Branching of the Olive Tree :: a Tale of a Slayer.

[fenderlove]

Title: Branching of the Olive Tree.
Author: fenderlove
Character: Original Slayer.
Setting: London, England. 1915.
Summary: A new Slayer is called, and she's only seven years old.
Notes: There was no prompt for this one, but I felt it went with the genre. :D
Written for...

"There was a long line of girls before Buffy. They were once the Chosen Ones of their generation. Let's tell their stories."



Branching of the Olive Tree.

Today was going to be special. Today, Gethsemane was going to go home with her new parents. The seven-year-old could not help but smile as she carefully brushed and plaited the hair of the beautiful porcelain doll the Colquhoons had given her on one of their previous visits to the orphanage. Though it had angered some of the other children, the normally generous Gethsemane refused to share her new treasure. She had kept the doll in pristine condition and was determined to prove that she was a tidy, good child, a daughter worthy of the Colquhoons' love, one that they would not abandon on a church stoop.

The Colquhoons were a pleasant-looking, well-dressed couple who had taken a special interest in Gethsemane during their very first visit to the children's home. They had found particular fascination in the child's drawings of the "Bullydog Men" as Gethsemane called them as the wrinkles on their foreheads and their pointy teeth reminded her of the grocer's bulldog pups. The girl was only too happy to talk to someone about her artwork as most of the children and nurses found them grotesque. Gethsemane revealed to the couple that she dreamed of the Bullydog Men, who were very bad, but that there were also ladies who would make them go away. She had never discussed her dreams with anyone before, but she had been quite thrilled that the Colquehoons appeared pleased as they listened to her.

When the couple returned to the orphanage for subsequent visits with Gethsemane, they brought her gifts of small toys and sweets. They were not particularly warm people; neither of the pair moved to hug her, to hold her hand, or even pat her shoulder in all the time they had spent together. However, when Mrs. Colquhoon confirmed that they were going to adopt her, Gethsemane could barely believe it and was overjoyed without any trepidation. She had prayed, hoped, and wished for a family, and surely the couple would eventually come to show affection for her. After all, they were fond enough of her to want to bring her into their home and had even bought her a fine cotton twill sailor suit to mark the occasion.

Gethsemane looked down at her old clothes laid out on her little bed. The wool-worsted dress had been replaced by a crisp white middy blouse and pleated skirt with a blue taffeta neckerchief and sash. She wore her new clothing, including a pair of gray kid and black patent leather boots with bright red buttons with a sense of pride she had never experienced before in her young life. One of the older girls, Bethlehem, had helped her fix large "flapper" bows in her hair. With her doll tucked safely in the crook of her arm, Gethsemane nervously began the long walk down the aisle between the rows of beds. She clutched the straps of a satchel tightly in her fist at her side. It contained all of her worldly possessions- a penny box of crayon stubs that she had scrimped for months to buy, a folio of wax paper and discarded newsprint she'd gathered from the bins to draw on, a few marbles, a small sewing kit, and the gifts the Colquhoons had given her.

Mrs. Walker, the director of the children's home, and the Colquhoons were waiting for Gethsemane in the front hall. Not much was said to the girl as she was ushered out to the couple's sharp Morris auto. Some of the other children milled about curiously, pressing their faces against the windows to watch and wave good-bye with teary eyes and longing glances. Gethsemane was too excited to look back as she sat between her new parents as the car rumbled away to take her to a real home. She would have a real surname, a place to belong.

The car ride was spent in silence, and Gethsemane's excitement waned into an apprehension which did not dissipate as Mr. Colquhoon parked the car in front of a towering building. The grim statues and deep-set arches cast ominous shadows over the building's facade, and not a single window was not covered by heavy dressings. To a small child, it was an oppressive and frightening structure, far more intimidating than any other than she had ever seen. Gethsemane was tersely told to follow, and she obeyed though hesitantly.

Once inside the mammoth building, Gethsemane found herself surrounded by many people, who began to tell her things she only half-heard and half-understood. They showed her pictures that greatly resembled the Bullydog Men from her dreams, and they spoke of duty and demons and fighting. When Gethsemane tried to get some reassurance from the Colquhoons, someone explained that the pair were not her new parents but her "Watchers." The child turned her head towards the different voices, different faces, and began to cry, overwhelmed by the situation.

Blinded by tears, Gethsemane was taken to a small room with a narrow bed and sparse furniture. The strangers continued to talk at her, laying down many rules while simultaneously tutting and chiding her for the emotional outburst. Finally, when nothing could calm her, Gethsemane was left alone in her room. She sat on the bed for what felt like ages, sobbing until her cries became nothing more than hiccups. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and glanced down at her doll and satchel. Carefully propping the doll against the pillow, tucking the soft quilt around her, Gethsemane unpacked her meager belongings and began to place them on the small desk and the bedside table in various arrangements until she felt comfortable. She explored what little there was in the room and found several more dresses and clothing items in a cupboard, some of which appeared to have been worn and were many sizes too large for her.

The goldenrod wallpaper gave the room a false sense of cheer. The only adornment to the walls besides the fixtures was a small portrait of King George mounted above the desk. Gethsemane stared up at the painting and sniffled. He seemed to have kind eyes, and, though she had never been moved to the fanciful dreaming of being a princess or the like, Gethsemane could not help but imagine what it would be like to be his daughter. Would he say ghastly, confusing things? Would he hug her? Would he comfort her if she was upset? Or would he leave her by herself in a strange place?

Picking up her folio and her tiny tuck-box of crayons, Gethsemane moved to sit at the desk and began to copy the portrait as best as her small hands and limited skill could manage. She tried to concentrate on recreating the contours of the monarch's face, holding back another spate of tears. She could see in her mind what a home was supposed to be, and this was not it. Gethsemane tried to convince herself that she had overacted, that she just needed to adjust to her new life. Perhaps her preconception of "home" had been wrong. After all, she had never had one before.

The End.

Comments

[mulder200.livejournal.com]

Ah! Poor child!

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

And the sad thing is, the Watchers would probably put a seven-year-old in the "field."

[whichclothes.livejournal.com]

Oh! That's so sad!

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

I believe that probably a lot of Slayers and Slayerettes went through similar circumstances, and with the high death rate, I imagine that there were even probably Slayers younger than seven as well.

[slaymesoftly.livejournal.com]

Ah, what a heartbreaking look at what life was like for many potentials and slayers. Well done!

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

Thanks. Sometimes I think that I imagine the Watchers to be more heartless than they are, and probably not all of them were, but looking at Merrick, Giles, Wesley, Travers, and the others from the show, the Watchers tend to be puzzled as to why a young girl or young woman would not be thrilled at their "birth right" and are quite pushy about getting what they want out of the Slayers. And from the examples on the show, the Slayers that are chosen are either easily manipulated, come from circumstances they are looking to escape, or have chips on their shoulders with something to prove... Maybe that's just part of the Slayer package thanks to the Shadow Men.

[rebcake.livejournal.com]

What more could a child want than pretty clothes, a nice doll, and a mandate to rid the world of evil? So clueless are the Watchers. You'd think that they'd at least have a nurse or governess about for an occasion like this, but I get the feeling that child rearing practices of the time weren't all that nurturing, even to non-Slayers. Still, you'd think that somebody would understand that they'd just dashed a little girl's dreams of family. Even unto still not having a surname. *sobs*

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

Still, you'd think that somebody would understand that they'd just dashed a little girl's dreams of family.
I think to Watchers, who don't seem to have much interest in their own families outside of creating more little Watchers, just don't see the value or necessity for the Slayer to have any kind of relationship with anyone. To them, being a Slayer should be enough; having a familial name is just another reminder of a real life and would be a hindrance to the "calling."

[louise39.livejournal.com]

How dreadfully sad. Perhaps not too different from other children's lives in that time but you would wish for more.

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

During that time, children were sometimes put on "orphan trains" where they were sent from urban centers to rural centers across the United States and parts of Europe. They were "indentured" as servants and exploited for labor. Even in children's homes and hospitals, those adopted faced abuse, both physical and sexual. Records were not kept properly, and there was no foster care system to investigate the homes these children were sent to. Those who were not adopted found similar perils or worse as they were turned out into the world. And the really sad thing is that even with protections and safeguards we have in place now, children are still in the same danger today.

[louise39.livejournal.com]

Almost 100 years from the time of your story and there are still children sad and un-cared for.

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

We can only hope that in another hundred years things might change at long last.

[fenderlove.livejournal.com]

Thank you!