16487/Just How Many Credits Is That

Just How Many Credits Is That
Date of Scene:	16 August 2024
Location:	Masonic Cemetery, Sunnydale
Synopsis:	A random encounter with a Spider, a Slayer and a whole lotta Telepaths!
Cast of Characters:	Buffy Summers, Spider-Man, Stepford Cuckoos

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Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy's life had been a mess for--well, forever.

Though admittedly maybe only since she was a 15-year old girl who was approached by a weirdo homeless hobo man telling her she was the Chosen one. One burned down school later and she had ended up across the country in Sunnydale. Only to find that it was atop a Hellmouth. Because Of Course it was. Yet, she tried to live her life while being the Slayer, doing her duty and yet carving out bits of normalcy. She had her family. Her friends. She'd even gone to college for a while. Until her memory got wiped out. Which would be along story if she understood it fully but instead it was just that short. She couldn't remember several years of her life. Which hadn't really done well for the friendships thing.

And now here she was, looking to see where she had gotten in college. She remembered around the first two semesters of her freshman year. Then it was completely blank. When she had lost her memory, she had simply dropped out for a while but now it was time to get things back on course. After all, she'd done the work. she had the credits. But how many? What did she need to do to finish?

She had her records in front of her as she sat on a bleachers near where the football team was practicing. Her attendance showed she'd been sporadic but there most of the time. Made sense with her extracurricular activities of killing monsters. She looked at the credits earned, what was left to earn, then laid those to the side and pulled out the handbook for classes for the upcoming semester and what she might need to do to finish up. If any of them even had space this late in the game.

Spider-Man has posed:
The metal bleachers were a bit of a hodgepodge, essentially a patchwork of support rods and struts, with a flat surface that was as inviting as sitting on a concrete slab. From the side, you could easily see how the whole thing might collapse in a less-than-graceful fashion when it needed to be moved.

Standing by these less-than-stable seats was Peter Parker, freelance photographer, focused and professional. He was positioned with his camera, its long lens hanging from his neck, ready to capture the action. A smaller lens was neatly packed in his bag, a testament to his preparedness for any photographic opportunity.

Parker was here on assignment for the Daily Bugle, tasked with getting shots of a star player who was expected to make waves in the draft. As he scanned the sparse practice crowd, his attention was drawn to someone who seemed oddly familiar.

He studied her for a moment, trying to place her face. She looked like someone he'd encountered before. After a brief moment of thought, he snapped his fingers with realization and said, "Hey, don't I know you? About four years ago, you were searching for a professor, right? I'm pretty sure we even invited you to dinner."

Buffy Summers has posed:
At the sound of the voice, Buffy lifted her gaze and looked over in the direction it came from. Not a bad looking young man. A little older than her maybe. And no bells rang at all. Nothing. Four years ago. That would be right in the middle of her memory loss. Which meant he probably was right and she was now on unstable footing socially at least.

"We invited to dinner? That's an interesting phrasing. You have a little frog in your pocket or were there more than one of you?" She caught the paper just before it flew away in a little gust of wind, tucking the corner of it under her leg so it stayed put. The book of classes was just laid in her lap for now.

"I'm sorry but I don't remember meeting though it certainly could have happened. And me searching for a professor does sound like me," she added with a little grin. "I'm guessing you know me but just in case...Hi, I'm Buffy." She didn't offer her hand because they were a bit of a distance apart though the smile was friendly enough.

Spider-Man has posed:
"Oh yeah, that was actually my friend who invited you, the redhead?" Peter said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "She thought you looked like you could use a meal and, uh, called you 'kid'? Not exactly the most formal introduction, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?"

His gaze drifted to the flapping paper pinned down by Buffy's leg, and he couldn't help but look a bit more awkward. When Buffy mentioned her name, his eyes widened with recognition. "Wait, Buffy? Okay, now I'm pretty sure we've crossed paths more recently than that. I'm Peter, from New York," he said with a grin.

"You probably think I'm some kind of weird stalker or something, but I swear this is just a bizarre coincidence. See my press pass?" he dangled it for emphasis, "I'm actually here to get some shots of Jack Davenport. My boss is desperate for photos. Thinks he's the second coming of somebody called Joe Montana. I promise I'm not secretly following you or anything. Small world, huh?"

Stepford Cuckoos has posed:
Using the natural light beaming on the high school football field, the Stepford Cuckoos make their grand entrance. They glide onto the field with the grace of supermodels on a runway, each sister embodying a different facet of elegance and style, making them likely impossible to ignore.----Esme, always the boldest, leads the way. She's clad in a sleek black leather jacket over a deep crimson crop top, paired with high-waisted skinny jeans and ankle boots that click sharply against the ground. Her sunglasses are perched confidently on her nose, and her lips are painted a daring red. She smirks, already tapping into the minds of the football players, causing them to stumble in their drills.----Beside her, Sophie exudes effortless class in a fitted white blazer over a flowing, pastel pink blouse and tailored cream slacks. Her heels are understated yet elegant, and a delicate gold chain rests at her collarbone. Sophie gives the field a once-over with sharp, discerning eyes, her mental touch just as refined, guiding a wide receiver's gaze toward her as he completely misses the ball.----Phoebe stands out in a striking combination of edgy and chic. She wears a studded denim jacket with a graphic tee of a band most of the players wouldn't even recognize. A leather mini skirt and combat boots complete her rebellious look. With her mental nudge, one player turns just in time to get hit square in the head with the football, the thud echoing in the air as she lets out a short laugh.----In contrast, Irma radiates soft femininity. She's in a floral off-the-shoulder dress that flutters around her knees, paired with strappy sandals. Her long, flowing hair catches the breeze, and her gentle mental push causes a few of the boys to drop their jaws, utterly mesmerized. She gives a small, knowing smile, her eyes glancing at her sisters.----Finally, Celeste strides with poised confidence in a tailored jumpsuit, the light gray fabric hugging her form in all the right places. Her ensemble is completed with polished, pointed-toe heels, and a designer handbag hangs casually at her side. Her telepathic prod is subtle yet effective, drawing attention to the sisters as whispers spread among the players.----Esme flicks her hair back and speaks aloud, her voice carrying easily across the field. "So, what do you think? Are the boys here worth our time, or are they just another bunch of wannabes?"----Phoebe snorts, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Please, we're here to boost our social media, not find our soulmates. Besides, I've already got more followers just from this livestream than these guys have brain cells."----Irma glances at her phone, where the screen reflects dozens of hearts and comments flooding the livestream. "They do seem rather taken with us," she says sweetly, her voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. "We're practically charity work at this point."----Celeste, who's holding the phone for the livestream, flashes a flawless smile at the camera. "Remember, darlings," she coos to the audience, "being popular isn't just about the numbers; it's about presence. And we're here to make a statement."----Sophie adjusts her blazer and adds with a serene smile, "It's all about balance. Being seen, being heard, and most importantly, being remembered. And trust us, after today, we will be."----As the football players try to recover from the Cuckoos' not-so-subtle invasion of their practice, the sisters continue to stroll across the field, their laughter light and melodic, but carrying a sharp edge. They're not just here for attention---they're here to dominate it, and everyone watching knows it.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Now that catches Buffy's attention as Peter explains he is the one from New York. That recently had the wrong number when he was trying to comfort a friend of his. And instead ended up chatting with her a bit. It had actually been a nice conversation but Buffy didn't relax now finding out he was Right There! It did have stalker vibes and she eyed him critically, trying to weigh if he was a threat. The press pass was looked at curiously but she remained seated where she was. For her part, she was dressed in a simple sundress, yellow in color, narrow straps at the shoulders. It fell to just above her knees and was tucked demurely beneath her cause bleachers and dresses didn't always mix. No one was getting any free shows if they went under the bleachers. Her hair was up in a ponytail just to keep it out of her face for now. Strappy sandals finished the look.

"The Peter? From the texts? That's one of the weirdest coincidences ever to run into you. And I've seen a lot of weird in my day." Understatement of the decade. "That's funny we met before. Maybe it's fate? Karma? Whatever the buzz word is these days?"

As the gaggle of gals enters the field, everything goes to the dogs out there. There are fumbles, stumbles, and half the team seem to have turned into slack-jawed droolers. It's kind of pathetic. Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste at the goings on then glanced to Peter again. "Don't see that everyday. And I think your star player just got hit in the head with a football. Joe Montana? Sounds like a cowboy or something. Never heard that name." Because she was not a sport person nor was she born last century.

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter Parker was dressed for the weather in khaki pants, white ankle socks, and a heather grey t-shirt. He'd chosen the lightest clothes he had, though none of his white t-shirts were clean, so he had to settle for grey. If it were socially acceptable, he might have even opted for a skirt. He'd try anything to stay cool. Girls had it so easy with their wardrobe options. Some of them came with built-in ventilation.

"Unless you got multiple mis-messages from guys named Peter from New York. Okay, that's definitely a possibility. But I'm the one who suggested Donut World. That has to narrow it down to no more than three."

He was close enough that with a stretch, he could offer his hand to shake hers, "Peter Parker," which was just in time for him to miss getting a shot of Davenport getting hit in the head with a football.

"That one's going to hurt. J. Jonah would have loved that one for his private collection. My boss is the publisher of the Daily Bugle, uses a lot of my photos, keeps some for himself if they amuse him, or have some other kind of value. He'd have loved that, and this is a guy who is slightly right of Attila the Hun."

Peter couldn't help but marvel at the Cuckoos' uncanny ability to shift the focus of the entire field with a mix of style and perhaps something else.

Stepford Cuckoos has posed:
The Stepford Cuckoos notice a pair sitting on the bleachers---a blonde girl in a sundress and a guy in a casual hoodie. They exchange a quick glance among themselves, curiosity piqued. They don't recognize them, but that only makes the situation more intriguing. With synchronized steps, the sisters make a beeline toward the bleachers, their excitement palpable.----Esme reaches the blonde first, her eyes lighting up as she takes in the girl's outfit. "Oh wow, you are adorable!" she exclaims with genuine enthusiasm, "Your dress is so cute, and that ponytail? Totally suits you."----Phoebe follows, her gaze sweeping over the girl's sandals. "And those sandals? Love them! Seriously, you've got such a cute vibe going on. You should totally be on our livestream---our followers would go nuts for you."----Irma nods, giving the girl a warm smile. "We're all about aesthetics, and you've got it down. Want to join us? It'll be fun, and you'd fit right in with us."----Sophie chimes in, already holding up her phone, ready to capture the moment. "You're just what we're looking for---someone with a fresh, approachable style. Our followers would love you. What do you say?"----As the Cuckoos surround the girl with compliments, Celeste catches sight of the guy next to her. Her eyes narrow slightly in curiosity as she takes him in. "Hey, sisters, check out this guy," she says, gesturing subtly toward him. "He's kinda cute, don't you think? Maybe he should be on the livestream too."----Esme glances over at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "You know what, Celeste? You're right. What do you say? Want to join us?" Her tone is inviting, but with the confidence that suggests she expects him to agree.----The sisters turn their attention fully to the pair, each one introducing herself with flawless synchronization:----Esme: "I'm Esme."---- Phoebe: "I'm Phoebe."---- Irma: "I'm Irma."---- Sophie: "I'm Sophie."---- Celeste: "And I'm Celeste."----Then, in perfect unison, they offer a simultaneous, "Sorry if we're interrupting!" Their smiles are bright, charming, and full of anticipation as they wait for the pair's reaction to their sudden, enthusiastic attention.

Buffy Summers has posed:
When the group started their direction, it took everything in Buffy not to take off running immediately. After all, she wasn't really the most social of butterflies. In truth, she tended to be the odd girl in glass. It certainly had been the case in high school and she had no doubt it was the case in college too. What she could remember of it. From some of the notes in her file, she was pretty sure it was still the case before she'd dropped out.

At least all of her classes would be able to transfer over from Gotham U to Sunnydale. She'd opted to go ahead and try to enroll here instead. Less complications from people that knew her and it had her back closer to home since her Mom was still needing some support of late. Hopefully it was nothing and she'd be feeling right as rain soon but for a bit, it didn't hurt for Buffy to be there watching over her mother and Dawn.

"Uhmmm..." It was so rapid fired, one after the other with the compliments. Buffy did give a nervous smile and murmured a quick, "Thank you." But then mention of a livestream had her quickly starting to gather the papers and book, tucking them into the messenger bag at her side. "Oh, no. I appreciate it. But my family doesn't really...uhm...y'see we ..." How the hell did she get out of this?

"I'm Amish."

That was so not it.

"Or I was." She was sinking in the quicksand of idiocy here.

"And the whole technology thing is sort of weird for me still. Cause y'know, tool of Lucifer and all that." Then a furrowing of the brow. "Wonder what he'd think of that. Probably would find it amusing." Then she quickly moved past it as though she didn't just lose her focus that way. "My friend here might be interested." Everything tucked away, she stood and shouldered the messenger bag. "I do apologize. I just would prefer not to, if that's okay?"

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter Parker glanced over at Buffy, noting her clear discomfort as the Stepford Cuckoos surrounded her with a barrage of compliments. He could see she was trying to fend off their attention with a peculiar mix of awkwardness and charm. A grin crept onto his face, he couldn't resist a chance to jump into a social situation where he could use his own brand of humor to lighten the mood.

"Hey, guys, what?s up?" Peter called out, walking up casually. ?I didn?t know there was a fashion show happening today.? He gave Buffy an encouraging smile, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure she seemed to be feeling. "I'm Peter. If anyone's looking for someone to tag along for a livestream, I'm definitely up for it. Just promise you won't make me do any choreographed dance routines."

Stepford Cuckoos has posed:
The Stepford Cuckoos freeze in place, their identical gazes locked onto Buffy as her words hang in the air. Amish? The disbelief is palpable, their eyes narrowing almost in unison. For a few long, tense moments, they simply stare, their minds working as one to process the absurdity of the claim.----Esme is the first to break the silence, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Amish, really?" She arches a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're telepaths, you know. Lying to us is kinda useless."----Phoebe sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "But hey, we get it," she says, her tone resigned. "If you don't want to be on the livestream, just say so."----Irma gives Buffy a small, almost pitying smile as she taps her phone, cutting the feed. "We're not going to make you do something you don't want to," she adds, her voice gentle but firm. "Even though we could."----The moment the feed is off, Sophie looks over at Peter, who has just stepped forward, offering to join their livestream. Her expression remains blank as she shakes her head. "The moment's passed," she says flatly. "If we start up again now, it'll just look weird."----Celeste adds with a slight smirk, "And we're not about to look weird."----As Peter starts talking about his dance moves, Phoebe wrinkles her nose in disdain, a quiet "Ew" slipping from her lips, her disgust barely hidden.----The girls exchange glances, their eyes shifting back and forth between Peter and Buffy. Suspicion lingers in the air until, suddenly, a light bulb seems to go off in all of their minds at once.----Their faces light up, and in perfect synchronization, they burst out with excitement. "Wait---are you two on a date right now?!"----A chorus of giggles and girlish comments follows, the sisters tittering among themselves as they glance between Buffy and Peter with newfound intrigue.

Buffy Summers has posed:
"I'm sorry. I just didn't want to offend you or mess up your livestream," Buffy admitted, giving an apologetic look as she stepped down the bleachers to ground level. Though that mention of them being telepaths is enough to send every alarm bell in her head going off like an firetruck siren. Or that stupid robot from that movie that her mother insisted she watch when she was young. Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

She really didn't need anyone poking in her head and memories of being controlled by both Lothos and Dracula in the past had her once again wanting to run for the hills. She resisted, trying not to be too obvious about having secrets. Course, they might already know them. Mention of being able to make people do things had her feeling the little hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt and burned it.

She did give Peter a look that was half amused and half apology. Until that question was posed. Her eyes went a little wide and she shook her head negatively. "Oh no. We just met. Well sort of. We'd met before and we talked once in text but this is the first time we've met. He is here working." She motioned out toward the football team that was doing better now though half of them were still distracted by the indentical blondes on the sidelines. The coach finally blew the whistle and told the football players to go take a 15 minute break.

"And I was looking into enrolling." And why was she sharing so much information? Oh yeah, nervous babbling. It was a thing.

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter Parker shuffled his feet, his smile wavering as he tried to regain his composure. "A date?" he echoed, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable under the collective gaze of the Cuckoos. "Uh, well, I didn't mean to make it sound like that. I mean, we just met, and it'a not like I'm... well, I'm not trying to..." He fumbled for words, his cheeks turning a shade redder.

His eyes flickered towards the Cuckoos with a wary look. "You know, telepathy's kind of a... uh, lot to process. I mean, it's impressive and all, but kind of... off... too. I've had enough of mind... mental gymnastics to last a lifetime. I don't exactly relish the idea of having my thoughts laid bare, you know?" He gave Buffy an apologetic glance. "But if you want to chat sometime, no telepathy required, I'd be up for that. Just, uh, no pressure. Or mind-reading. Really."

Stepford Cuckoos has posed:
Just by the way in which the girls are looking between the two of them babbling and talking about telepaths, they are likely reading their surface thoughts, and they are! Nothing is easier to read than nervousness about them being telepaths. The Stepford Cuckoos stand in unison, arms crossed tightly against their chests, their eyes narrowed into cold, dead stares as they watch Peter and Buffy babble on, trying to explain that they're not on a date and awkwardly stumbling over their discomfort with the sisters being telepaths. The tension in the air is thick as the Cuckoos remain perfectly still, their expressions unreadable, like a wall of ice that refuses to crack.----Then, almost as if they share a single thought, the girls collectively roll their eyes, the gesture synchronized and dripping with exasperation. Esme speaks first, her voice smooth and edged with just a hint of impatience. "Look, we're not here to pry into your personal lives," she says, her tone cool. "That would be crass. And like our mother, Emma Frost, we have more class than that."----Phoebe nods, her gaze still fixed on them, unblinking. "But honestly? Your anxious surface thoughts are practically screaming at us," she adds, her lips curling into a wry smirk. "It's like being stuck at a really loud Nickelback concert."----Irma sighs softly, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the noise. "Trust us, it's not intentional. We're NOT Dracula or Lothos or anything" specifically looking at Buffy, . No need to get freaked out."----Sophie steps forward slightly, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "But since you're both so worked up," she continues, her voice taking on a slightly more probing tone, "what exactly were you two texting about before we came over?"----Celeste finishes the thought, her eyes gleaming with intrigue as she asks, "Anything interesting?" Their combined focus sharpens, putting Peter and Buffy squarely on the spot, waiting for their response with a quiet, almost predatory intensity.

Buffy Summers has posed:
And that is when something clicks for Buffy. For a moment, they are getting those surface thoughts. That discomfort at someone knowing her secrets, learning the details about what she really was. But then with them mentioned both Lothos and Dracula, who she had just thought about? Who both had mind controlled her until she chose that they couldn't get into her mind anymore?

They would be able to sense her focusing. Slowing her breathing. Her thoughts no longer racing and focusing only on the women before her. Then she slowly pushed back. They might pick up a brief memory. Her with a vampire at her throat, a red cloth around her neck, her completely enthralled by his powers. Then her focusing on quiet, stilling herself, embracing that moment and using the power it gave her. The words were in her mind even as she whispered them aloud. "And the rest is silence."

And with that, she was no long uncertain, no longer concerned. In fact, she was nothing. There was blankness in the place she had been as she tapped into that primal part of herself, the darkness of the Slayer as Dracula had expressed to her recently. It was a primordial power, beyond that of Buffy herself. Not controlled but there to help her in times of need. It wasn't that she wasn't thinking, just that she was so focused on silence as to make it less Nickelback concert for them and perhaps peaceful even for maybe the first time ever. Who knew.

Not that they were a threat. She just felt discomfort at them being in her head. Too many people would be in danger potentially. "I don't think that's any of your business but I'll humor you." And that friendliness was still in her tone but they could sense that something had changed in the interaction. "It was an accidental text. But happened to have something in it that helped me through a rough spot I was having. So it's kind of epic to actually meet Peter. Again. Though I don't remember the first time we met." A brief smile tossed Peter's way.

"Sorry. I'm just very paranoid about people in my head. I've been in other people's heads before too and it wasn't really a great experience for me from your side. Felt like I was invading their privacy." Until it got to the point she was literally overwhelmed from the powers thus curling up in her room and unable to function. That had been an experience she would rather never repeat. She wondered if it had been like that for the women before them though she was careful not to focus on that thought. Just let it drift away into the nothingness of her quieted mind.

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter Parker, always one to stay composed under pressure, quickly adapts to the telepathic scrutiny. As Buffy shifts her demeanor and cloaks herself in a profound silence, Peter recognizes the necessity of controlling his own thoughts. Drawing on his knowledge from scientific literature and his own experiences with mind-reading abilities, Peter focuses intently on a technique he's read about that involves 'thought redirecting.'

He channels his focus into maintaining a steady flow of conscious thoughts, avoiding any emotional or intellectual fluctuations that could be perceived by the telepaths. His mind becomes a tightly guarded vault, with each thought carefully curated and restrained from slipping through any cracks. How cute that he thinks that.

Shifting his internal focus to a neutral topic, his ongoing science projects, concentrating on the technical and unremarkable, he hopes that his thoughts remain uninteresting and unexposed.

As Esme, Phoebe, Irma, Sophie, and Celeste observe, Peter maintains an outward appearance of calm and focus. The telepaths, trained in detecting nuances, will sense a subtle layer of tension.

He shifts his gaze to Buffy, recognizing her change in attitude. "I appreciate your understanding, Buffy," Peter says with a nod, his voice steady and confident. "I've had my share of encounters, and it?s not exactly a comfortable experience. So, I get where you're coming from."

Stepford Cuckoos has posed:
The Stepford Cuckoos can feel it immediately---Buffy and Peter are trying to steel their minds, blocking off their thoughts from telepathic intrusion. The once loud, anxious surface thoughts go blissfully silent, leaving the sisters in much-needed peace. In unison, they let out a small sigh of relief, their tense expressions relaxing slightly.----Esme is the first to speak, her voice laced with a hint of bothered relief. "Thank god, glad that's over. It was like trying to think through static."----Phoebe rolls her eyes, still clearly irritated. "Seriously, that was exhausting. We don't need to hear every little thing running through your heads."----Irma mutters under her breath, "It's like they were broadcasting every awkward thought at full volume. Ugh."----With the silence settled in, Sophie casually sidebars, her tone shifting to a more amused one. "Speaking of awkward, did we ever tell you about the time we actually met Count Dracula?"----Celeste nods, a look of mild distaste crossing her face. "Yeah, it was at some club. He probably thought we'd make perfect brides."----Esme scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "As if. We were like, 'Ew, no thanks.'"----Phoebe crinkles her nose, adding with disdain, "Not our type. We've got standards."----Irma chimes in, her voice dripping with mockery. "Plus, the whole undead thing? Major turn-off."----Sophie laughs lightly. "We let him know he wasn't exactly our idea of a good time."----With that amusing memory out of the way, the girls' attention shifts back to Buffy and Peter, their expressions softening. Esme gives them a faint smile, the corners of her lips curling up. "Aww, that's so sweet," she says, her tone almost teasing.----But then, just as quickly, they all straighten up, simultaneously brushing off the moment. Phoebe speaks up with a casual, "Well, anyway."----Irma nods, already pulling out her phone. "We've got to get back to our livestream. Our fans are thirsting for greatness."----Sophie gives a little shrug. "And really, who else is going to give it to them but us?"----Celeste smirks, giving a final glance at Peter and Buffy before turning away. "Catch you two around." With that, the Cuckoos gracefully make their exit, their focus already shifting back to their adoring online audience as they leave the field behind.