The Journey From Death to Scooby
I look at the note someone slid under my door and frown. I have been in Cascade for a little over five weeks now and I've finally settled in. The fact that I don't have to hide who I am from those close to me is a refreshing change after centuries in the shadows, but still there is something odd about that note. It's not my paranoia trying to reassert itself, it's merely that it is different. I don't think they intended the note to be anything special, there are no signs of an impending apocalypse or anything like that --and I do mean literally-- but I'm having a hard time coming to terms with what it says. It's basically a message to tell me that tomorrow we will have a general meeting with all the Scoobies and that's what's weird.
It seems that sometime during this past month I have been added to that select group and I'm having some trouble adjusting to the idea. I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. I used to be known as Death, and my name alone was enough to instill fear in the hearts of the inhabitants of three different continents. I'm the embodiment of destruction in the Bible for crying out loud, and yet...
I'm not proud of what I did, of who I was, but still to go from Death to Scooby is a radical change to say the least... and the worst part is that if they wanted to, this little group of mortals could probably make the Horsemen look like a bunch of schoolyard bullies without even breaking a sweat.
I guess it's not so much that I'm having a hard time relating to the people as to the name. They are probably the most powerful force in the world and what do they choose as their name, their symbol? A cowardly cartoon great dane, of course. I can't wait until this batch of misfits decides that they must design a logo for the new watchers... that should turn out to be interesting. Maybe Andrew would be willing to take over that particular task. Luckily they seem to be less inclined to use tattoos as means of identifying each other.
At least in that regard they seem to have more sense than those who watch Immortals... I mean, if nothing else they seem to realize that permanently branding the members of a secret society in a clearly visible and easily falsified fashion is not a particularly bright idea. That should be a comforting thought if it weren't for the nagging questions as to whether that's due to common sense, or if it's merely because the idea of tattoos clashes with Buffy's fashion sense.
The fact that they don't take themselves too seriously is a refreshing change, except sometimes I wish they would... take themselves seriously that is. Or at least I wish they would take me seriously. For millennia I have been trying to leave Death behind and now that it seems like I've finally succeeded I'm starting to doubt whether or not that was such a good idea in the first place. After all, a little respect is a good thing. I mean, I mentioned this to Willow and what did she do about it? The next morning she sent me an e-mail informing me that she had taken the liberty of resetting my database access password to 'Flora' that's what she did... and I know it was not a coincidence. She knew I would get the reference --which has nothing to do with plants-- in fact I never expected her to know about that one. At least I'm grateful she just changed my password and didn't mess with my login. A password is private, getting 'Flora' as a screen name would have been too much, especially since I suspect that Willow wouldn't have been the only one to get that reference... Giles was there when I complained about the change --probably a little more loudly than I should have-- and I swear I heard him snickering. I could have lived with that particular incident if it had been something exceptional, but unfortunately it was far from an isolated event.
Like the other day. I confess I snapped when I told them that they should respect their elders, but really, these kids can try a saint's patience without even trying and I'm the first to admit that I'm no saint. Still, I think it was rude for the brat --I mean for Dawn-- to retort that maybe I should practice what I preach... so what if she used to be a ball of mystical energy for untold eons? As a human being she's not even four!
Of course, to that I have to add Blair's incessant questions. Even though he knows better than to write any of it down he is one of the most curious individuals I've ever encountered... and then I have my own personal hell: sparring with Buffy. It seems the watcher decided that my immortality could come in handy in order to save himself some bruises. Okay, he may have a point when he argues that I have more fighting experience so I can teach her more than he ever could, and the fact that she doesn't have to hold back against me is another critical advantage: She knows that as long as she doesn't behead me I'll be just fine. I'm even willing to admit that she's not the only one who benefits from those training sessions, my own speed has improved dramatically as a result of that sparring, she's faster than any Immortal could ever hope to be but still I have one thing to say in that regard: 'OUCH!'. That's right, I speak literally hundreds of languages --living and dead-- and I've been reduced to one little almost universal exclamation of pain.
I guess the worst part is that in spite of everything they are an incredibly effective group when they set their hearts to something... sometimes in spite of themselves. I have seen it in the short time I've been working with them. They are setting up a secret organization and they had done so in a remarkable way. No one in his right mind would expect to find anything like that in this place and they have successfully mixed magic and technology to cover their tracks. That --combined with their mere appearance, their childish pranks and their juvenile sense of humor-- makes up the perfect smoke screen. This place looks more like an out of control frat house than secret headquarters... or at least it would if it weren't for the fact that Jim sticks out like a sore thumb.
Maybe I shouldn't be trying to act my age after all... it's not like I'm looking forward to keeping Jim company in the sore thumb department. After all, if I'm no longer Death, then I might as well try to be the best Scooby I can be and have some fun while I'm at it. I've spent thousands of years learning to blend in and maybe it's time for me to test those skills once again. And on a positive note, at least they are not particularly inclined to bouts of brooding... I guess that's something.
I wonder how my private journals about these days will read like a hundred years from now.
Author's Note: Let's just say that the references to 'Flora' have to do with a less-than-polite expression in Spanish used to describe someone who doesn't know what he, or rather she, wants and leave it at that (and for those who speak Spanish the Flora thing goes something like this: La gata Flora, cuando se lo meten grita, cuando se lo sacan llora).