"Kathleen? I-I need to tell ye something." Angelus found the words very hard to get out--he'd been dreading this day for years.

She looked up from the now-neat bed that Eppie had helped her put back in order, and settled her gaze on her brother. "Go on, then."

Giving her a brave smile--and yet wringing his hands behind his back--Angelus continued. "This is somethin' I should've told ye a long time ago." He sighed, slightly. "But, there be nothin' to be done about that, now."

The eldest O'Malley brother paused, searching for the right words. Kathleen, sensing his discomfort, brought her hand up to his, comfortingly. Angelus smiled at the sign of affection from his Slayer, and went on. "I were wondering, have ye ever noticed some of the--er--'odd things' that keep happenin'? How Maighred, and, sometimes, Da, woul' go out at night, and come home bruised?"

Cyranainia blinked, wondering what point her brother was stabbing at. "Aye, a bit. I guess I didna make much of it, though. Why?"

"D-do ye remember when Uncle Niall died so suddenly? And yer friend, Fainche?"

"Aye." Kathleen nodded, growing wary of where the conversation was headed.

"Kathleen," Angelus said, "they were killed by v-vampires..."

It was an hour or so later when Terris returned, deeply out of breath--and, from the way his hands fidgeted, deeply shaken.

Two pairs of deep brown eyes pinned the young man as he entered what was left of Cyranainia's room. Seeing his siblings' questioning gazes, Terris nodded, grimly.

"Aye. Maighred, Da, Artwick, and 'is wife -- all

dead."Angelus let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Och...no," he mumbled, then swore, softly.

Kathleen raised her head to meet the eyes of her brothers. "So. Now I be this -- this...what did ye call it, Angelus? Slayer?" At his nod, she continued, "and I slay -- vampires?"

Noting her confusion and disbelief, Angelus sighed. "Aye, right. I know it sounds a bit like a tale, but it be true." A plan of action formed in his head as he spoke, "come with me, tonight, Kathleen. I'll prove it to ye."

Muffled noises were audible from some distance away: tinny, off-key music, husky laughter, and voices too loud and rough to be from anyone sober. The area stank of unclean, sweaty bodies and ill-kept bars, and was no prettier to look at. The lamp-lighters rarely ventured far into such a notoriously dangerous part of town, and so much of the place was shrouded in smoky, noisy darkness. An occasional figure wandered the streets, mainly thieves and drunks.

"So I say's to meself, 'well, it couldna be worse,' I say's. I didna know that 'er husband be in ta town, though..." The rambling drunkard trailed off, belched, and continued on with a completely different thought. "Did ye ever know that I were a locksmith, once? Did I tell ye that, lad?"

The small, dirty boy that was helping the drunk along grunted roughly in response. The effects of his own drinking were showing, though his size and build revealed him as not even in his teens--a little young, perhaps, to be drinking so much. He slowed for a moment, swayed under the bulk of his companion and the alcohol in his system, then continued on down the alley.

The man paid no heed to the change in pace, nor too much else, it seemed. His earlier train of thought abandoned, he started of again, this time singing. Badly.

"O, weile while-oh, hicupin ti-ro,
Catch a cat 'n quicker-'n-that,
Yull have tae see 'is dotter..."

The nonsense song continued for a few moments, until his attention, once again, drifted, and he fumbled into peels of drunken laughter.

Another staggering figure approached the two, presumably just another poor man who'd spent the evening ridding himself of his daily woes through drink. The boy stiffened as the man approached, almost imperceptibly.

"Ho, there!" called out the figure, speech slurred. "Ye wouldna 'appen to 'ave a bit o' drink fer a poor soul?"

The boy-supported drunk swung his arm up, displaying an ancient-looking flask, and nearly toppling himself and his support with the jerky movement. "Sure, me friend! Help yerself!"

"I will," smiled the figure, whose speech had suddenly become clear, and stance had, just as quickly, straightened.

As the vampire lunged at what seemed to be easy prey, he was shocked to find a skillfully controlled fist slamming swiftly into his solar plexus. By the time he recovered, the vampire managed to register the burning sensation in his face as the result of a cross being held mere inches away. Jerking back violently, the still-confused vampire felt something enter his back, and stab deeply into his chest. Before he had time to even feel the resulting pain, the vamp didn't feel anything, anymore.

"And that," Angelus intoned, now completely out of his 'drunken slouch' over his sister, "is how we slay a vampire."

Please, sir, could I have some feedback?

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