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tamingthemuseTitle: Lotus in Muddy Water remix
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 542 - Bowyer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563
Note: Locked to members of Taming the Muse
Note: 1st draft
Wesley had driven as far as Massachusetts, near the town of Attleboro <real name? town?> by the time he realized he’d skipped breakfast. That honestly shouldn’t have mattered. Watchers were trained to ignore minor irritants such as pain, hunger, and lack of sleep. They had to be above such physical concerns in order to provide the best guidance to their Slayers. But as he passed a sign for A & J Family Restaurant, despite his reservations of American breakfasts - too much coffee and not enough baked beans - his stomach started rumbling.
He pulled off the Interstate and into town, fearing that he’d lose his way and thus love valuable time, but the restaurant wasn’t difficult to find. He was even sat at a table right away although he did have to fend off coffee in favor of that atrocious mess Americans considered tea. The restaurant, far too bright and noisy for his jangled nerves, drove him to stare out the window at the row of shops across the way. The image of a deer skull made him wonder, for a moment, what he’d gotten himself into. Perhaps Attleboro wasn’t the best place to stop for breakfast. Below the points the store’s name, Old Bow Archery Supply, was spelled out in gold letters. It was a bit surprising to find a bowyer in Massachusetts. Wesley didn’t realize bow hunting was considered a sport in the States. In fact he’d rather suspected American hunters went into the woods with machine guns. It was good to know the Americans had a sense of sport when it came to hunting.
Wesley took a sip of his tea and held the cup away. Ugh, just as bad as he’d expected. He put the cup down and took a sip of water instead as he wondered exactly what might be in this journal of Mrs. Burnand’s that would indicate her cousin was up to no good. Perhaps he should have asked for more details. Wesley had, of course, found her journal and packed it up to be shipped to the Council …
Wait a minute. He’d kept her Watcher’s journal of course. It had been of some small help with Faith, but her personal journal, that should have been shipped to Watcher HQ in London weeks ago. In fact it almost certainly had been. Wesley had packed the box and mailed it himself.
He thought back to the phone call and felt like slapping himself on the head. Of course! His contact hadn’t been available. This fellow, someone he’d never even heard of had sent him hightailing it off to Boston. It had all been a set-up. There was no journal. Someone had wanted him out of the way. It was the housekeeper’s day off. Claire had been sent out of town. Mr. Taylor was alone with his Slayer! Who knew what unnatural influences the man was exerting over her and Wesley sat at this overly lit table waiting for his breakfast.
Wesley jumped to his feet and ran for the door.
“Sir? Sir! Your breakfast.”
“Oh, uh, keep it. I’ve changed my mind.”
“You still have to pay.”
Wesley threw a twenty at the counter. “Will that cover it?” She took her time acknowledging that it would. Once she had, Wesley raced for his car, hoping he could make it back to Deepwater in time to protect his Slayer.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 542 - Bowyer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 563
Note: Locked to members of Taming the Muse
Note: 1st draft
Wesley had driven as far as Massachusetts, near the town of Attleboro <real name? town?> by the time he realized he’d skipped breakfast. That honestly shouldn’t have mattered. Watchers were trained to ignore minor irritants such as pain, hunger, and lack of sleep. They had to be above such physical concerns in order to provide the best guidance to their Slayers. But as he passed a sign for A & J Family Restaurant, despite his reservations of American breakfasts - too much coffee and not enough baked beans - his stomach started rumbling.
He pulled off the Interstate and into town, fearing that he’d lose his way and thus love valuable time, but the restaurant wasn’t difficult to find. He was even sat at a table right away although he did have to fend off coffee in favor of that atrocious mess Americans considered tea. The restaurant, far too bright and noisy for his jangled nerves, drove him to stare out the window at the row of shops across the way. The image of a deer skull made him wonder, for a moment, what he’d gotten himself into. Perhaps Attleboro wasn’t the best place to stop for breakfast. Below the points the store’s name, Old Bow Archery Supply, was spelled out in gold letters. It was a bit surprising to find a bowyer in Massachusetts. Wesley didn’t realize bow hunting was considered a sport in the States. In fact he’d rather suspected American hunters went into the woods with machine guns. It was good to know the Americans had a sense of sport when it came to hunting.
Wesley took a sip of his tea and held the cup away. Ugh, just as bad as he’d expected. He put the cup down and took a sip of water instead as he wondered exactly what might be in this journal of Mrs. Burnand’s that would indicate her cousin was up to no good. Perhaps he should have asked for more details. Wesley had, of course, found her journal and packed it up to be shipped to the Council …
Wait a minute. He’d kept her Watcher’s journal of course. It had been of some small help with Faith, but her personal journal, that should have been shipped to Watcher HQ in London weeks ago. In fact it almost certainly had been. Wesley had packed the box and mailed it himself.
He thought back to the phone call and felt like slapping himself on the head. Of course! His contact hadn’t been available. This fellow, someone he’d never even heard of had sent him hightailing it off to Boston. It had all been a set-up. There was no journal. Someone had wanted him out of the way. It was the housekeeper’s day off. Claire had been sent out of town. Mr. Taylor was alone with his Slayer! Who knew what unnatural influences the man was exerting over her and Wesley sat at this overly lit table waiting for his breakfast.
Wesley jumped to his feet and ran for the door.
“Sir? Sir! Your breakfast.”
“Oh, uh, keep it. I’ve changed my mind.”
“You still have to pay.”
Wesley threw a twenty at the counter. “Will that cover it?” She took her time acknowledging that it would. Once she had, Wesley raced for his car, hoping he could make it back to Deepwater in time to protect his Slayer.
