[Miss Edith has returned to the Plane.

So has Drusilla, actually, and the vampire is holding the doll with all the reverence of a woman holding a sacred object.]

Saint Valentine is coming. It must be dull, sleeping all year and waking up for one little day.

Nobody makes sacrifices to him any more. They sell cards and trinkets and their souls, but no sacrifices. Nothing exciting.

[She holds Miss Edith out at arm's length, critically evaluating the doll before pulling her close and adjusting her dress.]

We're going to paint the town red, aren't we, my pet? Spike can't go do it, not with those nasty little wires in his brain. We'll have to celebrate for both of us.

Should I get him a little boy as a present, or a little girl?

We could even bake a cake.

[Alanna steps out onto the Plane, looking confused, her hand going to the hilt of her sword. She's in the market today, so she's clad in a fairly inconspicuous tunic and trousers, sword at her hip.] George? This isn't one of your tricks, is it? [she frowns thoughtfully] It doesn't look like any illusion I've ever seen. Maybe -

No, but I would know if I'd died and gone to the Black God's Realm.

What do you think, Faithful? [glancing down at the ground] Faithful?

[great, now her cat's gone. this is just too much. she draws her sword] Who's responsible for this? Show yourselves! I swear, if you've done anything to Jon, I'll-

[now she feels a little silly waving a sword at the darkness, so she sheathes it again, her free hand going to something tucked under her tunic at the base of her neck] No sign of magic anywhere. But this obviously isn't Corus. [she's still wary, keeping an eye out for any danger, and a ball of violet fire blossoms over the palm of one hand] There's no sense in standing around and waiting for something to sneak up on me - if things can sneak up here. There's not exactly much to hide behind. [she starts exploring her new surroundings]

[What's this? A canonbump where Jolyne *isn't* half-dead and horrendously bloody? Shocking. The Plane's resident stand user is sitting over in the coliseum, looking lost in thought. Along one of her arms is what looks like a series of raised cuts that spell out her name in jagged letters, which she occasionally runs her hand over but doesn't seem altogether disturbed by.]

Just what's with that guy? Well, it wasn't so bad he showed up, but still. Guess I'll just have to ask F.F. about him...

{A very handsome and suave looking man steps onto the Plane, and looks entirely unimpressed by his surroundings, oddly enough}

Is this supposed to be punishment? I hope not, since that would mean that you're getting soft, you old bastard. I don't think anyone would appreciate that. Especially your worshipers that are afraid of your wrath.

{He looks up at the sky anyways, and in his head, recites the names of the different cosmos that he sees. They aren't the names that humans have come up with, of course, but since he and his brother created most of them, well, he figures he's entitled to name them whatever he damn well pleases. Like that one? That's the John Milton nebula, just as thanks for penning Paradise Lost.}

It could have at least been a little more imaginative. I'm disappointed, honestly. No fire, no pitchforks, not even an unpleasant thing in sight. Well, except that bar, but most people would definitely consider that a positive thing.

{But he nods anyways}

It seems like I'm not alone, though. I wonder if that's supposed to be a worrisome thing, or if this is just part of "your plan" too. It's no Hell, it's just a minor inconvenience, but I'm not going to hang around. I'm tired of all this "destiny" nonsense, and I'm not planning to fit into your plan anymore.

{With a chuckle} Really, I thought at least you would know that.