Here's a short story set about half-ways through series four because that was when I wrote it. (This is the Special Collector's Edition with three sentences of hitherto unreleased prose.) By the way I don't own any of these characters, except for Boland, but there's nothing anyone can do about it. I live on the other side of the planet and I am very difficult to track down. Send your lawyers; I dare you. You'll never find me.
So here it goes...
The group edged slowly through the shadowy foliage, as up ahead, their guide cleared a path for them with easy, measured sweeps of his machete. He was their 'white hunter' and had clearly studied the part. Every detail was present: khakis, sun-bleached fedora and a British accent that dripped arrogance and 'good breeding'. He turned to address his clients, taking care to catch the moonlight dramatically in the (painstakingly) weathered edge of his blade.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen. Before us is the Shady Hill Cemetery, a frequent hunting ground of the Slayer. However, there is no need for undue concern, the Slayer and I have a mutual respect."
It hadn't been a good night; they'd been to three cemeteries and had yet to see a single soldier or a wisp of blonde hair. While they were impressed with the ruins of the high school, and had passed an enjoyable hour at Willy's being regaled by the tales of other demons; he could see that they were getting restless. What this tour needed was some sort of genuine Slayer and/or Initiative attraction. Something like...
Two figures had walked into view. He knew them to be friends of the Slayer but harmless in their own right. But before thinking things through he had already begun to talk.
"A special treat for you this evening; that is a close associate of the Slayer. A sorceress whose eldritch powers strike fear into even the most seasoned demon."
"And who's the lanky kid?"
"Oh he's just some..." He remembered himself. "Warrior of great renown. "
"Looks like a pair of students to me," said a heavy man in a loud Bermuda shirt. "Let's take 'em."
Bugger, thought the guide, the last thing he wanted was a vengeful slayer tracking him down.
"I simply must recommend against such an action. While you are no doubt as vicious a fiend as one could ever hope to avoid, those two are not your usual slackers; they are in fact;" he spat out the words, "good guys."
"I paid good money for this tour, son."
"Now honey," said his polyester clad wife in one of those obnoxious cat-losing-a-fight-with-a-tumble-dryer voices that wealthy tourists have. "The commodore is only interested in our safety. This is a vacation after all."
"Dammit, we're vampires."
"Alright," said their guide. "I know an incantation that will suppress their powers. Stay here. I'll give the signal when they're defenceless."
He stepped out of the bushes and approached the two youths.
"Excuse me," he said foregoing the accent. His normal voice was better suited to grovelling.
"Yes?" said the one he knew to be Willow Rosenberg.
"There's something of a situation going on that could mean death for the three of us." He noted their blank expressions. "I should perhaps, elaborate. You know the way the rich like by pursuing extreme adventures. White water rafting; climbing Everest; you know?"
They nodded uncertainly.
"Well I offer tours of Sunnydale, the haunt of the mythical Slayer and the shadowy Initiative, to wealthy vampires looking for a comfortable thrill."
Willow noticed the machete that hung casually at his side.
"Are you the one whose been hacking down the bushes around the cemetery? The caretaker was accusing Buffy of it yesterday."
"Yeah," said Xander. "Stop getting us into trouble."
"Who are you anyway?"
He accidentally slipped back into character.
"I am Left-tenant Commodore Harcourt Boland of the Royal Light dragoons."
Willow regarded him through narrowed eyes.
"Isn't commodore a naval term? You're horse must be a good swimmer."
"Okay I'm just Tim Boland from Detroit. This is my first week as a white hunter. There are a half dozen vampires in those bushes and they'll attack you any minute now."
"So what do you want us to do?" asked Willow earnestly.
"I was kind of hoping that you two might come up with something."
"Okay." This was too much for Xander. "So you come to us looking for favours and all you bring to the party is a pack of vampires. What makes you think you can qualify as a good guy anyway? And after that bull about sea dragons..." He trailed off as if there were six snarling vampires behind him because well; "They're behind me, yeah?"
Willow and Boland nodded.
"Well son," said the vampire in the Bermuda shirt. "Have you got rid of their powers?"
All cowards have to deal with these moments. The best ones have a knack for seeing which way the wind was blowing but this was a poser. Side with the kids and be killed by vampires now. Or side with the vampires and spend the rest of his life being hunted by a Slayer.
But before he could make a decision Xander stood between them and the vampires and with a flick of his wrist a rather nifty pistol crossbow folded into his palm.
"Okay sunshine," the boy said smoothly while lining up his shot. "Back off or I'll dust ya. Whose the scary person now eh?"
"Where'd you get that thing?" asked Willow.
"One of Giles's mail order catalogues. I'm still waiting on the monogrammed throwing knives. Okay maybe it was an impulse buy."
The vampire took a step forward. The shaft darted from the cross bow and glanced off the vampire's chest with a metallic twang. The vampire grinned evilly, mainly because it was an evil vampire which was feeling very clever.
"Stainless steel plate grated over the heart area. Got that done in one of them Swiss clinics."
"Oh yes," nodded your stereotypical Japanese tourist except that it had fangs and yellow eyes along with the cameras and glossy maps. "I heard of that but they don't advertise."
"He relies heavily on word-of-mouth business. I've got his number if you want it."
"Excuse me," managed Xander, whose action hero moment had passed. "That's not very fair."
The vampires moved forward. Xander exhaled.
"We'll be okay. How this works is that at the last minute there'll be a high pitched cry of 'aieyaieyaieyaie' and the Slayer will summersault into battle."
"Am Xand," said Willow nervously. "Buffy doesn't go 'aie aie aie,' and she's doing psych make-up exam right now."
"Maybe the Initiative will find us?" hoped Boland. It was dawning on him that he was stuck on the human team.
"The Initiative?" scoffed Xander. "That gang of G.I. Janes couldn't find a virgin at a Babylon 5 convention." He clapped his hands together and stared down the advancing demons. "Looks like it's last stand time. Bring it on. Come on, bring it."
"Aliter quam ad virum," whispered Willow to herself. "Ex causa Hecate."
The vampires stopped in their tracks. The wife tugged her husband's sleeve urgently.
"That's Latin. She's chanting Latin. Make her stop."
Xander looked around; there were no number two pencils to levitate, so what was Willow up to? A rather specialised wind blew her hair back from her face. A cool fireball spell maybe?
"Acriter verberare uxorem."
"Now see here sister," began the vampire. It noticed the eerie green sparks dancing between Willow's fingers. "Now stop that or hey... Shut up!"
The little redhead's eyes blazed as a shimmering pulse sprung from her hands and earthed itself in the vampires.
The vampires screamed in terror and scattered off into the night. Xander looked sideways at Willow in awe. The howling could still be heard in the distance.
"Big ups to the Willster, what did that spell do?"
"It made the wind blow and a fiery swirly thing hit all the vampires.
"But what did it do to them?"
"Am nothing. It's just a light show we witch types add onto spells to make them more dramatic. Most spells are fairly low key, and need a bit of jazzing up. Just to please the crowd. Ya know, showmanship."
"So you scared the vampires away with... special effects?"
Willow smiled knowingly.
"I'm not big on the destructive Old Testament stuff. I'm a nice witch."
"We'd better get out of here before we get killed by some embarrassed vampires. It won't take them long to realise that they're hypochondriacs." He saw Boland trying to slip away unnoticed. "Hey you."
Boland turned around slowly.
"That was most impressive. I owe you both a debt of gratitude."
"Save it Peaches. You'd be better off leaving town. Those guys might come looking for refunds," Xander rarely got the chance to talk down to someone. "And you'd better leave anyway or, or I'll tell the Slayer on you."
Frank Boland, white hunter, cavalryman in Her Majesty's Navy, and as it happens, a total failure as a con artist, decided that there were probably less lethal towns to set up shop in then Sunnydale. He traded in the machete for a bus ticket and headed east that very evening.
So here it goes...
The group edged slowly through the shadowy foliage, as up ahead, their guide cleared a path for them with easy, measured sweeps of his machete. He was their 'white hunter' and had clearly studied the part. Every detail was present: khakis, sun-bleached fedora and a British accent that dripped arrogance and 'good breeding'. He turned to address his clients, taking care to catch the moonlight dramatically in the (painstakingly) weathered edge of his blade.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen. Before us is the Shady Hill Cemetery, a frequent hunting ground of the Slayer. However, there is no need for undue concern, the Slayer and I have a mutual respect."
It hadn't been a good night; they'd been to three cemeteries and had yet to see a single soldier or a wisp of blonde hair. While they were impressed with the ruins of the high school, and had passed an enjoyable hour at Willy's being regaled by the tales of other demons; he could see that they were getting restless. What this tour needed was some sort of genuine Slayer and/or Initiative attraction. Something like...
Two figures had walked into view. He knew them to be friends of the Slayer but harmless in their own right. But before thinking things through he had already begun to talk.
"A special treat for you this evening; that is a close associate of the Slayer. A sorceress whose eldritch powers strike fear into even the most seasoned demon."
"And who's the lanky kid?"
"Oh he's just some..." He remembered himself. "Warrior of great renown. "
"Looks like a pair of students to me," said a heavy man in a loud Bermuda shirt. "Let's take 'em."
Bugger, thought the guide, the last thing he wanted was a vengeful slayer tracking him down.
"I simply must recommend against such an action. While you are no doubt as vicious a fiend as one could ever hope to avoid, those two are not your usual slackers; they are in fact;" he spat out the words, "good guys."
"I paid good money for this tour, son."
"Now honey," said his polyester clad wife in one of those obnoxious cat-losing-a-fight-with-a-tumble-dryer voices that wealthy tourists have. "The commodore is only interested in our safety. This is a vacation after all."
"Dammit, we're vampires."
"Alright," said their guide. "I know an incantation that will suppress their powers. Stay here. I'll give the signal when they're defenceless."
He stepped out of the bushes and approached the two youths.
"Excuse me," he said foregoing the accent. His normal voice was better suited to grovelling.
"Yes?" said the one he knew to be Willow Rosenberg.
"There's something of a situation going on that could mean death for the three of us." He noted their blank expressions. "I should perhaps, elaborate. You know the way the rich like by pursuing extreme adventures. White water rafting; climbing Everest; you know?"
They nodded uncertainly.
"Well I offer tours of Sunnydale, the haunt of the mythical Slayer and the shadowy Initiative, to wealthy vampires looking for a comfortable thrill."
Willow noticed the machete that hung casually at his side.
"Are you the one whose been hacking down the bushes around the cemetery? The caretaker was accusing Buffy of it yesterday."
"Yeah," said Xander. "Stop getting us into trouble."
"Who are you anyway?"
He accidentally slipped back into character.
"I am Left-tenant Commodore Harcourt Boland of the Royal Light dragoons."
Willow regarded him through narrowed eyes.
"Isn't commodore a naval term? You're horse must be a good swimmer."
"Okay I'm just Tim Boland from Detroit. This is my first week as a white hunter. There are a half dozen vampires in those bushes and they'll attack you any minute now."
"So what do you want us to do?" asked Willow earnestly.
"I was kind of hoping that you two might come up with something."
"Okay." This was too much for Xander. "So you come to us looking for favours and all you bring to the party is a pack of vampires. What makes you think you can qualify as a good guy anyway? And after that bull about sea dragons..." He trailed off as if there were six snarling vampires behind him because well; "They're behind me, yeah?"
Willow and Boland nodded.
"Well son," said the vampire in the Bermuda shirt. "Have you got rid of their powers?"
All cowards have to deal with these moments. The best ones have a knack for seeing which way the wind was blowing but this was a poser. Side with the kids and be killed by vampires now. Or side with the vampires and spend the rest of his life being hunted by a Slayer.
But before he could make a decision Xander stood between them and the vampires and with a flick of his wrist a rather nifty pistol crossbow folded into his palm.
"Okay sunshine," the boy said smoothly while lining up his shot. "Back off or I'll dust ya. Whose the scary person now eh?"
"Where'd you get that thing?" asked Willow.
"One of Giles's mail order catalogues. I'm still waiting on the monogrammed throwing knives. Okay maybe it was an impulse buy."
The vampire took a step forward. The shaft darted from the cross bow and glanced off the vampire's chest with a metallic twang. The vampire grinned evilly, mainly because it was an evil vampire which was feeling very clever.
"Stainless steel plate grated over the heart area. Got that done in one of them Swiss clinics."
"Oh yes," nodded your stereotypical Japanese tourist except that it had fangs and yellow eyes along with the cameras and glossy maps. "I heard of that but they don't advertise."
"He relies heavily on word-of-mouth business. I've got his number if you want it."
"Excuse me," managed Xander, whose action hero moment had passed. "That's not very fair."
The vampires moved forward. Xander exhaled.
"We'll be okay. How this works is that at the last minute there'll be a high pitched cry of 'aieyaieyaieyaie' and the Slayer will summersault into battle."
"Am Xand," said Willow nervously. "Buffy doesn't go 'aie aie aie,' and she's doing psych make-up exam right now."
"Maybe the Initiative will find us?" hoped Boland. It was dawning on him that he was stuck on the human team.
"The Initiative?" scoffed Xander. "That gang of G.I. Janes couldn't find a virgin at a Babylon 5 convention." He clapped his hands together and stared down the advancing demons. "Looks like it's last stand time. Bring it on. Come on, bring it."
"Aliter quam ad virum," whispered Willow to herself. "Ex causa Hecate."
The vampires stopped in their tracks. The wife tugged her husband's sleeve urgently.
"That's Latin. She's chanting Latin. Make her stop."
Xander looked around; there were no number two pencils to levitate, so what was Willow up to? A rather specialised wind blew her hair back from her face. A cool fireball spell maybe?
"Acriter verberare uxorem."
"Now see here sister," began the vampire. It noticed the eerie green sparks dancing between Willow's fingers. "Now stop that or hey... Shut up!"
The little redhead's eyes blazed as a shimmering pulse sprung from her hands and earthed itself in the vampires.
The vampires screamed in terror and scattered off into the night. Xander looked sideways at Willow in awe. The howling could still be heard in the distance.
"Big ups to the Willster, what did that spell do?"
"It made the wind blow and a fiery swirly thing hit all the vampires.
"But what did it do to them?"
"Am nothing. It's just a light show we witch types add onto spells to make them more dramatic. Most spells are fairly low key, and need a bit of jazzing up. Just to please the crowd. Ya know, showmanship."
"So you scared the vampires away with... special effects?"
Willow smiled knowingly.
"I'm not big on the destructive Old Testament stuff. I'm a nice witch."
"We'd better get out of here before we get killed by some embarrassed vampires. It won't take them long to realise that they're hypochondriacs." He saw Boland trying to slip away unnoticed. "Hey you."
Boland turned around slowly.
"That was most impressive. I owe you both a debt of gratitude."
"Save it Peaches. You'd be better off leaving town. Those guys might come looking for refunds," Xander rarely got the chance to talk down to someone. "And you'd better leave anyway or, or I'll tell the Slayer on you."
Frank Boland, white hunter, cavalryman in Her Majesty's Navy, and as it happens, a total failure as a con artist, decided that there were probably less lethal towns to set up shop in then Sunnydale. He traded in the machete for a bus ticket and headed east that very evening.