When Ethan Met Tucker

A man walks down a quiet street. To occupy his thoughts he describes the scene to himself, musing on the beauties of the late fall night. "The moon is a silver princess, trailing a gown of silver stars. The autumnal air is languid or crisp or who the hell knows. Oh, Christ, I need a drink." Ethan stops to take stock. It's all very well to tart up this piss ant town on the edge of Western civilization in poetic similes, but he's had a bad shock and needs a watering hole to dive into.

There was probably a bar somewhere close. A small-town gay bar? All the different clientele forced in close proximity. Leather boys, mascaraed queens, some shy college freshmen peeking out of the closet. Amusing, but Ethan doesn't have the energy for it right now. He remembers "Willy's" from the last time he was in town, seedy and usually quiet. Just the place for a man to collect his thoughts.

It's the same humble establishment Ethan remembers. The capitalist system at work. If you have the only demon bar in town, there's no competitive spur to make you improve the decor, or even get rid of that musty smell. Ethan takes a stool at the bar.

"Hey, how you doing? Long time no see."

"You flatter me, Willy. I wouldn't think you'd remember me. But that's the sign of a good bartender."

"Humans are easier for me." Willy leans toward Ethan, says in a low voice, "Demons, I can get mixed up. That's why I just call everybody 'buddy' or 'pal'. Saves embarrassing moments. So what're you having?"

"I don't suppose you carry a great brandy? I could use some fortifying."

Willy turns to look at some bottles on the back shelf, "I don't stock anything too fancy, you know, cause I have to carry a wider range of stuff than most bars. Blood, orangutan, otter; liver bile; other fluids. Most humans just stick to beer and whiskey. Here we go!" Willy lifts a squat bottle from the collection, holding it for Ethan to see. "How's this?"

"That'll do nicely, thank you. Leave the bottle."

Other customers come in, a party of demons and a few humans. Willy goes off to serve them. Ethan sits contemplating his drink.

Why can't he stay away from Sunnyvale? There's evil to be had all over the world. Though bringing Chaos to a place as staid as this hamlet has an added i frisson /i . Is it the flitting in and out of Rupert's life that's so appealing? Throwing a spanner in the works for the Watcher? Ethan certainly likes that. Likes reminding the pompous do-gooder that he, Ethan, remembers an altogether different Rupert.

But that's what got Ethan in these tacky surroundings right now. A glimpse of the past. Swallowing the last of his second brandy, Ethan feels no closer to getting a grip on the thing. He's been dealt a huge handful of cards, too many to arrange into suits or sense. Tonight he saw Ripper.

Ethan had had a plan. Magic candy, sacrificial victims, Sunnydale in an uproar. Well, Trick had that plan. Ethan's had a narrower focus. A Watcher and Slayer tweaked again by an old friend. Can't say that his thinking went far beyond that. To be confronted with that "tableau vivant" of his past. No, it wouldn't be a tableau if it were moving about, would it? Still, the pack of fags rolled in the shirt sleeve. The rough accent. It was all his Ripper.

Loudish voices grabbed Ethan's attention. Further down the bar Willy was arguing with a dark-haired young man. "No, you cause trouble. And I don't need trouble." Willy set his mouth in a thin line.

"Shit, that was the guys I was with last time. Tourists. Fucking assholes I met online. I only brought them here to impress them. I didn't know they couldn't hold their liquor. C'mon, Willy, one beer, Sunnydale is nuts tonight. My Mom wanted me to teach her how to "vogue" or some shit"

"No, you're too young to be drinking in here. You gotta be 21. Those are the rules"

"Rules?" The young man barked a laugh and looked around at the bar's clientele.

He made eye contact with Ethan, who said, "Don't wish to intrude, but in my country, the drinking age is 18."

"That's because it's a country that uses its fucking brain."

"In that matter, yes. Barkeep, suppose I were to order drinks and take them, say over there, to that table, surely there'd be no objection to that, would there?"

Willy shrugged. "No trouble!" he said to the boy.

Ethan put a bill on the bar, "This should cover it. I'll just take this bottle and a beer, if you will." He nodded at the younger man to pick up his drink and follow him. When they settled, he said, "And who is it with whom I'm sharing libations?"

"Huh? Oh, my name, right? Tucker. Tucker Wells. And, hey, thanks for the beer."

Ethan nodded slightly, "Ethan. It seems, Tucker, that you've been here before. The demons don't put you off?"

"Shit, no. I grew up in this town. I used to think it was the most boring place on earth. You know, like they could have a sign with that motto. 'Welcome to Sunnydale.'" He stretched his arms to illustrate his words. "'You Might As Well Blow Your Brains Out Now.' But I've learned a few things since then."

"Oh, yes? And what would they be?"

"That there are places like this here, you know, with fucking demons in them." An apprehensive look passed over Tucker's face and he sat back farther in his chair. "Hey, you're not a vampire or something, are you?"

"And I'd be bound by the Vampire's Code to tell you if I were?' inquired Ethan. "But no, you can put your hand on my chest to hear the heartbeat, if you like." Tucker bit his lip, looking confused; Ethan went on, "Or perhaps, the wrist will do." He held out his hand, palm up.

The boy pressed a couple of fingers on Ethan's skin to feel his pulse. Satisfied, he took a long drink of his beer and assumed some of his former swagger. "You can't be too careful with that shit. You know, vampires."

"Yes, they can be cheeky devils. So what do you do to keep yourself amused in Sunnydale? How do you take advantage of some of its peculiarities, beside trying to con Willie out of bad beer, that is?"

"I practice Black Magic," the boy said. "The real thing."

"Do you? That sounds intriguing. Does the practice produce any result?"

Tucker's words tumbled over themselves, "Yeah, it's fucking great. I can do all kinds of stuff. It's great. Last year I knew this guy who could bring back the dead, well, almost, but he was really a fucking idiot, and he turned out to be all talk. But I got a lot of plans, you know." His voice petered out as Ethan gazed steadily at him. Then Tucker started again, "I don't really have a handle on it yet. I have ideas but, sometimes, I get distracted...and shit." He glanced around the room. "I guess if you hang out here, you know about this stuff, huh?"

"Well, I've cast a few spells, yes. It does take discipline to stay the course. But I was a young practitioner once, too. I know the frustrations."

Tucker was animated again. "Tell me about it! Even my lame little brother managed to pull off something that made everybody take notice. Flying monkeys, man. All over the school auditorium. It cracked my shit up. You should have seen everybody screaming and running. 'Course, I taught the freak everything he knows."

"Your brother?" Ethan found the brandy was affecting his ability to follow Tucker's rambling narrative.

"Yeah, his concentration is better than mine. You know, this is my senior year and I got lots on my mind. Mostly I just want to get out of that hellhole school with those pricks. I mean, they're so moronic. I got held back one year and I'm older than them, but they treat me like shit." Tucker looked at the beer like it made him angry and took a big gulp. Ethan saw the discontented young man in front him and thought of himself and Ripper. Were they ever as callow as this boy? Probably. Almost certainly. All the anger radiating from Tucker was making Ethan feel quite nostalgic.

As if seeing his erstwhile lover earlier wasn't enough to trigger nostalgia, but he wasn't a boy anymore, was he? Ripper. He's old and a little thick in the middle. And Ethan is getting confused about time, because the emotions he feels are those of the twenty-year-old. Time was, Ethan glanced at his wrists, time was, a rampaging Ripper putting him in handcuffs would have had a different ending than today's.

Really, did the man think he'd be there when his Robin Hood band came back for him? Did they come back, or had they completely dismissed Ethan?

Tucker, full of himself and beer, was going on. Ethan used that trick he learned so long ago in school. The slight lean forward, the slow blink, the tiniest tilt of the head. It all conveyed 'enthralled with your discourse', when actually his mind was miles away.

Miles away, years away. To smoky bars, loud parties, deserted alleys. He and Ripper. Ethan told himself he simply must stop this maudlin stream of reminiscence. What good did it do? He had lost irrevocably all those years between his Ripper and this one, this dressed-down Watcher. The thought flitted through of a spell...one to keep Rupert in this state. That'd be the cat among the canaries. But no, Ethan told himself to move on. Just take what today offered. The past is past.

The boy across the table from him, when you came to it, was attractive. Ethan didn't think it was the brandy, though he'd made that mistake in the past. Perhaps he should attend a little closer to the words coming out of those rosy lips.

"...but it's hard to get hold of a good quality skull, you know. Unless you have connections or go looking for yourself, and, really, I like to stay out of the graveyards around here."

"Another beer?" Ethan signaled to Willy without waiting for an answer.

"Hey, thanks! It's great being able to talk about this shit with somebody who gets it. I'm thinking I want to do something...I don't know...big, you know. To show these douchbags what I think of them. Maybe at graduation. Something that they'll always remember.

"I take it you mean something even more impressive than, what was it? Flying monkeys?"

Yeah, yeah." Tucker moved restlessly in his chair. "That was good, but I need to out-do it, you know, if only to rub my brother's nose in it."

Ethan reached over to pat Tucker's hand. "Very well. We'll think of something quite stupendous. Now, will money or space be considerations?"

The boy seemed to be working things out in his mind. "Well, I've got some cash I've saved for the prom. I'm thinking of doing the limo thing and all. You know, lame ass corsage and shit. But I haven't asked anybody. And I've got a credit card. Not mine, but useable."

"Excellent start." Perhaps Ethan should bring up the fact that he has some useful texts back in his motel room. "Well, there's transmogrification, that's always fun. Changing someone into an animal of some sort." Ethan saw Tucker looked rather blank-faced. "But perhaps, you want something a little more widespread, and that's a bit difficult for the beginner."

"Yeah, I'm looking to put them all in panic mode. Lots of screaming. And shit."

Ethan sighed. As much as he tried to delude himself, this boy wasn't Ripper. For one thing, Ripper, even with his lower-class playacting, had had a better vocabulary. "Would an invasion of rats be the thing, do you think? Too predictable?"

"Yeah, that sounds kinda tired and lame. If it could be something that could take on some of the football team. You know, the guys who push you out of the way in the halls. I'd really like to bitch slap them."

"Yes, those types are eternally with us. I can sympathize." Ethan searched his memories, and then the light of an idea flickered in his eyes. "I think I have it. It will take some initial outlay investment and it can be labor- intensive, but for general pandemonium, I think you'll get your money's worth."

"No shit?"

"No, indeed," Ethan replied dryly. "They're called Hellhounds. Sort of a Rottweiler grown large." He leaned back in his chair and said, "Are you sure you're up to carrying this off? It's not something you can stop in the middle of."

The second beer had affected Tucker. His eyes had a glassy sheen and his voice went up a few decibels. "Man, that is just what I want. You're the shit, man. Really, I mean it." He made a vague hand gesture which almost toppled his glass which made him giggle. Ethan saw Willy shoot a hard glance over in their direction.

Suddenly Ethan was tired, of this town, of this bar, of this boy. He'd had these moods of his descend before. It was one of the reasons he was a wandering mage. It was as though he was a sponge incapable of absorbing one more drop of liquid from the environment, and he needed some sunny beach to dry out on. He wondered fleetingly if he would have settled on that metaphor had he'd been sober. He thought not. He made a decision. "I have all the instruction you need for this. Give me an address to send it to. I'd stay and help, but recent events make it advisable for me to seek other climes." Seeing Tucker looking befuddled, he added, "I have to leave town."

"Oh yeah, I get it." Tucker unzipped his fanny pack, took a page from a small notebook and wrote his name and address on it. "This is so cool, that I ran into you. You won't forget?" He handed the slip of paper to Ethan who had stood up.

"No, of course not. I consider you to be a sorcerer's apprentice. It's my duty to the art to help with your instruction." Ethan put his hand on Tucker's head and looked into his somewhat bleary eyes. Tucker gave out a small belch. "Good night, dear boy," Ethan said, grabbed the brandy bottle and made his way out of the bar.

He knew he could have had Tucker's company for the night; the boy was crying out for some handling. But the thought of waking up and having Tucker ask if he wanted 'to go to breakfast or some shit', well, he found he couldn't face it. It was Ripper's fault. Ethan couldn't shake him and what they had had from his mind.

When he reached his motel he packed and stowed his bag in the rental car. He thought Las Vegas might as well be his next stop. Bright lights, a little gambling. And perhaps, afterwards, some serious thinking about how to truly annoy a Watcher.