And here I present my own Spillow ramblings. Giving all the credit to Joss Whedon, but of course.

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1. take you home

Alright, admittedly, a midnight stroll through the streets of Sunnydale was a bad plan. Possibly even a horrible plan. But there was a small kernel of hope that perhaps this time the Powers That Be would let her off with just a warning.

Nah. In the land of the vampires, being the best friend of the Slayer has its drawbacks. Nevertheless, young Willow Rosenberg reasons (as she so oft does) that she has created an almost camouflage with the aid of heels and a short skirt. And black nail polish. Clearly too risqué for anyone to recognize her. Clearly.

The counterargument to the "incognito" point is that, for her, "incognito" roughly translates to "standing out" from the Latin root "not thinking ahead." She's two-thirds of the way to the Bronze and so has mathematically ruled out the option of turning around. Why, of all the times she's opted to even go and be social, did she pick a time when Slayer escort was temporarily unavailable and the scourge of Europe was undoubtedly terrorizing the town?

At what point exactly did she ever think this was a good plan?

Her pace quickens, and she nervously pushes a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Five-sixths of the way. Stupid suburbia and its distance from… urbia. Just keep walking, she tells herself.

The guy she just passed goes to school with her. In the day. Ergo, not a vampire. Seven-eighths of the way there. In fact, she can see the line to get in and there's safety in numbers so she's safe from vampires in a crowd and –

Air whooshes from her lungs. Her sudden exhalation matches the instantaneous display of force that has slammed her against a wall. "What have we here, Ken?" the vampire gripping her shoulders asks the vampire finishing up his smoke.

"From the looks of it, I would say dinner for two, Brandon," Ken (unfortunately not the harmless, plastic, Barbie doll) answers the rhetorical question as he strolls towards menacing Brandon and captive Willow. She tries to remember how to scream as she stares at their wholly demonic visages.

"Wait," she says breathlessly, unable to form any other word.

"Wait for what, sweetie?" Brandon murmurs close to her face, his breath reeking of death and blood. Ken grins as he comes close enough to see her terror-stricken face.

Her normally peaches-and-cream complexion has gone bloodless, but her mouth still remembers words even if her brain screams on mindlessly. "Who do you work for?" she blurts. Latching onto a dim hope, her brain quiets enough to formulate the best plan it can come up with.

"What?" Ken frowns at her with disgruntled confusion. Not the brightest crayon in the box, but he appears to be the brighter of the two.

Her mouth runs without even bothering to make sense. "Angelus wants me. He and Spike want the Slayer and her friends and I'm the Slayer's friend and they'd totally flip if I was hurt without their permission so you should both probably just –" Words flee her mouth driven by the burst of stars that invades her skull. The distant thought that perhaps her attempt at stalling has made a bad situation worse chases her into unconsciousness.

"Shit," Brandon stutters as he looks at the limp redhead in his arms.

"Shit, indeed," Ken agrees. "Let's drop off the girl at Angelus's mansion and find another meal. I don't fancy either of those two psychos out for my blood." Ken's spine shivers in terror as potent as Willow's as the girl in question is hefted onto Brandon's shoulder. Ken starts down the alley as his friend follows him into the inky dark.

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