mayfield_logs | RIPPER VS. REPO MAN, ROUND 1

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RIPPER VS. REPO MAN, ROUND 1

Who: Rupert Giles, Nathan Wallace, Shilo Wallace, possibly Blind Mag
What: Band Candy!Giles chats with a teenage girl and irritates her father. What ensues is ASH vs. ASH and alter-ego vs. alter-ego.
When: late Saturday night
Where: around town leading to the Wallaces' house
Warnings: POTENTIAL TRIGGERS shortly after Nathan enters, involving heavy violence.

[ It doesn't take long for the Makeout Point partiers to exhaust their alcohol supply, and Ripper winds up volunteered to go back into town for booze, mostly because he refuses to let anyone else drive the convertible.

He's on his way when he spots Shilo, out alone at night, presumably unarmed. Bad idea in Sunnydale; maybe not as bad an idea in Mayfield, but he's buzzed and bored and the town isn't without its dangers. He considers offering her a lift to wherever she's headed, weighing the nagging of his lingering conscience against the fact that it's out of his way. He does not, of course, bother with the fact that he's far too tipsy to be driving right now, especially with a kid in the car.

In the end he pulls up beside her, leaning over the side of the convertible. ]

Wallace, you want a ride?

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[It takes Shilo a few minutes to figure out who it is that's pulled up alongside her. She doesn't recognize the car, and it takes a few minutes to realize 'oh, yeah, this isn't Dad.']

Mr. Giles? You look different.

[Really different. But she did promise Mag she'd be home at a decent hour, and it's starting to get a little late.]

Uh, sure. I guess. It's not that far, but I did say I'd be home pretty soon...

[ He does. But it's just the lack of glasses, or the earring, or maybe the red leather jacket.

He pops the passenger door open for her and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it into even messier curls. ]

Come on, then. I was getting bored on my own.

[It was all three of those, but it's the smell of cigarette smoke and the recklessness inherent in the act of speeding down the streets of a small town like a bat out of Hell that cinches it.

Part of her, the little scared girl, the sheltered rose, wants to say 'never mind'. It's quickly overruled by the seventeen-year-old girl who last described herself as a fucking monster.]

All right. You look like you were having fun, before this. If Dad wasn't going to freak out already for me being out, I'd say take me up to where you were.

[ He considers Makeout Point, the illicit substances there, the knowledge that he could return to find a full-on orgy and not be particularly surprised. He considers the two alien kids who came along for the ride -- likely the sole reason it hasn't become an orgy -- and laughs under his breath. ]

Wouldn't be the sort of place dear old Dad would approve of, that's bloody certain.

[ Once she's in the car, he takes off down the street, just a bit too fast and clumsily. Up close, he smells like liquor as well as cigarettes, faint beside the stench of smoke. ]

Because it's actually fun? Dad's the definition of 'fun police'.

[Both those scents fill her nose, but Shilo doesn't care. It's the first time she's really gotten to let the wind run through her hair like that, and she's actually smiling. Smiling and letting out a little whoop of joy.

The erratic driving? She's used to limousines with drivers that went approximately five miles per hour. So Shilo figures it's just how people drive when they're having fun.]

[ At her reaction he gives a shout of laughter, toys with the wheel so that the car swerves back and forth without ever slowing. He's grinning, fierce and reckless and hardly recognizable as the same man who stammered uncomfortably at her in the hall when they first met.

He knows, in vague terms, where her place is, but might be taking the long way. ]

[It has not been Nathan's day. Work was busier than usual, which ordinarily would not present a problem for him, except for the scoldings. Drones were upset, upset at him for one reason or another that really had nothing to do with Dr Wallace at all. The cheery, hollow deliveries of each complaint somehow made it worse. Staying on longer than he ought to have, Nathan finally made it out late into the evening and drove home in a surly mood.

Spying a car ahead of him that was driving rather...creatively, he chose a different route.

Nathan is walking back down the drive, keys in hand, when he hears the sound of another car pulling up front. It's a little late for visitors, and he's not in any state to deal with people, so he intends to check it out and see them off promptly. He can deal with work or whomever tomorrow.

And then he sees its occupants.]

Shilo? Giles?

[That's absolutely fine by her. She doesn't care about the swerving, the instability, the speed. This is fun and she thinks she finally gets what actual teenage recklessness is like. It's not sneaking out of the house for a few minutes to go catch a bug, it's things like this. The things that actually could hurt but don't.

Genetics? Blood diseases? Blood pressure, doctors, needle sticks, medicine? So far away from her mind as to be nonexistent.

At least until they pull into the driveway. She stops laughing the minute she hears her dad's voice.]

Uh, hi, Dad...

[ Ripper parks somewhat clumsily and leans back in the seat, stretching, before turning a lopsided grin on Nathan. Perhaps more shocking than anything -- earring, leather, badly-driven red convertible -- is his utter lack of discomfort at the doctor's presence. ]

Oi, Wallace, I found your kid. You didn't tell me she's this much fun.

[Nathan takes this scene in with silence, his stare a solid weight. He can smell the alcohol, the stale scent of cigarette smoke and sweat. Sparing a glance for Shilo, he walks around the car with a slow, fluid grace, moving to take his daughter by the arm.]

Go inside, Shilo. It's past your bedtime.

[When he lifts his gaze to Ripper, something in his demeanor has shifted. He hooks his fingers around his glasses, taking them off as if to clean them, the streetlight catching the sharpness in his eyes.]

I need to talk with Mr Giles.

[Shilo flounces a little, shaking off her dad's arm.] It's the weekend, Dad. Besides, Mag thought it would be good for me to get some fresh air.

[While she's pouty about it, though, she turns and walks towards the house. Before she gets to the house, she hides behind a large tree in the yard, watching them from there. She'll go inside if things get too rough.]

[ He watches Nathan, amusement tinged strongly with arrogance, with quieter not-quite-realized contempt. The surgeon is so impossibly boring, uptight, a perfect reflection of Giles' own post-seventies self but with the repression and anxiety cranked up even higher. Still, remarkably similar to what Ripper had been not twenty-four hours prior.

It's hilarious for as long as he doesn't think too hard on it, on how little he likes this man, at which point he begins wanting to hit something.

His gaze flicks to Shilo, watching her go with no hint of regret on his face. Between the booze and candy and excitement, he's slow to realize the danger-- he hauls himself out of the convertible and leans back against the door, rummaging in his pocket for a cigarette, readying himself for a very dull lecture. ]

[There's no sound of the door latching, and Nathan's voice is sterner, lower as he calls over his shoulder:] Inside, Shilo.

[And then to Giles, every bit of his control struggling to hold back urges he thought he had left behind:]

How much have you had to drink? [To anyone who knew him as he was once before, his tone would be recognizable, an immediate signal to get the fuck out of the way. This man endangered his child, his Shilo, an inexcusable offense.

No one puts his daughter in harm's way.]

[ He lifts his gaze to meet Nathan's, expression utterly dismissive. ]

Not much. I can drive just fine.

[ It's unclear from his tone whether he believes it, and with the changed accent it's hard to make out a slur, but there is no doubt that the statement is blatantly false. Even if his reaction time wasn't the least bit impaired, that doesn't change that Giles is tipsy enough -- or merely stupid enough -- to drive recklessly for the fun of it. ]

Nothing happened.

[It's the insouciance that finally does it, the blitheness to Giles' voice and the arrogance in his posture. Nathan neatly tucks his glasses into the inside pocket of his coat, tugging his lapels straight with a firm pull.]

Here's the problem I have with that.

[So suddenly, it's no longer socially awkward, perpetually fretting, father-of-Shilo-Nathan. It isn't Nathan that steps closer to his doppelganger, moving with the speed of a striking snake to grab Giles by the hair, gripping tight. It isn't Nathan's voice that wells up from somewhere deep in the man's chest, emerging in a growl.]

I don't believe you.

[ He reacts too slowly; didn't guess, didn't suspect, didn't see it coming. He is too startled to shout or to swear. Giles just hisses through his teeth and twists with Nathan's grip, actions automatic and clumsy-fast with pain, hands jerking free of leather pockets too late to defend himself.

Through narrowed eyes he stares at Nathan, unable for a moment to figure out what sort of demon has taken control of him. ]

Wh--

[ Nathan will want to stop him before he gets loud. ]

[His response is to pull Giles toward himself, intending to clock him in the forehead with his own and stun the other man. The ridiculous greaser jacket presents him with an opportunity, a sturdy means with which to manhandle him right into the backseat of the sports car.

Bodies are all the same, once you get right down to brass tacks. Men, women, other, the differences are negligible when you're slicing through the diaphragm and reaching into the thoracic cavity for a hot, still-beating heart. They all beg, they all bleed, and they all die.

This one is going to bleed.]

[ But not beg. By the time he's blinked away the stars and regained control of his voice, his shoulders are hitting the expensive leather seats, and panic hits him hard. Giles thrashes, tries to shake off the Repo Man's grip, scrabbling clumsily at his waist for something tucked into his belt.

He's lost track of everything but the fact that he is being attacked, and even drunk, he knows he has to move. Fight. ]

Fuck--

[Giles is a lefty like the Repo Man, so the knife is just where he expects it, a shiny trinket taken when Ripper was dumped unceremoniously into the car.]

Only if you ask nicely.

[His grin is obscene as he climbs in after the other man, the edges of his coat fanning out like an enveloping shroud. Giles' training in self-defense is evident, but the Repo Man adores the challenge this presents. Moving to pin him, the leering figure hisses softly:]

If only you showed this much self discipline before you drove my daughter home.

[The hem of his shirt is pulled taut, sheared open easily with the quick motion of the knife. He should have gloves, yes, and the proper gear, but the man beneath him practically is him. Contamination is a concern for another time.]

Edited 2012-03-12 06:37 (UTC)

[ When his fingers encounter nothing but the waistband of his jeans, empty space where the hilt should be, something unpleasantly cold and hollow takes up residence in his chest. His eyes fix on the knife in the Repo Man's hand, his knife, and for a moment indignation outweighs everything else. Takes precedence over fear and surprise and the still-sharp pain in his head.

But then the Repo Man is on him and shirt is being cut away, he can feel his shirt being cut away, and he realizes belatedly that the man is likely better with a blade than he is. Giles jerks under him, snarling, defiance in his eyes and every tensed muscle in his body. ]

Didn't-- get kinky with her in the backseat.

[ And damn it, damn it, that was his only weapon and he doesn't even know what he's dealing with here. Doesn't know what sort of creature has him pinned, because this cannot be a man, cannot be Nathan Wallace. ]

[Giles' naked torso presents such a canvas for him to work on, his eyes tracing old scars as he might a road map. The Repo Man shifts easily with Ripper's motion like the rise and fall of a lover, slipping his free hand through the other man's hair and pulling his head back roughly.]

Shh shh...

[He makes sure Ripper can see the knife, purposely reflecting what little light there is into the man's eyes. The first cut is quick, a neat turn of his wrist along the skin over his lower ribs, deep enough for blood to begin welling almost immediately in its wake.]

[ He hates the solid weight of the man, hates the way he moves. He hates the fingers in his hair and the hate only turns to fierce hot adrenaline, giddy in some maybe-hysterical-maybe-high part of his mind. He's flying on it, and there is a single instant in which it occurs to him that even with the Repo Man's comment, this could be sexual, could, might.

He refuses. Tears the thought to shreds because he can not, will not be terrified-- the hollow horrible feeling remains in his chest or maybe stomach but he defies it, because the Repo Man does not deserve his terror, has not earned it. He is not better or stronger or scarier and Ripper will not submit.

He sees the knife, sees Nathan's eyes, and it reminds him of something. Reminds him of ropes on his wrists, colder fingers wrenching his head back, a different fake-soothing voice but a man with the same expression exactly. His own same helplessness, exactly. But the memory is too distanced, belonging to another Giles in another time (Rupert not Giles-also-Ripper), and he is not as afraid as he should be.

The pain comes belatedly and he jerks, whole body arching up like he's been shocked. He gasps and then snarls, twists under his captor, struggling. Tries to get a hand free and up to the Repo Man's face, wanting to hook fingers into his eyes his throat his anything vulnerable. Wanting to fight so he can be too angry to be afraid. ]

[Shilo has been watching the entire time, but it's the flash of metal that finally does get her to - quietly - run inside. But she doesn't run far, instead watching from the window. She'll get Mag if she needs to, but as it is, she's hoping it will stop on its own.]

[From the angle they're at, in the darkness, it might just look like they're engaging in an entirely different, but equally illicit, activity. He tilts away from Ripper's questing hand with practiced ease, moving to snag him by the wrist, his thumb digging sharply into the pressure point there.

Repo's smile is crooked. He tilts the knife back and forth, its edge glittering with red, a waving finger of reproach.]

I'm not finished yet.

[A second cut follows, running parallel to the first and he sighs. Shilo's bedtime was eight. It's a little after midnight now, four hours after she should have been home.]

Two.

[Four should do it. Four should be enough. It takes a great amount of self discipline not to draw the blade further, to slice the man with his face open and see just how deep their similarities went.]

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RIPPER VS. REPO MAN, ROUND 1

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feel free to skip me; she's just going to watch a while

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TW from here on out- violence and gore

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