bad things always happen here.

[walkswithheroes]

It isn't the preparation that's the problem.

If it weren't for the fact that the last time Fred rode a bike, she wasn't nearly dragged into a hell dimension, 'just like riding a bike' would be a good analogy for how Fred feels about preparing her speech for council. It reminds her more of preparing her p-dimensional subspace theory than would like, but it's easy and familiar, and she knows how much of a statistical improbability it is that the same thing would happen again. She's read her talking points to just about anyone who would listen: to Spike, to Buffy, to Sawyer, and despite knowing her speech nearly backwards and forwards by the time she walks up on stage, there are still butterflies in her stomach. She still can't shake the memory of the last time.

Still, she presses onward; Fred's been through worse things than a plain old boring old speech. She's seen demons and vampires, decapitations and prophecies... heck, she's even had her life personally threatened a couple of times. This should be a piece of cake. Though, she still takes in a nervous breath as she walks onto the stage for her own turn to speak.

"Hi, everyone," Fred starts, a nervous smile on her face, and she waves, "I'm Fred Burkle. You guys might know me from-- well, maybe you don't know me at all and you're tryin' to figure out who the heck let me run for council in the first place, actually..." she trails off, realizing she's gone far from the point. She really should have written a joke to open with to break the ice.

Only, when Fred looks down at her hands for a second, trying to decide if she should come up with a joke or just go on with her speech, something happens.

She knows immediately what it is. After five years with the collar around her neck, she still feels it there sometimes, the metal on her neck that's been there so long that it's been warmed by her own body temperature long ago, slight weight a constant reminder of how very far from home she is. It's familiar and terrifying all at the same time, and her hands immediately go to her neck when she realizes there's something there that hadn't been there a moment before.

"No, no, no, no," she's saying, crowd forgotten as she takes a few steps back on the stage, eyes wide, legs nearly buckling, "It's not real, it can't be here, it's not real."

She's muttering to herself now, eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away, trying to come to her senses. And then her legs do give, and she nearly curls into a ball there. Maybe it's all been a dream. She never left Pylea, she never left Los Angeles, she never met Angel and the others at all. But the metal against her neck is still cool, still new, like when she'd first gone through the portal.

It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't make any sense.

None of this makes sense.

[Takes place during the council speeches this week. For those of you who don't know, the collar looks like this (couldn't find a clear shot of Fred herself wearing the collar, alas). Warning: it's going to be very difficult to calm her down, and she's not just going to let someone touch the collar at first. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey in regards to who actually takes off the collar. Email or ping me if you have any questions.]

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[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Dean hadn't even been sure he was going to the speeches until he found himself there at the edge of them. The last council round he'd been nominated, had actually dragged himself onstage and given an embarrassing speech, only to lose in the end. That was for the best, he'd believed it to his bones then as now, but still, it'd stung a little in that way that losing always does.

But he's not sorry to have found himself here again, especially when Fred moves to take the stage. She's cute up there, fingers fluttering at her sides, brown hair tumbling forward into her eyes when she ducks her head, and silently Dean cheers her on. She might be nervous, but she's smart, she's brave and she's got this.

It makes it all the more shocking when she stops all at once, hands flying to her throat. Dean doesn't know what's happening, but the look on her face has him moving at once, pushing past the people at the edge of the stage and vaulting up, on his knees beside her mere seconds after she goes down.

"Fred?" he asks, reaching with both hands to steady her shoulders. "What is it, are you hurt?"

[dickgout.livejournal.com]

"Holy shit," breathes Jason, and because he never fucking thinks before he does, he bolts up there onto the stage. His hands naturally go for the collar and only imagining his sister shrieking STOP at him, as she often has when he gets impulsive, has Jason standing still, hands clenching.

"Fred, sugar, what's all this?" he finally manages instead, making sure all of his bulk goes to blocking her from view. "Well, I dunno what the fuck it is but don't you worry, sweet pea. Don't you worry."

[nobler-things.livejournal.com]

If asked, he'd... Well, he'd probably own up to the truth, to be honest. He didn't give a toss about politics, found it rather laughable that there was even an attempt at it in a place like this, so, there was really only one thing worthy enough to drag him all the way out there.

Her.

So, he'd found a spot in the back, lurking in that special way only a former creature of the night could do. When she made her way to the stage, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, warm and oddly proud. She seemed so fragile up there, but he knew as well as anyone how deceptive the cover of that book really was.

But she was also his to protect, as much as anyone had ever been, so when she collapsed, he was already halfway to the stage, elbowing his way bodily through the crowd, likely knocking over a few unlucky spectators along the way.

He vaulted up onto the stage, skidding to a stop on his knees at her side. "All right, love," he murmured, his hands hovering near the odd device now locked around her neck. "Fred, open your eyes."

[confidenceman]

Blink and Sawyer would have missed it. But maybe that doesn't matter, because what strikes him first is Fred's expression. He knows that something's wrong in those eyes, terrified and wide, the shape of her body immediately buckling as she staggers back on the stage, and that's all that he needs to start towards the stage as quickly as he can, knocking a couple of chairs down in the process, footfalls so heavy on the stage that they vibrate a second after each step.

Impossibly, the first thing he does is grab for a hand of hers, few touches more intimate and personal than that of a hand brushing along an arm, fingers twining. His free arm slings around her right after, shielding her from the audience as he leans in, murmuring close to her ear.

"Fred. Fred," he says, voice strained but soft. "Fred, you hear me? It's Sawyer."

[scoobys-heart.livejournal.com]

Not really being into politics, Xander had never really paid attention who was on the council, except to vote for people he knew would make good leaders. Despite this, he often tried to at least catch a few of the speeches, just to see where people felt the island was going.

When he saw Fred on the list, he knew he had to stay for hers. She may have worked for Angel but he couldn't hold it against her and thought of her as a friend.

He was already grinning, amazed at how brave she was for just being up there as she began. And then it felt like he blinked and there was a collar around her neck and Fred was shutting down on the stage. Xander didn't even think before he was out of his seat, heading up for the stage.

"Fred. Fred? Hey, come on, look at me." He said as he jumped up on the stage and slowly started for her, not wanting to spook her further.

[chose.livejournal.com]

She's heard the speech countless times now, enough so that Buffy practically has it memorized herself. Much like Willow, Fred can never be too prepared, and tiring though it got at the end (more than once she remembers urging the brunette to relax) she has been happy to help. As Fred takes the stage, Buffy flashes a smile and a quick thumbs-up for support, both eager and hopeful to hear the speech delivered at last. Eager and hopeful, however, were dire mistakes on her part: she should have known better than to wish for the best. Taking a page out of the Sunnydale Book of Mass Terrorization, the island delivers unto Fred a gift that from the looks of it is not at all well received.

At first, she thinks nothing of the pause, assuming it to be a bout of nervousness — Fred is prone to stammering, after all — and no more. Only when Buffy looks up to offer another meaningful glance of support does she note the expression on Fred's face, the brand new (and rather vulgar) accessory around her neck. Buffy doesn't need to know what it is to know that it's bad; Fred has fought the forces of evil with the best of 'em and she's nothing if not courageous. She shudders to think what might bring so intense a look of fear to her eyes, then scolds herself for having time to shudder at all, pushing her way through the crowd not a split-second later.

"Fred!" Calls Buffy as she hoists herself up onto the stage, immediately falling to her knees at Fred's side. "Hey, hey, Fred, look at me," she presses, grazing her shoulder lightly. "Fred, what's wrong?"