Prompt 577 - Vaccine - Giles as the Big Bad - Dragon's Phoenix - BtVS

[dragonyphoenix]

Title: In a Corner of My Soul - scene from chapter 8: The Puppet Show
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: 577 - Vaccine
Word Count: 1259

 

Alan's stomach dropped as the guillotine's blade, dropping with a flash, sliced through the melon. Marc's grin was that of a bully with a victim in his sights. “Pretty cool, huh?”

The half-melon felt heavy in his hands. Alan could picture his head in its place. His brains would have spilled into the basket. “Couldn't you get anyone else?”

“My assistant got sick. You wan't have to say anything. I'll, I'll show you. Lie down.”

“How exactly does it work?”

As Marc pulled the blade up by a rope, Alan looked for the trick. He knew how to spot them. His uncle ran a magic show at Vegas and had taught Alan how to spot them. He didn't see any tricks.

“A good magician never tells his secrets.” Marc turned away and rolled down a sleeve. There was something furtive in the movement. “C'mon, we haven't got much time.”

“Uh, no, I don't think so.” Marc's eyes narrowed at Alan's words. “I, uh, just forgot. My Mom's picking me up. She's probably waiting outside. I mean, I'm sure she's waiting. She's just outside the building, or, no, she'd come looking for me. I have to go.”

“You really think your momma's gonna save you?”

Alan took one step back and then another. Marc, moving impossibly fast, grabbed his arm so hard that Alan thought he'd break it. “Hey, let go.”

Marc threw him to the floor, grabbed him up again, and dropped him onto the bench of the guillotine. “No,” Alan shouted. “Don't.” With his head strapped to the bench, Alan stared up at the blade. It hung sharp and heavy above him. He took a swing with his arm but Marc grabbed it and strapped it down. “Help! Help!”

“Oh no you don't.” Marc shoved a rag into his mouth. Alan, whimpering through the cloth, knew no one else could hear him.

“Gruesome, killing a guy on stage!” Was that Tucker? He'd help, right? He wouldn't just stand there and watch Alan die. “Can I watch?”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Alan couldn't roll his eyes far enough to see, but it sounded like Miss Calendar. He screamed through the rag. It came out as a weak whimper.

“Just a trial run for my act.”

Don't believe him. Don't believe him.

“Is he strapped down to that thing?”

“It's perfectly safe. Really. Why don't you run along. There must be some show stuff you need to do.”

“Yeah,” Tucker added. “Stop cramping his style.”

“What I need to do is unstrap that boy. Alan, are you okay?”

Alan couldn't see what happened but he heard a loud thump as if a body had flown across the stage and hit the floor at the far end. He hoped it wsa Marc, but no, the boy looked down at hima again with a sick grin. “Not long. Nobody'll bother us now.”

He picked up … was that an ax? He chopped at the rope. No. No!

“Can I chop it?”

Was that Tucker wanting to help kill him? Alan heard another thump and nothing more from Tucker. Marc started chopping at the rope again. Someone, help me. Please!

Something tackled Marc. Alan saw nothing more than a blur that threw Marc out of his sight and heard a thump.

“What the?” He heard another voice. Xander maybe? Alan tried to cry for help, but then Xander stood above him. “Keys, where are the keys?”

“Maybe the demon has them?” Willow's voice, definitely Willow's voice.

“Uh, anyone have a big rock I can smash against the lock?” There was a heavy thump against the floor. Alan stared at the blade. Was it vibrating?

“Oh, let me.”

“G-Man, I forgot you could pick a lock. Those courses at the Watcher's Academy must be more thorough than you'd expect.”

And then the straps were gone and Alan felt himself being pulled from under the blade. He collapsed at the foot of the guillotine.

“Miss Calendar? Are you out here?” Alan didn't look up. He couldn't deal with Cordelia just now. “Oh my God, what is this freak show?”

He looked up to see Buffy holding, was that a stake? Whatever it was, it looked sharp, good an pointy.

Apparently the words “freak show” were much more alluring than screams for help. Half the students in the show seemed to have followed Cordelia onto the stage. “”Oh my God, look at his skin. It's that some kind of condition?” Marc's cheek and hand had turned gray, almost scaly.

“You don't think it's contagious, do you? It better not be contagious. My father is so suing this school if that's contagious.”

Buffy kicked Marc, sending him flying back into the box for his disappearing act. The door swung shut behind him. “Is this part of the act? If I'd thought we could've adlibbed like this I would have …”

The box shattered. Whatever came out didn't look human at all. “If that happened to my skin, I'd kill myself.”

“Do you think there's even a spa that could handle that kind of damage?”

Cordelia's voice replied. “That, my friends, requires a specialist.”

The … whatever … hadn't Willow called it a demon? It sent Buffy flying, crashing into the students. “You clumsy oaf! If you got blood on my new shoes, I am so killing you.”

“Get those students out of here,” Mr. Giles shouted. Miss Calendar moved the students off the stage.

As the, uh, call it a demon. It turned to face him. Alan scuttled away. It was almost on him when it fell to the floor, a knife in its back.

“Good shot,” Buffy said.

“Thanks.” Oh, it was Morgan's dummy, walking and talking. Sure, that made sense.

The dummy yanked the knife out of the demon's back. “It has to be both the heart and the head. Otherwise it'll come back.”

“There's no happy ending for you though, is there? I mean, your body, it has to be dust.”

“Don't sing a sob story for me, sister. I'm wood. There's no vaccine that can cure this.”

The dummy swung the knife and chopped the demon's head from its body. Then he fell to the floor.

Buffy picked the demon up in both arms. The curtain opened. Alan, shading his eyes, could almost see the audience. It seemed to be a full house. From the audience, he heard Principal Snyder. “What is it? Avant-garde?” Buffy seemed to be looking at Mr. Giles as if waiting for a cue. Wait, had all this been an act?

Alan could hear Miss Calendar whispering, “Onto the stage. All of you. Now!” The students lined up at the back of the stage, seeming to stay as far from the action as they could. Alan couldn't blame them. He'd almost shit his pants over this thing.

Miss Calendar pulled Owen out of the line. “Say something about death.”

“What?”

“A poem. Something nice.”

“Um.” Owen blinked. Wow, this really wasn't well-prepared. “And death shall have no dominion. Dead mean naked they shall be one. With the man in the wind and the west moon. When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone. They shall have stars at elbow and foot. Though they go mad they shall be sane.”

“Thank you, Owen, I'm sure that poem speaks for the grief we feel at the loss of two of our own: Emily Milnes and Morgan Shay.” She gestured towards the sidelines and hissed. “Curtains. Close the curtains.”

Wait? Morgan? What had happened to Morgan?