Ali returned home to her little snowglobe of Dubai every morning, just before the sun really rose. She had a wall-full of portraits beside it of all the previous so-called 'chosen ones', and it felt like a prerequisite for being one was being either towheaded or chronically blond. Perhaps that was only in Ohio, but it still said a lot about the mystic arts and whatever. Her job kept her from going to high school, later to college, or finding a job, all that jazz. She had a pile of money from her parents, though, and she tried her best to make sure she wasn't put out on the street. She scowled without knowing it. It had been a while since she'd thought of them.

The snowglobe, in all its ridiculous glory, was there to keep her grounded in reality. She'd had a rough night out – as per usual – and really needed her sleep. But first, she'd wash her face and sterilize the scrapes she'd gotten on her palms when she'd fallen on her butt like an idiot. So many years on the job, and she still got tripped by oil slicks. In her defense – it was dark. Not in her defense – her schedule was selectively nocturnal. In her defense, for her line of work, it was a miracle that they were the only wounds she had garnered. She finished putting on her Hello Kitty band-aids at this point, and she barely got up, muttering, "timber," as she fell face-forward on her bed, still fully clothed.

Ali woke to an upside down face before her, blurry and with too many or not enough features. She blinked. Her gaze focused. Male, blond hair, blue eyes, straight nose, full pout. Another All-American chosen one, perhaps? What did he want with her, strapped to the ceiling upside down? Her ankles burned, and her arms hung limply, causing her arm-hole sockets to be sore as well. She looked around her – a warehouse, solid concrete, probably with walls so thick as to keep in all her terrified screams. She didn't get this nervous very easy. This guy – or guys – were starting to impress her.

"Hi there, gorgeous. World's mighty dangerous to be out so late," she tried. Her voice was slightly husky, her throat still half-asleep, and she tried not to clear it. The guy smiled, almost shyly, and from what she could see, he was pretty cute. She gave the rest of him a once over – a navy sweater over enormous muscles, and khaki pants.

"Ti-ight," she said, signaling with her eyes, and the smile slipped off his face.

"I don't think you're in any position to be flirting," a definitely female voice suggested lightly, and Ali heard someone walk toward them from the left. "Or sexually harassing."

"You put me in ropes and you expect me not to do either?" Ali asked derisively, with a snort for extra measure. A red-haired woman stepped in front of her, and the blond man stepped to the side to make room for her. She was very pretty, with features like a painting – one of the more modern, idealistic, lookist paintings, not the accurate historic ones. She was in a skintight black onesie, which probably meant that she was down for business. She was giving Ali a once-over, with a look of appraisal to her eyes.

"Nice band-aids," she noted lightly.

"Thanks – they were on sale."

"Now, while this banter is really nice, Britney here slept half the night away, so I think we should maybe get a move on with this whole shit show," an upbeat male voice announced quickly and loudly. He sounded as if he was used to getting his way in life, and that made him infinitely obnoxious. Ali was really getting tired from looking at them upside down – this one looked fairly older, with dark brown hair, and full facial hair. He had on a rock tee and a suit over that looked expensive enough to suggest that he should be carried from location to location on a litter held up by servants – or elephants.

"Fine with me. Who are you guys?" Ali started. The three exchanged looks.

"You know exactly who we are," the blond guy said, speaking for the first time.

"I know that you are extremely cute upside down. You guys could be kidnappers, keeping me for ransom," Ali suggested, "or rapists, which, really?" She raised her eyebrows at the redhead, who rolled her eyes. "Or just psychopaths."

"You aren't screaming yet," the brunette pointed out.

"No, this is strangely surreal and I'm still a little bit turned on by the chafing," Ali snarled, and the three exchanged another look. They parted, to the left and the right, and Ali was left staring at a mirror, which showed very tush tushes, and ropes hanging from the ceiling, stretched taut by something no one could see.

"Which reminds me," she said sadly. "Tell me, when you found me – was my hair alright?" Her next quip was dead as they fell from her lips. "I've been giving myself haircuts for the past three hundred years."

Ali was a chosen one – a slayer. And she was her own worst enemy.

Author's Notes: Rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer – both the movie and the tv show, and I'm trying to get some writing in with Ali. The only plausible outcome – this, I suppose. Forgive me for not continuing on the other story, which I'm still trying to figure out.

Thanks for reading!