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"...I want to say, "not". But... while I'm here not believing it, what sort of mystical calling did you end up with?"

The little voice is, naturally, keeping track of all the obvious ridiculous lies, just in case.
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"My title is 'Slayer'. As in vampire slayer, though I'm also on tap to deal with non-vampire nasties."

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"And I assume you got that job from the back of a cereal box."

ha ha ha HA HA HA IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE MAGIC ISN'T REAL, he says to the tiny and increasingly smug voice in the back of his head.

"That crossbow or whatever that was was the prize inside?"
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"I bought the crossbow online, man. The job I inherited from a dead predecessor and I got the notification from a - something. Power That Is."

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"Sure, sure." He's too nervous to chuckle this time. "So... magic's a thing, is it? I don't suppose you have any magic tricks you can do to prove that kind of thing."

He really hopes she doesn't have any magic tricks she can do to prove that kind of thing.
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"I haven't been able to get any of it to work, I don't know what's wrong with me. I realize that kind of puts a hole in my story."

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See? See, tiny back of head voice? How d'you like them apples? That's right.

"Sure does, doesn't it? That's reassuring."

He's standing there, bleeding from a vampire bite in his shoulder, waiting for an ambulance, making fun of a girl who just saved his life for maybe lying about magic. Cool.

"I, uh. I don't have to worry about this beyond the blood loss, do I? What's the story with vampires, transmission-wise?"
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"You're good unless he fed you some of his blood," she says.

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"Well, he did not. Unless all that dust that got in my mouth counts."

How long does it take for an ambulance to arrive?

"So how well-kept a secret is this? Do vampires ever get arrested by the cops, are they in on it? What if it was a squad car instead of you and your mystical calling?"
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"The dust doesn't count. Some cops know, some are in really deep denial. Vampires are stronger and faster than humans to the point where I can't actually come up with a way for a cop to arrest one who didn't want to get arrested - if a squad car had pulled up you'd hope that the vampire didn't want to be inconvenienced by being shot at and having to kill the cops."

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Widened eyes. A thing that the police can't protect him from, at all. Frightening. Nearly died a minute ago. Okay.

"So- guns, not a deterrent? Was that a magic crossbow, then? You could patch your hole with that, maybe."

There's a familiar whining sound in the distance.
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"The crossbow's regular," she says. "I don't really want to be here when the ambulance pulls up, dude, so - don't go out at night and get a crucifix."

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"What, like, don't buy crosses at night, or- I'm assuming the other thing, but I want to be sure of-"

Wait, no, that's not the question to be asking. There are more important questions. There have to be.

"So are they weak to crossbows? Why crossbows and not gu- no, wait. No. I have to know..."

He has to know, that much is certain. He doesn't yet know what he has to know, specifically. And the sirens are getting closer.
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"Avoid going out at night, vamps go up in flames in the sun. Separately," she shows off her necklace, "get a crucifix, vamps don't like them. It's wood, in the heart, that dusts them, but you're not strong enough to do it. And that's it from me tonight." She turns and jogs away.

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The ambulance arrives, the paramedics see his shoulder, and they usher him into the vehicle. He gives them the Slayer's "plausible lie", and then tells them that he thinks he was attacked by a vampire. The paramedics give each other meaningful looks, as if this were a not-uncommon experience in their line of work.

This prompts Max to accusatorially quiz them on what they know about vampire attacks. They are evasive and unhelpful, and try to assure Max that it must have just been the drugs and that they don't know what he's talking about. He doesn't believe them, and becomes fairly belligerent by the time they arrive at Sunnydale Memorial Hospital.

He is similarly accusatory towards the nurses, doctors, and assorted hospital staff. The Slayer's description of law enforcement seems to apply- some obviously know and are lying, some are deeply in denial. They manage to bandage him up, but are eager to discharge him. Possibly faster than they're strictly allowed to. It's something like 5 in the morning when they push him out the door, flatly denying his accusations and making it clear they don't want to deal with his crazy.

The sun isn't quite up, yet, but it threatens to emerge at any moment. It's probably safe, he decides. What kind of idiot vampire would be out and about minutes before the sky fills with instant death?

He starts back towards UC*D to file a campus violence report.



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The following day, Max has a TA fill in for his classes. He has potentially more important questions to worry about than the ones posed by undergraduate philosophy students.

He drives downtown by his usual route- which takes him past an unassuming store known as the Magic Box. Today, conveniently, it's not surrounded by police tape, as seems to happen at least once a month. He assumed it was a front for some drug thing, previously. Now, he's concerned it might harbor more significant things than crystals and crackpots.

He brings with him a couple of strips of plywood he's nailed together in the shape of a cross. He's unsure if he needs something that's been blessed by a priest- or treated with some compound that- or something other than- there's just no way anything, even vampires, could be repelled by perpendicular lines- but he had the supplies lying around and felt he'd be better safe than sorry.

He also has a personal firearm. In case the business with crosses and heart-piercing isn't on the level. He vaguely recalls how to use it.

He enters the Magic Box.
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And here is a familiar teenage girl, in the book section.

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She catches his eye.

"YOU!" he exclaims with a roar typically reserved for bear impersonations.
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"Whoa, cool it," she snaps. "No need to threaten the building's structural integrity."

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He attempts to locate a reason to be angry at her other than "associated with a stressful situation" or "kind of uppity". His search fails, and instead he stammers "You- magic! This- you said- I don't- you're trying to- I'm- magic!"

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"I can't get any magic to work. They also sell," she gestures, "books here, the library doesn't have everything."

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"Books?"

He hurries over to the shelf she's perusing. He would much rather read the freely available literature than try to wheedle information of of snarky teenagers.

"Are any of these real? Which ones are real? How much do they cost? How come the secret hasn't gotten out if you can just buy books about this stuff in stores?"
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"Priced as marked and sometimes discounted Tuesdays, and about half of it is crap but you can tell most of the time based on publisher, publication date, and consistency with the rest of the - stuff. Are you holding up okay?"

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"I'm fine. Hospital wrapped up the shoulder, hurts but not distractingly. Blasted hospital knew, they definitely knew, they must get cases like me every day, but they wouldn't tell me a damn thing about anything for whatever reason."

He picks up a thick volume that seems to be covered in warning signs and inspects the spine. The title doesn't appear to be written in English.

"How is this a secret? If people are getting attacked all the time- if the information is- if I can find out about all this without trying, there... what enforces it all? This has to be engineered, right?"
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"There's only one of me," she murmurs. "Usually what happens to people like you is you get eaten."

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