Pairing: None Rating: G Spoilers: None, really. Set in a general S3verse. Summary: Buffy and Co. wonder why life is so dull on the Hellmouth Author's Notes: This one comes to you courtesy of Ragna's Gloveslap #83 on You Got The Stones? for a BtVS or AtS fic set in one's hometown. Welcome to my nightmare... er... Alameda, CA. While most of the events in this story are exaggerated, they all have much stronger roots in reality than I would like to admit. Dedication: To Ragna, who is sick and twisted beyond all comprehension. And to my beloved husband, who used to play at Java Rama every Wednesday night. It was another Wednesday night on the Hellmouth. Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordelia huddled together around the too small table in Java Rama. Oz and Willow attempted to play chess, ignoring Xander's frequent - and unhelpful - suggestions as the game progressed. Cordelia paused in her manicure only long enough to move her nail polish when Oz moved his bishop to the square it rested on. Buffy read the book she held avidly. At last, Willow had to ask. "What'cha reading, Buff?" The Slayer looked up, startled. "Who me? Nothing. Just catching up on some reading for English. See? English book." She held up the exhibit for the defense. Oz peered around the binding and nodded. "Very educational. Y'know, I don't remember anyone called Esmerelda or Hugo in The Scarlet Letter." "You don't? Maybe you forgot." At the combined smirks around the table, Buffy deflated. "Okay, okay, I'm reading a romance novel. It's not like I have anywhere in town to get the book I'm supposed to be reading. Waldenbooks is out of it, the used bookstore on the corner of Park and Central went out of business, the only other used book place in town I swear is run by some kind of anti-bookselling demon, and the only bookstore on Bayfarm Island is way hyper-religious and wouldn't carry a book about some Pilgrim woman getting groinal with a preacher. Unless Giles makes some headway with the City Council, I'm flunking English." "Don't worry, Buff," Willow consoled her friend. "I'm sure Giles will get through to them this time. After all, the voters passed the measure to build a new library. Now they have to do it." "Yeah, they passed it all right," Buffy returned, "just like the one they passed about twenty years ago. And the one they passed about ten years ago. Research man has been on the case. Pretty amazing what he can do with a dictionary and My Friend Flicka." The teens barely turned their heads to look as the police came and hauled away the musicians for making too much noise with their acoustic set of folk rock songs. From across the road, the Zydeco strains from the Eagles Hall filled the coffee house. Nobody paid any attention to the dwarfish bandmember who kept saying he wasn't ashamed of what he would have to do to stay alive in prison. Xander held out his hand. "Eight-twenty-five, guys. What did I tell you?" Oz shook his head. "I gotta stop guessing nine o'clock. You're cleaning me out." Xander continued to hold his hand out under Cordelia's nose. At last she looked up from her nails. "What?" "Pay up. You guessed they'd make it through the whole set. They didn't." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Can't you wait until my nails are dry? Why are we here again, anyway?" "Gee, I dunno, Cordy," her boyfriend drawled. "Could it be the fact that there's no movie theater, no clubs that allow the under twenty-one crowd, and the mall is deader than Buffy's boyfriend? We got nothing to do but come to Java Rama and take bets on what time the cops come and bust the band." "You're not wrong there," Buffy agreed. "And the City is still saying opening a Lyon's will bring the 'wrong element' into town. It's stupid. What's so wrong about wanting a place you can get fries at Midnight after a long night of Slaying?" "Does it strike anyone else as funny that there's no cemeteries at all on the Hellmouth?" Willow asked nobody in particular. "Not to mention no place to get really good French cuisine," Cordelia agreed. Buffy frowned. "Do demons like French food?" "Only when they can't get good Thai," Oz observed. "Everyone at the bowling alley looks at you all funny if you try to go in there," Xander added. "Uh oh," Oz said. "I don't think Giles made much headway tonight." The others looked to the doorway to see their Librarian friend totter into the room, spitting feathers from his mouth as he approached. He was covered in tar as well. "Okay," Buffy teased, "I know I've told you about a zillion times that you need a new look, but you really didn't have to go this far." Giles glared at his Slayer as he tried to wipe the tar off his glasses. "Bloody cretins grabbed me as soon as I got to the microphone. They said they didn't want to listen to my Communistic insanity anymore. Of course, they took the fellow who blathers on at every Council meeting about aliens from another planet and secret Government plots to keep us from learning about them quite seriously." When he went to sit, Buffy grabbed her sweater off the back of the chair hurriedly so it wouldn't be ruined. "At least you tried," she told him. "That's something." "But the voters want a library," Willow protested. "They said so." "Yes, I understand that, Willow," Giles said evenly, "just as they want a dog park and a film theater and good schools. Unfortunately, the wishes of the voters seem to make little difference to the City Council. They certainly won't listen to me; I'm a foreigner. Of course, they consider people from Oakland, which is right across the bridge, to be foreigners." "Yeah, especially if they aren't white," Xander reminded him. Buffy flung her book down petulantly. "I so hate this place," she muttered as Oz and Willow's chess pieces scattered. "There's nothing to do, and if this is the best coffee in town, I may give up drinking it altogether." "Which might not be such a bad thing," Oz said. "A caffienated Slayer does not seem to be a happy Slayer." "I'm sorry, guys," Buffy said. "I know I shouldn't be cranky girl, but this place is so dead. It gives me the wiggins. I swear my kill count is way down since I moved here. You'd think there'd be more to Slay on the Hellmouth." Giles sat up straighter and whipped his glasses off his face - slowly because they were still gummy with tar. "Good lord!" he exclaimed. "What is it, Giles?" Willow asked nervously. "This has been their plan all along. Buffy, the reason you can't find demons and vampires to kill is because they've all gone away. Even the power of the Hellmouth isn't enough to keep them here. That's it. Buffy, we have to move." "Really?" The girl perked up immediately. "Where?" "I'm not sure, really. Perhaps San Francisco. Perhaps New York. Anywhere that's more interesting than Alameda." "You mean...?" "Yes, Buffy. Even the demons don't want to live in this boring hell hole."