Author: Bastille Kain
Title: Hair of the Dog
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters of Buffy, Angel, and any other show that are unfortunate enough to be used here belong to other people. I'd list them all, but except for the fact they're not me I honestly don't know who any of them are.
Spoilers: My Standard BtVS/AtS/HL crossover with some new PotC/TEL elements thrown in for a change of pace. Set in the Buffyverse, and takes place during season seven of Buffy, and might… Probably get down to Sunnydale. Just going to take a while before any interactions with any main Buffy characters. Please be patient and bare with me.
Summary: Kela, a fifteen year old Japanese potential, great granddaughter of Nathan Algren, has embarked on a quest to track down the men responsible for the death of her great grandfather. The Watcher Council. Unfortunately she is on the wrong trail. Also Nathan has a difficult time staying dead and is desperately trying to catch up with his wayward grandchild.
Pairings: Story takes place during season seven of Buffy, so I guess there'll be the standard pairings. Then again, maybe not? I'll see where the story takes me.
Feedback: Is always appreciated.
Email: Kain6639yahoo com
Archive: If you like it that much, sure. Just be sure to let me know where it's going, and give me the credit, good or bad, for my work.
Special Note: Aside from what I've seen in cheaply made martial arts movies, I don't know anything about Japanese culture, educational system, or as I said... Anything. If I made a mistake somewhere it was unintentional, so please don't show up pounding on my door demanding that honor must be satisfied. Enjoy the story for what it is, the deranged inner workings of my mind. There's no telling how long the drugs will keep me lucid.
Musical Notes: "Hair of the Dog" is performed by Nazareth. "If I go Away" is preformed by Savatage. Lyrics can be found at sing365 com
Hair of the Dog
Chapter One: If I Go Away
Kela knelt somberly beside the mound of freshly turned earth. It was the only such mound in the village. His customs were so different from theirs, but he had brought much honor to their village since he first arrived so many years ago. To give him a traditional Christian burial was the least that could be done for him.
The small knell was covered with wildflowers. Her great grandfather spent many hours on this hilltop meditating. Kela thought he would like spending the rest of eternity here. It was a good spot.
People that visited the village often mistook Kela for a boy. She had forgone the traditional dress of a young woman and like now always dressed as a warrior. Her waist length black hair was pulled into a warrior's top knot. The few outsiders that have ever seen her up close saw beyond the clothes to see the beautiful girl hidden beneath them.
At the head the grave was his katana, driven deep into the ground. Despite the length of life Nathan had never fathered any children, since he had no descendents of his blood the sword would remain his, forever.
Taka, his only wife, had passed away seventy five years ago and he had never remarried even though many women sought him.
He did however consider Taka's children to be his own and their children his grandchildren, and so on and so forth.
Right down to Kela.
The youngest of four children, the only girl, her great grandfather had known she was special and began her training when she was only four, much to her parents chagrin. They didn't have much of a chance to talk him out of it. He had been a village elder for more years then all but the eldest could recall, and personal friend of both the previous Emperors.
Kela didn't understand how he could be a village elder when he looked younger then her parents; who also called him great grandfather.
She hadn't understood then and still didn't now, but when she was training and the leather wrapped hilt of her sword was clasped tightly in her hands, the world just fell away. There was nothing but the sword, herself, and her opponent.
In a few weeks she could defeat all three of her brothers. By the end of three months she could beat all three at once. The only person she still couldn't defeat, had never been able to defeat, was her great grandfather.
Now she never would have the chance.
Kela rose to her feet somberly. She lifted her family katana. The sword has been passed down from one generation to the next for as long as her family has existed. A thousand years and more.
"I'll find those responsible for this," she whispered solemnly. "They'll regret ever coming here," she vowed. She would track these Watchers down; if they didn't tell her what she wanted to know she would make them.
Kela turned on her heel, as crisp as any military pivot, and strode down the small hill at measured pace. She felt like she was rushing down the hill, but she also felt like she was dragging her feet. As if she weren't doing everything she could to avenge all those that had been killed tonight.
It was a stupid way to feel and Kela knew that. She knew that vengeance wasn't going to be obtained overnight; that it was going to be a long, arduous journey. Having her great grandfather at her side would have been a comfort, but she knew he wasn't going to simply appear at her side because she wished it.
This was her time to prove herself as a warrior, that great grandfather had been right about her. Thoughts like those told Kela that perhaps she wasn't yet the warrior she hoped to be.
She would be one day.
She would make great grandfather proud.
There was a slight chill in the air as Kela woke up reminding her that while winter was finally over it would return in the not so distant future. She yawned tiredly. Yesterday had been a very hard day and Master Algren didn't take it easy on her because she was his Great granddaughter.
He treated her the same as every one else.
Kela yawned again, stretching out her limbs, and stopped. There was a foul taste in the air. It filled her mouth and nostrils, making her want to empty her stomach.
She had never experienced anything like it before. It felt like it was getting worse.
Rolling off her sleeping pallet Kela came up in a crouch. She could feel something evil close to her.
Her swords were on the other side of her pallet. She cursed herself silently as she slipped over the bedding and snatched them from their stand then rolled back across her bed.
She waited; crouched low, tense but completely at ease. A coiled spring waiting to be released.
The sharp clang of steel striking steel rang out from nearby. She held her ground for a moment. In that half second a brown robed figure burst through the inside wall. He held a wickedly curved dagger in each hand.
That didn't faze Kela. She had been facing razor sharp steel since she was ten years old. What did cause her pause was when she saw into his cowl. His eyes and mouth were sewn shut with arcane symbols carved into his flesh.
A second, then a third appeared behind the first. In a heartbeat the first man was upon her. It was all Kela could do to keep his blades from reaching her flesh as she deflected one stroke after another.
Whatever the creature was it was nearly as skilled as she and only a heartbeat slower. With a flick of her wrist she discarded her katana's scabbard. She dispatched the first man, quickly, decapitating him. Another flick and she rid the wakizashi of its scabbard.
Just in time to meet the other two men as they came at her. She moved without thought; at one with her blades in her hands. They were an extension of her arms. At one with the floor, her entire room. Even at one with her enemies.
Steel struck steel as blades met. Her swords dealing out what injuries they could while keeping her from harm.
An eternity of seconds later and it was over. Both of the robed men were dead, impaled on her swords as she knelt between them right knee touching the ground. Her katana thrust through the heart of the one behind her, while her left hand extended forward; the small blade skewered the other man through his left side penetrating both his heart and lungs.
She pulled the blades from their bodies with indifferent viciousness as she rose smoothly to her feet. She padded silently across the floor on bare feet as the sounds of fighting rang throughout her home.
Pausing at her door Kela leaned back an instant before razor sharp steel punched through the screen. Her katana flashed in the early morning light ruining the man's throat. He fell back and she burst through the wooden partition, both blades slicing the empty air.
Kela listened for a moment then surged in the direction of the fighting. She slide into the intersection on her left hip as if she were stealing second base, the slicing knife went over her head as her katana severed his right leg just below the knee.
He fell to the ground as she sprang to her feet, the wakizashi taking him through his heart. Two more robed men came around the corner; blood glistened on the curved blades.
Without hesitation Kela rushed the two men. Her blades cut intricate patterns in the air as they met in a clash of flesh and steel. She carved the men open in a handful of seconds.
The young girl heard her great grandfather shout her name. She spun dropping to one knee.
The world seemed to slow down as her American ancestor, her great grandfather, Nathan Algren, moved his body between her and the three brown robed men coming around the far corner. She didn't question how her great grandfather could be a white American that looked no older then her parents; it just was how it was.
She heard the sickening double thwack as a pair of curved daggers sunk into his chest. He staggered then straightened; gathering himself and charged. Both of his swords were covered in blood.
Kela followed him.
Steel struck steel, cut flesh as Algren made certain to keep their attention on him. He killed one, delivered deep wounds to the other two, but received several mortal wounds of his own. Not that they mattered, both knives were planted deep in his chest.
He dropped to his knees as his strength flowed from his body with his blood. The other two men fell to the ground and he smiled. He knew Kela would finish what he started, then collapsed to the floor.
Dieing didn't bother Algren, even if it had taken more then a century and a half for death to finally claim him. The light faded from his eyes quickly as all the tension left his body.
"Grandfather! Grandfather!" She cried fiercely as she shook him gently. He didn't stir and his body remained limp. "Grandfather," she whispered hanging her head.
Tokyo was a complete contrast to her village. A frantic pace compared to the tranquility she was use to. The citizens were rude, knocking her about as many made crass remarks about her clothes; simple country clothes that only mud footed villagers wore. Because of how she was dressed most people took Kela to be a boy a few years younger then her fifteen years.
Kela knew the comments for the insults they were, but ignored them since what most of the people said were true. While she might have grown up in a remote village she was two years ahead for her age, and maintained a four point two-one GPA.
If not for the events of this morning Kela had been planning on attending Tokyo University in another year; possibly an American, or even a European university once she graduated.
Computer Sciences was the field she excelled in. It was how she managed to track down a member of the Watcher Council to the American state of Washington, a town called Seacouver. It was beyond arrogance that they signed their email with their archaic crest. It would make tracking them easy.
Kela met Tokyo's open hostility with cold indifference. She asked her questions and received her answers as if they were of little importance to her. Her outward presence was enough to intimidate most of the people she questioned despite her apparent youth and lack of physical presence.
It was what led her to this rather disreputable place. It had no name. It was simply a back alley dive between two other back alley dives were anything went and the rules of modern society didn't apply.
This place reminded her of Ben Kenobi's most memorable line, "Mos Eisley spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious now." If it had been a spaceport and if there were aliens playing musical instruments in the back ground.
If she had been a few years older, if she possessed a passport then she wouldn't need to be sitting across from this English criminal. At first she thought he was American, but when he spoke it was with a rough cockney accent that she recognized from watching the BBC channel they received on their satellite dish.
His skin was the healthy color of a man who spent a good deal of his time in the sun. His pale brown hair was slicked back with a generous amount of gel and beams of golden sunlight were streaked throughout it. His side burns and goatee were dark black and meticulously trimmed. A wide brimmed hat, with a large white and green feather sewn into the band sat off to the side on the table between them. It was the sort of hat she thought a pirate might wear if they were back in that time.
The rest of his clothes were much the same even if they were made from the finest cuts of the most exquisite materials. White shirt that hung open to his chest with generous amounts of lace at the cuffs, a dark gray coat, dark blue pants with a blood red stripe down the outside seam, and black boots that shone with how much they've been polished.
Barbossa studied the hard eye, waif of a girl with interest. She was dressed in boy's clothes, but anybody that spent an instant in her presence and didn't know she was a girl was a stone blind fool. Like every Japanese person he has ever done business with she was as tight lipped as the rest of them. The only thing he knew was that she wanted to get to some sleepy little town on the Washington coast called Seacouver. And that she couldn't get there legal like, which brought her to him.
Reading people was like an art to him, one he was exceedingly good at. This girl was a warrior to the bone, reminded him a bit too much of the Samurai that used to proliferate this country.
He had the feeling he should cut his losses on this venture, only there was money to be made here. That and he really couldn't resist tweaking the nose of the American Government. They had gotten far too big for their britches since that revolutionary war of theirs.
The amnesty he and his fellow pirates had worked out in return for only sinking British merchants hadn't lasted much beyond the war itself.
"The price for passage to America, no questions asked, is a steep one lass," he informed her.
"I can pay your price," she replied.
Again he was surprised. Her English was perfect if spoken with a Midwestern accent. "Ten thousand dollars, American?"
"I can pay this."
Ten thousand dollars American was a pittance to Barbossa, but to a Japanese youth it was a king's ransom. He smiled pleasantly at her. "Well then, it seems we have ourselves an accord," he said as he reached out with his bejeweled right hand.
Kela stared at it a moment. She didn't like him, didn't trust him, but she didn't have any choice. She would have to siphon a portion of her trust fund. She took his hand; let him feel the hard calluses covering her palm, as she gave his hand a forceful squeeze. "So it would seem."
The morning sun was still hours away from cresting the horizon. Crickets along with a host of other insects covered the bare dirt mound. Dew covered the grass and saturated the ground.
A bloody hand punched through the loose packed soil. A second followed the first. They disappeared for a moment and then punched back through at the same instant tossing away chunks of earth allowing Nathan Algren to burst through the earth.
He gasped for breath as he pushed himself further out of the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest, he felt dizzy as he tried to collect his thoughts.
The last few minutes were fuzzy.
Those strange robed men; made his skin crawl like he was sleeping in a bed of squirming worms and maggots. They had been tough, faster then any man he had ever faced before, but they died just the same.
Remembered pain flashed through his head. Twin blades pierced his chest at almost the same second. He died, his heart stopped beating.
He looked down; his hands brushed dirt from his chest. There were no wounds and the only scars on his body had been there since his first battle with Katsumoto; when he killed Taka's husband, or longer.
Not even the wounds he suffered when he rode at Katsumoto's side had left a scar. He had gone to bed after his extended visit with Emperor Meiji and woke up more then a day later completely healed. Perhaps the maids who kept saying he had been dead hadn't been that far off.
Why was he allowed to live while so many others died?
"Kela?" He whispered.
Those men had been after her. He was sure of that. Those daggers were thrown at Kela's back. He had thrown himself in the way taking both daggers in his chest.
He pushed himself out of his grave knocking his katana over in his rush. For a confused moment he gazed at the sword before hefting its familiar weight. Unconcerned with the dirt covering his body Nathan rushed towards the house he had called home for the last hundred and twenty-seven years.
Kela was his utmost concern right now. She was still in danger and would need him to protect her.
All he needed to do was reach her in time.