Buffybot Behind Bars
PAIRING: None
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Very welcome, to [email protected]
BETA: Miss Murchison - thanks!
SETTING: The summer before the start of season 6. Buffy is gone, Buffybot is doing her best to fill the gap.
DISCLAIMER: The only characters who belong to me are the ones you’ve never heard of before. Otherwise, I’m borrowing, and I promise to put them all back in good condition, and only slightly used...
Chapter 10: Plotting in Progress
Buffybot looked down at her tray. There was a lump of chicken covered in gravy, a dollop of mashed potato and a runny mound of carrots each sitting in their own little dimple in her tray. Well, she knew about eating of course. She’d seen the others do it lots of times. You cut things up with your knife and shovelled them into your mouth with your fork, and chewed them with your teeth, and swallowed. She glanced sideways at Sal and Trixie, who were working steadily if unenthusiastically through the contents of their plates. Well, nothing ventured.... Buffybot speared some carrots on to her fork, put them in her mouth, chewed briefly and then swallowed. Hey, this eating thing was easy!
...............
Giles had had it.
He had been on the phone to the District Attorney’s Office for 30 minutes so far. He had listened to perky recorded messages and pressed button 1, 2 or 3. He had been told information he already knew and been offered information he didn’t want. He had listened to crappy music interrupted by three different messages in three different voices recurring in an endless loop, all assuring him that his call was important to them (“so why don’t you answer it, you stupid people,” he muttered savagely to himself). Just to add to the fun there was a perky message inviting him to check out the District’s website - which was where he had got the enquiry number in the first place.
Just for a while he had thought he might be getting somewhere. A little adventure with the key pad had projected him into the Spanish menu (“Bienvenida a las oficinas de la ciudad de Sunnydale.”), but within moments things had become very familiar (“No es posible procesar su pedido en este momento.”). He could feel his ulcer was developing nicely. And to think my taxes paid for this, he thought bitterly. I was robbed.
................
The Scoobies were gathered in a circle around Willow’s computer, looking at the helpful map of Sunnydale Women’s Penitentiary posted on its official website. (“Welcome To The Sunnydale Women’s Penitentiary Experience! Take A Virtual Tour of our Facility, and See the List of Activities Available to Inmates.”)
“Hey, cool,” said Willow, “where to start? The sports complex or the ‘edicational’ opportunities? Hmm, I guess they mean ‘educational’.”
She was clicking through the options at top speed, “You can do Vocational or Academic, or both. High School diploma, Computer Technology, Costume Design, Spanish, Cosmetology, English as a foreign language, Graphic Arts, Macrame - what’s macrame? And Tatting - what on earth is tatting?”
“I think it’s like knitting,” said Tara, “only hole-ier.”
“Hey!” said Willow, “they do automobile maintenance and the Beat poets as a joint diploma - cool!”
“Never mind that,” said Xander impatiently. He grabbed the mouse. “Let’s look at the sports stuff - are there pictures of the swim team?”
“Amazingly, they don’t appear to have a swimming pool,” said Willow. “But look,” she said, interested, “the Sunnydale Women’s Penitentiary baseball team is the inter-Penitentiary State champion team for the third year in a row; even though it’s the smallest women’s penitentiary in California. Go Sunnydale!” She read on. “And hey, the whole team is made up of long-term prisoners! I wonder if there’s a connection between being good at baseball and violent criminal tendencies?”
“I wonder if they have any demons on the team?” said Xander, “I'm thinking that would explain a lot.” He clicked on a team photograph. “Wow,” he said, “they’re a well developed bunch. Do they have cheerleaders, I wonder?”
Anya hit him on the arm. “Try and drag your mind way from sex, Xander,” she said. “We need to find a way to Buffybot. Try clicking on something useful - like,” she paused, “like underground drains, or, or gaps in the fence or something.”
Xander rubbed his arm, and then tilted his head at her, “Gaps in the fence?” he said, “I kinda think someone might’ve noticed any gaps in the fence.” He took on a rather smug expression.
There was long uncomfortable silence. “It’s possible they haven’t," said Anya dangerously, “isn’t it?” Xander opened his mouth to speak.
“Well, anything’s possible,” said Tara hurriedly. "But how about the laundry service? In the movies they’re always getting in and out of prisons in laundry vans.”
Willow took the mouse back from Xander, and made a quick search. “Huh. Unfortunately, Sunnydale Women’s Penitentiary has its own, state of the art, laundry - sponsored by the local bank, which is kinda ironic. But you know, what we need to do is to get Buffybot herself to break out. She could tear a hole in a fence, no problem. And even if it’s electrified, most of her is insulated pretty well, anyway.” Willow rubbed her chin pensively, then looked back at the screen. “All we need to do is tell her to leave, and have a getaway car there when she does.”
“Just leave that part to me and Anya,” said Xander, his eyes gleaming.
“A jailbreak! Cool!” said Anya excitedly, “Count me in!”
“Let’s just check how Giles is doing first,” said Tara, “You never know.”
They entered the living room to find Giles still sat as they had left him an hour before, the phone clamped against his ear. A cup of tea Tara had made him sat cold on the table, two of his favourite chocolate digestives untasted beside it. The only sounds in the room were the faint, tinny sound of Dvorak being played on a marimba coming from the phone’s mouthpiece, and a steady grinding noise as Giles wore down his molars.
“No luck?” said Willow.
Giles raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Well, the phone menu is on Cambodian now,” he said, “but otherwise no.”
“Dumb question,” said Willow. The Scoobies trailed miserably towards the door.
“Wait!” Giles cried. Everyone looked back eagerly.
Giles paused for a moment, then sighed, “No, no - false alarm. They just broke off one piece of music in the middle and started another for no apparent reason.” He cocked his head. “Possibly that’s Ravel,” he said, “although it’s hard to tell when it’s played on a Glockenspiel.” He bowed over the phone receiver again. “Ah,” he said, “we’ve moved to Cantonese now - luckily I’m fairly up on that.”
“Right!” said Xander decisively, as soon as they were out of earshot. “Plan B, or Plan X as I like to call it.”
“Plan X?” said Willow.
“For Plan Xander,” he said smugly. He set off back to the computer.
Anya rolled her eyes briefly, and followed.
“But how do we tell Bottie to leave?” said Tara doubtfully to Willow. “Can we phone her? I'm thinking the phones have to be monitored?”
“Not the phone in her head,” said Willow proudly. "I patched your old cell phone in - or the receiver anyway - last week, when you got your new one.”
“I was looking for that all over!” said Tara, “I had plans for it. I do wish you’d ask before you do these things, Willow!” She looked accusingly at her girlfriend.
“It was in a good cause,” said Willow defensively. She put her hand on Tara’s arm. “I was hoping maybe we could talk to her when she was out on patrol; you know, keep in contact. That way we wouldn’t need to actually be there all the time.”
“An excellent plan," said Anya, turning back towards them, “except for the fact that the first time you did send her out on her own, little robo-girl got arrested.” Willow frowned; everyone was acting like all this was her fault, somehow. Which was totally untrue.
“Poor, poor Bottie,” said Tara sadly.
Chapter 11: Plan X Takes Shape
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