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Really, Johanna should've known that the moment she finished cataloguing that cursed Assyrian pottery they'd do something to fuck her up. She just wasn't quite expecting to be saddled with a goddamned Slayer.
"I don't quite know what to say, Quentin," she averred, instead of reaching across Travers' fake Queen Anne mahogany desk and wringing his neck like the turkey he was. "Surely there's someone better qualified," and less occupied with important work that doesn't involve babysitting some hormonal brat who can bench-press a car.
"No, Johanna, I'm afraid there isn't. I know, I was shocked as well," he tittered as though he had the goddamned right to pal around with her after throwing this albatross around her neck. Or ever, really. He was like the human equivalent of a lukewarm glass of skim milk with a shot of sawdust. "But really, you're one of our best Watchers, and I'm sure any Slayer would be better off with your tutelage."
Johanna smiled politely until she thought she could open her mouth without spitting stomach acid in his damn eyes, and said, "But what about my work in Room 42?"
"Oh, not to worry," Travers assured her. "That'll all be handled."
"By whom."
"...It'll be handled."
"By whom, Quentin."
"...Landen Serrano."
Before Johanna could scream aloud, Travers pulled out the final stop.
"Unless, of course, you're refusing the position."
Of course she wasn't. She couldn't. Refusing to take on the Slayer would be like... like refusing to become a fucking duchess. But come hell or high water, she would defend her right to go back to her apartment and bitch about it to her cat.
And then she was on a plane to America. God, it was sickening. And it was California, worse yet. She wanted to soak Quentin Travers' miserable little head in brine.
Now, she's settled into her apartment, settled into her job as school librarian on top of the goddamned Hellmouth, and settled into intimidating the living hell out of children as they attempt to check out books. At least she can have some fun.
bishopric
summa-iniuria
It's Friday afternoon, the first of the school year. No one has entered the library since before lunchtime. The slow day of slow days.
Just after classes let out, a student swings by the library who hasn't been in before.
Just after classes let out, a student swings by the library who hasn't been in before.
bishopric
Johanna looks up from her Proust and takes the time to look unfriendly. It's the little touches - tiny motions of the eyebrows, a slight curl to the lip, a subvocal noise of disapproval - that make her a true master of the art form. If sneering was an Olympic sport, Johanna would have taken the gold home to England every year since 1982.
She turns back to the Proust. Oh, what a clever bit of wordplay. It almost makes her smirk at the page.
It doesn't.
She turns back to the Proust. Oh, what a clever bit of wordplay. It almost makes her smirk at the page.
It doesn't.
summa-iniuria
The student answers Johanna's unfriendly look with a small, carefully calibrated smile, indicating a precise degree and kind of friendliness. 'Hi, I understand that you're annoyed by my existence,' it seems to say, 'and I am sympathetic rather than offended, and I promise not to bother you more than is strictly necessary.'
Then she proceeds into the library to look for books.
Then she proceeds into the library to look for books.
bishopric
Aw, she thinks she can get on Johanna's good side. That's adorable. Johanna decides to spare this one, maybe she'll become the President or something. Plus it doesn't look like she'd get amusingly terrified or upset, which makes it a waste of her time.
Proust Proust Proust.
Proust Proust Proust.
summa-iniuria
Books books books!
After about fifteen minutes, she emerges with a math book to check out. This involves presenting Johanna with her student ID.
The name on the ID is Elizabeth A. Kirsch.
After about fifteen minutes, she emerges with a math book to check out. This involves presenting Johanna with her student ID.
The name on the ID is Elizabeth A. Kirsch.
bishopric
Goddammit. The fucking Slayer.
"Kirsch, huh. That's German, right? Is it a common name around here?" asks Johanna while struggling to use the horrible outdated scanner widget.
summa-iniuria
"Not remotely," says Elizabeth A. Kirsch. "I moved here from New York last month."
bishopric
"New York. Nice city, or so I'm told. Well, actually I'm told it's noisy and smelly and horrible, but I was asking my countrymen, so for them that's like saying it's a shining jewel in the crown of the States." She finally wrangles the scanner into cooperation. "Math book, scanning, one two three work you awful little machine. Pretty advanced, is it for class?"
bishopric
That, she was informed of. "Funny what some people do to pass the time. I'd probably go mad just from looking between these pages. Speaking of which, just a warning from your friendly neighborhood librarian, call number 892.786 is the Necronomicon, so open it with care."
She's joking, of course. Al'hazred's oeuvre is in the locked cabinet in her office. 892.786 is the expurgated edition with annotations by Hamilton, which may be worse.
She hands over the book with a smile that looks a bit like it's trying to crawl off her face. She is trying so hard.
She's joking, of course. Al'hazred's oeuvre is in the locked cabinet in her office. 892.786 is the expurgated edition with annotations by Hamilton, which may be worse.
She hands over the book with a smile that looks a bit like it's trying to crawl off her face. She is trying so hard.
summa-iniuria
"I'll take it under advisement," she promises, smiling back with no sign she finds any part of this conversation odd. "Thanks."
bishopric
"Do you like books about vampires?" Johanna blurts out. Goddammit, she's not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger shit. She's willing to just sound weird if the girl hasn't noticed.
summa-iniuria
"Depends. Fiction about vampires is a little tacky, I find. Nonfiction about vampires is hard to find at all."
bishopric
"Oh, thank God. I'm not doing the half-conversation thing, anyway, you apparently know about vampires so I won't sound crazy and it's fucking infuriating to hint and hint and hint. Anyway, congratulations you're the Slayer, I'm your designated Watcher and I happen to be responsible for making sure you don't bite it by November. Let's shoot for June, at least."
summa-iniuria
...She blinks.
"Okay, that's unexpected," she says. "This is really going to screw with my dream of becoming an internationally recognized mathematician, isn't it."
"Okay, that's unexpected," she says. "This is really going to screw with my dream of becoming an internationally recognized mathematician, isn't it."
bishopric
"Yes indeed it is, unless you already have a few papers out. How much of that sentence has your supernatural education covered?"
summa-iniuria
"I'm acquainted with the idea that the Slayer exists, but I don't know a lot of details beyond that. Given that being dead by November is apparently a concern, I'm going to guess the job has hazards. What's the usual way to deal with them?"
bishopric
"Killing things before they kill you, I believe is the approved technique. You should probably be good at it, it's a bit your job. It's just that many of the things you're supposed to be killing are also very good at that. I can help with keeping them from getting the edge, I'm a dab hand at witchery and I may or may not have lifted some useful enchanted artifacts from places where they weren't supposed to be. As I said, it's my job to keep you out of the morgue. Except for those occasions when you're killing vampires in it, which do sometimes crop up."
summa-iniuria
"I'm very interested in these enchanted artifacts. What's your name, by the way?"
bishopric
"Oh, Christ alive, did I forget to introduce myself? I'm Johanna, Johanna Wernher. There's a good number of the artifacts, I can introduce you later, but of particular interest may be a sword that can cut through any nonmagical material and a diadem that makes any harm done to you appear on your foe. Crown's a bit conspicuous, but you can always just say it's an aesthetic statement. And best of all, the sword's made of bone, so it won't show up on a metal detector. Shit out of luck if they put you through an X-ray, though."
summa-iniuria
"I think I'm going to like working with you," she concludes. "Those do sound useful. As far as witchery goes, how would you like to be introduced to my aunt, who is a witch?"
bishopric
"Ooh. Positively. Always nice to get a perspective from another practitioner who isn't a gibbering addict. There's some nature coven or other back in Middlesex, but they seem to think the only way to properly go about doing magic is not to do it at all. I wanted to light their bloody pontifical pointy hats on fire."
summa-iniuria
"Chris has thankfully dodged the addiction problem so far. I'll introduce you," she says. "She's coming to pick me up in," she checks the time, "ten minutes."
bishopric
"Well, I don't stay in this hole a minute past when I have to, so coincidentally enough I leave in about ten minutes. I'd love to meet her, given I'll probably be in contact with her more than a bit."