Blood and Chaos: The Story of a [BTVS SI] Turned Vampire

[Aetheron]

This story is brought to you by a the boredom of a slow shift, my morning cup of coffee, and the depressing realization that any realistic SI involving myself can be summed up by:
“He died. Horribly.”

I am currently looking for a Beta because dialogue and Word’s grammar checker are not friends.
"Amy" is currently filling the role of Beta.

Anyone who wants to see the initial thought processes that birthed the fic can find them by following the quoted link Arrow. But I think the one line I'm quoting should be enough to convey the point.

I was thinking that being abruptly inserted into a world like the Buffyverse could have some fairly unfortunate consequences if Drusilla 'Sees' your arrival.

Click to shrink...

If you see something in orange, that means that I edited it from the original version in some way beyond typo-purging.

If you're new here, please be aware that there are generally Q&A type posts between thread-marked chapters. If something doesn't make sense you may find an explanation there.
I'm also told the out-of-storyline gags in them can be amusing too.
HOWEVER - I would like for the story to stand on its own merits, so please toss in a comment if you find yourself needing to consult the Q&A posts, or worse, still have no idea whats going on even after reading them.


Glossary of Terms:

1) Jack's Family Tree as he sees it:

Spoiler: Family Tree

• Darla (A)
  • Angelus (Not Liam)
    • Drusilla
      • Spike
        • Harmony (B)
      • Sheila
      • Jack
      • Faith (B)
    • Penn / Pope
    • Sam Lawson (Submarine Guy)

(A) Jack struggles to care about his tree before that just like I can't name anyone further back in my own family tree further back than this.
(B) Never let it be said that Jack's thinking always makes perfect sense to other people. Just know that he truly believes in his own insane troll logic and be done with it.

2) Jack's ever growing collection of weird stuff:

Spoiler: Enochian Tattoos

AH... The TATTOOS! I will need to come back and clean this entry up later...
I'm running the runes as a bizarre sort of "you can't target this remotely" coupled with "No special sensing"
I'm doing this because it was the... most straightforward description I could come up with... So:

Area wards might detect that he is a thing... but can't read what he is. Or they don't register him period. Jack hasn't determined it for sure.
Hence his ruminations that he likely now counts as "Generic Object" in Caritas.
He might be able to walk in and punch someone.
but IF thats true, they can also punch him back because the spell would see both as being like the other guy walking into a table.
Jack has no interest in testing this because it would get him lynched. He will happily let everyone think that spell works normally.

If Jack walks into a magic sensor that pings when a demon is standing there... it won't ping.
Sadly, if he walks through a magical sensor that tells the mayor if ANYTHING has just passed through the door... It won't ping. Even if the mayor is watching him walk through it.
Jack has no idea where on the scale his failure to register landed. Only that it caused the Mayor's expression to flicker briefly to surprise.
Likewise, things from laser security grid technology all the way to the standard IR door sensors also don't see Jack.
Cameras won't show him.
Recorders won't record his voice.
...Phones in his pocket won't be found by cell towers to negotiate a connection for signal/reception
nor will phones detect his voice to transmit it if he puts them down. This one made Jack sad.

If you do a scrying spell on Jack. It Fails.
If you do a Scrying spell on a person or area near jack... you won't see him. You might see people talking to him. but won't hear his answers or see who they're talking to.
attempting to pre-cog him fails. But would produce a "error 404 future not found" that likely makes psychics assume he's going to die, and its weird that they can't see how...
empathing, slayer sensing, anything that pushes into spectrums not visible to the mark 1 eyeball fails.

Amusingly enough... Oz's nose, like a dog's, is natural. He merely processes more of the info already there.
similarly... a snake with those heat sensor things would be able to see his heat signature... if he has one as a vamp that is almost room temp..
but an IR camera would see nothing just like any other camera.
A bat's echolocation would see him... but not a magical or tech based sonar system... (I never thought about this until now)

Now here's where I think I wander out of direct canon and into more or less my own territory.
Remote targeted magic - Fails - So you can't curse Jack from some remote location.
Line of sight magic works, so like... a ray of fire spell would totally hit him if you aim correctly.

Magic Missile... Not sure. probably not a BTVS spell? I like the idea of a spell who's target is "that guy" fails with the error "target not found: no such entity"
so the mage uses cone of fire on Jack instead. It's super effective... except now Jack is both angry at you, and on fire. He seems to want to hug you. (But this is the ring keeping him from dying not the tats)
I think the obvious exception to this would be range touch spells. You can't point across the room and say "that guy" but you can Grab him and say "this guy"
It feels nitpicky, but A) it's magic in BTVS, and B) it's how the Ring works for him.

Spoiler: The Gem of Amarra

Jack's ring, that makes him stake proof, holy-symbol immune, and sunlight tolerant.
I'll come back and expand upon this later.

Stray Ideas / Omakes:

Spoiler: Stuck Together

Omake 1A - Gate Activation Detected
Omake 1B – First Contact
Omake 1C – Memory Lane
Omake 1D – DANGER WILL ROBINSON DANGER
Omake 1E

Spoiler: Tentacles!?

Omake 2A - Anatomical Differences

Spoiler: Canon Ball

Canon Ball 1
Canon Ball 2
Canon Ball 3
Canon Ball 4

 

[Aetheron]

In Which I Die Immediately, A Prologue:

I wake up on a sheet of metal on the roadside. I add sleep walking to my mental what the hell list right next to bizarrely vivid dreams of a man and woman in togas dragging me through a tunnel while shushing each other and giggling. Did the guy have two faces? Weird. I feel... like I’ve been dragged through a rough hewn tunnel for hours and then dumped on the roadside actually. And I think I was allergic to the dirt along the way, because everything itches.

Standing up is a struggle just barely within my capabilities at the moment, leaving me winded as I stare down at the bed of metal I woke up on. It seems to be a sign of some sort. I stagger back a step and squint at it, feeling woozy on my feet.

“Welcome to Sunnydale”

...

The Fuck?

A hand grips my shoulder tightly and spins me around. A pair of pale blue eyes stares back at me from mere inches away. The brunette woman they belong to seems familiar in a most distressing way. I reflexively try to back away, but my feet won’t move.

“Naughty, naughty, little starlings, trying to be sneaky while the stars are having a party. The other stars won’t like it when they find out about my present.” She giggles.

O...kay... I’m in Sunnydale, being stared at by Drusilla. Can I wake up now?

“Silly little alien, you’re not asleep.”

I must have said that last bit out loud. Wait a minute, “Alien?”

She nods her head at me happily, “Oh yes, you crashed down from the stars out of nowhere,” she looks down nudges the sign with her foot. “I don’t think your rocket ship will fly anymore though, such a waste. I’d have liked to taste the stars.” She meets my eyes again and the foot I had been trying to slide back away from her stops moving without my consent and despite my best efforts to make it continue doing so. “But now I’ll have my very own alien to play with, I like this so much better than getting old man stuck my teeth. I must remember to thank Miss Edith for telling me you’d be here.”

In an instant Drusilla is wearing her gameface, there’s a pain at my neck and the world fades to darkness.

 

[hakudoshi242]

Interested this is probably one of the most realistic SI yet so far.

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

Part 1 - First Night Redux:

---Inside of A Coffin---

I wake up in a coffin. Mother always was a fan of tradition.

The first half-hour of my unlife is spent clawing my out of the ground. Mother’s traditions suck.

I emerge hungry, angry, and more than a little confused. Mother should be here. She isn’t. I’m in a garden full of weeds and broken statuary, but no Mother.

There’s a rudimentary tombstone on the ground near my feet. It reads “Here lies my alien, he lived for 10 minutes” with the date May 12th 1998. I snort. 10 minutes sounds about right.

Going by the sign and the date on the tombstone, I’m in Sunnydale, at the end of season... 2? I believe if my father’s memories of the show are to be believed. I’ll have to test that somehow. There are far too many fantastic opportunities just waiting to be exploited if they prove to be accurate. I don’t even try to resist the cackling laughter that erupts from me as I continue to explore.

That large stone building must be the mansion Mother was staying in with William and Grandfather. It’s far too quiet now for anyone to be home. Perhaps I slept through the big finale? That... would explain why Mother isn’t here. William must have run off with her, the bastard. William the Bloody Monopolizer of Mothers.

Then again, if he hadn’t, there’d be no world for me to wake up in. He had a point with the happy meals on legs bit. My stomach gurgles. Screw it. I’m far too hungry for philosophy.

I’m not more than three steps outside the mansion’s cast-iron gate when a woman comes jogging around the corner and runs straight into me. The rapid, rhythmic beating of her heart distracting me until she’s barreled straight into me, not quite able to stop herself in time. We go down in a tangle of limbs. She smells of lilacs and sweat and human which I can’t quite explain but she does, and it’s absolutely intoxicating.

I feel... high on life, literally. I’m flooded with warmth. I don’t even recall feeling cold, but in retrospect it feels obvious that this was just missing until now.

I don’t even register that my fangs are out until after the scent of blood floods my senses and she’s been dead for over a minute. Embarrassingly I think I’ve been sucking on her neck for that whole minute without noticing my drink was empty. I make sure to push my gameface back down before pushing myself back up onto my feet and then pulling her corpse up with me.

No one seems to be around to have noticed anything. Convenient, that, so I drag her into the mansion.

Signs of recent battle, and a sword-less Acathla statue confirm my earlier theory that I’m late to the party. The mansion is wrecked pretty thoroughly aside from the stone walls themselves and occasional surviving piece of furniture.

I dump my kill on the ground and rummage through what few pockets her jogging outfit has. The cash and keys get shoved into my pockets and then I pull out my phone to see how far away the address on her driver’s license is.

...

...

I continue to blink stupidly at the bulky Nokia brick-like phone thing in my hand. In retrospect I don’t know what I really expected. It’s not like original iPhones are almost a decade away from existing or anything, let alone sixes. I guess this is the 1998 equivalent? That’s fucking depressing.

Adapting to being a demon wearing the man I remember being like a suit? That’s easy. I suspect even father could have managed that.

Adapting to using technology almost 2 decades old? Oh fucking hell no. This sucks.

I stagger over to one of the few unbroken chairs and flop into it feeling nearly boneless. There was a brief moment of hope when I realized that magic could probably fake many of the missing bits technology couldn’t handle yet before I remembered that Grandfather ate the only techno-pagan I can name. William was right, Gramps is a wanker. I’m not sure how long I sat there before I got over the shock of seeing this museum piece in my hand. Eventually, I realized that the thing was off because the battery had drained while I was busy being a corpse and the whole topic was moot. Not like I know anyone’s phone number here in Bizarro California anyway.

Okay. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. I survived being a kid in the late nineties; I’ll survive being an ‘adult’ in the late nineties. It’s not like I have to relearn how to use DOS. I’m pretty sure Windows computers have start menus and everything by now.

It finally occurs to me to check the contents of my own pockets. I find out my Leatherman made the journey with me, which is cool I suppose. Of course the keys that were attached to it last I checked are all gone, replaced by a weird looking bottle opener, which is redundant. There’s a wallet in my pocket I’ve never seen before. No credit or debit cards in it, but I think I remember using cash more often back in ’98 and there’s a couple of twenties in it, so I guess that makes as much sense as anything else around here.

Oh! My driver’s license.

... Maybe...

In my hand is a California Driver’s License, with my face on it. But, “Who the fuck is Jack Winters? Hang on; this says I was born in 1980 so I’d be almost 18 now. How’s that work?” I’m neither 18, nor born in 1980... so... what the hell?

It takes me half an hour to find a mirror to see if I look younger now, and about 3 seconds after that to remember I’m not on the membership list for the reflections club anymore. The face on my license looks like it always did, but then again it’s been ages since I had that photo taken. Maybe I can get someone to take a Polaroid of me or something.

I keep rummaging through “my” wallet, may as well get through all the shock induced heart attacks right away. There isn’t anything else truly shocking though, just weird. Emancipation and enrollment paperwork, apparently I’m a Sunnydale High senior starting this fall, both also in the name Jack Winters.

“Well, I guess Jack’s as good a name as any. Not like I wasn’t aware that I’m technically not me anymore anyway.” The last name Winters however makes me twitchy. The slayer being a Summers makes me suspect I’m either being set up, or someone... thing... thinks they’re funny. Probably both.

---Jogger Lady's Apartment---

Has the universe ever blindsided you with something so incredibly simple that you can’t believe it surprised you? Something so very mundanely banal that despite being caught completely off guard, you can only just stare at it while thinking to yourself, “Duh. Of Course that’s a thing, how did I forget those?”

That’s me right now.

I’m a blood demon. I was literally ‘born,’ after a fashion anyway, mere hours ago. I’m animating the corpse of a man who was kidnapped from his home reality by what looked like two Greeks or Romans or whatever in actual fucking togas. Mother called them starlings, but she was already gone when I woke up so I can't exactly make her explain. I only know any of this because I ate his memories when I took over his body. Are starlings people with two faces? Or is that just what Mother calls drunken frat boys?

Anyway, I’m standing in the apartment of a woman I killed by drinking her blood within an hour of first waking up. A few moments ago I was putting on the gloves I bought at the local gas station and looting the place for valuables. Before that I was wandering around town semi-aimlessly only stopping occasionally to ask for directions. Sunnydale natives? Not so helpful when you knock on their doors at 10-11 pm. Until you explain that you’re lost and just need directions to somewhere else. It seems that the trick is to not want to come inside and eat them. Who knew right?

Currently? I’m staring slack jawed at a book on her coffee table like it’s the Holy Grail. Right now it may as well be. It’s a fucking phone book.

I was so depressed when my... err... my father’s... fuck it, he died, it’s mine. My iPhone! Mine! Which no longer exists yet. The important point is that it wasn’t in my pocket, and somehow the idea that being two decades in the past also meant that phonebooks still exist... never occurred to me. I wonder if William had one of these in the mansion already? He was always more on the ball about keeping up with ‘modern’ tech than your average vampire. Or maybe he just liked watching TV?

I flat out cackle gleefully as I begin paging through it, because it has a map. Great Grandmother would be so embarrassed by me right now but I don’t care because she’s dust at the moment and I have a phone book, with a map! Need a robot? Warren Mears’ address is in here. Need someone to cast a spell? The Madisons, Rosenburgs, Wells, Levinsons, and even that weird little magic shop with a revolving door of ownership, are all in my new book. I wish I could remember what the Pylean Dance of Joy looked like so I could do it right now. I settle for another round of gleeful cackling and celebratory arm waving.

...

Huh. There’s an idea, two actually. First: No wishing, not out loud, and not in my head either, not worth the risks. Second, I should look into memory spells. Dredge up actual details from the show so I can test them for accuracy. Wouldn’t it be sad if I made elaborate plans based on father’s memories and it turned out he was just a crazy person with delusions of precognition. Actually... speaking of my father, I wonder if I’m in... Nope, I’m not, there are no Winters listed in the Sunnydale phonebook. The street listed on my license is on the map however. I’ll have to check it out. Someone or more likely something went through an awful lot of trouble to get him here and settled in. I really ought to look into that.

Continuing to loot the place nets me some cash hidden in her sock drawer and a new watch. It’s girly, so I won’t wear it, but knowing that its 2am right now seems handy, so into my pocket it goes. I pack a suitcase full of her clothes, so it looks like she went somewhere in case my memories of the SPD’s lack of job performance prove inaccurate, and toss it all in her car’s trunk before declaring the car mine by right of conquest as well. If nothing else the socks might fit. Thinking about the watch again, I go back inside and snag her alarm clock for good measure.

---My Home, Allegedly---

I park recently deceased chick’s car at the address listed on my license. It’s a hole. As in the hole in the ground they dig for a foundation. The CRC construction sign claims someday there will be a McDonald’s there.

I’m not sure how to feel about this.

On the one hand I don’t magically have a home. On the other hand this is the first sign I’ve seen that whatever kidnapped my father may have limits to its powers. Come to think of it, I should verify if the documentation I have is legitimate or just a better forgery than I can detect... not like I have any talent at telling the difference.

Of course, it also begs the question: Was the universe trying to tell him that he’s a happy meal on legs? And Mother merely moved the lesson forward a few hours? I’m not sure how to feel about that either. Could the message have been that I’m still just a happy meal on legs? He’s gone now, but I’m still here... How would I even tell? cast ‘Summon Bigger Fish’ and see what shows up?

...

“SUMMON BIGGER FISH!”

Nothing happens. Typical, the universe needs a better GM.

---Near Angel's Abandoned Mansion---

I park the car a few blocks away and head to the mansion with my loot, minus the suitcase of woman’s clothing.

There’s a squatter in what I think was the living room when I get arrive. He’s rummaging in one of the closets as I walk through the door. I can hear his lack of heartbeat, but I can tell he’s a vampire and not a zombie by smell. That’s interesting. My nose comes with some pre-calibration.

“Hey man, you heard about the crew staying here getting cleared out by the slayer too huh?” he greets me amicably while I’m sorting out the various scents I can detect now. Newly dead chick smells like death now that it’s been a few hours. It’s not a bad smell like I would have expected either, it just... is. Maybe because the various chemicals involved aren’t bad for me anymore.

“Uh yeah, seemed like a good place to crash for the day,” I tell him, looking around like I’ve never seen the place before, but thanks to my nose I don’t really need to fake the mild confusion. “I think I’ll take one of the rooms upstairs. That okay?” I’m not sure if it’s lacking a pulse to race, or being a demon now, but either I’m a much better liar than I recall being in life... or fledgling vampires really are as borderline retarded as I remember them being depicted on TV. Either way, he agrees to my taking one of the rooms upstairs and then turns back to the closet. I cave his skull in with a broken piece of rebar that was lying nearby. Do vamps normally just... get along with each other by default? Meh, it might be paranoid, but I’m going to continue to assume most vamps act like my recollections of William the Bloody until proven otherwise. I have no intention of being forced to greet the sunshine any time soon.

Speaking of which, I had best hurry up. Sunrise is coming. I loot and then dust the intruder, before setting to work returning to the blackout curtains that were knocked down in the recent fighting to their proper places. A few of the curtains and rods are lost causes, forcing me to abandon a few of the less useful looking rooms as lost causes as well, pulling their doors closed instead.

I scrounge up some paper and a pen but my plan of spending the day plotting out what needs to be done is scuppered the moment the sun pokes out above the horizon.

I immediately feel like I’m a cup of coffee short of quota but over-caffeinated at the same time. No good will come of doing any serious planning while the ants are crawling behind my eyeballs. Daytime activities are clearly a last resort only now. Irritation rising rapidly, I flop down on the bed that still smells faintly of Mother and prepare to spend the rest of the giant yellow cancer ball’s journey across the sky unconscious.

...

I suspect I may have inherited father's insomnia. Gods Damn It.

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

Part 2 - Foreign Languages and Herbalists Suck:

---The Magic Shop---

The urge to beat this kid to death with one of his new age hippie books has slowly made the jump from amusing stray thought to serious consideration. I suppose it isn’t entirely his fault, I was pretty annoyed before I even got here. I had to drag myself out of bed during the day and hug the shadows to get here before closing time. I could have waited for sunset, but then I’d have been that guy that shows up just before close demanding service. They go to the special Hell.

I’m fairly certain that I’d have snapped and eaten him already if I hadn’t found the remnants of William’s stash of blood bank packets in the fridge from when he was allegedly crippled. Drinking cold blood was like drinking warm lemonade, and without enough sugar too, but they sated the gnawing hunger that had pulled me out of my nap before the sun had finished buggering off.

I think something of my thoughts must have leaked into my expression because the sales clerk guy finally admits to the owner keeping the less touristy books in the side room. “Thank you,” Ginkgo Biloba indeed!

Of course, now I’ve traded a man with far too much enthusiasm for herbs and homeopathy for a room full of books that aren’t in English. Most don’t even seem to use the same alphabet. The sales kid, who is probably “older” than me if my new license is to be believed, doesn’t follow me. I guess I can’t fault his survival instincts for that decision. I look around with a grimace, once again lamenting Google’s failure to properly exist yet, and start looking through the titles for something that sounds like memory, carefully avoiding the beam of sunlight coming through the back window.

I’m halfway around the room, having made zero progress, when a blond girl walks in. She looks familiar. “I don’t suppose you can read... uh... whatever this is,” I gesture towards the book either titled or written by whatever “الشعلة الحية” means. She laughs, but whether it’s at my general helplessness or if the book title is something embarrassing I can’t say. “Yeah, I may have been a bit hasty chasing off the sales guy, but I couldn’t handle any more of his homeopathic... huh, it occurs to me now that if this stuff works there may actually be something to the Ginkgo Biloba stuff he was pushing.”

“Ginkgo Biloba? Having trouble with... memory?” She scrunches up her nose in thought on the last part. “Oh! I’m Amy by the way.” A familiar looking blonde named Amy. I wonder...

“Jack,” I nod and smile at her in lieu of risking initiating a handshake, “and yes. Well, I mean, my memory is working the way it’s supposed to, but I’m hoping to find a way to dredge up the details on something from a decade ago.” Looking pointedly around the room, “Allegedly there’s a spell in here somewhere for forgetting things. Hopefully the reverse is also true? And not like hypnosis where my brain just plays mix and match with details to make something plausible up either.” The devil is in those details after all when it comes to testing the validity of my ‘memories’ from the show.

“Hmmm...” she’s tapping her finger against her chin and looking around the room, “Something you saw?”

“Yeah, or at least it was on TV and I saw it on the screen if that matters.”

“Maybe... Well, let’s take a look, I’m getting pretty good at the Latin and Greek stuff... but you might have to ask Mr. Velissaropoulos or Mr. Giles if you want to know what language... that... is.” She points at the book I’d indicated earlier.

“God sneeze you, and who?” I only have to fake half of my confusion this time.

“Huh? Oh! Mr. Velissaropoulos owns the store. He’s Greek, I think? He’s usually only here on Wednesdays and Thursdays though, most of the time he’s out finding stuff. Mr. Giles is the librarian at school, he knows a ton of languages, and some of the books on his desk make that one look normal.” Her smile turns sheepish, “err... And I’d avoid trying to read any of them out loud.”

I laugh, recalling Xander igniting a book that way, “Yeah... I learned that lesson too. Unfortunately.” I hold up my hand which still looks a tad singed from where it clipped a bit of sunshine when I wasn’t paying enough attention. Worst. Sunburn. Ever. “Oops?”

My mood improves as steadily as the sun sets while we search. Before I know it Mr. Biloba is telling us they’re getting ready to close. Amy suddenly looks nervous; glancing out the window shows the last few rays of sunlight dwindling down. Ah. Makes sense, the girl that can do actual magic would be aware of what comes out after dark in this town. “Something wrong, Amy?”

“It’s just later than I thought.” She looks at me, then out the window again. “My mom has some books on this stuff back home. One of them should have the spell she cast on me to help with studying for school, might be something helpful in there.”

I grin back at her, “Sounds great.” I think she just drafted a vampire to walk her home as added protection against... meeting a vampire on her way home. I stifle a giggle, “Shall I walk you home?” This much fun simply can’t be healthy.

---Madison Residence---

Apparently being spooked by a loud noise and then telling me to hurry up while gesturing at the doorway constitutes an invitation? That or agreeing to have me over to look through her mother’s books back at the shop does. Either way the doorway fails to bounce me back out of the Madison residence. If I wasn’t sure which Amy I was talking to back at the shop, the nameplate on the mailbox cleared that up.

Once we find and page through the book she mentioned, she seems far too eager to try out the spell that sounds most promising. When asked about it she just grins, asks me, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a willing magical guinea pig?” and then laughs.

I glare at that. But what the hell, this is literally what I spent all afternoon looking for, and my only other option I can think of is trying to con Willow into casting it. Not that conning season 2-3 Willow would be hard, but I’d really rather not put myself on the radar of Team Scooby.

We go over the ritual instructions and the notes scrawled in the margins in English. Hmmm, looks like committing Grand Theft Body was not Catherine’s plan A for reliving her glory days. That she then went that route... Not sure how much to read into that. I re-read one of the lines again to make sure, “oh for fucks sake, seriously?”

“What?”

“Read the ingredients list on the concoction I have to drink. I think the universe is mocking me,” I grumble, while contemplating going back and eating the sales guy.

“... Ginkgo Biloba!” at least one of us is amused. Unfortunately it’s Amy. I glare at her.

---One Spell Cast Later---

Magic, as it turns out, is finicky. I expected that. It’s also fucking vindictive. Which I did not expect but I really should have.

I sit in a salt circle while Amy chants words in what sounds like Latin.

I drink a bizarre concoction of things including a bit of my blood and a fair bit of that herb which shall no longer be spoken of.

I continue to sit, Amy continues to chant. I focus on what I can remember of the show, and the parts I most want to remember. Lindsey’s tattoos, the Gem of Amarra, and that Glove of M-guy with the lightning bolts. Also, anything with Amy herself in it just for good measure.

The spell works, I think, but not exactly as advertised.

Amy said that the spell her mom cast to help her with studying made her head tingle and then suddenly she could remember what the teacher had gone over in class better.

I don’t know if reaching back over a decade was simply an order of magnitude greater than this year’s syllabus, or if the spell was meant for humans and I only partially qualify. Hell, for all I know the Powers that live to screw with mortals just thought it’d be fucking hilarious. Whatever the cause, the result was that my world dissolved into pain, pain, and more pain. My mind felt like it was on fire as the images and scenes I sought out seared themselves into my brain. I get the distinct impression that forgetting the details is no longer an option.

It may have been a few seconds later, or an hour. I’d never know. But when I came to, Amy was pressed back against the wall staring at me with wide eyes, and the room reeked of her fear.

“Iguh-“ <cough> "It worked.” my throat hurts and my voice sounds strange, I assume from screaming obscenities at the universe, or possibly just screaming incoherently in pain. I try to smile reassuringly at her.

She doesn’t look reassured. “Please don’t eat me,” she squeaks out.

“...Why would I... I’m in game face aren’t I?” she nods. Mother Fucker! I focus on pulling in my fangs, “I’m not going to eat you.”

“But you’re a vampire.” She stutters a little on that last word. I see we’ve reached the stating the obvious phase of this discussion.

“...and you’re a witch. So what? Glass Houses, Amy.” Awesome, now she looks annoyed too. I can’t decide is that’s an improvement.

“Vampires eat people... I’m People!” That last bit going back into panicked tones.

“I never said I don’t eat people. I said I’m not going to eat you.” At her confused expression I elaborate, using my best Amy Madison impression, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a willing witch to cast spells for me?” And she’s annoyed again, abracadabra. I tilt my head to the side, “If it helps, I can also refrain from eating your dad?”

“And what happens when I’m done casting magic for you?” she sounds suspicious but now I’m just confused.

“I pay you for your time?” Her expression turns confused, which just confuses me more. What part of this doesn’t she understand? “Witches do need money for food and stuff right?”

“Wait, you want to pay me to cast magic for you, and you don’t want to eat me?” She sounds surprised. Why is this such a difficult concept?

“...Yes? Is there some better way of keeping a witch on retainer that I’m not aware of? I have been speaking English for the past couple of minutes, right?” I pull out the hundred odd bucks I’d looted over course of last night. “You do magic, I pay you. I refrain from eating you, you refrain from lighting me on fire. Deal?” Clearly she expected me to only need one spell cast and then a snack or something. Are vampires really supposed to be that shortsighted? Don’t answer that.

“You’re going to eat other people?”

“Well duh, I gotta eat. Why? You wanna watch?”

“Yuck! No! Gross! I want you to not eat people!” I’m beginning to wonder if her mother’s magic had... side effects on this girl. She seems to lack the expected level of enthusiasm for that last statement.

I wonder if this is how William felt whenever he was babysitting Dawn. I raise an eyebrow and stare at Amy, “feeling better now that you’ve pretended to care about your fellow mortals?”

I wait.

“...Yeah,” she does that incredibly put upon sign that only teenage girls can ever manage to get just right, “screw it. We have a deal. Give me the money. No eating me or my dad. Call me when you want another spell cast.” Ha! There’s the beginning of the psychotic dark magic addict I remember. I make a mental note to send a thank you to Rack for deleting that pesky caring nature out of my new toy.

...

Make that; a thank you note written out and mailed by... someone else, someone who has no connection to me, and packed full of high explosives and silver ball bearings. What? Even as a human I hated sharing my toys. Besides, I need Amy to be insensitive to the plight of her fellow mortal, not outright self destructive. Friendly fire is most decidedly not friendly.

I sum all my feelings up on the topic, “Cool,” and hand her the money. “Now, up you get. Let’s have a look at you. What? You just cast a memory affecting spell on me. If you look different than I remember you looking at the store we have a problem.” She stands up and fidgets while I give her a blatant once over. She looks almost exactly like she should. The key word there is almost. Her actress was clearly older than her role. The Amy in front of me is actually... 17? But she looks exactly like I’d expect a 17 year old version of her actress to look... and also the same as when we met at the store. I was lying about my reasons, but only by omission. It was a good idea to double check. “Awesome, we’re good.” I leave it at that, she’s cute, but not so much that I want to risk waking up on fire.

Amy seems to want me out of her house for some reason. I roll my eyes as she does everything but shoo me out the door, only to grab my arm before I can actually leave. “Jack, about our deal? If you run into my mom, eat first, questions later. Okay?” I laugh at her phrasing.

“Obviously.” She looks at me funny but doesn’t ask, so I just smile and don’t elaborate before sauntering off. The night is young, and I have important memories to test. I love magic.

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

Part 3 - Mental Arts and Crafts:

---Angel's Abandoned Mansion---

Results inconclusive. Rawrgle! Again?

Regrettably, my attempts to strangle the magic eight ball are thwarted by its merely being a metaphor for the results my night of testing has produced.

Places, like the high school library look exactly as they did in the show, albeit with the added perspective of being able to look around and see the other side of them. People, on the other hand are all slightly off. Sure, they look like the actors and actresses would have looked when they were the ages they portrayed. That’s... interesting academically I suppose, but most decidedly unhelpful when trying to recognize people. Seventeen year olds don’t quite look like Hollywood would have us believe. I wouldn’t care except that I’m, you know, trying to replicate a magical tattoo that goes on a damned person... pun not intended.

Tuning back into reality I glare at the Polaroid in my hand once more before setting it aflame and tossing into the bowl. I check the runes I drew on the manikin for a fourth time while it burns. As before, they look exactly like I remember the ones on Lindsey. Obviously, it could be that Lindsey’s tattoos fall into the second category, ‘Things that aren’t exactly like the show’ but that’s not a terribly productive thought. Hmmm... do the runes not protect against Polaroid style cameras? That wouldn’t actually surprise me all that much, magic loves to nitpick... Again, that doesn’t really help me right now.

I turn to Jennifer, “I’m guessing your room mate didn’t pay extra for a magic immune manikin?” Jennifer doesn’t respond. Oh, hey! She’s stopped drooling. I should write that down. Where’d my lab book go?

It isn’t until I’m noting the time on the latest entry that I realize another possible reason why the runes might not have worked. Maybe the tattoo only works on people? I mean... how does a manikin power a magic tattoo? It doesn’t. I suppose that should have been obvious. Or... wait... maybe it can draw in ambient magic..? I set the manikin aside for retesting later. If nothing else it’ll make a good prop for the tattoo artist.

Gods, this would be so much easier if I could just have Amy research magic tattoos and runes. But when everybody starts boarding the hand-basket, I’d really rather not have there be any more of a paper trail explaining what I did. Paranoia really is self enforcing isn’t it? Then again, if this world didn’t merit paranoia I wouldn’t exist and father would be... I don’t know. Drunk off his ass in Willows room trying to convince her to send him home?

I’m still grumbling about self inflicted handicaps as I start unchaining Jennifer from the wall.

---Later---

“Why!” whack, “won’t,” whack, “you,” whack, “fucking,” whack, “fledges,” whack- snap! “Stay out!?” I drive the now broken handle of my shovel through the heart of the latest idiot to wander into my territory. His now nearly pancake flat face dissolving into dust. Adding his dust to the urn where I’m storing his predecessors I turn back to Jennifer, “You know Jennifer, if they didn’t keep delivering cash-“ wait. I walk back over to the kitchen table and peer closely at Jennifer’s face. “Jennifer?” There’s a brief flicker of recognition on her features at the sound of her name. Checking the time I add it to the experiment logs. The human mind is absolutely fascinating, she’s gone from uncontrolled drooling to recognizing the sound of her own name again in only... 3 hours. Something I’d never know if I hadn’t accidentally snapped her sanity attempting my first Thralling. Ah, the joys of Arts majors with roommates who come home unexpectedly. Huh, does that make her delivery or DiGiorno?

Fifteen minutes later Jennifer starts to giggle. I pause drawing the weird squiggly shape things on her chest and stare at her. She stops. I have a bad feeling about this even as I make note of it in my log book.

Yup, she’s ticklish. It is exceedingly difficult to draw runes on a girl who’s started squirming under you while you draw. Grimacing, I shift my weight on to her arms to keep them from flailing and carry on.

---Later---

My poor attempt at the Pylean Dance of Joy is interrupted by Jennifer’s whimpering. I look over at her just in time to see the runes I drew glow brighter and brighter before bursting into flame and quickly vanishing. “Well! That was a short lived victory.” I toss the photo, in which Jennifer is conspicuously absent aside and call Amy. I’m clearly out of my depth here.

“...Hello?” she sounds tired. Well, it is 7 am on a Sunday. I’d probably be tired too if my successful test run didn’t make me far too giddy for even giant ball of obnoxiousness to bring me down. And, you know, that whole I haven't been able to sleep-- or really needed to either-- since the day I was born thing.

“Good morning, Amy! Is magic like electricity?”

“... Jack? ... Why?... It’s like, 7am! ...What?” Grogginess, thy embodiment is Amy. I add removing the ‘needs sleep’ descriptor from my minions to the ever growing pile that is my to do list.

“Yes. Because reasons. You’re not a morning person are you? And, finally, I repeat: Is magic like electricity? Or rather, is magic like heat actually? As in does it work better with some materials than others. Like they make heat sinks out of copper and insulate houses with... that pink shit.”

“Uhhh..." she pauses just long enough that I begin to wonder if she fell asleep. "...Yeah?” She doesn’t elaborate.

“And what works be-” I’m interrupted by a loud thud behind me.

“What was that?” Amy asks as I turn around to find Jennifer now on the floor next to the table. I watch as she tries to stand up before falling over again.

“That’s just Jennifer,” I wave my arm dismissively.

“Jennifer? Who’s Jennifer?” I’m reminded that Amy can’t see me, or my arm. “Is she okay?”

“Just some college chick I met last night. Her room-mate was an Arts major. And... uh... she looks okay? A little singed maybe? But I’m pretty sure that’s not from the fall. Not important. Focus, Amy. Magic materials. Go.”

I politely pretend I can’t hear her muttering about impatient vampires, she’s not wrong after all, just off topic. “Uhhh... Iron bad, silver good? Copper and Gold work too, but silver holds it better. I’m not sure why.”

“Find out for me will you? And would I be correct in the assumption that pen ink is in the ‘bad’ category along with iron?”

“Pen ink?”

“Yeah, from one of those artsy type pens”

“...Jack, did you kidnap an art student for her art supplies?”

“No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. I ate an art student for her art supplies. I kidnapped her roommate, who is, I can assure you, a totally different person.” I think can hear Amy flail her arms in exasperation. I’m not sure why she asked if she didn’t want to know.

“...I shouldn’t have asked.” Oh good, clearly we’re in agreement. “Ummm... pen ink? No, I don’t think that would work very well at all. Maybe it would last a few minutes, unless... I think they make special inks and papers for that kind of thing? Yeah yeah, I’ll look into it. Can I go back to sleep now?”

I roll my eyes at the laziness of my witch. Honestly? Sleeping when there’s magical science to be done... It must be a side effect of growing up with it or something; ruins the magic of it all. “You can do whatever you like, but the sooner you get me those answers the sooner you get paid.”

Amy yawns into the phone and then groans, “Fine. I’m awake now anyway. But you’re covering the cost of coffee.”

“Whatever. That’s fine.” I hang up before giving in and letting out a yawn of my own. Gods damn it! I’m dead, I don’t need to breathe, and, as far as I can tell, I don't need to sleep either because I can’t really seem to even get tired. Why the fuck is yawning still contagious? Jennifer’s yawn mollifies me slightly, mostly by reminding me she exists. I re-chain her to the wall before allowing myself to succumb to the yellow menace’s influence.

---Later---

I interrupt my latest failed attempt at sleep upon hearing the sounds of Jennifer attempting to escape. I glance my alarm clock. 16 hours. 16 hours to go from queen of the drool to attempted escape artist. Nifty. I think this concludes the experiment.

My final entry makes note of the fact that being allowed to stew in her fears overnight seems to have given the blood an odd tang. It’s not a bad flavor, its just strange and I don’t think I like it as much as... regular..? flavored blood.

That settled, I go back to "sleep."

---Later---

My phone rings.

It’s Amy.

She’s found a book on magical materials.

Apparently I was accidentally very close to the mark; magic seems to follow similar rules to heat sinks, but with bizarre quirks that only magic could make sense of. Un-forged iron resists magic, literally iron that hasn’t been heated. Heat it up in a forge and that property goes away for- functionally- ever even after it cools. Cold Iron in D&D makes more sense now. Silver, Copper, Gold, in that order, unless you’re doing specific things in which case one of them suddenly works better or worse because...? Reasons. That special magic ink? It’s ink with silver in it. I somehow don’t think that was what they meant when one of the cop shows I watched mentioned prison tattoos causing heavy metal poisoning.

Amy agrees.

“Awesome. I’ll meet you at that coffee place after sunset.”

Now I just need to find a tattoo artist that will use ink with silver in it. Maybe LA? If it’s not obvious which one would be the best I could hit Caritas and have Lorne point me at the ‘right’ one. Come to think of it, why am I still in Sunnydale? The mansion is nice, but prone to home invasions, and the town itself is subject to annual apocalypses the prevention of which I’d rather not accidentally interfere in. Maybe I should just relocate?

‘Naughty, naughty, Alien. You’ll keep my William from burning up in the sunshine won’t you?’ Mother’s face flashes through my mind.

...

Why am I on the ground? Oh right, the earth splitting headache. Fucking hell, Mother, did you have to make your handiwork hurt so much? I roll over and climb to my feet. Clearly I’m not allowed to contemplate leaving Sunnydale.

...

Okay, I’m still standing, and my head doesn’t feel any worse. Maybe it was the thinking about not coming back?

...

“Hello, Ground. Thank you for catching me. Sorry about bashing my face into you like that. I’m just going to lie here for a bit okay?” As if I needed a reminder that I’m a rank amateur in the mental arts, I think Mother is showing off. I suppose I should have seen this coming. Of, fucking, course, Mother left extra programming in my head. Why wouldn’t she? It’s not enough that I have no idea why I’m here, Who or What went out of its way to create my paperwork but listed me as living at a McDonalds that’s still under construction, or any of that. No, I needed the added sense of suspense wondering when the next set of instructions will kick in complete with migraine made to order. I suppose I should just be grateful she didn’t yoke me to the town lines completely.

I’m still sulking on the ground nursing my headache when my phone rings.

“Hello, Amy.”

“Jack, where are you? Sunset was half an hour ago.”

“Sorry, Mother was just explaining some ground rules to me. I’ll be there in a moment.” I almost hung up on her before her panicked screeching processed, “No, not your mother. Mine. Drusilla.”

I’m halfway through the laborious process of climbing to my feet when what Mother actually said properly registers. Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, how am I supposed to stop that!? I’m not even certain what ‘that’ is; William falling in 'love' with Buffy the Vampire Layer? Or using himself as a soul-bomb against The First? Ugh. Nothing. No hints or directions or even painful twinges associated with either. One thing is certain: William is clearly her favorite son. Fucking. Typical.

I grab the money I owe Amy and head out the door, this is shaping up to be a busy night.

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

Part 4 - Coffeehouses and Cops:

---The Espresso Pump---

I meet Amy at The Espresso Pump.

It’s... different. Like the lovechild of a Starbucks and a Texican restaurant and full of people who think being afraid of the darkness is superstitious.

I order a small coffee, black, from the... bluette..? working the register. Hmmm... That’s fun to look at. She’s cute, doesn’t smell completely human though. That’s interesting. She does a very good job faking it visually but there’s something my nose is filing under ‘other’ which... Actually, that might just be the hair dye? Maybe? Hmmm... I wonder how hard it would be to use Xander to test her for black widow tendencies? Whoops, I’m staring. Worse, I'm being that guy who stands around in everyone's way after ordering.

I smile, take my coffee, and head over to Amy’s table. Fishing out her money, I toss it on the table before sitting down. “Sorry I’m late, but you know how mothers can get.”

If asked, I’d claim I’m being polite by ignoring the way she started and the slight whiff of her fear. Really I’m just too busy glaring at the cup of coffee on the table in front of me, trying to psych myself up. I do this periodically. Or rather I suppose my father..? host..? the previous owner of my body..? Father has a nice symmetry with Mother... maybe I'll- I’m stalling.

I take a sip of my coffee.

...Huh.

That’s... not nearly as terrible as my memories would have had me believe. Then again, it also doesn’t really taste like anything. I distinctly remember running this test a number of times before dumping what I’d been told is a staggering amount of cream and sugar into the cup. The perks of vampirism keep racking up; strength, speed, improved sense of smell, albeit apparently less pre-calibrated than I’d initially expected, and my taste buds are now coffee-proof. I eye the cup speculatively. I wonder if that means it won’t affect me at all anymore.

I blink a few times as Amy’s hand retracts from where she waved it in my face before looking up at her. “What?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “How’s Jen?”

“Who?” I glance over at the bluette. I don’t think her name was Jen. When I turn back, Amy is staring at me with a look of disbelief.

“Jennifer? The girl you were with this morning? Any bells?”

“Oh, her. Have you ever made mac and cheese with yogurt instead of milk?” I get a blank stare back. “Well you should, otherwise I can’t really describe how she tasted.” Even then it’s only a conceptual approximation.

Her blank look turns into rolled eyes and retching noises. “You know, you could just tell me I don’t want to know.”

Now it’s my turn to give her a blank stare, “But then how will you learn not to ask in the first place?” I grin, looking pointedly around the coffeehouse reminding her we’re in public. “For now, I’m happy to let you live vicariously via my... sex life.” I stall out at that, blinking. “Although now that I think about it, that euphemism just put an even more terrible context on the whole tasting like yogurt thing.”

And now we’re both disturbed.

I shake my head to clear it. “Come on. It’s dark; I’ll drive you home.” She pauses in her, what may no longer be entirely faked, retching and nods. I didn’t actually expect her to agree so easily. I’m going to have to work on her self-preservation instincts. That or find a way to mark her as mine in a way that other demons will respect. I snort, the only thing demons will universally respect is straight up butchering anything that looks at her funny, and even then I’d probably have to pee on her.

...

“Jack? You’re spacing on me again.” Apparently we’re at the car already.

“I haven’t had to pee since I died. Weird.” Then again, I think that cup of coffee was my first drink that wasn’t blood since I woke up.

“Gross! Why were you staring at me while... no! I do not want to know. Do not tell me!”

“Spoilsport. But hey, you’re learning fast. That bodes well for you.” I grin at her over the car as I unlock the door.

“...” Amy's mouth clicks shut as she settles for glaring at me while looking mildly disgusted. I’ve noticed that a lot of talking to Amy involves amusing facial expressions. Amusing for me anyway, she looks annoyed most of the time. I pause to mentally reaffirm my stance that I don’t want to wake up on fire, and settle for rolling my eyes at her as I get in the car.

Her glare lasts most of the ride home. She finally cracks as I pull onto her street, breaking the silence, “So, any big plans for tonight?” Apparently she really is learning because she hastily tacks on, “plans that don’t involve dead bodies?”

“Considering I am a dead body? No. But I don’t foresee any murders on my way to L.A. tonight.”

“You’re leaving town?” I’m not sure if she sounds happy or sad about that. I’m not sure she knows either.

“Yeah. I’m going to go visit Caritas. It’s a demon karaoke--” I hear badly stifled laughter next to me. “Hush you. --karaoke bar. More importantly it’s got a set of fantastic magical protection wards I want to take a look at, maybe pick the owner’s brain about.” And while I'm at that, the ever mounting list of specialists I need to arrange contact with; Tattoo artist, Emil, possibly Barney, and a buyer for the Du Lac Cross and book that Mother had stuffed in her mattress. I’m still not sure if I actually want to part with that last pair. I know I’d rather not give them back to Giles merry band of racist peeping toms, but I'm not sure I want to go through the hassle of translating it myself. “And, speaking of defensive wards, congratulations on giving me a great segue into your new research project. Look into protection spells, would you? Unless you want to come to L.A. for a few days with me that is. If not, out you get.” I pull the car up in front of her house.

She snorts, holding her hand to her face like a pretend phone, “Hi, Dad. I’m in Los Angeles, staying in a hotel room with this guy I met a few days ago. Yeah, that’d go over well.” She climbs out of the car. “And that’s ignoring that whole you eat people and I’m people thing you've got going on, but thanks anyway.”

I stick my tongue out at her eye roll before she closes the door. I also wait long enough to make sure nothing tries to eat my witch on her way to her door before driving off. Hmmm, maybe I should find a way to pee on her? I’ll have think about it.

---Somewhere on Route 101---

“...Seriously?” I stare at the flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror. It’s after midnight. I haven’t seen another car in like 10 minutes, but, apparently going ninety something is still frowned upon.

I pull over, roll down the window, put my hands on the wheel and wait impatiently for Officer Buzzkill to approach.

“License and Registration please.” He sounds annoyed too. Good, irritation loves company as much as misery. I can see one hand is on his service pistol holster as he shines the flashlight in my eyes. I make an exaggerated show of slowly getting out my license and registration paperwork and hold them out to him. His last conscious action is to try and take them from me. I’m slightly impressed that he manages to reflexively click the cover off of his holster between the moment when I grab his arm and when his head smashes into the top of my car as I pull with all my vampiric might. Thoroughly dazed, he doesn’t resist as I pull him into the car through the window.

Coming down off the frenzied high of feeding a few moments later, I’m left slightly puzzled. “Well... that just happened.” I shove Noname McRedshirt back out the window and look around. The little dip in the road I pulled over in blocks my view of much of the road, but I can’t see any other cars on what I do see.

Grabbing my gloves from the for once in my existence aptly named glove compartment, I drag the officer off the road. Finally, it clicks what’s been bugging me about all of this. I’ve been acting like a junky jonesing for a fix.

I sigh, “I couldn’t have just told him I wasn’t the droids he was looking for? Damn it.” Thinking back, I’ve been feeling irritable since shortly after leaving the Sunnydale town limits. Either caffeine is a massive no-no for vampires, or there’s more to the Hellmouth’s energies attracting us demon types than I was aware of. Fortunately I seem to have snapped out of it after my impromptu lunch.

And so I finally start the checklist I really ought to have run through before killing one of the local Staties. No one else in sight on the road. No partner in the patrol car. Stripping off his uniform... California Highway Patrol? So, a Patrolman rather than a Trooper? ...huh, there’s no body cam? “Oh right, they’re stuck in the dark ages same as me...” I mutter as I confirm there’s no dash cam in the patrol car either. His radio chirps, asking for unit 17 to report. “Buggerfuck... Of course he called it in.” Outside of Sunnydale, I guess LEOs are allowed to keep their brainstems. Pity about that. My license plates are probably a liability now.

My debate on which of the two cars to drive off in is resolved in favor of option 3 when I spot headlights cresting the ridge. I dart out into the road waving my arms like a madman. The instant the truck screeches to a halt I’m tapping on the window, panicked expression plastered on my face pointing frantically at the cruiser. “I think he had a heart attack. I don’t know CPR.” Oh bless, Mr. Samaritan is getting out of his truck. His door swings open and I grab his chin forcing his eyes to meet mine. Repeating what I did to that artsy girl by accident, I stare into his eyes and... I don’t know how to describe it, it’s a bizarre feeling that I don’t think my brain was ever really meant to process, but I ‘push’ my will into his while thinking “STOP!” with everything I have. He doesn’t go full blown drool on self levels of catatonic, but his eyes glaze and he goes limp. I think my test subjects are applying my command to everything they consciously can? Makes as much sense as the next theory.

I can hear the operator lady routing reinforcements to check on unit 17 as I shove the guy to the side. Damn.

Suddenly pressed for time, I skip the traditional game of ‘what has he got in his pocketses?’ enjoyed by murderhobos everywhere and just finish stripping off the patrolman’s entire uniform boots and all. It, as well as his service pistol and radio are promptly pitched into the truck... as are the road flares and the shotgun in the car that they really should have locked up with a stronger lock. I’m only what, 3 to 5 times as strong as a normal mortal?

My favorite item drop has to be the taser though. I cackle as my mind is filled with images of the stupid home invading fledges convulsing on the ground.

...

I add electrical immunity or resistance to my list of things I need Amy to learn how to cast for me.

Shaking my head and getting back to work, I’m almost done shoving my loot into the truck’s crew cab when I finally notice just what’s in the cargo bed. “They have farms in California? Oh right, strawberries and wine.” I’m staring at a truck full of fertilizer. I look at the road flares in my hand, and then back at the car that I’ve been in long enough that I’d bet I left something forensic behind. “Perfect.”

Fertilizer, even the chemical kind, doesn’t actually explode like in the movies. It does however burn real nice once the water that it’s usually stored with evaporates, and it’ll give the forensics teams an extra pile of nonsense to sort through. I load the patrolman into my old car, upending a bag of fertilizer into the front and back seats each. I pause briefly to burn the everloving shit out of where I bit him on the neck with the first road flare before tossing it in his lap to ignite the car’s seat. The other flares rapidly follow.

There’s a lot of smoke and then eventually, just as I crest the hill in my new truck, visible flames coming out of the car window. I wonder idly what the investigators will make of a half naked patrolman missing all of his blood and sitting in the driver’s seat of the car he pulled over while it burns to cinders. I don’t want to know nearly enough to stick around though. “Welcome to the Darkside, Farmer Bob.” I pat his shoulder encouragingly and he blinks at me a few times. “Later tonight you can be the cookies we were supposed to have.” The sign for LA seems to think that later will be in about fifty miles. When the shoulder radio starts screaming officer down and calling for backup 15 minutes later I have Bob pitch it out the window.

 

[darthdavid]

This is well written, really captures the feel of the show and traight up villainous SIs are pretty rare. I'm really digging it so far...

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

A/N: To those who read the first draft - The arbitrary seeming name change of Sandra to Emilia will make more sense later. I think.

-------------------------------

Part 5 - Caritas Matchmaking Services:

---Caritas---

I pause at the top of the stairs leading down to Caritas entryway, running my reasons for being here through my head one last time.

Away from the Hellmouth’s presumed influence, my thoughts on the topic are less enthusiastic, but no less conclusive. I’ve been in this crapsack reality that claims I’m living in a McDonalds, and yes that still bothers me, for 3 days. 3 days during which I’ve been vulnerable to seers and psychics and who knows what manner of voodoo. I plaster a smile on my face and head down the stairs. As long as I avoid singing anything I should be fine. I’m not positive just where Lorne’s flashes of insight come from and I don’t really want to draw the attention of any meddlesome powers. I definitely don’t want Jasmine poking her nose in my business.

The place is busy at 3 AM, which isn’t all that surprising given that a third of the crowd are allergic to sunshine. Or rather, at least a third, most of the other two thirds are things I can’t identify so who knows how they feel about anything. Making my way over to the bar, I claim a stool and order a pint of blood from Ramone. I frown at the glass of red liquid he slides over to me, not because it isn’t blood, or smells wrong or anything like that. I’m just not sure I like the implications of the part where I watched him pour the glass before I got to my seat to order it. I’d ask what gave me away but he’s already headed on down to the next patron... who has a fantastic pair of legs and, oh, she’s also Lilah Morgan and, I’m... not suicidal, so... nope, no thank you.

I stare at my drink and studiously resume my contemplations of how worried I should be that the bartender either knew I was a vampire from the across the room, or was able to foresee my choice of drink order. Neither bodes well for me. I haven’t made a proper dent in either my thoughts or my drink when Lorne slides into the seat next to me with an amused expression on his face. “And what brings you in tonight stranger?” I note in the mirror that Lilah has finished ordering and is returning to her table full of people in suits... and I’m a duh, of course the bartender could tell I was a vampire, my lack of reflection is something of a giveaway. My mystery is solved, and Lilah can’t eavesdrop from where she’s busy... celebrating Lindsey’s promotion to junior associate maybe? Whatever. All is well with the world again.

Worry abating, I turn to Lorne with a grin, “The local yellow pages actually. Well, sort of... I’m new in town, and I’m looking to get a tattoo, but AT&T doesn’t seem to have any way of telling me which of the umpteen hundred tattoo artists around here won’t lose their shit when I show up sans pulse.” I gesture towards the mirror where Lorne’s reflection is talking to empty air. This was all true. The phone book in the Hotel I commanded Farmer Bob to check us into really did have multiple pages worth of tattoo artists listed for the greater L.A. area.

Lorne promptly reminds me why precognition annoys me by waving over a female... Brachen demon? Either way she’s spiky and... covered, in tattoos, “Emilia darling, that mystery client I told you to wait here for has arrived.” What? Seriously? Gods damn it! I didn’t even so much as hum a tune. Lorne wanders off looking pleased with himself. He didn’t even give me a chance to ask about the sanctuary spell the Furies cast on the place.

Emilia steals the seat Lorne vacated. “Hi, I’m Emilia. Tattoo Artist.” She smiles faintly and holds out her hand.

Ah well, show time. “Jack... Security Consultant.” I’m not really sure why I said it, if forced to choose I blame my recent thoughts on the flaws in the sanctuary spell regarding humans or externals. Her smile widens into a full blown grin and her eyes light up, I begin to feel more than a little set up. As Emilia starts telling me about her ex-boyfriend that won’t accept the ex- part of that story, I mentally plan out Lorne’s murder. I’ve only existed for 3 days, and I’m already about to suffer Side Quest Damage. Gods. Damn. It.

Then Emilia pulls in her spikes and all of Lorne’s sins are immediately forgiven.

---Emilia's Apartment/Studio---

Two weeks later, I’m reclining in what looks and feels to me like a simplified dentist chair while Emilia puts the finishing touches on her work.

I’m pulled out of my daydream when I notice Emilia’s needle has been paused for a while. She’s peering down at my face, “Jack, what did you say to Sean anyway?”

I cock my head to the side as I stare up at the girl, “Say to Sean?” what to the who?

“Yeah, to get him to leave me alone.” Oh, Sean must have been the ex-boyfriend.

I think back a week, I’m not sure I actually said much of anything to him. I remember deciding to chalk the whole thing up as a lesson in dealing with precogs. A decision that followed immediately after noticing that the girl now straddling my lap very strongly resembled the chick that played Sif in the Marvel movies, but with lots of tattoos. Dear Libido, why art thou suicidal? Seriously, first Lilah Morgan and now a Valkyrie.

In spite of my initial reservations, I actually did learn a lot.

I learned that if you go to Caritas to find a tattoo artist, and find one waiting there, one who’s got experience with the kind of tattoo work you want done, and who is there specifically waiting for you, that there will be a catch. In this case the catch was that she didn’t want money, at least not any more than the costs of the special inks. What she wanted was for me to make her ex-boyfriend, Sean, apparently, stop stalking her. Side Quest Damage, just like I predicted.

I confirmed that stalkers are as predictably easy to find and catch as one might expect. You simply wait for them to show up near their target.

I learned that my new tazer works on full blood Brachen demons, and that when tazed, said Brachen Demons convulse quite hilariously. Once tazed however, they are still quite a bit heavier than they appear. I also determined that I had misplaced some key part of the tazer’s charger which was sad, but hopefully it’s lost in the truck and not along a roadside in L.A.

I discovered that Brachen Demon blood tastes better than the pigs blood Liam kept in the fridge. Which is to say that it merely tastes terrible. Blech!

I found that while Brachens are beyond my ability to Thrall, and are apparently fairly fire resistant and handle blunt trauma exceptionally well they seem to have no particular resistance to edged or piercing weapons. I also found that those spikes on Brachen Demons are bone, and attach seamlessly to their skulls. As is often the case when magic is involved, this made no biological sense when considering that half-Brachens spikes are retractable. Ah well, they do snap off if you manage to apply enough force, I checked, so there’s that.

At that point the test subject died, and I called off further testing for fear of polluting the data pool. I’m not sure if dead demons maintain their demonic traits yet after all.

...

Oh, and I also verified the fairly obvious fact that curiosity is not a survival trait in hotel managers, even if the other guests report strange noises. This is particularly true for any hotel managers that happen to look so fucking delicious. It was a fantastic night.

None of this however, involved talking to the err... Sean? So, I’m fairly sure it’s not what Emilia is asking about. “You know, I don’t recall needing to say much to him at all actually,” I pause for a moment as inspiration strikes, “though I think I conveyed a fair bit via facial expression.” I slide into gameface, “and he seemed to understand that he can’t bother you ever again.” I stretch languidly, careful not to dislodge my rider. Looking down my chest now seems to match the manikin I’d brought in with me, “all done?”

“Almost,” she smirks down at me and starts rocking her hips, her arousal flooding my senses. Jesus Christ on a cracker woman, you want to go again!? This will make the fifth time so far today. I start bucking up into her. What? It’s not like I’m going anywhere before the sun fucks off… or did you miss the part where I said she looks like Sif?

I should probably add the fact that female half-Brachens are really flexible to my notes... later.

 

[Aetheron]

Edit Note - Nov 10th 2015: Added in scene break descriptors that people found helpful in later chapters

Part 6 - Side Effect May Include:

---Emilia's Apartment/Studio---

It turns out I hadn’t needed to ask Emilia if she was all finished. I felt it the moment the… magical circuit, or whatever you want to call it, completed. I can feel it now, slowly siphoning power from me to maintain its effect. It feels… weird, like the sensation of sucking in air, but reversed and not associated with any particular body part I have nerves attached to. My respect for Lindsey’s magical skills and power ratchet up a notch simply for being able to handle this as a mortal. I can feel myself… digesting? burning? …using blood faster now to compensate for the power draw. I think I may have just doubled my caloric needs, possibly more.

I’m hungry. My new tattoo itches and tingles and feels slightly warm to the touch.

I stagger out of Emilia’s combination parlor, studio, condo... place the instant the shadows are long enough to make it practical. Even knowing that she would taste vile I was starting to find it difficult to resist.

A homeless man is leaning against a building as I go by. I offer to buy him dinner.

I toss the blood-drained body in the alley dumpster and, with the hunger subsiding, make my way over to Caritas. A lot of work has gone into setting up this meeting, it won’t do to be late.

I’ve been by a few times in the past weeks converting cash into extra blood I could store in Emilia’s fridge for after our morning long ritual of her carving up my skin with a needle. I’ve learned to sense to that slight prickling sensation in the back of mind when I cross the threshold of the sanctuary spell. Or at least, I assume that’s what it is since it happens every damned time I clear the second to last step before going in the door. Maybe learned to associate the two would be more accurate.

I mention all this so that I can properly convey how incredibly not surprised I was when I took that very step, and my new tattoos got warmer, suddenly pulling in more power as they fought to… actually I have no idea why they’re so angry. The surprising part was just how much power they were suddenly gulping down. I don’t recall Caritas being under surveillance, mystical or otherwise, let alone something that feels so overpowering. I take a step back, confirming they cool off when outside the spell’s zone of effect. They heat up once more as I slowly walk into Caritas.

Screw it, they’re running just barely hot enough to even qualify me for having a fever. I’ll just... drink some ice water with my blood, yeah. It’s probably time to actually have that conversation with Lorne about just how the sanctuary spell works. I sit down at the bar where Ramone has already placed my glass of blood.

...

Wait. Okay, so the tattoos are objecting strenuously to the sanctuary spell. That... means something right? They block scrying, precognitive seers, ... and modern surveillance equipment. Kind of an eclectic mix, but I’m a vampire in a TV show, so who am I to throw stones. They all turned on at once, so it’s not a piece by piece set of blocking effects, it’s some sort of systematic preventative effect? I think I hate magic for its fuzzy symbolic logic. I push my empty glass away and it’s refilled a scant moment later. Clearly, I’m protected against more than just remote viewing and extrasensory perception. Lindsey wasn’t caught or killed, so I’d imagine they couldn’t use tracking spells, or summoning spells on him either. Or directly curse him dead for that matter.

Modern surveillance gear is the odd duck of the bunch, but if I ignore that for the moment or lump it under extrasensory perception with the other hyper-cognitive bullshit... Ah, Fuck it, I’m probably over thinking it, and clearly far too annoyed to think it through properly, the blood is helping though. The simplest means of accomplishing the effect would be to block the ability of magic to target my person. Okay, that makes sense, I already knew the sanctuary spell made judgment calls about the beings it was affecting since humans aren’t stopped from doing violence, and I really ought to try to remember to mention that to Lorne. I can for the Sanctuary spell’s details from him in exchange. I guess my tattoos are preventing, or at least interfering with, the spell from determining the particulars of my personhood? Thinking back to the table I saw smashed when a card game stopped being friendly, I hope that the spell’s logic doesn’t default case me as an object. Probably safest to assume it does though. Sometimes I really hate magic’s fuzzy fucking logic.

My internal debate is derailed when I notice Lorne staring at me with a puzzled expression. I groan, do I want to know what these things are doing to my aura badly enough to risk Lorne doing basic math? It seems the answer is yes because I smile and wave him over. “Something wrong Lorne?” I keep my expression cautiously curious. I suppose this is the true test. Can I lie to an empath?

Lorne glares at me. I guess I can’t quite fool Lorne? “Even without an aura you’re radiating smugness. What did you do?” I blink at that. I have no aura? I guess that’s better than Lorne being able to read me like a book, but still, kinda unexpected.

“That’s strange.” I don’t have to fake my confusion. Actually, no, I take that back, that makes perfect sense, I’m suppressing whatever makes me register as a person, like say the auras all people have. I quickly cover my epiphany with another, “I’d have expected it to be bizarrely chaotic, but not missing,” And on that topic, take that Scoobies, I’m people! Not that I can prove it anymore... “I... uh... had a chaos mage scramble it for me.” I try to sound sheepish, but I may not have succeeded given that I was slightly distracted. Suck it eavesdroppers. Yes, you, I see you over there, listening in.

“Why would you do that? That’s ... insane.” Lorne looks properly horrified, and I guess I can see how Lorne would think that. If auras work the way I’d expect from Tara bits of dialogue, the chaos I just described is how I bet a completely bat-shit crazy person would look. Granted, now I wonder what Tara will think if she sees me.

I shake my finger at Lorne with a not-so-mock glare, “It’s your fault actually. You set me up with Emilia.”

Lorne’s expression barely even flickers to nervousness, I suspect he’s grown used to the sanctuary spell’s protections already. “Hey now, I did no such thing. All I did was point you out to Emilia, and I thought you two would get along great! I didn’t mean any harm.” Oh, he thinks I’m angry about something Emilia did? Hardly. Emilia is fucking fantastic... or fantastic at fucking... and everything in between.

I laugh at my thoughts, “that’s what I mean! Emilia and I get along beautifully. If we hadn’t been thrown together by an empathic precog I’d be incredibly suspicious of that. But that’s the point! You pulled all that out of my future by listening to her sing. Do you have any idea how mind numbingly terrifying that is? Of course I immediately sought out and found a way to scramble my future’s predictability.” I may be over acting, but between the dude in the suit eavesdropping, and the way my tattoos itch, I have plenty of annoyed to push into my speech. Suit man is definitely dinner tonight, just on principle, fuck you very much Wolfram & Hart. I sigh, “The aura thing was unexpected, but I’ll take it. Not every reader out there is as fucking Californian as you. I mean, fucks sake Lorne, you make surfer bros look positively uptight.” Misinformation rant complete, I chug glass number... 4..? 5..? of blood and take a breath. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here tonight. If the chaos mage was right, and any good at his job, you won’t be able to point him out to me just from looking at me.”

Lorne looks thoughtful, but Ramone drops off another round and grins at me, “He may not know who you’re here to meet, but I do.” Slightly singsong voice and everything. The fucking help is mocking me.

“Gods Damn It, Ramone. What did you do?” Fucking great, Ramone has some way of predicting me that got past my tattoos.

Ramone shrugs at me and points at suit guy, shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, “I answered his question when he asked me if you were the Mr. Winters he was here to meet.” Oh. Okay then. I can’t really justify eating Ramone over that. Not when he’s the man that keeps my glass of blood full.

But still, I stare at Ramone retreating back, “wiseass,” ... whoops, I never did order that ice water. I sigh, apparently the guy in the suit is Emil’s minion not Wolfram & Hart’s, I guess I won’t eat him seeing as it took me 2 weeks and abusing Caritas’ reputation as neutral ground just to get a meeting with that man’s minion. I roll my eyes and wave the man over to a no longer empty table. Who’d have thunk that it’d be difficult for a vampire showing up out of nowhere to get a meeting with a supernaturally aware black market arms dealer. Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sure it was the vampire part they objected to, but rather that they thought I was a cop. I shudder to think how many hoops I’d have had to jump through if I wanted anything that was actually illegal. Now, let’s find out how much a collapsible arm sword thing costs.

---Los Angeles Magic Shop---

I grit my teeth as another of Mother’s little migraines bounce around my skull. Whatever Mother did to me seems to be aware that I’ve accomplished what I came here to do, and is trying to drive me back to Sunnydale. I grip the bookcase to keep my hand from twitching along with the rest of me. Forcing the blade to fold back into its arm mounted holder is a pain. And that’s not even touching on how difficult it would be to explain to the owner, who is most likely some manner of practitioner, why a fucking sword just assembled itself into my hand. I don’t really have a good excuse for that, even assuming he doesn’t set me on fire before I can try. Hell, I can’t even explain how the thing really works. I may have underestimated Emil, because I strongly suspect that the device I have strapped to my arm is casually violating the laws of physics every time I trigger it. Some manner of minor magic is clearly involved, which makes me wonder if the man could get me a lightsaber if I paid him enough.

Repeating that my plan is to return to Sunnydale soon like a mantra has been getting less and less effective with every passing episode, but eventually I feel confident in my control over my limbs. I take out my phone and call Amy to make sure she doesn’t already have a copy of any of the books that seem interesting. No Service. I sigh, and head outside.

...

No Service.

I’m halfway through my checklist of common phone fixes when I realize I might be in trouble. I put the phone down on a newspaper box and take a step back. Full Bars. That low base level warm tingle that my tattoos have been giving off cuts off abruptly.

I step back towards the phone. Full Bars. I pick it up. No Service, tingly tattoos. I put it down. Full Bars, tattoos go quiet. I place my finger on it. Full Bars. Another finger? Full Bars. Two fingers and a thumb? Full Bars. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger lightly. No Service, tingles.

Gods Damn It. Apparently cell tower triangulation or GPS or some other important phone related service counts as surveillance.

...

Also the magic seems to have a very limited understanding of what constitutes possessing an item, only extending its protections to things literally in my grasp. Magic... why are thou so bugger-fucking ridiculous half the time?

I put the phone on speakerphone and call Amy, carefully never gripping the phone. For now, it can ‘belong’ to the newspaper box.

“Hello?”

“Hi Amy, Do you already have a cop-”

“Hello?”

“...Amy? Can you hear me?”

“Hello!? Ungh.” Amy hangs up on me.

I stare at the now useless, to me anyway, phone. I really should have seen that coming.

I guess it’s time to go home after all. Mother’s migraine must be so pleased with itself.

 

[Aetheron]

A/N: Okay, this is as far as I have planned out. I'll post more when I finish figuring out what comes next.
In the meantime, please, let me know what you think. Whats working? What isn't? Whats confusing? Did I use a comma instead of a semicolon somewhere and it really bothers you?

-------------------------------

Interlude 1 – Greco-Roman Gossips:

*** POV “Emilia” ***


“Bye Emilia.”

“Bye Jack,” I close the door behind him.

Am I supposed to be upset that he’s leaving me so abruptly? I think I’m supposed to be upset. Mortal women are weird like that, it makes pretending to be one rather vexing. Fortunately Jack rarely showed any more interest in going through those sorts of motions than I did, and when he did look like he was starting to notice I simply abused the blood supply issue that all males seem to share, even ones that constantly drink blood. Rational thought loses every time when confronted with a pretty face and a nice rack. ...Men!

With a thought I abandon the silly mortal residence I spent the past few weeks in and return home.

My nosy half brother is there when I arrive. This had better be good. “Hermes, what brings you all the way out here to see little old lesser goddess me?” I’m not bitter about the distinction. No. Never.

Hermes doesn’t seem to care, he’s practically vibrating in place. “Eris! You’ll never guess what’s happened! ... what are you wearing? Oh, I don’t care. You have to hear this.” Of all the... Of course it’s gossip that has my brother so excited.

Changing into my toga with another thought, I yawn and roll my eyes. “Oh, pray tell, what has father stuck his cock in this time?” See this face? This is my enthused face, I swear.

“Please, nothing so commonplace as that! Would I come all this way to see you if it was just that?” Okay, he might have a point. He generally doesn’t bother with his ‘lowly half sister.’

“Oh, you in particular will love this. It seems our cousin Janus got rather drunk at Bacchus’s latest party and decided it would be a marvelous idea to kidnap a mortal from one of those worlds. Treaty violations be damned! Only now he can’t seem to remember where he left him and no one can seem to locate him.”

Well... if he had to get caught, at least he’s also drunkenly forgotten that I gave him the idea, and helped him do it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit I tricked him? I roll my eyes, “and are we sure he didn’t just imagine the whole thing in a drunken stupor?”

“Oh very, the Elder Powers are all in a tizzy. Apparently our mysterious little mortal has been making ripples in their precious plans.” Even my brother snorts at that.

“And they can’t find him? Have they checked with Uncle Hades and his crowd? Mortals do tend to die after all.” It couldn’t possibly be that I was hiding him while enchanting his body to hide him for me. After all, if they find him, my game ends.

“Well of course they have, and that’s the best part, he did die, and he was there. But! Before he could finish processing he went missing. From the afterlife.”

Wait... “What!? Souls don’t go missing from the afterlife.” Not even souls from those sorts of places. They don’t. It doesn’t happen. Even better, I didn’t do it!

“I know! I haven’t had this much to talk about in ages! The death gods are in uproar because a soul is missing. The Powers are all yelling at each other while watching everything slide towards chaos, which I so want you to promise you’ll make sure I’m there to watch when you go to gloat about to Concordia.”

I nod distractedly at my brother. This is amazing! I have no idea what happened! I love surprises, they are so the very best part of being a Chaos goddess. “Come on Brother, I want to go rub it in her stuck uptight face right away.” This will be so much fun!

 

[Kolarthecool]

Is dearly wishing Real Jack doesnt show up to oppose Vamp Jack.

Anywho, love this and definitely watching it.

 

[Aetheron]

Is dearly wishing Real Jack doesnt show up to oppose Vamp Jack.

Anywho, love this and definitely watching it.

Click to shrink...

... I'm not... I don't... Is it sad that that idea never even occurred to me?

As amusing as the 'jack is haunted by the ghost of jack, which only jack can see' idea is... 'real jack' does not appear on this movie's credits page. That's been done by canon already.

 

[Alysson]

That was.... really funny. Never saw an SI vampire fic of BTVS.

 

[Khepri14]

So goddamn watched! I love this so far. Keep it up!

 

[oliverwashere]

Does Jack have any goals aside from not dying? No plans to escape from Drusilla's mind-control?

I was so depressed when my... err... my father’s... fuck it, he died, it’s mine. My iPhone! Mine!

Click to shrink...

If he can feel that way about his father can he also not be infatuated with his mother?

 

[Aetheron]

Does Jack have any goals aside from not dying? No plans to escape from Drusilla's mind-control?

If he can feel that way about his father can he also not be infatuated with his mother?

Click to shrink...

Plans... right now he's rather fixated on survival. Once he doesn't feel quite so vulnerable he'll start planning. As for escaping Dru's mind control... he's outclassed and he knows it. Also he doesn't technically object to her demands yet. Save his brother, stay in Sunnydale to do it. seems reasonable currently.

Alternatively, give him time to get a feel for how to mess with minds and he might make an attempt out of sheer annoyed boredom.

Dru... will always be Mother. Just like my mom will always be my mom. But... dating your sire is just so very cliched.
And besides, Jack is self aware enough to know that he lacks Spike's near saintlike patience for Drusilla's... quirks?
So if you're asking if Jack is going to try and date/sex/etc Drusilla, no. Not on his agenda. the phrase "do not want" comes to mind. Also: DANGER WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!
Would he save her from a mob of angry villagers? Yes, he'd gleefully murder every last one of them. Then he'd attempt to return her to Spike because she's exhausting.

At least... I think so, and he's almost kinda sorta me, but I haven't planned or written any scenes where they ever meet yet so for all I know he might immediately try to light her on fire as revenge for the migraines.

 

[spessgot]

Ah! Its so refreshing to read something different from all the self-righteous first year philosophy major/engineering grad student SI's that run rampant on this board.

 

[auraofcalm]

I find this much more entertaining than I initially suspected it would be. This isn't the first vamp SI I've seen (though I can't remember the names of the others) but it IS the first I've seen that did a vamp RIGHT.

 

[Judge Mental]

As far as I can see, thus far, everything's working, and there have been no outstanding spelling, grammatical, or punctuation errors.

And as a plus, I'm actually interested in finding out what happens to this murderous, bloodsucking, corpse-jacking demonic parasite. Usually I just want to set them all on fire.

All in all, nicely done.

 

[Kolarthecool]

... I'm not... I don't... Is it sad that that idea never even occurred to me?

As amusing as the 'jack is haunted by the ghost of jack, which only jack can see' idea is... 'real jack' does not appear on this movie's credits page. That's been done by canon already.

Click to shrink...

Oh good lol, I mostly didnt want him to show up on the side of the Scoobies somehow while trying to kill his corpse. Him haunting vamp jack would be funny but would probably get tiresome after a while.

 

[GenoDragoon]

Jack is an interesting character following the course everyone wishes they could do if they appeared in Btvs and even better you did not try to make him a white knight despite being turned into a vampire rather one that is more genre savvy. One thing I definitely like that I have not seen in other Btvs SI is the fact Jack is willing to perform unethical experiments for the smallest bits of knowledge that could help him survive like tortuing that one demon despite no hax knowledge/ability gained. In fact I would find it interesting to see Jack occassional playing around with new bit of magic or experimenting on specimens that does not need to have a complete influence on the main plot but simple side projects that could end up proving useful.

Will Jack end up starting a relationship with Amy even if only a friends with benefits. An intimate relationship makes it more likely he would hear sooner if she is meeting Rack and begin moving to cut that link. Of course physical intimacy could end of creating other problems if some sort of conflict happens so he definitely would not want to jump to that path without looking at other options to ensure her loyalty to him.

 

[Selias]

Jack got his soul back, when he came back as a vampire?

Also, this is really good. There aren't enough good Buffy SIs.

 

[Sir Rabby]

This is wonderful! Keep it up

 

[Malbutorius]

I love this story. It's just so amazing.