Rupert Giles' Journal

Books still have their uses...
I collected a number of spellbooks with relevant titles -- such as Why Not To Attempt Complicated Spells, Regrowing Eyeballs, Hellmouths, and You, and Willlow, Don't You Dare Do This Without Talking To Me First (I admit that was not that book's original title) -- and arranged them neatly in Willow's room. I do hope she takes the hint. Otherwise, I would have to try to, well, argue with her.

Oddly enough, while I was in there, I found a package of markers that looked very much like the ones I purchased last month. The red one had been magically drained of ink.

My computer has continued to beep at me. Prompted by a comment from someone earlier, I attempted to decipher the pattern of beeping. However, my attempts at fitting them into Morse code only resulted in the asinine message: 'ALL YOUR BASE BELONG TO US.' That sort of grammar could make one weep.

I have embarked on attempting to find a job as well, but I am afraid that without the Council of Watchers around to inform employers that the fact I have no training as a librarian makes me ideally suited to be one my chances for employment may be limited.

The fact that my tea supply has been touched by no one but me oddly saddens me. Perhaps I shall have to teach others to appreciate Earl Grey.

I confess to being rather distraught, for I have just done the one thing I swore I would never do.

I have just purchased a personal computer.

Willow somehow managed to talk me into it, after she and others were growing increasingly annoyed at my habit of gallivanting off to London and across the globe on research missions (although, I am not sure if 'gallivanting' was exactly the word she used) without regular updates online. I did ask what was wrong with the old-fashioned approach, namely the telephone, but I believe I, er, was argued down.

So I am now a proud possessor of a...laptop. It sits in the corner of my room and beeps at me. Well, in all actuality, it makes an entire variety of odd noises accusingly in my direction, but I think I may safely classify them in the 'beep' category.

I am still waiting for it to explode and envelop all of Walton Lake in toxic sludge or whatever it is computers consist of.

Other than said computer, now that I have arrived here from research in England, I find it...er, homey. In a purely hellmouth-y type way. It does remind me strangely of Sunnydale. My great hope is that in sharing an unit with someone mature and sane (well, relatively), my tea shall remain unpilfered.

However, the brief thought that there is no ex-vengeance demon about to snatch tea bags for her beauty products is not in the least bit comforting.

Rupert Giles, reluctant resident of the twenty-first century

Purely for educational purposes...

I admit it is more a symbolic than literal depiction, although I have been attempting to work on this flashcard for a very long time. Somehow, the boxes of markers and flashcards I had purchased to replace the ones now long since lost in the ruin that is now Sunnydale, seemed to have gotten themselves lost, everytime. It is almost as if someone is purposefully misplacing them.

I confess I am growing increasingly anxious, especially when Tuesday passed peacefully. Peaceful Tuesdays are the worst, I find. I keep expecting something to happen...and it doesn't.

I attempted to distract myself -- and others -- by applying my flashcard techniques to a get well card for our hospitalised comrades. However, I am receiving much criticism for such. I think it gets the point across, and I didn't even use red. Well, not much.

I think it happens to be quite cheery, personally.

I find myself rather at a loss for words.

Whatever the wisdom of Buffy's plan (and I am hardly going to debate it here) the fall-out has been...er...considerable. And I feel so bloody useless. If only Buffy had not left me behind...perhaps I could have helped. I suppose I should be grateful that she thought to entrust me with anything at all after our...disagreement, but I cannot quite shake the thought that something deliberately scripts much of our Tuesday night excitement to keep me at the sidelines. So many years of fighting the good fight, and still I cannot keep girls from dying or keep Xander safe...

And where has Anya been stashing my Earl Grey these days?

Oh, thank goodness. I am here and I am in the correct body and I do not smell and I am not drunk and I am not anywhere near Wesley, in a nubile body or otherwise -- Wesley. Nubile.

It must have been a very bad dream indeed.

Yes. Quite the dream. Very amusing.

I think I need some very strong...tea.

Weirdness
I look like Giles today.

Huh.

It has now been nearly three days after Buffy slammed her door in my face, and once again I am at a godsforsaken hour brooding on it. (Or perhaps my internal clock has simply not recovered from my recent sojourn in Bangkok.)

I cannot pretend to think I did wrong. In lesser circumstances I would have done otherwise, but I have not the luxury of taking chances now. The ends justify the means, if the end is important enough. Such the Watchers have lived by, and although I have often deplored the strictness of the Council's methods at other times, the fate of the world is now more so in the balance than ever before. Spike's refusal to cooperate meant some sort of action had to be taken. Was it the best decision? Well, at this point, I am not quite certain of anything. By now, I could be the First for all I know. That, however, would be exceedingly odd.

I have been very proud of Buffy, in the past, for not being the usual Slayer; the puppet the Council wanted her to be. I have admired her heart and independence. Now I am afraid such might be her downfall. I am terribly, terribly afraid she will do the wrong thing.

I think I need more tea.

Yes. Lots of tea. Lots and lots.

International Librarian of Mystery!
Er. The title was someone else's random suggestion, not mine. I believe it is some sort of...'pop culture' reference.

I do rather feel like an international literature thief, however, I've been busily trying to gather whatever texts may aid us and sometimes I am too deprived of time to worry too much about, er, legalities. I refuse to allow the fate of the world rest on the possession of a legitimate library card.

Hitherto, however, all operations have been carried out successful, except for the spot of bother I had in London when someone mistook me for some sort of actor. He kept blathering about a coffee commercial, of all things.

I am trying to keep my movements circumspect, in order to keep the ~~Potentials~~
First from finding me. However, I will point out that once you go a certain distance from the British Isles it becomes even more difficult to find a decent cup of Earl Grey.

I should, however, keep more of an eye on Sunnydale. I have the suspicion that Ethan may be up to something, which rarely turns out well.

Silence, blessed silence...
I must admit that when one has been subjected to the giggling and shrieking of far too many teenage girls for far too many weeks the silence and bookish smells of a good library seem like heaven. Er. Not that I would ask Buffy for verification on the heaven-seeming.

I am busily seeking a few answers to important questions. The fact this information quest has drawn me out of Sunnydale is purely coincidental. Truly.

However, having finally stumbled across a computer with working internet connection, I admit I am apprehensive to discover what the others have been engaged in since I ~~escaped~~ left Sunnydale for research purposes. Whatever it is, I am certain I shan't like it.

I have come to a disturbing conclusion.

Grounded Potentials are even louder than they are normally.

I may have to re-think this.

Er.

Does anyone have a working red marker?

After the latest stunt tonight, I am planning rather a lot of flash cards. Black blood simply does not work as well.

Maybe they will understand if I use a flash card...

I have had the most exasperating night.

I am frustrated beyond belief right now.

I'll try to be as succinct as possible: this is not a common, garden-variety, run-of-the-mill apocalypse we are facing here., like the ones we handle every year. This one is serious. We are taking on the origin of all Evil. We are holding the fate of the Slayer line in our hands. I don't even know if the First can be stopped, only that we must try. There is no time for trivialities like dating or romantic angst or childish quips or *cough* someone thinking it would be amusing to set Spike up to tackle me. We need to be prepared.

This is no time, either, to be playing Russian roulette with unchipped but souled vampires. We cannot afford vulnerabilities. One of the last things I want to see is Buffy getting hurt -- again. And something I want to see even less is someone I care for being killed. Especially if it happens for the sake of something completely superfluous. All I can do is try to prepare everyone, and if they are unprepared, then I have failed.

Er. Ahem. I'm getting back to research now.

And what's wrong with my drawings?

Valentine's Day
I have now come to the conclusion that Valentine's Day is the First's ultimate plan to distract and split the forces of good. Judging from recent journal entries, it is succeeding. I would simply like to remind everyone that the world as we know it being destroyed or possibly sucked into hell is far worse than not having a date for Valentine's Day.

Er. I shall be spending the holiday researching, of course.

I am beginning to regret my rash offer of hugs. Having everyone in the house hug me randomly thoroughout the day to ensure I am still corporeal is one thing, being randomly hugged by perfect strangers everytime I stir from the house is another. The positive aspect of this is that I am now aware of a large percentage of perfect strangers are not the First Evil. This may be useful at some point in the future.

In the meanwhile, I am investigating the possiblity of finding somewhere to hide from hugs, physical assault, girlish screeching and the like. Preferably equipped with a telephone, as I intend to begin on a side project of, er, ringing up every candy distributor in America and advising them against buying supplies from Englishmen. Especially those named Ethan Rayne.

An Announcement
As I have been hounded with inquiries on the matter, culiminating in the other night's...'incident,' I would like to take the liberty of making a statement:

I AM BLOODY CORPOREAL! I AM PERFECTLY TANGIBLE! I CAN TOUCH THINGS! LOOK, I AM TOUCHING THE KEYBOARD RIGHT NOW! THERE IS NO NEED TO PHYSICALLY ASSAULT ME TO ASCERTAIN THIS! I'LL HUG THE BLOODY LOT OF YOU IF THAT WILL SETTLE IT!

Er. Ahem.

Carry on.

Current Mood: annoyed

My headache is steadily intensifying. However, despite the fact the Potentials have not gotten any quieter of late, this particular headache is hardly their responsibility.

I have just learnt of Angelus' return.

One must do what one must for the sake of the greater good (even gather gaggles of head-ache-inducing teenage girls into houses with too few bathrooms), but I would have protested very much against bringing Angelus back. There must have been another way. For me the memory of the first time he lost his soul is all too clear.

I think this calls for something stronger than tea.

After a few days back from Shanghai, I came to the conclusion that the chattering of thousands of people in languages unintelligible to me is immensely more pleasant than that of far too many teenaged girls in too small a space. Although my visit to Shanghai left me regretful I had neglected certain Asian languages (and there was that little mishap involving a bicycle, a duck, and a rather large C'hil'wac demon), I am now longing for its comparative peace and quiet. I had hoped to sit down with my research and a nice cup of tea, but it now seems I must first conclude a treaty talks over the use of said tea with Anya first, and the fact an errant crossbow bolt just flew past my ear is rather disruptive to studying. (Molly! The last time I checked, the target was downstairs!)
My sources seem to indicate that this Tuesday will be a quiet one, but we must take advantage of what quiet ('quiet,' of course, is all relative) to prepare for the battle and find out whatever we can about the First. I cannot believe that anyone is even thinking taking the time to go view bad horror movies.

I must say the trip to Nunavut was rather refreshing. Except for the slight infestation of demonic polar bears, of course, but they were dealt with.

I do admit demonic polar bears seem very appealing next to living in a house with a gaggle of slayers in training. In my time away I had forgotten how, er, loud they are.