Chapter 2 The Music of Chance
And I am looking for the slots
I am filing down my heart
Desert, be kind to this traveler
--Luscious Jackson, "Sexy Hypnotist"
"State of Grace." "Every Which Way But Loose." "Evil Under The Sun." "Uh..." Xander racked his brain for a movie that began with N. "Nightmare on Elm Street." "Time Code." "Enough with the Es, Rory." "Hey, I thought you came to play," Rory said. He was piloting Xander's blue convertible down the California highway at roughly a million miles an hour. The game worked like this; one person gives a movie title, and the next comes up with another title that begins with the last letter of the previous title. They'd been at it for about half an hour, and as the desert whipped by, Xander was quickly becoming bored with it. "Fine. Everyone Says I Love You." "Lousy Woody Allen movie musicals? That's what you're giving me?" Xander said nothing. He watched the desert glumly. "Right," Rory said. "Universal Soldier." "Rawhead Rex." "Rawhead what?" "It's a horror movie." "Hey, Spike," Rory called out. "Rawhead Rex?" "What about it?" Spike yelled. He was stuffed into the trunk and could be barely heard through the back seat. "Does it exist?" "Yeah. Bloody awful." "Okay, I'll give you that one," Rory said. "Great." "Come on, cheer up. You're supposed to be relaxing." Xander didn't reply. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?" "No one, all right? I'm just..." He sighed. "Girl trouble." "Willow. Right." "It's just...we're in this place where there's no obstacles, you know? No girlfriends, no boyfriends, just the two of us, and it's like we don't know how to handle it." "Was getting liquored up and rutting like warthogs not an option?" "Rory!" "Aw, relax. Look, if you two have gotten through all the crap you've gotten through so far, you'll make it the rest of the way." "I know, I know. I'm just impatient. I wanna make with the happy." A loud, rude sound, like someone pretending to be sick, emanated from the trunk. "Shut your piehole, Spike!" Xander yelled. He turned his attention back to the desert. He wondered where Willow was right now.
"Oh! Oh! We have to pull over!" "Again?" Buffy complained. "How small is your bladder, anyway?" "Not because of that," Willow replied. "Look!" Buffy looked. She was behind the wheel of Willow's car, driving in what she hoped was the general direction of Knott's Berry Farm. At the moment, Willow was pointing at a billboard. PETTING ZOO AND WATER SLIDE! it promised. FREE BALLOONS FOR THE KIDDIES! LAST PETTING ZOO FOR 50 MILES! "Oh, hell no," Buffy said. "Come onnnn!" Willow whined. "There'll be little baby goats! We can feed little baby goats! They'll have that animal food that comes in candy dispensers that only costs a quarter!" "Will, we've already been to a petting zoo this morning." "But they didn't have goats!" "We also saw that giant ball of twine. And the plastic dinosaurs. And three waffle houses. Come on, we've got to make some time here." "I thought we were supposed to be having fun," Willow said sulkily. "We are. It's just that my idea of fun involves roller coasters and cotton candy. And not goats." Willow leaned back in her seat, pouting. She sighed heavily. When this brought no response, she tried it again. When they passed the turn-off for PETTING ZOO AND WATER SLIDE!, she went for broke, adding a little groaning action into the sigh. "Oh, all RIGHT!" Buffy exploded. "God! Now I know how Giles feels!" "So can we turn around?" "No! I'll tell you what. We'll make one more side trip...if you really feel the need to visit one of these skeezy-ass places..." "Thank you thank you!" Willow said. "Um..." She looked at the billboards as they rushed by. "Whoa. Check that one out." Buffy looked at it. Her eyebrows raised. "Cirque du Macabre?" Willow looked at her and grinned. "We gotta see that." "You know, I think we do." Buffy flipped the turn signal and headed in the direction of the sign's skeletal finger.
The big blue convertible pulled into the parking garage and parked, because that's what cars are supposed to do in parking garages. Xander, dusty and a little sunburnt, hopped out of the passenger seat and popped open the trunk. Spike was asleep. There was an empty blood bag in one of his hands; the other held a deathgrip on a bottle of whiskey. Rory looked at it, suddenly a bit hoarse. "He's got good taste in hooch." "Yeah, yeah." Xander nudged the sleeping vampire. "Up an' at 'em, Atom Ant." Spike snored loudly and tried to turn over. Xander yanked at his coat. "Hey, Slim Shady, I'm talkin' to you! Beat it! We're here!" Spike smacked his lips and opened his eyes. "Whuh?" "Get--out--of--the--car," Xander explained. "Oh. Right." With great effort, Spike clambered out of the trunk, almost falling on his face several times. He straightened up. "This is Vegas? Thought it'd be brighter." "We're underground, you knucklehead." Xander slammed the trunk closed. "Now beat it. We've got debauchery to commit." "Hmph. Well, if you two can get up to any real trouble, I'll be bloody surprised. You two tracies have a nice time, now." Spike brushed himself and walked towards the elevators. "Uh...if I recall correctly, the Aquapolis has all-glass elevators. Should we tell him?" Xander grinned nastily. "He'll figure it out."
If Edward Gorey had given up on the whole art thing and joined a traveling carnival, the Cirque de Macabre would have been the result. It sat in the middle of a patch of dirt and crabgrass, roughly half a mile off the state highway. An aggressively spooky-looking house loomed over everything. A sign in front declared it to be THE HOUSE OF DETH, with a tiny "A" painted above the "E" and the "T". There was a fenced-off petting zoo area; however, in place of animals, there were animal skeletons, swaying slightly in the breeze. "Well, that's good old fashioned nightmare fuel," Buffy remarked as they headed for the main tent. The tent was completely black, with a Jolly Roger flying at the top. Willow and Buffy got in line behind a family of tourists. A zombie was taking tickets. "Unnnnnngh," it moaned. "Tiiiiickets." "How much for two adults and two children?" the father asked. The zombie stared at the family for a moment. Then, it slowly fished a ragged piece of paper from the pocket of its filthy funeral suit. "Nine ninety-fiiiiiive," it groaned. The father handed him a ten spot; the zombie laboriously tore the tickets and handed them out. Willow and Buffy looked at the zombie as they approached. "Great makeup, huh?" Willow said. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "Yeah. Looks just like the real thing." "Tiiiiickets." "I got it," Willow said, pulling out her wallet. "Uh...I don't suppose you have student discount, do you..." "Neeeeeed....IIIII Deeee...." Willow and Buffy looked at each other for a long moment. "Never mind." Willow handed the zombie five singles. The zombie tore off two tickets and handed them to the girls. "Enjoy showwwwww." "Riiiight." Buffy peered at her ticket as they walked inside the tent. "Does yours have slime on it?"
"Relaxed yet?" Xander and Rory were sitting in the front row of the Aquapolis' main theater. It was largely empty at the moment, since you only went to the theater in Vegas if you were sick of gambling, drinking or eating. In Xander and Rory's case, though, they were there because they were both nearly heatstruck and wanted to be in a cool dark place before they did any serious gambling, and the suite in Rory's name didn't do the trick. So they had come here, just in time to catch the afternoon matinee of Nudes on Broadway. At the moment, a young lady whose lungs were more impressive than her voice was belting out something from Phantom of the Opera. "Yeah, I guess." "You guess?" Rory looked askance at Xander. "Xander, we're watching a woman wearing nothing but a pair of sequined panties perform a classic of the British musical." "Well, that's debatable." "Yes, but the 'only wearing panties' part isn't." "I'm fine, I'm fine." "Are you gonna be like this all weekend?" "I'll be fine," he said. On stage, the singer was departing, and two women in body paint came on stage to do something from Cats.
"I don't believe we're doing this," Buffy muttered as they sat on the slightly warped bleachers. The tent was stuffy and filled with darkness. They sat near the family of tourists, if only because they were the only other people in the place. "Oh, don't complain," Willow said. "It's got its own charm. It's like a haunted house on Halloween." "Will, do you remember the last haunted house we visited?" "You mean the one where you and Riley went at it like crazed warthogs?" "The. Other. One," Buffy said between her teeth. "Ohhhh! Oh, yeah." Willow frowned. "Well, I'm sure they don't have any... you know...green stingy things..." She sighed. "Poor Oz. He was really freaked out that night." "Mmm." They both fell silent for a moment. Buffy had spared little thought for the werewolf since he'd left town last April. She wondered if, between Tara and Xander, Willow had given him any thought either. She could see Willow's frown through the murk and moved to lighten the mood. "Well, if he really wants to be freaked out, he should check this place out. I mean, zombie guy really looked real." "Buffy, what are the chances that there's anything actually supernatural going on in this place?" "Knowing our luck? One in one."
The rat's legs wriggled slightly as Spike drained the last of its blood. Grimacing, Spike hurled the spent carcass against the wall of the sewer and kept walking. He checked his watch; the sun would not be down for hours. Bloody architectural monstrosity of a dump. What a bloody day. This was supposed to be his next step, his way out of the dead-end Hellmouth, and what was he doing? Skulking around the sewers like any newbie bloodsucker. It was a good job Buffy couldn't see him like-- Dru. He meant Dru. It was a good job Dru couldn't see him like this. Or Harmony. Damn good thing she couldn't see him like this. Before he could wonder why the Slayer's name seemed to be on the tip of his tongue these days, he heard a voice call to him from down the sewer tunnel. "That's not William the Bloody, is it?" "Who's there?" Spike called, his game face appearing. "Whatcha want?" "Spike!" The figure stepped closer. He was a head shorter than Spike, chubby, with a shaved head and a bushy moustache. He spoke in an Australian accent. "I thought it was you! Where've you been keepin' yourself, mate?" "Justin?" Spike grinned. "Well, damn, I haven't seen you in a century!" He clasped Justin's hand. "Not since that thing in Budapest," Justin sighed. "Did they ever rebuild that convent?" "Yeah, actually. So Dru and I paid it another visit." Spike's human face returned. "Well, what the hell are you doin' in Las Vegas?" "Would you believe I've got a job?" Justin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat and offered one to Spike, who accepted it. "I'm workin' for a fight promoter." "Doing what?" "Recruiting." Justin's smile grew wider. "And now I come to think of it, you'd be perfect for this gig." "Oh aye?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear the pitch, then." "Not down here," Justin said. "Follow me. I'll take you to his office."
"Okay. Twenty bucks says these two old ladies get into a fistfight." "You're on." Xander idly pumped another quarter into the slot machine as Rory played video poker. They both watched two elderly women who were jockeying for position at a bank of slot machines opposite. "So what are we up to tonight, then?" "I dunno. Carlin's playing over at Caesar's, and Steve and Eydie at the Tropicana." "Steve and Eydie?" "Before your time. Way before your time. How do you feel about Tony Bennett?" "Uh...I don't know. How do I feel about Tony Bennett?" "We'll see him tonight. You'll like him. He's got style." "Okay..." The two old ladies seemed to be about to confront one another. "Hey, I think it's showtime..." "Excellent," Rory said brightly. "Come on, you savage old bat! Go for her bridgework!" A moment later, the smaller of the old ladies backed down, turning up her nose and walking away, affronted. "Yes!" Xander reached out his hand. "Gandhi lives!" "Hmmph." Rory slapped the twenty into his hand. "Let's see...what else is there to bet on around here? I need some more action." "Well, I need a refill." Xander picked up his cup and hopped off his stool. "Coming?" "Sure. Maybe if I keep a soda in my hand, those damn waitresses will stop trying to bring me booze." Rory exhaled deeply. "Vegas, man. It's alcoholic hell." "Relax. You're doin' great." "What are you drinking, by the way?" "Uh...just a Coke." "No rum?" "I don't think so." Xander sniffed his glass. "Though I couldn't swear to it." "You shouldn't drink anyway," Rory said. "There's too much of that in our family." "Heh. You sound like a dad." They went very quiet as they approached the bar. As Xander ordered, he could feel Rory staring. "Rory," he said without turning around, "I wanna ask you something." "Uh-huh." "It's kind of important." "Uh-huh." "Ever since that night my mom was attacked, I've... I've had this idea." "Uh-huh." "And I just need to know." "Uh-huh." He took a deep breath. "Rory, are you my father?" "Uh-huh." Xander whirled around, shocked. "What?! You are?! How--" He stopped. Rory was staring, all right, but he was staring past him. Xander followed his gaze. Rory was gaping at two women at the opposite end of the bar. One was dressed in a short red thing that rippled every time she moved; she looked a bit like whatsername, that lady from Gone With The Wind. The other was dressed in a drab denim shirt and ratty-looking jeans, but her body was all the more remarkable for them. She flipped her honey-blonde hair and smiled at them. "Whoa," Xander whoaed. "I think I just met my next two ex- wives," Rory said, grinning. "Well, at least we know these two have legs..." "They're coming over." Rory took a swig of his newly-arrived drink and swished it around. "Be my wing man?" "You know it." The two women slinked over to them and took up stools next to Rory. "Hi there, handsome," said the one in the dress. "I'm Tracy." "I'm Laura. Buy me a drink. I just got out of jail."
"...and now, madames et m'sieurs, le Cirque du Macabre is proud to present on zee high wire, zee Amazing Ponk Brothers!" Willow and Buffy watched with fascination as two men in what they hoped was purple makeup swung through the air high above the circus ring. One Ponk brother let go and was caught by the other. "They're demons," Buffy murmured. "That's what you said about the magic act." "He cut off his assistant's head!" "Yeah, but he put it back on." "And that doesn't say demon to you?" "Look, are having fun today or not?" Willow asked. "Just relax. Circuses are all about tricks and stuff like that. It's just smoke and--" She stopped when one of the Ponk brothers let go of his trapeze and missed his brother's hands. The aerialist fell twenty feet to the ground, bouncing once when he landed. This was the last straw for the tourist family, who screamed in unison and ran for the outside. Before either of them could do anything, the Ponk brother pulled himself woozily to his feet and started screaming at his brother in an unknown language. The second Ponk brother let go of the trapeze and landed on his feet; he immediately attacked his brother. The two of them brawled with bared claws and incomprehensible snarls; they eventually rolled out of the center ring. "Okay," Willow said. "They're demons." "Thank you." "But it's not like they're doing anything. I mean, at least they're doing something positive with their demonhood...right?" "Well..." Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I should be slaying something." As they spoke, the ringmaster hurriedly scurried out into the center ring. "Ah heh heh heh," he laughed. "Zee Ponk brothers, zey do have their little spats. Well, um...ah! Oui! For your thrills and delight, we 'ave zee daring, dangerous Draculina, zee world famous creature tamer!" "Draculina?" Buffy said. She felt around in her purse for a stake. "Oh, no," Willow said. "It's part of the act. Look, she's got a tan." She did have a tan at that. Draculina was a statuesque woman with long, jet- black hair. She wore an outfit that Xena would have rejected as lacking dignity. In her hand, she held a long bullwhip. "Today, for one day only, Draculina will pit her skills against a creature so savage, so ruthless that it took six men to bring it low!" Two zombies rolled a large box into the center ring. It was covered with a cloth; underneath, something bucked back and forth. "C'est vrai, madames et m'sieurs, today Draculina does battle with... ze werewolf!" The cover was whipped off, revealing a hairy, apelike figure. It snarled and foamed, a thick black collar around its neck. It looked familiar. The creature in the cage would have been frightening if it were not so pathetic. It launched itself over and over at the door of the cage, but one look at its human- like features proved that it was out of sheer terror, not rage. It tried to reach through the bars of the cage; Buffy saw the ringmaster fiddle with something, and the werewolf went down, quivering with pain. The girls were speechless for a moment. "Is..." Willow stood up. "That isn't..." The werewolf got back to its four feet, The Pain having retreated for the moment. It snuffled, trying to get its bearings, and sniffed the air. Its hackles raised. It smelled something...someone familiar... Its vision was blurred from weeks of torment and drugs, but it saw the spot of orange moving in the stands, and it howled in recognition. The low, keening wail sent a chill through all who heard it. "It is," Willow said. "It's Oz!"
Xander's head was on the bar like a child taking a nap in school. Next to him, Rory was being fawned over by Tracy and Laura. It was incredible. The man was a career bullshit artist who gave off insincerity fumes the way others do pheromones. He was wearing the same ice-cream suit he'd been wearing yesterday. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, for cryin' out loud. And still, he had women dripping off him. Admittedly, the women in question were career criminals. From what he'd been able to glean, Laura had been picked up on a bunco rap in Reno last month, and had only this morning managed to weasel her way out of the charge in court. Something about compromised evidence, and anyway, it's not like the people didn't get the wheelchairs back eventually. They were very clearly, at least to Xander, who was not in their headlights (you should pardon the expression), con artists. Rory, however, did not seem at all bothered by this. "...so then I said, 'look, if you want that busload of nuns and orphans to die, you stay right here. Me... I'm going in.'" Rory took a swig of his drink, giving the ladies a chance to swoon in adoration. "Wow," Tracy said. "I never knew the life of a taxidermist was so exciting." "Well, I don't do that anymore. I like to think of myself as a jack-of- all-trades." If Xander did any more eye-rolling this afternoon, he was liable to sprain something. Laura turned to him and gave him a wry smile. "What about you, cutie? What's your story?" "I'm the jack-of-all-trades' nephew," he said. "I see." She moved a little closer to him. "So are you a jack-of-all- trades too?" "Nope. I'm a stripper." She blinked; then her grin grew wider still. "Really. I do a bit of that myself. You in the union?" "Nah. I'm just doing it for the summer. I hope." "I know what you mean." She sipped her drink. "Don't worry; something better'll come along. It did for me." "What was that?" "Fake tech stocks." "Ah. Well, whatever works for ya." "Listen...maybe if you're around later, you and I could..." Xander looked at her and sighed. "No offense, but my life's a little complicated right now." Laura shrugged, her hair falling over her shoulders in a way that made him want to reconsider. "Suit yourself." She leaned close to him. "It'd be nice." "Oh, I don't doubt it." His knuckles were a bit white now as he gripped his glass. "It's just...there's this thing..." "What sort of thing?"
LeChevre didn't need this. He really didn't. Four years he'd spent as the owner and ringmaster of this hole in the desert. Four years of heat and poverty and having his every need tended to by zombies. He just had to make it through one more matinee. Just one more. It was that hunter's fault. When LeChevre had answered his ad for a buyer, he thought he was buying a chimp or something. Not a werewolf, for God's sake. The thing was snarling and howling inside the cage, and he felt the button again. The remote control activated the electric collar that the werewolf was wearing, and would send many, many volts of agony through its body. He was just about to announce the beginning of the act when he saw the only two remaining members of the audience come running out of the stands. He didn't need this. He really didn't. What were they, animal control? PETA? It didn't matter. He shrilly whistled for the zombies and started pushing the cage backwards. "Get ze truck ready!" he screamed. The werewolf leapt against the bars, trying to get at the ringmaster. "Get out here, you undead imbeciles!" he shrieked. The redhead was on the other side of the cage now... Willow looked at the werewolf, looking for some confirmation. "Oz?" she called out as he leapt at the bars. "Oz! Look at me!" The werewolf stopped in its assault and turned, snarling. For a moment, she held its gaze. She looked into its eyes...somewhere, buried far beneath, she could see him. "Hold on," she said. "We'll get you out." The werewolf chuffed--it was almost a scoff--and turned back to the ringmaster. It howled with rage and reached out one shaggy paw. It could see the thing that brought The Pain stuffed into the ringmaster's belt; the skinny Frenchman was so intent on moving the cage backstage that he didn't think to press the button. Nearby, Buffy and Draculina circled one another. The creature- tamer snapped the whip to and fro. Buffy had produced a stake from the depths of her purse and was brandishing it threateningly. "What exactly do you think you're going to do with that?" Draculina asked mockingly. "I was thinking maybe I'd stab you in the heart with it," Buffy replied. "What?!" "What, too much?" Draculina's face hardened. She lashed out with the whip; it wrapped around the stake and tore it from Buffy's grasp. "OW! You gave me a splinter!" "I'll give you more than a splinter!" Draculina yelled. "Stake in the heart, what are you, nuts? We're just putting on a show here!" "That's a friend of mine you've got locked in that cage--" Movement attracted Buffy's attention. The zombies had finally arrived and were pushing the cage to the back of the tent. "Let him go!" Willow yelled. She grabbed one of the zombies by the arm and tugged. With a moist pop, it came off, sending her to the ground. She was about to throw the arm away and do quite a bit of screaming when the zombie bent down to her, moaning threateningly. Instinct took over and she did the only thing that made sense. She gripped the arm like a club and smacked him with it. The zombie staggered back and Willow got to her feet. The cage was almost outside now; she saw the ringmaster rush in front of it, guiding it forward. "Your friend? What d'you mean, your friend?" "I mean, his name is Daniel Osborne, he's a human being most of the time, and he doesn't like cages." Buffy moved forward. Draculina snapped at her with the whip; this time, Buffy caught it and yanked the woman forward. "LeChevre told me he was some kind of monkey!" Draculina said. "Oh, well, with a cover story like that, it's no wonder you were taken in. Are you going to help me get him out or not?" "I--" "Buffy!" Willow was tugging at the cage, which the zombies now had off the ground. Outside, they heard a motor running. One of the zombies pushed her aside; Willow ducked around and ran into the harsh sunlight. There was a truck outside, and now the cage was loaded into it. She ran to the driver's door, grabbed the handle- "Release that, s'il vous plait." --and found the muzzle of a gun in her face. She backed away, her knees trembling. "Merci." The ringmaster gunned the engine, the gun not moving until he pulled away in a spray of dust. From the back of the truck, she could hear a howl of anguish. Buffy and Draculina ran up to her, but they could only watch as the truck pulled onto the highway. "He took my truck," Draculina said, a bit stunned. Willow whirled on her, fear giving way to anger. "Where's he going?!"
All of this is copyright Joss Whedon, except the stuff that isn't.
