| Giles: Open Mike Night By Kuzibah |
| Part 8 of the Summer Vacation Series Disclaimer: I don�t own Giles or any of the �Buffy�-related stuff, more�s the pity. The Nick Drake lyrics aren�t mine, either, but oh, how I wish they could be� Feedback: If I don�t get it, my hair falls out. Really. Archive- Sure, but email me and let me know where it�s going. ******************* Dancing a jig in a church with chimes A sign of the times today And hearing no bell from a steeple tall People all in dismay Falling so far on a silver spoon Making the moon for fun And changing a rope for a size too small People all get hung. Take a look and see me coming through For I am the parasite who travels two by two. When lifting the mask from a local clown And feeling down like him And I'm seeing the light in a station bar And travelling far in sin And I'm sailing downstair to the northern line Watching the shine of the shoes And hearing the trials of the people there Who's to care if they lose. And take a look you may see me on the ground For I am the parasite of this town. And take a look you may see me in the dirt For I am the parasite who hangs from your skirt. ---�Parasite� by Nick Drake (from his album �Pink Moon�) Rupert Giles, former Watcher, former school librarian, current gentleman of leisure, retuned his guitar, humming low under his breath. He had gone to the first �open mike night� at the Espresso Pump as a lark, since he didn�t have much to do with his evenings these days, and had found that he really enjoyed it. The crowd, even the earnest young teenagers, loved talking music and really respected Giles� knowledge and interest in classic rock. It was rather refreshing. Carefully, Giles packed the old Gibson into its case. God help him, he was actually considering buying a new guitar, an extravagance he couldn�t easily afford. Maybe Buffy and her friends were right, and he was experiencing the classic mid-life crisis. Although, so far, it didn�t involve bleached-blondes or red convertibles, so it couldn�t be that bad. He picked up his guitar and headed for the coffee house. - - - - - - - - - - He stepped off the sidewalk into the warm, heady air in the coffee bar. The machines hissed and whirred over the hum of conversation and the clinking of spoons. Giles set his guitar case down beside the counter and climbed onto a stool. One of the servers, a group of kids in their twenties who referred to themselves as �Javanistas,� came to him, smiling. �It�s good to see you, Rupert,� he said. �The usual, or can I interest you in our new Bengal Chai? It�s very nice with milk.� Giles smiled back. �Alright, I�ll try it,� he said. The Javanista turned to take down a mug from the shelf. "What are you playing tonight," he asked over his shoulder. "I'm not sure yet," Giles admitted, "but I know for sure I'm doing a Nick Drake composition. He's sort of been re-discovered through that car ad, so I pulled out his albums. I forgot how much I liked his songs." "I know that ad," the younger man said, setting down the mug of steeping tea. "How old is that song?" "The album came out in 1972," Giles said. "What's he done lately?" "He died in '74, I'm afraid." The server grinned sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "Feel free to call me an ignorant slut." "It's okay," Giles said. "He's still a bit obscure. Very sad, really. Killed himself with a prescription drug overdose." "Yeah, that's a shame," the Javanista agreed. They were interrupted when two girls with long, straight hair and long peasant dresses waved for him from the other end of the counter. "You know," the server said, "I'll bet they both think Jewel is really, really deep." And then he went to take their order. Giles was still chuckling at the young man's comment when he was joined by Ellen, the woman who ran the open mike nights. Long, graying hair fell around her face, and her loose, Indian-flavored clothes pretty much screamed "aging hippie." She'd be the first to admit it, though, and she had come to be regarded as the Espresso Pump's "earth mother." She held out a box of scrabble tiles. "Pick one, Rupert," she ordered. He drew one out. "D," he said, handing it to her. She set the box on the counter and took a clipboard from beneath her arm. "You'll go fourth," she said, penciling his name on the list. Giles nodded acknowledgement, and Ellen slid into the seat beside him. "How's your week going?" she asked. "Anything exciting?" "Not really," Giles answered. The Javanista returned to them. "I'll have a decaf latte, Marsh," Ellen said. Right, thought Giles. Marsh. And I hope I'll be able to remember which pierced young person with strange hair that is next time I come. - - - - - - - - - - Giles climbed onto the stool in the cleared section of floor that stood for a stage and tuned his guitar. Most of the regulars smiled encouragingly and Giles drew his fingers across the strings. "Lifting the mask from a local clown, feeling down like him," he sang. "Seeing the light in a station bar and traveling far in sin." - - - - - - - - - - He retreated to a table amid appreciative applause, and smiled gratefully at his audience. He ordered another tea and leaned back, listening to the two young men on stage, one strumming a guitar, the other drumming softly on a set of bongos. Their blended voices were lovely together, and Giles guessed they were music students from the University. A woman came up to Giles' table. "Do you mind if I join you," she asked. "Not at all," Giles told her, rising briefly as she took a seat. "That was a beautiful version you did of 'Parasite,'" she said. Giles smiled at her. She looked young, perhaps twenty-two, but her clear, pale skin and white dress made her look even younger. "Not many people your age are familiar with Drake's work," he said. She touched a slim hand to her breast. "Oh, it's more than that," she said. "I love him. And when I hear someone else sing his music, I'm drawn to it, like a moth to a candle flame." Giles nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said. "Oh, I did, thank you," she said. "Do you write music, yourself?" Giles gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "No, no," he said. "I'm actually, well, between jobs at the moment." "I'm sorry," she said softly. "What did you do?" "I was a school librarian. And a sort of a... a mentor. There hasn't been much use for either, lately," he added lamely. "A mentor?" The girl picked up the conversation, now. "To the students?" "One... student, in particular," Giles said. "She's just completed her freshman year at University." "It must be very rewarding for you," she said. "To see a child grow up and succeed, partially due to your guidance." Giles was brought up a bit short by this comment, and took a moment to consider it. "I suppose you're right," he said. "It's difficult to let go, though." "Life is change," the girl said. "Only in death do things remain the same." "That's rather astute for a woman your age," Giles said. "I'm older than I look," she replied. On stage, a teenage boy, his hair standing out from his head in orange spikes, plugged in his guitar amplifier and turned the volume knob as high as it would go. "Uh, oh," Giles said, rising from his chair. "What is it?" the girl said. "This song is a primal scream from the pit of despair," the performer announced. "The pit that is my life!" Giles took the girl's arm and guided her quickly towards the exit. "Come on," he said. "Trust me, we have to go." Onstage, the boy struck a discordant jangle of notes on the guitar and turned it towards the amplifier. The feedback screamed and crescendo�ed. Ellen ran from the sound board and grabbed the amplifier cord, nearly ripping it out of the wall in her haste to stop the sound. "Okay, Otto," she said. "Your set's over." Outside, the girl drifted slowly away from Giles, turning in a strange, dream-like dance. In the gathering dark, under the streetlights, her white dress seemed to glow. "I should tell you," she said, "that Nick didn't kill himself." Giles was about to speak when she went on. "It was an accident. He went to sleep, and when he woke up he couldn't remember what he'd taken, or when, and he took more. Then again, and he took more. He didn't mean to." "How do you know this?" She stopped her turning dance, and looked over her shoulder at him. "He told me," she said. "But that's..." Giles had been about to say, "impossible," but he had been living on the Hell-mouth too long. "Only in death do things remain the same," the girl repeated. "Be thankful for your change. Welcome it." Giles approached her quickly. "Wait," he said. "Can you speak to those who have died? Can you take a message to someone for me?" But the girl was fading rapidly, now. "Thank you again for the song," she called, and then there was only the softly stirring breeze under the starlight. Giles returned to the coffeehouse like a man in a trance. He had to admit, life in Sunnydale might be many things, but it was never boring. On stage, a college-aged girl dressed all in black sang plaintively while accompanying herself on an electronic keyboard, and Giles slid into the counter chair. Ellen joined him, as did Marsh. "Are you okay, Rupert," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "You look a little stunned." "I..." he laughed weakly. "I think I've seen a ghost." "No kidding?" Marsh said excitedly. "What'd it look like?" Ellen held up a hand. "Easy, Marsh," she said. She put both hands on Giles's arm, now. "It's okay," she said. "Was it someone you knew? Did they say anything?" "No," Giles said. "Just a fan." Ellen turned to the Javanista. "Marsh," she said softly. "I want you to go downstairs to my office. Bottom left hand drawer, there's a bottle of J.D. Pour some into a coffee mug and bring it on up." "Ellen, we don't have a license..." Ellen gave him a hard look. "And I'm not selling anything, am I," she said. Marsh rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs. "Is this your first one?" Ellen said gently. Giles turned to her, confused. But, of course, he realized, she was a Sunnydale native. She must be aware of the supernatural activity. She, and the rest of them, must have learned ways to cope. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "Just the most... corporeal. I didn't realize..." "Everything's going to be fine, Rupert," she reassured him. "Did it say anything to disturb you? Did it have any warnings?" Just then Marsh returned with the coffee mug, and Giles drank down a large mouthful. "Nothing like that," he told Ellen. "Just stirred up some bad memories, that's all." Ellen stood and rubbed her hand between Giles's shoulder blades. "Sip that slow," she said. "Take your time. Let's go, Marsh." Giles was left alone, staring at his own reflection in the glass behind the counter. He studies himself: former Watcher, former librarian, former juvenile delinquent. Currently... what? Mentor? Displaced foreigner? Surrogate father figure? He took another long sip of whiskey and held it a moment in his mouth. Yes, perhaps it was time for a change. Part 9 - Angel, Spike, Gunn: The Hunting of the Snark Main Menu ~ Summer Vacation Series |