Fairness and fairness only.

Timothy Fellows, Liberal Democratic Party, Member of Parliament. Government Equality Office.

[timothyfellows]

Timothy Fellows announces MI-12 restructures, MIRA re-vote and plans to run for Prime Minister

There’s even much fear and doubt these past days, weeks, months, many of it experienced by me. But I know what you all want to know. The question that has passed throughout our city, our country, our world this past twenty-four hours. What has happened to let our city fall victim to such disaster? The answer is, our own government has betrayed us. Prime Minister Damien Clarke was a sick man. He attempted to buy his immortality with innocent lives and with the freedom of the men and women who keep us safe. Mr. Clarke opened the Hellmouth in a ritual that required slayers to willingly donate their blood. It also required a life to be sacrificed, the heart of a demon, aggressive or not. The identity of the demon who was sacrificed remains unknown. I am telling you this because our prime minister misled you and I believe now, more than ever, you deserve the truth.

MIRA was not for your safety but for his own goals. Blood given upon voluntary registration was part of what cost so many people their lives. This is why I beg those of us who make up our restructured government to vote again on MIRA - and I urge us to vote no. I would also like to announce that I will be rubbing for the spot of Prime Minister of Great Britain in our upcoming elections.

I have spoken to those in charge of our military. They have informed me that agents of MI-12 were instrumental in preventing the demons freed from the Hellmouth from spreading. Their knowledge, strength and cooperation saved many innocent lives, as did the cooperation and strength of the many independent slayers, watchers and individuals who fought for us that day. This is what they have done all along. Protected us. It is for that reason that I am pleased to announce the Minister of Defence’s plans to incorporate the watchers and slayers of the council into our existing law enforcement and military infrastructure, along with anyone else who wishes to serve the cause those people fought for yesterday. They will have their own division with equal say and leadership to those already in our military intelligence sectors.

Yesterday, an apocalypse was thrust upon us. But that apocalypse is not over. We have not ceased in destroying lives until we cease in the victimisation of those who protect our very freedoms, out very well beings, who fight so we don’t have to. Today, we are cancelling the apocalypse. Repairs and cleanup operations will begin immediately. We will reclaim our country and the rights of its citizens and go forth to create a world brighter than the one we woke up in yesterday. Thank you for your time.

[slayersummers]

[pm] It’s been a bad day. You can talk to Giles. He’s good. 

[timothyfellows]

[pm] Yeah, alright. I'll do that. Stay safe, Buffy.

[timothyfellows]

Phone Call @ Buffy

Buffy: We'll definitely--[Hears screaming from nearby] I gotta go. Thanks for everything, Tim.

Tim: Go, go. Try and check in later. I want to know you made it through this alive, alright? Got a feeling we're gonna need each other.

[timothyfellows]

Phone Call @ Buffy

Buffy: Yeah, we do. We're on this, we'll figure something out. [Fails to mention the last time this happened they left a crater where the town used to be] Try and stay safe, okay? If you have a spare second to get the heck out of London, take it. And as many other people as you can with you.

Tim: They're doing evacuations right now, out to safe areas. [He sighed, rubbing his brow] I'll do my best, yeah? You lot be safe. Safe as you can be, with this going on.

[timothyfellows]

Phone Call @ Buffy

Buffy: Yeah, yeah it's me. And who's--[Takes a minute to register who the voice is] Timothy? Gone? What building is--[Shares a look with Xander] Shit. You need to get out of there, /now/. Evacuate the entire area. Those things aren't normal vampires, Tim.

Tim: I have! We're locked in the underground. Westminster Station. They're putting up barricades--this is something your lot fight, isn't it? I reckon those firemen and police aren't gonna be much good. [His voice was tight, strained and with a note of controlled panic]

[timothyfellows]

Phone Call @ Buffy

Tim: [dials the number, hands shaking]

Buffy: [Stops dialing Spike's number and picks up] Hello?

Tim: Buffy! It's Buffy, yeah? [He coughed up dust, covering his mouth with his sleeve.] It's gone. The building collapsed. Some--/things/ are coming out of the ground.

[timothyfellows]

Phone Call @ Buffy

Tim: [dials the number, hands shaking]

[timothyfellows]

On The Mouth Of Hell || Tim Solo

Spring had seemed to forget about itself. Either that, or it had been fed up enough to tuck itself away again. Tim was hit by the cold wind as he exited the train station at Westminster. As usual, nobody bothered him. He didn't have a recognizeable enough face to make a difference, even with how outspoken he'd been about these damn laws. It hadn't mattered in the end. They had passed them through anyway. The thoughts hung like a weight around his neck as he eased through the London commuters. His mouth still had that strange feeling, the unpleasant taste of mouthwash the dentist used. It was the only reason he didn't have a morning coffee in his hand to drop when he saw the sight of it. "Oh my god," someone had cried, in a voice that shrank with disbelief as the fear grew. Tim's eyes widened as the explosion of brick and rubble threw up a crowd of dust as the building shrank, imploding on itself as the earth shook and groaned. Parliament was collapsing. He'd thought the words just says ago, but they had been a figure of speech then. Now, it was real. "Come on, get back," he called, demanding as much authority over the situation as he could. Half the onlookers were more worried about taking videos on their camera-phones than getting out of dodge. "Oi," he shouted at a nearby pimple-faced teen, waving his iphone around as though he were filming his cat with a bad case of the sneezes. "Get on that phone and ring the bloody emergency services, would you?" It wasn't a question. It was an order. The adolescent's face blanched and with hands shaking, he began to phone, but it might have been too late. If they were lucky, perhaps they'd rescue some of his co-workers but Tim had seen enough disasters on the news to know that nobody would come out of that building the same, even if they did come out alive. The streets were still shaking, people were screaming, running, panicking, and Tim couldn't blame them. He very well might have been one of them. The shaking of the ground was so intense that when the rubble began to move, Tim might very well have been imagining it. Nothing was stable. Not the economy, not politics, and certainly not the pile of crumbled brick that had been a London landmark - and had held several hundred lives. His heart froze in his chest when he saw it. "Move!" he cried again, his voice authoritive and pleading at the same time. It was grey-white, wide-browed and long-fanged. It had claws that protuded from long, thin fingers, pulling the mounds of earth aside as it climbed out. Demon. Vampire. Monster. The supernatural world had seen politicians do enough damage, and it was fighting back. A dozen clawed hands joined the fray, brothers and sisters of ill-intent and animalistic desire pushing through the collapsed building and into the grey afternoon. He needed to find Buffy Summers. Now.

[slayersummers]

[pm] It hasn’t passed yet and it’s not your fault. There’s still a chance they’ll shut it down, right?

[timothyfellows]

[pm] Yeah. 'Course.

[slayersummers]

[pm] Thanks for the head’s up, Timothy. You’ve…really been a great help. 

[timothyfellows]

[pm] Not a good enough help if this thing passes.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Strangers in a Bar || Penelope and Timothy

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Timothy Fellows was watching her closely, she realized. Searching. Curious. Penelope’s smile widened, even glinted in the dim lighting as he surveyed her, calibrating his opinion with growing interest and, if she said so herself, a hint of pleasure. Her efforts to look her best and most appealing had not gone to waste then. But what were those cogs in that handsome head of his working towards? The drink had certainly startled him. He wasn’t caught off-guard, he was too used to the antics of the public for that perhaps, but it had been a surprise. Did he take her for a femme-fatale, perhaps? Or perhaps he supposed she was some acquaintance whose face he had misplaced. Perhaps, most shocking of all, he simply wondered what a stranger who bothered to surreptitiously buy him a drink might want. She had been purposely flirtatious, but she was hardly the first woman to use that as a friendly door-opener for higher aims.

He nodded when she asked if he wanted some company and offered her the seat next to him. “Just for the one drink, though,” he said. “I have to get back to the office after, and I doubt they’ll be all that forgiving if I come back in drunk.”

“Fair enough,” Penelope conceded. She gathered her things and glided to the seat Timothy had offered with quick ease. Her smile stayed in place, glinting and shimmering the way the fire from candlelight shifted and teased with the shadows after nightfall. She settled into the seat gracefully and raised her vodka tonic fondly to him in thanks before taking another sip.

“If the lady would like to join me for lunch, you can add her food order to mine, alright?”

Penelope beamed, the appropriate picture of flattered and pleased. “Buying me lunch? That’s thoughtful of you.” Simpering with satisfaction, Penelope turned to the bar tender and ordered a light sandwich and chips. He nodded, exchanged a curious look with the pair of them, and then disappeared to the kitchen. Penelope returned her attention to Timothy again.

He was looking at her again, this time from over the rim of his glass. He sipped slowly, then said, “I’m Tim. I should know your name if you’re gonna be buying me drinks, don’t you reckon?”

“Ah-ah, just the one,” Penelope replied coyly. “As per request of the gentleman.” She offered him her hand. “Penelope. Just Pen, if you like; everyone calls me that. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tim.” She tilted her head and gave him a warm expression. “Now what’s this about the unforgiving office? Or am I not allowed to ask?” She twirled her glass between her fingers and stole a glance out the window. Snowing was showering the city in quite the hurry. “Not to say that mine would be any more pleased if I came in sloshed either. I’ve only come here for this because we all got away early on account of the ghastly weather.” She took another look out, a little thoughtful. “What do you think, Tim? Do you suppose it’ll get as bad as they say?”

[timothyfellows]

“Buying me lunch? That’s thoughtful of you.” "Yeah, well," he replied, his casual smile crossing his pleasantly dark features. "I am a civil servant, after all." He was doing well today. Quite the witty, endearing remark, if he did say so himself. His new lunch partner smiled, ordering herself a lightly grilled sandwich and chips. Timothy nodded, taking the extra money out of his wallet to pay. She caught onto the fact he was looking at her, still trying to work out if this was all just flirtation or if there was a hidden agenda hiding behind the stranger's alluring smile and dazzling green eyes. What had he done to be worthy of all her attention? He'd been in the papers, yeah, and by now he was past the point of believing that she didn't know who he was. She hadn't asked what he did for a living when he'd said he had to go back to the office for lunch. Dead giveaway. “Penelope. Just Pen, if you like; everyone calls me that," she answered when he asked for her name, before adding "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tim.” "Pleasure's all mine." Cheesy, he thought as he took a drink of his scotch, but he might've been able to get away with it. In that moment, he felt like a black James Bond, able to drop just about any cliched, cringe-worthy string of words and get away with it because the chemistry was right. "Penelope," he added, resisting the urge to tell her how lovely her name was. That stank of not even trying. It did give weight to her accent, though. Posh as they came. Probably from a good family, the sort with money and prestige. “Now what’s this about the unforgiving office? Or am I not allowed to ask?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Alright, so he'd been wrong. She hadn't known. Or she was playing coy. He got the feeling he wouldn't be able to work it out, even if she was, but he answered anyway, casual as slippers on a Sunday morning. "You can ask." He took another sip of his drink, shrugging behind his smile. "Most people feel a bit weird when you tell them you're a politician. Bit better when you can add 'I work in the Equalities Office', though, so there you go." When she asked about the weather, he might've taken that as a sign of being dull behind her intoxicating honeyed tones and gentle perfume, or he could've taken it for being British. The Brits did love to have a good moan about rain or wind or snow. They even loved to moan about the sun when it got too hot. "Thirty six inches. Mental," he answered, shaking his head. "Still, it's an excuse to avoid the tube for the day."

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Strangers in a Bar || Penelope and Timothy

Snow billowed through London in winding icy sheets amidst low howls and moans from the wind that seemed to sweep the city into an eerie quiet and cool the cup of tea in Penelope’s hands before she’d had a proper sip. At least she had managed to eat most of her meal before it too had become cold and untouchable. Her eyes squinted against the frosty glaze over the window. A large shadow of a man was leaving the building across the street. Finally.

She waited for him to walk a few meters past the door of the teashop she had ensconced herself in before stepping out to follow. He was larger in person. Well built, or so his winter coat made him seem, he carried himself well and with purpose, even if he was merely walking to a restaurant for lunch. Penelope looked up at the sign as she came in behind him. Not a bad place. For being by all accounts a bachelor and a workaholic, Timothy Fellows thought well enough of himself to eat decently on his lunch break.

Penelope walked straight to the bar counter and sweetly asked for a vodka tonic while she removed her gloves and made herself comfortable. To her surprise, no sooner did she relax in her chair than did Mr. Fellows take a seat at the bar as well. This, she thought with a self-satisfied smile, was too good to pass up. Penelope took a careful sip of her drink and waved for the bartender to come by her again. What sort of scotch did they have here, and could she buy a glass of one of their finer labels for that handsome gentleman across the way? No, good Lord, not that one, the tall gentleman, yes, him. She would be ever so grateful if he would take the drink to him, of course, and wasn’t he so very kind to be so helpful.

When the bartender had gone away again to prepare Mr. Fellows’ drink, Penelope allowed herself a moment’s respite. Any minute now that nice chap would serve the scotch and say that it was compliments of the lady. Any minute now Timothy Fellows or some other person whose acquaintance she had made a careful point of making would spot her and she would want to be in top form. But for now the handsome politician was sat across the way in his own little world and she could spend a few more moments in hers.

What did he worry about, she wondered. Did he try to guess at his opponent’s movements? Did he think of Buffy? Of the other girls? Perhaps he had a family tucked safe in a home somewhere he wanted to get to as well. He had at least, at one point, had parents. Were they supportive of him? Did they worry that this bridging of worlds would get their son killed? If he was the good humble knight he seemed, Penelope thought, those worries might be well-founded. Nothing that good pure lasted long on the hellmouth. It was either corrupted or devoured sooner or later. Always.

Timothy Fellows looked up. The bartender was pointing her way. Knowing her time had come, Penelope smiled a small charming smile and tilted her head, giving the man some variation of an inviting expression. Forwardness was not her forte, but gentle prodding, an nonthreatening encouragement—that she could do. “Hello there,” she called softly. “Fancy some company?”

[timothyfellows]

His mind swam with the best and worst of possibility. London had seen its worst snowstorm in bloody decades and as Tim cupped a cool pint of bitter, he couldn't help but hope that wasn't a sign of things to come. Apocalypses, they'd said, He thought that had all been exaggeration, boasting, but when thirty-six inches of snow fell in southern England overnight it was easy to read between the lines. Things were shifting, not just the political climate, but everything. He wasn't even sure if it was safe to be here, out and about like it was a normal spring afternoon. He'd just needed the anonynimity. The bartender knew him. He confirmed Tim's regular order of a glass of lemonade and gammon, egg and chips for dinner then went off to send the order to the kitchen. When he came back, it wasn't with a glass of lemonade but with a scotch. "I didn't order this..." Tim started, but the bartender quickly told him that it had come from someone else. He pointed. Timothy followed the gesture, making eye contact with the attractive, age-appropriate woman who had sent him the drink and offering a grateful smile. Tim scanned the woman's eyes, an oceanic grey-green under the dimmed lights of the low-key. He examined her subtly and thoughtfully, trying to work out if she knew him or not. He had a way with women, an effect he'd never really been able to understand. It might have been the fact he talked about equality and had a nice smile, the fact he could be charismatic and charming, but none of those had been working to his advantage when he'd been sitting here with his eyes straight ahead. She must've recognized him. It happened sometimes, and they /were/ just across the road from his offices. “Hello there,” she called softly. “Fancy some company?” "Sure," he nodded, pulling back the seat next to him to welcome her. "Just for the one drink, though. I have to get back to the office after, and I doubt they'll be all that forgiving if I come back in drunk." When the stranger approached, he glanced toward Jeffrey, the regular lunchtime bar tender. "If the lady would like to join me for lunch, you can add her food order to mine, alright?" He waited until the two had exchanged words, then took a slow sip of his drink. "I'm Tim," he said. "I should know your name if you're gonna be buying me drinks, don't you reckon?"

[timothyfellows]

The list Xander composed for non-violent protection

[Upon receipt, Timothy made the list available to the public as a safety announcement, distributing it to police stations, through government websites, etc. Xander's name was, of course, omitted.]

Carry or wear a cross, they burn vampires.

Holy Water water pistols, as holy water burns vampires and banshees.

Walk in the sunlight as much as possible - several demons are allergic to sunlight.

Carry around a recent photo of you in sunlight - to confirm you aren’t a vampire to people you meet. Similarily, come up with secret questions between friends to check for possessions.

Don’t invite strangers into your house, vampires need invitations to come inside

Iron items keep a fair few demons away, as does silver, so carrying those around is vital.

Carry around strong flashlights to confuse formicabrutes (giant ant demons) and other demons who are light sensitive.

Don’t chant Bloody Mary in the mirror three times. Just don’t. It’s not worth the risk.

If everyone in a room is attracted to a person, stay away from that person. They might eat you.

Stay inside at night as much as possible, especially around the full moon.

Be careful what you wish for and who you express your wishes to.

Check for reflections - Vampires don’t have them and Sirens’ reflections break their spell.

Stay away from suspicious plants as well as unusually big eggs.

[into-each-generation]

The Start Of A Coalition || Buffy, Xander & Timothy

Read More

[slayersummers]

[pm] Safe? Oh believe me I can handle myself. And if you or any of your goons try anything—

I appreciate your understanding. So right after lunch on Monday? Say, 1:00? 

[timothyfellows]

[pm] I'll be there.

[slayersummers]

[pm] Likewise, Mr. Fellows Timothy. 

Oh, and just a head’s up just so you are aware, I will be bringing an associate along with me. His name’s Xander Mr. Harris and I would like him to be present at our meeting. Is that okay with acceptable to you?   

[timothyfellows]

[pm] Yes, of course. Anything that makes you feel safe.

[timothyfellows]

slayersummers replied to your post:[pm] Good day, Mr. Fellows. My name is Buffy. I'm a local business owner in the London area, as well as a Slayer. I've been reading up on quite a few of your policies and statements, and I think we may have similar interests in mind. I was wondering if you'd be willing to make the time to speak with me?

[pm] Thank you, Tim. I really appreciate your time. One another’s causes are exactly what I’d like to discuss. We can meet at the fountain in Trafalgar Square. Does Monday work for you?

[pm] Monday's brilliant for me. I look forward to meeting you, Buffy.