just stares at him. "His lips moved, I swear to god, but I thought he said he brought the gun people here and I know that just ain't happening."

De la Vega adds, after a moment, <You know, he test is simple. And requires little time. If one of you passes the trial, we will render all our assistance in freeing the sword.> She switches to English, and notes sweetly, "Senor Holmes, we have been here for a week. Then folk of the town were ours, who knew the price that must be paid. But it was generous of you to let us know precisely when we should meet you," She's making it sound like they were arranging a dinner party. "And the one who can slay the one who would raise Acathla. I assume that one is among you?"

"Watson," Jude corrects smoothly. Sherlock Holmes! Under other circumstances he'd be somewhat giddy. "We simply must have lunch if the world happens not to end senor Holmes." He nudges Buffy. She's the Slayer, right? "I believe you are called, miss Sloan."

Holmes laughs brightly, clearly quite charmed by Buffy. She's reacting properly, in his book. To de la Vega's statement he waves a hand dismissively as if she's missed the entire point, then bows agreeably to Jude.

Lara looks over her shoulder. "That's her. But you said she's not the one who must retrieve the sword. Who needs to answer your question?"

Buffy casts a look from Jude to Vega. "She might be. And she might be even looking forward to it. And she might be looking forward to it if you promise not to shoot her." she glowers at almost everyone. Mark me for death, go ahead. She nudges Jude back "Wrong number."

Constantine just stares at Holmes. "I can't *believe* this. You bastard." He has no problems with calling Sherlock Holmes a bastard. He'd use worse names, if he had the time. "Question? She's got a question for us? Nothing painful? These tests are usually meant to be painful. Course, I don't mind the change."

The woman's dark glance shoots to Constantine. "You've brought that magus along. His test is to tell us of the nature of the test for the one who will wield the sword."

Buffy looks at Constantine nervously "...make it multiple choice, I choke on essays."

Lara folds her arms across her chest. Constantine better make it good. She looks at him, brow arched expectantly. Hasn't he always wanted Lara's undivided attention?

Holmes nudges Lara lightly in the side and rather fixedly puts his gaze on de la Vega. No need to pressure him unduly.

Jude can only think. Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man.

Constantine has always wanted Lara's undivided attention, but usually when he imagined it she had fewer clothes on. And there weren't people with guns around. "It's a basic mythic principle," he says, flicking his cigarette end at the ground and stepping on it. "Self-sacrifice, the Hanged Man, whatever. No nooses involved, though. She has to be as willing to die by the blade as she is to kill that bloody vampire with it. Well..." He reconsiders. "Not *that* willing." Since she probably *really* wants to kill Angelus. "But willing enough."

The young woman nods, quietly. In her accented English, she explains, "If she has the necessary desire - the will to destroy the summoner of Acathla - and she is the one for whom the sword is intended, she will not be hurt." She brandishes a plain cruciform dagger, produced from the sleeve of her robe. "One blow. That is the test,"

Holmes very smoothly lights a cigarette from a crumpled pack in his pocket and exhales gently.

Lara arches a brow. She doesn't understand, but she's not about to confess that. So instead she waits to see how things sort out.

Whoa, gonna stab the girl, woman in distress. "Does it have to be Buffy? Cannot someone else take the blow, and she take the sword?" Simon isn't big on this mystic stuff.

Buffy looks at Constantine "You couldn't have said something that involved...puppies, or...flower petals? What's with this death theme? Its men in general isn't it? You wear a trenchcoat, you go all Angel. Just once," she addresses the sky "can't it be about puppies?!" The Powers That Be Hate me. She looks at Vega, and the dagger. Then back to Constantine. "...can he do it?" she means the stabbing. But she steps forward anyway. Right.

"I am afraid not, senor," Elena replies.

Holmes keeps quite cool. He probably has a dozen backup plans. Of course he's also not the one about to be stabbed.

"Have faith, child," De la Vega continues, soothingly.

Constantine lights another cigarette himself. He's tense, but he's doing his best to hide it. "I didn't make it up," he tells Buffy, shrugging helplessly. "You'll do fine, love. You're the Slayer."

"Usually means Slay-ing- not being so." Buffy looks at Vega a minute. "I can kill Angelus. I've done it before. I need to do it this time. And if it isn't me that's supposed to, we need to find that out, don't we?" she takes a breath, closes her eyes, then opens them a minute later. "Do it." she stands very, very still.

Lara watches. Damn. She'd never see another woman braver then her. She murmurs, "Only you define yourself, Buffy." under her breath, the only support she can offer.

Holmes seems, probably demonstrating some degree of immaturity, a little impatient with /other/ people's theatricalness, even as justified as it is in this situation.

The blade flashes in the light of the lamp, and strikes home, as if Buffy were a vamp being staked herself. It's hard enough to rock the girl back, and pierce the sternum. Blood wells for an instant, before it's withdrawn. But no wound remains behind - it might have been a stage magician's trick, for all the real damage done. Satisfied, the robed woman steps back, dagger vanishing again. "It is well. You are the one, and the sword awaits you."

Buffy gasps with a strangled cry and tries to remain as steady as she can on her feet, eyes wide. And then its just...gone. A hand reaches up instinctively to cover her chest where she was pierced, swallowing a hell of a lot of fear in her throat. "...thanks. Do I get a receipt for that?" she's just a bit shaken. Give her a minute.

Constantine lets out a trembling breath of relief, smoke wreathing out around his face. He reaches over to try and rest a hand on Buffy's shoulder, just for a moment. Then he's in motion again. "Right. Let's go." He heads into the church.

Holmes laughs brightly again. He approves of Buffy. Either that or he's just feeling the joy of the hunt. He bows to de la Vega as if to say 'told you so'. (Did he?) But he doesn't go into the church until someone opens the doors for him. Lazy git.

The doors don't even squeeak. And it's into the church they go.

The church isn't much better lit on the inside - the chamber is irregular in shape, obviously carved from a natural cave or crevice. The furnishings are spare - no pews or seating of any kind, and only a rough stone altar facing the door. Beyond the little pools of light cast by the pair of oil lamps flickering on stands at either side of the altar, shadows fill the corners. But even he dim light of the lamps illuminates the hilt of the sword. It's not on the altar, but wedged into a natural crevice high above on the wall. As plain in decoration as everything else in the room, it doesn't look terribly prepossessing or important...simply an Crusader's blade, with no gilding, jewels, or mystic runes in scribed upon it.

Buffy is still rubbing her chest, although more thoughtfully than in pain. "No, really, I just got stabbed through the chest, but I'd love to continue into the scary church to confront the forces of darkness without you even asking how I am." its muttered, but not that quietly. It stings dammit. The inside of the church is given a creepy look around. "...I hope the decorator got eaten. There's just no excuse for bad lighting."

Lara walks up to Buffy's side, "Didn't anyone ever tell you that women work twice as hard for half the credit?" It's a gentle tease, and then she says, "Let's go see John do his thing."

Jude crosses himself reflexively as he steps inside, slowly looking around. "It is like tomb," he comments on the not very hospitable surroundings. "As my father said, Buffy, good company robs even death of some of its terror. You were very brave. We will have a party when the world does not die."

Constantine is unimpressed. He would be unimpressed even if there were anything to be impressed at. Which there isn't, not really. He does, however, do the church the favor of putting out his cigarette before going in. Respect is not involved in this decision, unless how he feels about the many people with guns could be called respect. *They* seem to respect this place. John figures he doesn't want to piss them off. Making his way toward toward the altar, he stares up at the sword. "Right," he mutters. "Buffy?" He gestures, vaguely, at the place where the sword would be if it were quite a bit lower on the wall. "Think you could repeat some words in a dead language if I said them first?" He starts checking the pockets of his trenchcoat.

Buffy does not look terribly mollified, but stops rubbing her nonexistent wound. "Well that's definitely what I was looking forward to. I'll be sure to save the world just to see you in a party hat. And I hope John's part involves me telling him what his test i--" oh wait, he's speaking to her now. "Maybe. But I thought the Spanish guy was trying to sell us nachos. I could -try-. Usually when things are dead though, like languages? They want to stay that way."

The young woman in the robe has trailed the adventurers in silently, but offers no comment. The rifle now slung over her shoulder gleams with an oiled sheen in the dimness. Talk about the Church Militant.

Lara looks faintly surprised. "You can't do whatever you need to do by yourself, John?" she inquires.

Jude looks towards the sword. Judging by the rest of the trip, the fact that it's just sitting there is probably deceptive. He starts looking at the area around it. "What happens if we simply take it, I wonder?"

Lara points out patiently, "It's wedged in, Jude."

"Usually when things are dead," Constantine counters, "they're not a problem anymore. Usually." Buffy should know the exceptions very well. "Just Latin. I'd better not, Lara." He pulls something from his pocket. It's a crucifix a little less than a foot long, made of a dark, polished wood, with small pieces of different gemstones set in the vertical part in some incomprehensible order, and threads of very bright silver and gold wrapping around the horizontal part. God only knows how he got it. It's probably wise not to wonder. He sets it on the altar and glances back at Buffy. Well? He's all business now.

Buffy watches him with just a hint of uncertainty. "All right. If you know what you're getting yourself into." and she waits. She isn't going to say anything. Last time she saw Xander speak Latin, a book burst into flames. He was banned from speaking it in the library ever again. But she can't say anything until John tells her what to do. So she shifts her weight from foot to foot, and looks at him expectantly. Bring it on! I can take your Latin words!

Lara looks at de la Vega. "If it's all the same to you, I'm going to retrieve my weapons."

The young woman waves her hand dismissively. "As you will,"

Now there's a comforting thought. Jude jogs after Lara to go find his knives, feeling rather naked without them.

"When the fate of the world is at stake," Constantine says, "knowing what I'm getting myself into is optional." And that's the last quip before he starts. "I'll tell you when there's something you need to repeat. Not yet." He's tense, perhaps tenser than he should be. He puts both hands on the altar, palms flat down on either side of the elaborate crucifix. "Eloquia Domini eloquia casta: argentum igne examinatum, probatum terrae purgatum septuplum." (The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth refined seven times.) It might be a little disconcerting to hear the ease with which he handles the elegant language, especially to people who heard him swearing less than an hour ago. "Exaltationes Dei in gutture eorum, et gladii ancipites in manibus eorum." (The high praise of God shall be in their mouth, and two-edged swords in their hands.) He steps back from the altar and waits, blue eyes wide and fixed on the sword.

Lara retrieves her weapons and slides them back into their respective holsters. She translates internally, listening with interest, palms resting on the butt end of each gun now sheathed.

Buffy notices that the other two have gone away. "...wonderful," she mutters under her breath, before turning her whole attention on Constantine. They know something I don't. Its another test, isn't it? He's up there reciting Latin Love Poems to some big demon that'll appear and eat me, so he can use the distraction to grab the sword. That'd be my luck. That'd just be my luck. "...is this a good time to mention I'm -not- a virgin?"

"Happily, chastity is not one of the virtues that the sword demands," Elena comments, with the very faintest of grins. "Purity of intention, not of body."

"As my father used to say," Jude asides, as they pick up previously discarded weapons. "The problem with triumph is you may end up on the wrong side. I hope you are being paranoid, my dear wife." The attempt at lightness sounds hollow to himself even.

Lara gives Jude a vaguely scornful look - she's not keen on keeping up with the persona, given that the folk present very likely knows exactly who they all are. She then turns to watch the ritual intently.

For a moment, nothing. Then the wall moves.

There's no noise, no rumbling. Just the sight of the crack in which the sword is embedded rearranging itself to shift the sword downward until it's in easy reach.

Constantine lets out a tiny sigh of relief, as if he was half expecting his words to produce no result. "Right. Now it just needs you and the right words, Buffy." He picks up the strange crucifix and slips it back into one of those amazingly huge trenchcoat pockets. "Go to the sword and take it out. Course, the people who put it in weren't much for simplicity, so you're going to have to say something first." He shifts to Latin again. First he repeats his own first sentence: "Eloquia Domini eloquia casta: argentum igne examinatum, probatum terrae purgatum septuplum." Then he turns to a new quote. "Effunde frameam, et conclude adversus eos qui persequuntur me." Bring out the sword, and shut up the way against them that persecute me. "Dic animae meae: salus tua ego sum." Say to my soul: I am thy salvation.

Jude shrugs at Lara with an almost grin. He can't help himself sometimes. "Any idea what happens if this part does not work?"

Lara remarks sidelong, "We all die a particularly messy death, I assume."

Of course it needs her. The dagger needed her too. The Powers That Be Hate me. Buffy steps up without quip or comment though, watching the hilt of the sword as if it might bite her. "...Eloquia Domini eloq...uia casta: argentum igne examinatum, probatum terrae purgatum septuplum" she stumbles a whole LOT at first, but then she just relaxes, puts her hand on the hilt of the sword and zones. Just repeat. "Effunde frameam, et conclude adversus eos qui persequuntur me. Dic animae meae: salus tua ego SUM!" lets end it on a high note. As she says the last word she pulls as hard as she can. There's the sound of metal grating against stone, and then the girl stumbles back a step or two. She pulled hard, and lifts up the blade of the sword in admiration. "...and they said the language was dead."

"He would also say," Jude adds, a real smile on his face now. "In true triumph there are no losers." He looks to de la Vega. "That is it then, yes?"

Constantine relaxes at Buffy's triumph, having tensed up once more. He's almost giddy with relief. "Here, give us a look, I want to check something."

The robed girl simply gives another of those feline smiles. "Well, for getting the sword, I believe so. We were never told what happens after the sword is claimed, you see. Though I imagine you return to your places, and slay the one who shall raise Acathla. Or so one may hope,"

Buffy looks the blade up and down. Flips it in her hand. "I definitely have to get me one of these." Constantine is eyed, but moved closer to, "...so long as you aren't going to impale me with it." she holds out the sword on both hands for inspection.

The young Spaniard adds, "Though there are legends,"

"I'm not going to do anything with it," Constantine says, running his hand along the flat of the blade, "I just--"

A shape appears on the blade, glowing. It's some kind of design in gold. A feather. A very well-crafted design of gold that resembles a feather *exactly*.

Some kind of cry can be heard: a resonant, singing note of alarm.

All of a sudden it gets extremely bright.

"--wanted to see if the firebird legend was true," Constantine explains, cringing away from the giant beaked head that looms at him. "It is."

It's big. It manages to fit in the church without squashing anyone, but just barely. And it glows. Its feathers are silver and gold, and it *glows*.

Buffy blinks as the sword glows, then winces as Constantine cringes away. Buffy herself only swallows and looks up. "Hey there...um....birdie." a look to Constantine "...why do you have to TOUCH THINGS?!" otherwise she doesn't move. They can't see you if you don't move. No wait, wait, that was something else. She gulps.

Lara asks conversationally, "Constantine? Are we supposed to kill it, or talk to it?" Elena for her part, has gotten down on her knees, as have the rest of her compatriots, crossing themselves and murmuring prayers.

"Dios mio," the Saintly one murmurs, arms uncrossing as he stares up at what is apparently a firebird. He crosses himself but stays on his feet. "My father is strangely silent on this subject."

"I think things like this aren't much for being killed," Constantine says, staring at the firebird. It ruffles its feathers threateningly. And can it ever threaten. It sings something exotic and beautiful and totally incomprehensible. Pearls tumble from its beak to go rattling around on the stone floor. Then, maybe remembering that humans can't understand firebird, it shifts position a little and says, "What do you want with the sword?" The melodic voice is only partially out loud: it reaches Elena and her compatriots in Spanish and the others in English. "I will protect it from evil from now until the sky falls in." It glowers at Constantine. "I will not suffer it to be touched by tainted hands."

"Oops," he says quietly.

Lara arches a brow. "This girl is going to use it to slay a vampire that has performed the ritual to invoke Acathla." she tells the firebird. "If he succeeds, you don't need to worry about the sky falling in, it will be miserable enough on Earth."

Buffy ducks her head as she gets showered on by pearls. Normally she'd think that was cool. Right now though, she's kinda close to a big glowing bird. "...I KNEW it was from you touching it!" she looks up at the thing again, nodding to what Lara says. "...and...and I'm not...tainted. Not in anyway that isn't specifically the fault of my TV or...or violence in video games." she tends to babble when she's nervous.

"So we'll just let the girl take it back," Jude suggests, "And be on our way." She's got stabbed, she gets the sword, it seems fair.

A moment's silence, from the firebird. It stares hard at Lara, then Buffy, with crystalline eyes. They speak the truth. Finally, it says, "I did not know. Forgive me." It's a very chivalrous bird, and so it performs an avian bow that's nowhere near as awkward as it physically should be. "I have been in far realms for too long. Earthly matters have slipped out of my attention." It talks like a myth, but then, to be fair, it *is* a myth. "I will leave you to save the world, then." It pauses. "But first--" It ducks its head to pluck out one golden feather. By the bird's scale, the feather is tiny, but on a human scale, it's a little larger than the length of Buffy's hand. And, like the firebird itself, it glows brilliantly. "A token of good fortune," it offers earnestly.

Buffy is sort of awe struck, and just puts her hand up because she knows its expected. "...Thank you." she thinks. Its not going to explode is it? She doesn't really think so, but its always good to be careful. "...I think I've pretty much seen it all now."

"I doubt it," Constantine mutters dryly from his corner. "There's always more fun to be seen." He's still eyeing the firebird nervously. What if it decides that having him for lunch would make the world a better place? Hey, it's possible.

The firebird gently puts the feather in Buffy's hand, then steps back, insofar as it can in the limited space. "Once upon a time," it says wistfully, "a feather of mine given willingly could work miracles. But that was a long time ago. Still, it will always light the darkness up."

For a moment, the firebird's shape remains, etched in pure light in the air. Then it's gone back to whatever far realms it frequents nowadays.

Vega and the rest of her group seem to quietly withdraw, in fact they seem to utterly sink into the shadows. "Well," Lara says with an air of satisfaction. "That seems to be that."

Constantine moves out of the corner now that there's no longer any overt threat to him. (Yet.) "Now, if we're *really* lucky," he says, lighting a cigarette, "we'll get back from this place without anyone's pants being pissed or hearts being stopped." He's so eloquent.

The sword has been claimed, the big scary bird is gone! Nicely done for you all! Or at least, that's what the wall is trying to say, as the crack John made, now swordless, begins to glow a dull red. And behind each of our heroes, something melts into form out of the air. SomeTHINGS rather, all appearing and acting at the same time. I hope you all just took a breath as the bird disappeared.

Behind Lara a deep voice booms, stepping out of the shadows. "I always wanted the best for you, you know." Lord Croft steps out of the shadows, dressed all in well worn black, smiling and shaking his head a little, eyes only for his girl, a cane that he certainly doesn't need clicking on the stone "Friends. Prestige. Happiness. And now you go and do this. Why, Lara? Didn't we give you everything? To be consorting with people such as this?" the smile fades on his lips. "Demons?" the staff is thrown up and caught in the middle, as he whips it towards the side of her head "I'm afraid you'll have to be punished."

For Jude, there's a tugging on his hand and a giggle. A small girl of perhaps 9 looks up at him with dark hair and a charming smile. "Aren't you that Robin Hood boy? You're ever so much taller now." she keeps one hand behind her back, still tugging on his hand with her other. "You showed me a trick once." she giggles again and stands up on her tip toes, to whispers something to him. "...I have a trick to show you." she confides, holding up the hidden hand, on which the nails are hideously long and pointed, and slashing for his shoulder.

Constantine's is perhaps the only one that appears in front of him. Directly infront of his eyes, melting and misting into being, floating an inch or two off the ground. A young, pretty girl with long blonde hair in a simple white slip sucks her thumb and looks at him. After a minute, Astra removes the finger from her mouth with a -pop- and grins at him. "You did this. You did all of this." and she floats forward, hand out-stretched and reaching for his face. "You're the poor man that did this to us all, sent me to that Bad Place."

Buffy is still holding the sword in one hand, and looking at the feather in the other. "So I'm all about going to kick some Angelus a--" she turns and blinks, dropping her hands just a bit at the new people and their targets. Two little girls and an old man. "...okay. What did you touch, Constantine?"

And behind Buffy, is Angelus. He came out of nowhere, it would seem, an arm snaking around her waist to pull her close, other hand pushing at her head. "Hey there lover. You miss me?" The question his asked, before fangs are plunged at her throat.

Lara reaches her hand up to catch the cane in her hand smartly and hold it there, inches from the side of her head. "You are not my father." she informs the demon coldly, yanking on the cane and reaching for one of her guns.

Simon turns around in curiosity, then eyes widen in surprise. Sure, it has to be a trick. But still, it looks like that little girl. He stumbles back, surprised, shoulder bleeding. Little girls don't have nails like that.

Constantine is in his own private little hell, appropriately enough. It's a place he visits often, but this time he has the feeling that he's being locked in there and seeing the key tossed down a very deep well. He stumbles back a little, but this only brings him up against the wall. He stares, pale and hurt, half here and half lost in memories he rather likes to ignore. "I was trying to help you--I didn't mean to hurt anybody--I never do--" He trails off, a tiny whimper flickering in the back of his throat as the thing shaped like a child's hand touches his face.

Lara's demon may not be her father, no, not really, but he sure does know his girl. The cane is yanked away, but he steps closer with the pull, making a grab at the wrist that's going for the gun, his free hand aiming a punch directly at her face. "You look so much like your mother when you're angry," is his wistful comment.

The dark haired girl giggles, following up Simon's backwards steps with forward, skipping ones of her own. "Where's your cape?" she mock pouts at him, "heroes always have them, where is yours? Where did it go? Are you hiding it?" it certainly SOUNDS like a little girl, even though this time when she swipes at the front of his shirt, its with both hands, nails hooked forward to tear. "Is it inside you?"

Astra Logue makes a gurgling sound of happiness in the back of her throat, positively glowing. Actually, she is. She strokes Constantine's face, slowly, ever so slowly starting to drain the life from him. Drain the fight away. "I know a place where its all okay," she leans in close to tell him gleefully "But you aren't going there."

Buffy doesn't have time to react. She was moving forward and now suddenly she's moving back. Her lips part in a yell that never actually makes it, as the fangs plunge into her neck. Eyes go wide with pain. This isn't happening. This -isn't- happening. The sword falls from her grip. Its the clang, its only the clang that breaks her out of it, and she elbows backwards -hard- while kicking down with her heel on his foot. If that works, she's pulling away fast.

The sound of the Lord Croft's fist meeting Lara's chin is a crack, as her gun goes spinning out of her hand. Lara rolls with the punch, letting herself skid a few feet away on the floor, lying on her side. She rolls onto her back, half seated, and reaches behind her, pulling out her back pair of 9 mm's. "Do I?" she asks with a snarl, "Fancy that." And the bullets start firing.

Simon steps back out of harm's reach, but his shirt doesn't quite make it, being slashed in four straight lines. A moment later he comes up with two knives, one in each hand, but remains defensive. "In case anyone is wondering," Simon says, "These ones aren't like de le Vega's knife."

Constantine has always been so good at putting guilt away until it's time for it. At turning off his conscience until he can afford to let it tear into him. Where is that ability now? Something in his guilt-hazed, memory-stricken brain struggles to get through. He stares at the too-familiar girl, eyes as wide and blue and perhaps, for once, even as *innocent* as hers. Not that hers are, in reality, all that innocent right now.

He blinks once as the part of his mind that's still sane gets its figurative hands on his willpower and his drive to survive.

An elbow is driven hard at the phantom Astra.

Angelus releases his grip at Buffy's blow, and when she pulls away the red of her blood visible on his lips. "Amazing. You put out like that, and all you get it is some cheap imitation. I bet mommy is /so/ proud right now." Angelus advances on the slayer, vampire face grinning.

Holmes enters suddenly, through one of the archways that leads to a side nave. He has an ancient book balanced carefully in his hands and appears to be deep in thought. The gunfire didn't arouse his interest much, apparently, but then he looks up and looks rather petulant. "What are you /doing/, ladies and gentlemen?" he demands. "Stop playing with those little things."

Lord Croft grins as contact is made and Lara goes rolling. The sight of the guns cause his eyes to begin glowing a brilliant red though, and he wastes no more time, growling and springing forward in a lunge--that's caught by a hell of a lot of bullets, the impact throwing him back while still in the air, and perhaps a bit more surprising that that, as he hits the ground he explodes, sending shards of stone at a rather fast speed towards where Holmes now stands. Duck

The little girl pouts at Simon. "Haven't you anything to give me other than those? It was such a very long time ago when you were nice to me..." the hands are retreated behind her back and she approaches, ducking her head a little so her long hair falls over her shoulders. She's so little. So innocent. Just let her get close so she can tear your heart out.

Astra goes stumbling back a few steps, her lower lip out and trembling. "You hit me. You -hurt- me. All you ever do is HURT, John Constantine!" and she leaps at him, hands grabbing for wherever they can get a hold. One of these places happens to be the pocket of his coat where the cross is, and the girl hisses, with drawing her hand all too quickly--for a moment, a glittering mist swirls around it and when it fades, the child's hand is black. Ow.

Buffy puts a hand to her bleeding neck and backs away, only she trips over the sword and lands hard on the ground, pushing herself back with her feet, eyes wide in terror at him. He bit me. Listen to what he's saying. "...I'll kill you," she warns him from the ground, but she hasn't gotten it. She doesn't hear Holmes. She thinks its really really Angelus right here. And she can't beat him. "...you -used- me." its so devastating, really.

"You're dead," Simon points out with a pained expression. With a look of determination, he steels himself. "Nothing up the sleeve," he says, showing her an empty right hand. An underhand flick of the left sends a knife twirling towards her.

"You're the one who came to me," Angelus points out, and launches a vicious kick for Buffy's ribcage. "All dressed up and ready to go. I had to hold you back a swordpoint. Darla would like you. You'd make a great whore."

"Yeah." Constantine knows he's a total bastard, and the child-apparition's words would have destroyed him a few moments ago, but right this second he's too cold and focused to care. "Yeah, all I ever do is hurt, but I'm still not going to let you get me. Whatever the fuck you are." This time it's a foot aimed at the demon's midsection. "Bugger off right now. I haven't the time for this crap." Like Buffy, he ignores Holmes, too busy with his own problem.

Lara blinks only briefly, and then with the snarl still on her face, turns and fires on the next nearest demon, the one on Simon. If it worked on the one messing with her, it /should/ work on the one currently trying to ruin the Saint's day.

Holmes shakes his head. "/Lower/." he insists. "/Lower/. They're quite short, in reality. You're flailing at nothing." Suddenly there's a knife in his hand and he angrily smacks the shard of rock out of the air a moment before it hits him in the face, a lightning-quick motion of a long arm with uncanny grace, like an actor raising his hand to acknowledge the applause of the crowd. "And you have to use what you /have/, according to this book. I recommend the sword, Ms. Summers, and Mr. Constantine...if there is any occult ability you have which will take action, I suggest you use it."

The knife hits the shoulder of the nameless little girl, and she howls in pain. -Howls-. Not the yell of a little girl. Slowly her arm changes, from that of its pure milk white, to a dark, heavy black. Red eyes glow from the still innocent face. The lunge she planned is thwarted as she's thrown back by the gun shots. Or at least by the first few. The chunk of stone arm falls off, but the little girl just growls, slashing forward with her only arm at Lara. Guns don't work on this one.

Astra is pushed back by the kick, but instead of whining this time, she extends her other hand towards Constantine. "You can't forget me." she rushes him again, grabbing at his hand. This time she's stronger. No playing little girl anymore. but she still stays far away from the pockets of his trenchcoat. "You'll pay. You know you will. When you die, I'll be there to take you, like it took me. Like it took me while you -watched-!"

Buffy curls into a ball against the kick, letting out the air that was in her lungs. Not because she wants to. She tries to get to her feet, to swing a fist at Angelus' stomach. "...you should've paid me for what I had to put up with." but she's stung, and she's hurt. She can't straighten yet.

Lara skitters out of the way, kicking up to her feet. Muttering something under her breath, she fires off a shot near Angelus, knowing it won't hurt him, hoping it'll distract him, all while she frantically looks around to get her back to a wall.

Another knife appears in Simon's hand with a twirl, and his face hardens. That is /not/ a little girl. And looking the way it does it simply profane. This knife is launched as well, and another finds its way to his hand. "How high sir?" he calls out in response to the detective.

Angelus is struck, and folds a little, but straightens right back up. He shows the hand with the ring proudly. "Seems to me you were the one who couldn't get enough. How many times? /Before/ we left the elevator?" The bullet zings off Angelus' arm, and he casts an angry glare on Lara. But he's Buffy's demon and has no taunts for her.

Holmes calls out, "Yours is approximately three feet, nine inches tall. Aim for the heart. That's it's eyeball. Its left eyeball."

Lara presses her lips together and calls out, "Buffy!" the sharp, British voice cutting the air before she looks to Constantine and Simon. Surely there's something she can do...but the demons don't even look at her really, just their intended targets.

"Fuck off," Constantine tells the demon curtly. Her words came too close to bringing his conscience back into play, and he can't let that happen. "You're not Astra. I never did anything to you." One hand goes into his pocket, coming out with that cross in it. "I will now, though." He lunges. "Go back to Hell." It's absolutely the most basic form of magic there is--no arcane words or rituals. Just willpower and something to direct it. But it's a lot of willpower.

The little girl shrieks, turning her claws on Simon and taking another knife in the shoulder. The other shoulder. She still gets one good swipe in at his stomach, before that are becomes blackened. "You dream about us still," the little one informs him with a growl, and a smile "You're my hero."

Luckily for Lara, nothing -is- in fact attacking her right now. She can find any wall she pleases! Buffy isn't that lucky, and in fact, has little idea of anything else that's going on in the room. As soon as Angelus brought that ring to sparkle infront of her eyes she's crushed with the knowledge of what she did. She failed. She's completely shamed herself. Everything else is shut out, and for a minute, she can't even do anything but look at him in shock. Oh My God. "I hate you." its said softly, but she means it. Oh, does she ever mean it. And then she launches a fist for his face, tears in her eyes. I'm going to lose.

Astra glares up at Constantine with reddened eyes. "No, you never did do anything, John, did you?" but then there's the cross and she hisses to not touch it. But it doesn't matter. She doubles over as if something just hit her hard in the chest and for a moment nothing happens. Then she just...melts. No explosion. She melts away into the air from whence she came, leaving only the nightmares that will surely plague later.

The third blade is adjusted accordingly, though just in case it's probably closer to three feet 8 inches to be honest, the thrust coming at the same time as the demon/girl's swipe, leaving a trail of slashes on Simon's stomach. "Thank you," Simon calls out to Holmes, forcing some cheer into his voice. This is ugly.

Angelus catches Buffy's fist, and gives her a look of Not Impressed. Then he answers with a heavy blow of his own at her face, sneering. "Don't worry lover," he says, this time to Lara. "You're next." Angelus' eyes flash back to Buffy. "Oh yeah? Then why can't you kill me?"

Lara says very calmly, "Buffy. Angelus is back in America. This is not him. Focus." Her voice sounds like steel. She moves next to Holmes, somehow standing next to him. "I'm not next," she says to the Angelus-demon, "Because she's going to destroy you."

Holmes seems almost exasperated. Why won't she listen? "Use the /sword/, child!" he says. It would be easy for /him/, of course.

Constantine stares at where his demon was, a moment ago. Then he lifts his eyes to register the rest of the room at last. Holmes. Where the hell did he come from. The detective gets a startled look. Then John promptly ignores him. He's been vaguely aware of the other personal demons around, but only as so much background. Now he zeroes in on Buffy. Taking a few steps toward her, he says quietly and forcefully, "Angelus is lucky to have even *touched* anyone as good as you, Buffy. Even under circumstances like that. Not that he knows it. You're better than anything he could ever imagine. A million times better." He means it. This is John's own way of surviving stuff like this. "Kill this thing that's pretending to be him and you can kill *him* when we get back to the States."

Simon's little girl howls--but its cut off midway. She doesn't explode either, but melts. Yet not as Constantine's did. Her entire body blackens, then splashes down as if it had been the whole time, some murky water suspended in the air. As it hits the ground it slowly vanishes, until only a few tiny drops remain, and then even they are gone.

Buffy drops to the ground with the force of that hit. Dazed and disoriented. Oh look, the sword is right over there. "...give me time." but that's something she knows she has very little of. She shakes her head. "He has the -ring-! He -followed- us!" why don't -they- understand? He knows. He knows EVERYTHING. Everyone is yelling at her, and she lunges forwards into a roll, grabbing the hilt of the sword and getting to her feet, albeit, a little hunched over. That kick hurt. Its Lara's words that get her first. Its not him. She takes a hesitant step forward. Then Holmes yells. "I'm not a child!" she screams and takes another one towards the vampire she most despises. Then John speaks and she almost drops the sword and bursts into tears. But instead she takes a breath and closes her eyes, swinging the sword up and plunging it forward towards his chest, finally answering Angelus' question. "...can't is such a strong word."

Not a vampire. At least, he doesn't die like one, not quite. Angelus slowly turns to what looks like a statue of the vampire, then crumbles to a fine powder.

Holmes sighs heavily and closes the book, then lays it gingerly aside. No need to antagonize the de la Vega family, apparently.

Buffy stares at where Angelus...or more correctly the Angelus demon used to be. Eventually she blinks and takes a step back, lowering the sword which has stood ready in her hand the entire time, even after the statue crumbled away. Then the sword hits the ground and she drops to her knees, a hand pressed to the ground. She feels sick. She can't even cry.

Oh, no. Lara don't play that. She walks over to Buffy. "Get up." she tells her. No please, no barking orders, just the implicit order to suck it up and cope. Lara can be such a bitch.

Jude makes himself busy with collecting the daggers. Speaking just seems wrong at this point, considering the very personal nature of all this.

Holmes, for his part doesn't look completely unsympathetic. In fact he looks exceedingly displeased with Lara. But for the moment he says nothing.

"I need a minute. Go out without me." is what Buffy replies with, softly, but still broken in tone. She doesn't look up at Lara, she just stares as she sees the thoughts in her head. Everything he said. I thought we were dead. I thought this was it, and we couldn't beat him. I need a minute to process that. I thought he was real. And he had the ring. And he knew everything I did. She swallows. I just need a minute to piece the world back together, thank you.

Lara turns on her heel, shoving her gun back in its sheath. She walks out, expression hard, and she does not look back.

Holmes follows Lara close behind. Steamed.

Constantine doesn't move for a long moment, himself. He's falling out of that cold calm mode of thought--not entirely, but at least a little. Two tears trace down his face. He closes his eyes. Then he wipes the tears away with a sleeve and looks up again. He's better now. Well, no, he isn't, but he'll keep himself contained until he can collapse in peace. Lighting a cigarette, he follows Lara and Holmes out.


Some time later.

Airborne once more. Customs was almost too good to be true. Simon didn't even bother with disguises, as long as everyone came back differently than they arrived. Their fifth member, the unequaled Sherlock Holmes pulled off the part of the old man in the wheelchair perfectly, sparing John the grief. And no one bothered to check for secret compartments on the old man's large wheelchair.

So with sword safely secured, all members alive and intact, physically at least, the voyage home is undertaken and nearly done. It has, so far, been a rather quiet flight.

Buffy hasn't said anything. -Anything-. But she at least looks a little better, the blood cleaned off her neck and the wounds patched up. She doesn't look so much upset as she does blank. Unreadable. Eventually, her seatbelt is undone with a fury and she gets up too quickly, stumbling over the small aisle to collapse in a seat next to John. "I'm sorry." she tells the back of the seat infront of her. Funny how saying that doesn't make her feel any better. Its supposed to!

Lara seems to have ignored the lot of them during the entirety of the flight. She's got a sleek laptop on her lap and is fervently typing away.

Constantine would be pleased to have gotten rid of the disguise. Except, well, he's not in the mood to be pleased right now. He sits and stares out the window, ice-cold and locked inside his own thoughts. His attention to the world outside is only perfunctory; he is utterly composed. Or so it appears. "For what? What did you do to me?" The twinge of bitterness and guilt and regret (just a twinge, mind) is the first emotion he's shown since leaving the church.

Holmes seems to have dozed off. Only the closest observers can see the slightest twitch of eye movement every so often that shows he's merely lapsed into a long and deep think.

Simon has done away with disguise of all kind. It just seemed so ridiculous after all this. He's keeping a closer eye than is strictly necessary on the controls of the plane. It is mercifully dark out, at least, probably to the good of all involved.