Antique Shopkeepers and Gallery Owners
20 Minutes with Joyce
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander or BTVS or ATS or my car... or my house...
“Bills. Bills. Bills.” Didn’t Dawn listen to a song like that? Joyce Summers sat at her new kitchen table among stacks of open letters, mangled envelopes and half empty coffee cups. The early afternoon California sun trickled through the blinds making her hair glow golden. The old coffee table and kitchen table were in large pieces. The only use left for them would be for the Scoobies to whittle stakes out of the pieces! Joyce knew she couldn’t dance around happily like Dawn and sing, “Bills! Bills! Bills!” She had responsibilities to her girls. You would think the Watcher’s Council would provide a little monthly fund for any furniture damaged in the service of the good fight. But no.
Joyce had accepted Buffy as the slayer, Dawn as the key, Willow--the witch, Rupert Giles--the watcher and Angel/Angelus--the vampire with a soul. What she could not accept was anyone who visited regularly thought she was a furniture shop-a-holic. Joyce could also not accept that she had balances of over $1,000 at each of the three furniture stores in town. She had spent over $3,000 in furniture in the 6 years she had lived in Sunnydale.
“Humph.” Joyce put her black ink pin down beside the notepad that detailed her month’s budget. She picked up the red pen and wrote down this week’s monetary losses yet furniture gains. Coffee Tabe: $299 and Kitchen Table & 4 chairs: $329. Just this morning, Buffy had told her about the hot water. Apparently they now needed a water heater because a Pelgora or was it Aelgora water demon had decided to take up residence in the current one hoping to spawn an army of young Pelgoras or Aelgoras. Lucky for the world Buffy’s fists had changed it’s mind.
Joyce really didn’t get it. Let’s be practical. If you have a job—you should be paid for your service. How dare these watchers’ mutate and subvert reality and turn a job into a noble calling.
Hey teachers have a noble calling and heck they are paid! Ouch. Her head really hurt. Joyce knew she had to get out of the house. There was a new antique furniture shop in town. The secretary at the gallery had told her about it. Rather the secretary had told her about the dreamy owner of the shop. He was a Scottish man named Duncan Mac something. A distraction was what she needed. And dreamy men with accents always had the power to distract Joyce.
Joyce pushed herself away from the kitchen table and the piles of bills and worries. She slipped her feet back in the low heeled pale pumps she had discarded hours ago under the table and walked forward to get her jacket and purse. Giving herself a quick glance in the hallway mirror she noticed her purse did not match her shoes and her jacket didn’t match anything. Sighing, she wondered if it really mattered. It was likely the guy at the shop wouldn’t notice or even care but the truth was Joyce cared. With that thought in mind she went back upstairs to change. She left her old jacket on her bed and put a nice slightly tight black sweater over her grey button down shirt. She kicked her pumps into the closet and wriggled out of her brown slacks. She slipped her best fitting blue jeans over her legs and gathered socks and medium heeled black boots.
Putting on her socks and shoes as she sat at the edge of her bed she thought. “What the heck am I doing. I don’t know this guy. Never met him.” But on the other hand what did she have to lose? At the least maybe the antique shop would have a nice sword for Buffy.