Title:  Three Evils

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating: G 

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:   I wrote this for Beamer, who wanted to see the first two evils meet up for coffee.  As readers will probably guess, I drafted this during the lunch hour of a hard day at work.

Set in late AtS Season 4 and BtVS Season 7.

        "Well, that's a very pretty form you've got today," said Jasmine.

        The First turned to smile at its reflection in the mirror on the wall.  It smirked, admiring the illusion it had created of a pretty blonde young woman, until it noticed how all the other customers in the upscale coffee shop were staring at its companion.  The First pretended to flop down in the chair next to Jasmine while really just reconfiguring the Slayer's image over the furniture.  "I should have worn something even prettier, with all the competition you're giving me."  It frowned as several people gathered outside in the street for the privilege of staring at Jasmine.  The frown deepened when the people at nearby tables dropped to their knees and began to stare worshipfully.

        "Cheer up," said Jasmine, trying unsuccessfully to look as if she didn't relish every gaze of adoration.  "Neither of us really looks like this, after all.  And I got you a tall latte."

        The First stared gloomily at the untouched drink on the table.  "Thanks ever.  Any good ideas on how I should drink it?"

        "I thought you had some new minion who could act as your vessel?  Can't he take a few sips for you?"

        "Can, yes.  Will, no.  The stupid creature has some really moronic ideas.  Wine and killing are fine, but caffeine and sex are out.  Remind me to avoid religious fanatics in the future."  It sighed.  "He was going on and on about carnality and virtue again, so I left him in the vineyard."

        "Staff," muttered Jasmine to herself.  "Typical.  But that's too bad.  I know you said he interviewed well and you had high hopes for him."

        "Well, this is supposed to be business, so I shouldn't complain about the lack of refreshments," said the First, flipping back Buffy's hair and practicing a makeup-model-snooty look, "Besides, these meetings are just silly.  We have different Goals and Objectives.  How are we supposed to coordinate activities when we've been given conflicting Mission Statements?"

        "I know," sighed Jasmine.  "And don't tell me that Mission Statements are supposed to be generated organically from the base of the organization instead of being imposed by the top layer of the hierarchy.   I know that too.  But the fact is that we have our assignments, and we're meeting to discuss them because the Highest Power told us to.  I don't know about you, but when the HP schedules a meeting on my Outlook calendar, I don't hit the 'decline' button."

        The First continued to stare gloomily at its untouchable latte.  "It's not as if the HP ever attends these things.  Sometimes, I think it's just Her idea of a cosmic joke."

        "Probably," said Jasmine.  "But you know what they say, 'laugh and the world laughs with you, laugh at the HP and you'll never have reason to laugh again.'"

        "It's easy for you to be so agreeable," said the First.  "Look at the people in this place.  They can't take their eyes off you, and it's not like you're even prettier than me right now.  Everyone worships you.  They don't even notice it when you eat their friends and family.   I send a few minions to kill off some juvenile delinquent slayer wannabes, and I've got all kinds of heroes and do-gooders after me."  She sighed as if she were bearing the weight of the world on her ectoplasmic shoulders.

        "Hey, it's not like I don't have problems too," said Jasmine.  "Okay, so my public image is good.  But my original staff is literally trying to stab me in the back, so the only follower I can trust is a sulky teenager who's not only damned high maintenance, he happens to be my father.  This working with family is no piece of cake.  No wonder everyone always warns you against it."

        "Yes, but the rest of your organization-"

        "What about them?"  Jasmine waved her hand and rolled her eyes to signal her exasperation.  "The moment I get the rank and file trained to do exactly what I want, I start to lose energy and have to eat them.  The attrition is threatening to bust my budget for the entire operation." 

        Before the First could respond, it was distracted.  A slight figure slipped into the chair next to it. 

"Well, look who's here at last!" said the First.

        "Sorry I'm late," said the newcomer.  He was a nerdy-looking, middle-aged man whose face should have been considered almost painfully nondescript.  But everyone in the coffee shop had recognized him the moment he came through the door.  "Why does She always schedule these meetings at the most awkward times?"

        "Why, were you playing Flight Simulator?" asked the First snidely.  "There are better games out there now, you know."

        "No, I had a visit from yet another Justice Department official.  There's always something more to negotiate with those guys. You'd think I'd never rigged that election to get them off my back."  He shifted to allow the waitress to set a cup down in front of him.  "Your mocha, Mr. Gates," she murmured.  "Just the way you like it."  She gave Jasmine an adoring, sidelong look, ignored the First, and backed away.

        "Serves you right," said the First when the waitress was out of earshot.  "Even humans determined not to believe in magic are capable of some logic.  At least a few of them keep noticing that even though Macs are clearly a superior product, your crap has all the market share.  Since they don't believe in the black arts, they naturally assume you're doing something illegal."

        "My products are not crap," snapped the man.

        "Oh, yeah?" said the First, glaring with envy as it watched him drink his mocha.  "Does that mean you've managed to fix that annoying bug in Word where it doesn't number the pages in the header the right way until you print the document?"

        "Yes, it's fixed," he snapped.  "Aren't you using Word 2002 yet?"

        "So I have to pay for a new version before you fix your mistakes?  But you know what, Bill?  I might consider upgrading if you tell me your access for the disabled has improved.  Because right now the interface you've got in NT for incorporeal beings who need to have their typing done for them by blind minions--it's just not doing it for me."

        "No one told you to hire a bunch of blind minions . . ."

        "Will you two shut up about that already?" snapped Jasmine.  "Really, First, you need to think about who you're morphing into more carefully.  You're getting obsessed by this stuff.  This is what happens to your thought processes when you've taken the form of too many nerds."

         "I'd think they'd have a stabilizing effect—"  The man started to say.

        "Oh?" said the First, ignoring him to focus on Jasmine.  "It's easy for you to say.  You have a real body of your own, and a sort-of personality to go with it.  But let's see what you think after you've eaten a few more aspiring scriptwriters--and in LA, you're going to scarf down quite a few, even if you think you're dining on waitresses and real estate sales people."

        "Still, you could be more selective," insisted Jasmine

        "There has to be a purpose to the forms I take.  This anal-retentive slayer is the best of the lot, let me tell you.  Ever try to concentrate when you're a souled vampire driven insane by guilt?  Only to have to morph into an unsouled, clairvoyant vampire who's just plain insane?  And the rest of my choices aren't much better.  Sure, they were mostly into Evil World Domination, but everybody's got a different set of priorities." It ticked them off on Buffy's fingers.  "Opening the Hellmouth, attaining ascension, cracking the walls between dimensions, and--I never did figure out just what that damn Warren wanted.  It's disorienting.  Makes it tough to schedule an apocalypse." The First darted a glance at the man sitting beside it. "And, let me tell you, MS Project is not helping."

        "If you'd just do the tutorial--" he started to say.

        "Let's stop arguing and start the meeting," interrupted Jasmine, tapping her index finger on the table.  "The sooner we begin, the sooner this will be over.  Now, the first item on the agenda . . . "

        "And just who decided you were leading this meeting?" demanded the First, glowering at Jasmine.  "And don't give me that everybody-loves-me smile.  It may work on the rest of the world, but if I had a real stomach it would make me want to puke."

        Bill sighed.  He really, really hated these meetings.  They made facing a deposition by the Justice Department seem as easy as writing a program in Visual Basic.  He leaned back in his chair and began playing a game of Flight Simulator in his head to make the minutes go by . . .

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