Promise in Sunnydale
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"Okay then. Gate's open."

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Sherlock attempts to cross the gate. He is denied.

"So at least one of the possible obstacles is in effect."
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"Gate's open and I'm trying."

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Now he can enter the tree!
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The tree looks like an abandoned house. It hasn't accumulated much dust, because it has no air holes. It is lit by fairylights and has some shriveled-up fruit in the cupboards and what is probably a bookshelf hidden behind a layer of wood for some reason and, on top of the bookshelf, a bed.

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Sherlock returns to his crypt.

"Well, that worked."
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"So it did. And now I'm trying to keep you out."

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He tries again. Tree! Crypt.

"Giving permission worked tree-fashion, but revoking it worked vampire-fashion, which is to say not at all since you didn't nail any crosses to anything. Well, that's an interesting interaction."
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"Nailing crosses to a home revokes permission?"

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"It's a substep of one of the rituals, I believe."

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"I see. Well, now you can get into my old tree..." She shuts the gate. "If I leave the door open."

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Shrug.

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"I've set the new gate to the new continent now just on top of the one to the tree."

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"And now we wait for it to settle, I suppose."

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"Yeah. Do you want to go to the library again?"

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"Sounds like fun."

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"...After some food."

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"Sure."

Plants and plant derivatives?
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Nom.

Library!
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Library indeed.



Except that as they approach the library room in the school building, he stops suddenly in the darkened hallway.
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"What?"

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"Someone there," he says, quietly. (There is a tiny bit more light coming around the corner than there should be.) "H'sh." And he steps closer to listen.

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Promise hushes. She lands.

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A voice drifts around the corner:

"...sure there are any number of better ways you could be spending a Friday night." Pause. "Patrolling, for example."
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"Yes, well, I'm personally offended by Catherine Madison's decision to steal her daughter's body, so here we are. I will patrol when I'm satisfied we have a workable countercurse."

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