(Takes place during S6.8 ‘Tabula Rasa’)
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I think. I think I am. At least, I think I must be.
I am lying on the floor looking up at a ceiling. Where am I? I do not recognize this place. Who am I?
WHO AM I? WHO AM I?
I am not alone.
There are others here. They are also lying down. Some are lying on the floor; one is lying on a counter but rolls over and falls to the floor. One is standing up beside a light switch. It is a girl. She is very pretty.
Another girl wakes up and shrieks. She sits up and moves backwards until she is sitting with her back to a corner. She says “Who are you people?”
The pretty girl goes over to her and says something but I don’t take any notice because the man who fell off the counter has stood up and I only have eyes for him. He is gorgeous. His hair is so blond it is almost white, and I think he probably dyes it, and on anyone else it probably would look a bit much but on him it is just perfect. He’s got cheekbones to die for. He’s wearing a brown suit, not really the latest style, but he’s wearing it with an open-necked shirt, he’s slim yet muscular with lean hips and a neat ass, and it works on him. But I want to see him naked. I mean, really.
I miss a bit of the interaction while I am gazing at this vision of hunky goodness but when I start taking more notice of events around me I discover that I am not the only one who does not know who I am. All of us seem to have lost our memories. We start comparing notes.
There are nine of us. Three men and six women. One of the men is older than the others and British. The handsome man is British as well. His accent is adorable. He guesses that he might be related to the other British man. One of the girls says that there does seem to be a resemblance. I agree. The older man concedes that he does feel a sense of familiarity, and perhaps slight disappointment, when he looks at the handsome one, and accepts that they may indeed be related. They come to the conclusion that they might be father and son.
The girl who spotted the resemblance was lying together with the older man when we woke. She is wearing an engagement ring. We hypothesize that they might be engaged. The younger British man says, “Oh great, a tarty stepmum who’s half old Daddy’s age.” His father claims to still be young enough to get carded, which is a great exaggeration although he is exceptionally handsome for someone who I would estimate to be in his late forties, and this inspires one of the other girls to suggest that we might be carrying identification documents which would enable us to discover who we are.
We search our possessions. I have a driver’s license in the name of Violet Elizabeth Bott. I am 21 years old. I have a credit card and an ATM card and a casino membership card from Las Vegas. I have five hundred dollars in cash. I have a length of USB cable and a set of keys for a motorcycle.
The other young man has a driver’s license in the name of Alexander Harris. Something about that seems wrong to me but I do not know why.
One of the girls looks at her ID and says “I’m Willow Rosenberg. Heh. Willow. Funny name.”
“You’re Willow. You’re my best friend. You’re recently gay.” I do not know why I say that. Everyone looks at me.
“You know who we are?” everyone seems to chorus at once. I am confused.
“It was just a flash,” I tell them. “I don’t know anything more.” Then I realize I do know something more. “There is a bit more,” I add. “You’re a witch. You’re good with computers. That’s all. Sorry.”
They want to know more but there is nothing more I can tell them. They give up and go back to looking for ID. One of the girls is a student called Tara Maclay. Willow is also a student. They deduce that they are students together and might be study buddies. Or even girlfriends as Willow is gay. Tara says she thinks she might be gay too. Willow was wearing a jacket with Harris on the back and Alexander thought it might mean that she was his girlfriend but if she is gay that seems unlikely. Willow and Tara decide they are indeed girlfriends and Alexander looks a little disappointed but also a little hopeful. I think he is having naughty thoughts about the two girls together.
The prettiest girl does not have any ID. The youngest girl has a necklace with ‘Dawn’ on it. We guess that her name is Dawn.
“Or Umad,” she suggests because she is reading it upside down.
“That would be Umap,” I correct her.
“I’m Rupert Giles,” the older Englishman says. The very handsome young Englishman laughs at the name. The older one is a bit cross. He wants to know the younger one’s name.
The hunk looks inside his jacket. He finds a label and reads it out. “‘Made with care for Randy’. Randy Giles? Why not call me ‘Horny Giles’ or ‘Desperate for a shag Giles’? I knew there was a reason I hated you.” His smile takes the sting out of his words.
Rupert says “Randy’s a family name, undoubtedly.”
The young girl has found some papers on a table. She holds them up. “William Randolph Giles”, she announces. “British passport, and it’s got your photo in it.”
“Let’s see that,” Randy demands. “God, what was I thinking, letting myself be known by that contraction of my middle name?”
“It’s a perfectly normal name here in the US of A,” the girl who might be engaged to his father says. “Serves you right for calling me tarty.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Randy apologizes. “Hey, I’m quite the handsome bugger, aren’t I? Take after Dad, I suppose. Driver’s license, degree certificate from Oxford, Limited Immigrant’s Visa. What’s that?”
“It’s your Green Card,” his father tells him.
“Why’s all this stuff lying on the table?” Randy wonders. “There’s nothing in my pockets. Wonder if I’d just changed out of something else? And why would I have the degree certificate with me?”
“It looks to me as if you were preparing for a job interview,” Rupert suggests.
“Makes sense,” Randy agrees. “The suit don’t exactly feel natural on me. I think I’m more of a jeans sort of bloke.” His father nods agreement. “Bugger!” Randy curses. “If I don’t get my sodding memory back soon I’m going to miss out on the job. Unless there’s anything there to say where and when the interview is. Suppose I could probably blag my way through, but not if I don’t know where to go. Maybe I’d just come back from an interview. Wonder if I got the job?”
We look, but there is nothing more. We do find a black T-shirt in his size, a pair of jeans, and a long leather coat. It appears his assumption that he had just changed clothes, or was just about to, is probably correct. We also find that Rupert’s fiancée is called Anya and that they own the shop together.
That still leaves one of us without a name; the pretty girl who switched on the lights. The others say that she and I look and sound very alike, that we both look rather like the youngest girl, and that we move the same way and finish each other’s sentences. Everyone decides that we are sisters.
“Great, not!” Umap complains. “Umap Bott. And you thought Randy was a silly name.”
“It’s Dawn, not Umap,” my nameless sister reminds her.
“Like Dawn Bott’s so great. I like Umap better. And you haven’t even got a name.”
“We could name you,” I suggest. “Are there any bottles of champagne in the shop?”
“I name myself Joan,” my sister, probably my twin, declares, grinning at me. “And may God bless me and all who sail in me.”
I grin back at her.
“Yes, you two are so definitely sisters,” Willow tells us. “You three. Odd that you’ve all got different color hair, but, hello Miss Clairol.”
We return to speculation about what we are doing in this shop and why we have all lost our memories. It is a magic shop. Rupert and Anya own the shop, Randy is Rupert’s son. Willow is a witch. She might be a customer of the shop. Tara and Willow seem to go together, Willow was wearing Alexander’s jacket so they must be friends, and Willow is my best friend. There are links between us all. Is the link between the ‘student’ group and the ‘shop’ group just that we are customers or is there more?
“Perhaps I’m Randy’s girlfriend,” Joan and I say together. We turn and glare at each other. Everyone laughs.
“Hey, Dad, any chance we’re Mormons?” Randy asks, with a big smile on his face.
“Maybe one of you is my girlfriend,” Alexander suggests hopefully.
Joan and I look at each other. We shake our heads. “No way,” we say together. Alexander looks disappointed. Something else flashes into my mind. “You’re my friend. And a carpenter,” I tell him. There is more. ‘Dates Anya’. I look at Anya and Rupert. They are standing together, her hip against his, looking at us. They move simultaneously to take each other’s hands without needing to look. It is obvious they belong together. I decide not to mention the ‘dates Anya’ bit. I mean, Alexander seems a nice enough young man, but who would date him if they could date Rupert? Major league hottie, even if he is old. My data about Alexander must be out of date. Perhaps she dated Alexander before she met Rupert. ‘My data about Alexander’? That is an odd way of putting it. Maybe I am good with computers too, like Willow.
“Our loss of memory is inexplicable and disturbing,” Rupert remarks, “but it is an encouraging sign that Violet seems to be regaining at least some memories. Perhaps the same will happen to the rest of us, and full memory will return in due course. I was considering seeking medical help, but I’m feeling a little less alarmed now and I might wait awhile before taking any action. We seem to be making some sort of sense of things anyway.”
“Yeah, but where do we live?” Alexander asks. “Okay, nice shop, but a little short of beds, as in Zero, and it’s night. Plus, I’m getting a little hungry.”
“We could send out for pizza,” Umap suggests.
“Bed sounds good to me,” Anya says. Her buttocks are against Rupert’s groin, and she moves her hips from side to side. His eyes half close and he sucks in a breath.
“It’s only a quarter of eight,” Tara points out, looking at her watch.
“I know,” Anya replies. Her eyes are half closed too. Rupert lowers his head slightly towards the back of her neck and looks as if he is about to kiss it but he stops himself. Randy smirks at them and then looks at me and at Joan as if he is trying to make a choice.
“Pizza!” Willow exclaims. “Umap’s right. We should send out for pizza.”
“I concur,” Rupert replies. “Some food would be in order, and then we can make a concerted effort to find out where we all live. Hmm. I wonder if there is any living accommodation, or cooking facilities, here at the shop?” He and Anya separate reluctantly. I notice that Rupert is aroused. Very aroused. Very impressive. I wonder if Randy has inherited his father’s equipment. I want to find out. Rupert becomes aware of his display and turns away from us hurriedly. “And if there are toilet and washing facilities,” he adds.
“Or even a broom closet.” Anya obviously wants to jump Rupert’s bones right here right now. I don’t blame her.
“This isn’t the right time or place, my dear,” Rupert reminds her, and then steps behind her again and puts his mouth to her ear. He whispers to her. I would like to hear what he is saying. Suddenly I can. “… fuck you until steam comes out of your ears.”
Randy smirks. “WHY, DAD!” he says in an incredibly loud voice. It hurts. I clasp my hands to my ears until the pain stops. “… didn’t know you had it in you,” Randy is saying in a normal voice when I take them away. “At least I don’t think I knew you had it in you.”
Rupert has gone crimson. “You could hear?” he says, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“I couldn’t hear a thing,” Tara says. “You must have very good ears.”
“I could hear what you whispered too,” I tell Rupert. “And then when Randy spoke it was so loud it hurt my ears.”
Everyone discusses this. Randy was speaking in a normal voice. The only other person who could hear the whisper was Joan, and she couldn’t make it all out. Well, obviously Anya could hear the whisper, but she was supposed to. She doesn’t want to discuss the issue of sensitive hearing. She wants to have the whisper put into practice.
We give up on the discussion and Alexander finds the phone and takes orders for pizza. Everyone else knows what topping they want but I have no idea what I like. I say just cheese. I offer to pay for it as I have lots of cash. Tara and Xander say they will pay for their own. Willow does not even though she found money in her purse earlier. Randy finds a five-dollar bill in the leather coat and says he will chip that in. Rupert says that in the circumstances he will use money from the shop till to buy the pizza. Anya objects to this.
“Anya,” I say, pronouncing the name differently to the way we have been doing so far. “Likes money.” Again there is more which I do not say aloud. ‘Dates Xander. Ex demon.’ I do not understand ‘ex demon’, but I choose not to say ‘dates Xander’ because I cannot believe that it is current information. ‘Xander’ must be a contraction of ‘Alexander’, like ‘Randy’ has proved to be a contraction of ‘Randolph’.
“That sounded like one of your memory flashes rather than just a passing comment,” Rupert observes. He takes off his glasses and cleans the lenses. “You seem less affected than the rest of us, and I remember that you were further away from the counter than the rest of us when we awoke. This is a magic shop. I didn’t believe in magic when I first woke but I’m changing my mind. Preternaturally acute hearing, a pleasant and apparently sensible girl who is said to be a witch, the memory loss itself, and some of the things I see on the display shelves; I must consider the possibility that magic is real, and that some use of it is responsible for our condition. Perhaps a mistake in casting a spell, perhaps some item of stock with a curse attached, perhaps an attack by some rival or enemy, or perhaps something like a gas escaping from an open container which had lost some of its potency by the time it reached Violet.”
“Makes sense,” Willow comments. There is a general chorus of agreement.
“Yeah, that’s a pretty good chain of reasoning,” Randy contributes. “I’ve got a pretty smart Dad. Hope I inherited the brains as well as the looks.”
“You’ve got a degree from Oxford so I guess you did,” Willow tells him. “What’s the degree in?”
“Billy Idol studies?” Alexander, or Xander as I now believe he is called, suggests. I suspect his jest is rooted in jealousy of Randy, who is the focus of attention for both Joan and myself.
“Do I look like Billy Idol?” Randy asks. “Wonder if I can do the sneer.” He curls his lip. “With a rebel yell, she cried more, more, more.” He shakes his head. “Nah.”
“That wasn’t bad,” Tara tells him.
“Who’s Billy Idol?” Umap asks. Nobody bothers to enlighten her.
“‘Modern European History’,” Randy reads from the certificate. “So I probably wasn’t applying for a carpenter’s job alongside Alexander the Great here.”
“Hey!” Alexander/Xander protests. “I resemble that remark.”
I am not sure whether Randy and Alexander/Xander are just engaging in friendly banter or if they are about to start arguing so I act to provide a distraction. “I’ve remembered something else. Alexander is known as Xander.” This does indeed provide enough of a distraction and provokes another brief round of discussion during which the only point of interest that emerges is that Randy and Rupert cannot pronounce ‘Xander’ correctly. This must be a British thing.
The pizza delivery arrives. The delivery man seems to know us but none of us ask him anything which would clarify anything; we don’t know what to ask. We seem to be managing okay for now anyway. He shows no surprise at anything we say or do. We must be correct in assuming that we belong together, and it appears that us ordering pizza at the shop is nothing unusual. Willow puts some money towards it after all.
We put the pizza boxes and Pepsi cans on a big round table. Randy says that he wants to change out of the suit before he starts eating, and wonders where he can change. We do a little more investigation of the premises. We find a small washroom with toilet facilities, a kettle and several cups and glasses and plates, and a large room with contents which astonish us.
A dojo, or something of that ilk. It contains a pommel horse, floor mats, targets, a kung fu practice dummy, and a wall rack full of weapons; knives, swords, axes, flails, and wooden stakes. Joan picks up one of the knives and throws it at a target. It hits the bullseye. I pick up a knife and throw it too. My knife hits hers and bounces off. Everyone else decides to join in.
“The Amazing Bott Sisters, knife-throwers extraordinary!” Umap says, and throws a knife. She lets go at the wrong time and it sticks into the ceiling. “Oops!”
Rupert hits the target fairly close to Joan’s knife, perhaps three inches further out. Randy hits within an inch of hers. Xander’s knife is acceptably on target, missing the centre by less than a foot, but hits sideways and falls to the floor. Tara’s knife doesn’t even reach the target. Anya changes her mind about throwing a knife and picks up a baseball bat. “This is mine,” she says decisively. “I’m a hitter not a pitcher.”
Willow throws a knife and it starts going off to the side and then suddenly changes course and heads straight for the target, plunging into it right beside Joan’s and Randy’s. “Hey!” she says. “I really am a witch.”
“We’re superheroes,” Xander declares. “Not sure what my power is. For now, let’s just assume it’s eating pizza before it gets cold.”
We exit the dojo en masse, except for Randy, who stays to change into his jeans and T-shirt. He doesn’t take long, and is out before we have got the boxes opened and sorted out. He is even more of a hottie in that outfit than he was in the suit.
I can’t eat the pizza. I can’t taste it. I can’t chew properly. I can’t get it into bits small enough to swallow. Trying to eat doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’ve never eaten before.
That doesn’t make sense. Surely I must have eaten thousands of times. Unless I’m not human. But I must be. My sisters are eating the pizza without difficulty. Voraciously even.
I saw wooden stakes in the dojo. Stakes are to kill vampires. I am a vampire. I can’t eat pizza because I drink blood. I’m a monster. The gang are superheroes. I think it must be vampires that they fight.
If they find out they might kill me. Some vampire has bitten me and turned me into a vampire too and my friends and family will kill me when they find out.
I am frightened. I am becoming angry.
I hold a paper towel to my mouth and push the pizza into it with my tongue, and then put the towel into a waste basket. I stand up and walk to the dojo, which has a door to the street. “I am just going out and may be some time.” I leave before they can stop me. I pick up a couple of wooden stakes on my way out. Time to kill something evil.
Vampires of the world beware.