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NOTE: Some confusion on Kendras watchers name, whether it is Zambuto (as
heard in the Northern Hempisphere) or Mboto (as heard in the south).
Perhaps it's the accent or the way us kiwis hear things, but for this
work, Kendras watcher is Mr. Sam Mboto. And he has the coolest prodigy
on the face of the earth! ;) Description: An introspective companion interlude of sorts to "The Pslam" by Nate. Takes place a year later. Kendra; reinvented as Storm Monroe, important part of the tactical operations to the Demon fighting Organization- continues her indoctrination with The Legacy in San Francisco." Of all the nightmares Storm Monroe had suffered through in the year, since the margin between being a Slayer and this bitter-sweet limbo ruptured, she had come to recognize, that the most horrific nightmare, was also the most simple. Kendra. Once her strongest garrison and now; her weakest. The Slayers call to duty pulled at her constantly, regardless of her new life. Perhaps, in spite of it. ~~~*~~~ Mbotos deep, warm baritone rang out in the humid glow of the Jamaican vista. "De Vampire Slayers don' sleep so soundly girl! Awaken! Dis time we fight against an enemy we know." Storm ignored her minds protest at this reality.. she had not been Kendra for so very long, and her heart desperately wanted to be the Slayer again. To not be in exile. She had missed him too. She looked to Mboto as her example of hero and father. And his voice; alone, could propel her to greatest feats of courage and achievement than any other. It could even make her ignore the feeling of 'wrongness' about this illusion. For in this, she *is* Kendra, the Vampire Slayer. Mboto voice calls again, and she cannot contain how she feels when he speaks her name. The dusty grey army supply blankets are hurriedly thrown off as she leaps to attention. Her bedclothes melt away, only to be replaced by her training attire for the morning. She runs out of the doorway and into the rest of the small ramshackle house, that they had shared for the nineteen years she had been a Slayer. Her exultation at being again in the genesis of her birth, soon became a grimace as one stone corridor led down another, all unfamiliar, all empty and twisted. Suddenly, the corridors cease and she is standing in the middle of a semi-dark stone walled chamber. It is a Goth masterpiece; with huge pillared doorways and a splendid arched roof emblazoned with a border of morose sculptured beasts. A multitude of candles throw the room in a cascade of shadows and light, illuminating the plush carpets and antique furniture for one of ancient tastes. The upturned tables and chairs, all broken with a vicious wound; which from Kendras substantial if not extensive knowledge, looked to be made with a sword or axe, lay strewn about the room. No, not a room but a chamber. Her heightened senses start screaming. Her body froze in memory. Not a chamber but a crypt. *His* Crypt. A rage boils inside her, as the thought of Drus master and king - Angelus, coils like a python ready to strike. Will she never be free of him?! Of her folly in not staking his murderous heart, regardless of the Blondes plea? Her head snaps back, the result of a violent strike; distracting her as the aggressor digs their nails into her hand which hold an axe. Kendra cries out, releasing the weapon unconsciously. Her faceless attacker grabs it and straddles the dark beauty, pinning her. The assailant draws the axe back - the intent clear. The blade of the axe hovers dangerously and then sweeps into a fall. Kendra finds her defiance even in the face of certain death. "Who are you?" This new enemy stalls, diverts the path of the axe for a moment. Her identity sliding into place. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Kendra involuntarily gasped, she knew that face. She knew it, because it held all the hope and dreams Kendra and Storm, could only now dream of. "What do you mean who am I? You attacked me." Buffy spits back incensed. "Who the hell are you?" Kendra glares at Buffy, not liking the tone of voice and the attitude, or the fact Buffy didn't recognize her at all. Was this just another favorite way of taunting a good friend, as she was infamous for? For a blind second Kendra wants to slap the look off her face; remind Blondy that Kendra, the vampire Slayer, was not one to be trivialized with. But rash action and her powerful voice is stolen from her, and just as ominously her belief in her reply is snatched away. Kendra gulps back the bile in her throat, gasping for the answer. For the truth. Again the query comes, not as a question but as an accusation. Buffys expression becomes another. A beautiful woman with dark bronze skin and gentle intelligent eyes stare back. Her voice is a rich, warm Jamaican sound, something Kendra desperately misses. "Who are you?" Kendra closes her eyes, staving off the tears that well quickly inside her. This dark goddess is her mother. For years, Kendra had kept the faded black and white photograph of this woman close to her heart. She had traced, lovingly and bitter-sweetly every line. Memorized. Engraved it on her heart. But her mother was only ever, a two dimensional ghost. Something never to be attained. Yet she lived here.. beautiful and real. Kendra opened her eyes, unable in her quest to stop the sorrow from alighting down her cheek. But she is gone. Dissolved into Father, Master and Watcher. Mboto stands where her mother once stood, his eyes reproachful in their intensity. "Who are you?" Kendra wavers, guilt-ridden and ashamed for the immortality that holds her silent and still. His face is replaced by another. Mr Giles. Buffy. Her mother. Her father. Mboto. Their faces change and dissolve with rapid fire alteration. A blur of faces, angry, ashamed and disappointed. The question repeated, over and over, the sound a never ending song that grows in shrill and clarity, until the very walls shudder and crumble under the fevered pitch. "Whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou?" The voice belongs to a stranger and holds no threat nor warmth. Kendra placed her arms across her face, defending herself from the invisible blows. For the first time, Kendra doesn't truly know the answer. Her continued silence implicates. Kendras eyes peer into the darkness that forms the figures eyes, and mouth, and skin. And knows who it is that asks. Shadows fall and solidify from the walls and ceiling behind her cloned slayer. Their faces are the same and different from her own, immortal and evil. Even if she isn't. Or hopes and prays she is not evil by definition. Most of them she recognizes. Angelus. Spike. Drusilla.. murderous crone. Vampires and demons she has killed before, now swarm around her annihilation with gleeful parry. Angels hand, drops to her reflection and strokes her cheek like a lover. Kendra cringes as her clone mewls and purrs at his touch. Kendra still meets his cold taunting stare with one of contempt and unnerving calm, for one in her position. It is just enough, however, to give him the advantage. "You're one of us." Her denial is quickly and completely snatched away by the bloodied, snarling jaws of his beastly kindred. But from her darkness, his cruel laughter is a claw that strikes with stunning accuracy... And truth. If she is not the Slayer, then who, by the goddess.. is she? ~~~*~~~ Storm twists and screams her way into the conscious world. She gulps back huge mouthfuls of air into her depleted lungs, clutching precariously for the real. No matter that she had, in part accepted her new free will destiny. Something's could not be reconciled. For all sense and purposes Kendra; the Vampire Slayer was dead to the world. To those who mattered to her. And only a handful remained. Mboto. The Council. Her Mother and father. Buffy and perhaps, Mr. Giles. She didn't want to bring shame on Mbotos impeccable record, or be a heretic to the Council, shame her parents for their ultimate sacrifice, or bring doubt and chaos to Buffys and Giles path as Slayer and Watcher. For that is what her immortality could only mean. A flaw in the flawless. The ultimate terror that a Slayer could be corrupted and changed. Storm shook the thought away. It was a dangerous possibility that it could be true, though she showed no sign of it. But if this immortality was something dishonoring the Slayers, she must keep it from destroying the honor of her sisters and find her own way to solve this paradox. In Storms footsteps, she could move among the world without discovery. Even if they looked for weeks, maybe months it was impossible to find a woman who didn't want to be found. Especially when she had the kind of power and influence The Legacy had, keeping her in sanctuary. But would that be enough to settle her doubts about herself, as much as about her life with them? Storm/Kendra balanced the weight of the momentous vows she struggled to honor, bearing up under their harrowing promise. But she stood nonetheless, as tenaciously and as a proudly as she had done all her life. She may have not had the answer to Angels accusation, or even the question she had asked herself, but she still retained the same virtue Mboto had instilled in Kendras life-destiny since her birth. Sleep came to her, then, and she didn't feel the sting of Angels claws, or the doubt she carried in secret. Only quiet and peace found her. She collapsed into a slumber and dream that had long denied her, rest. Her dreams were again her own. And that, for now, is all she needed to know. The end. << Back |