Disclaimer: All this belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Inc.(Grrr..arrgghh)
Drain Brameged Inc. Nervously Presents
A Mad-Hamlet Production
With Pan Chortling In the Background
Unaware of the visitation of that which watched The Road, Buffy Summers lay the long black feather in her lap and reached over the table for her beloved.
Smiling at her partner, Willow took the Slayer's hands in her own and pulled the blonde to her feet. They said nothing, not needing the words to convey their feelings, the sensual heat of the warm autumn sun, slanting through the blinds, warmed them. Their love for each other was palatable. A living, breathing, existing quatified entity of its own right and its light made the universe a better, brighter pla-
"I want you to fuck me cross eyed baby!" Buffy practically shouted to the redhead in front of her.
The author blinked a few times his hands frozen of the keyboard.
He read the last line a few times.
"That wasn't in the script," he thought to himself.
"Oh yes, my bestial warrior of feral fangs and fearsome feelings," Willow sang back. "Shred my clothing with your tooth and claw, mark me my hunter! Mark me!" She flung her head back exposing her throat to the now drooling slayer.
"Ooooookkkaaayyy..." Mad-Hamlet's keen instincts swung into action, decades of experience and thought rose to the challenge at hand, to analyze the goings on, find the weakness therein and come up with a plan of action to correct it in a cool, precise, professional manner.
"This is done fucked up here!" Mad-Hamlet decided.
Xander Harris picked up the phone. It had been a while since he had seen his college bound chums and was feeling lonely. Well, not lonely exactly. More like in desperate for rescue.
"Xaaaaannnndderrr," the sultry voice called from underneath the bed covers, "I nnneeeeeddd yooouuuu..."
"Pick up the phone," He changed repeatedly through gritted teeth.
"Pick up the phone, c'mon..Willow, Buffy, the Prime Poohbah of the BrotherHood of Elk, I don't care. Someone pick up the phone."
"Hello?"
"Oh thank God!" Xander blurted.
"What?" The voice on the other end asked. "Xander is that you?"
"Er...uh...hi Buffy!" Listen I was just wondering-"
He was cut off as another voice could be heard from the phone.
"Buffy! I waited a fucking eternity by the side of that damn Road, now put that damn phone down, get your naked ass over here and stake me already!"
"Uh..." Xander finished.
"Sorry Xandman, gotta go!" Buffy chirruped and the connection was cut off with a quiet, bottomless, click.
"Xaaaannnndddeeeeerrr," Anya purred again.
With a sigh, Xander Harris walked over to a small bottle, carefully removed five pills and set them on the table. Than upending the bottle he swallowed the entire contents.
He turned to the bed where Anya was...waiting.
"Thank God for viverin," He thought to himself.
"No! NO! NO! NO!" Mad-Hamlet beat his head on the keyboard. "What the hell is going on? This isn't my style! I'm angst-y and depressing. I make the world a dark, cold, lonely, bitter place. Kafka is my guide, Nietzsche my muse, The Crow my Avatar..."
He continued this long litany of the darker characteristics of major works of literature wrapping it up with the statement about how he really couldn't blame Odepius for not figuring out the problem earlier.
"...It's not like he was expected to go around to every woman he took a fancy for 'Pardon me Madam, I'd like to get to know you better and then possibly wrap your ankles around my neck, but before we get to that I have make sure you're not my mother.' Right. I can see that. Fer Sure."
Ending his little rant to himself Mad-Hamlet felt much better.
Tara was sitting at the campus bar. She had lost something, an ache deep inside told her so. An opportunity that had been promised her by the Creator had been stolen. Ripped from her before coming to bloom, died stillborn and lots of other really angst-y metaphors. So now she walked, and sought, and sought, and sought and sought and sought for something, anything to ease the ache of her violated heart.
Her fifteenth Tequila Walleyed Fanny Banger was doing great at ache easing.
Oz sighed into his beer. He'd spent the evening watching some blonde get smashed out of her mind. He'd planned to hook up with Willow that night but when he'd arrived at her dorm, he had...heard things through the door.
"it...it...it's the prophecy..."
"Yea..yeah..preordain me baby, preordain me...do it! do it!"
He'd left of course. Surprisingly Oz didn't feel to bad to discover that his girlfriend was now engaged in elicit, and possibly illegal, acts of a carnal nature with her roomate.
'I'm not surprised to find my girlfriend is now engaged in elicit, and possibly illegal, acts of a carnal nature with her roomate,' He thought to himself.
Isn't he great folks? Let's give him a big hand!
Taking another sip of his beer he shrugged mentally. 'Ah well, the universe feels better this way, like Willow an' myself were not really meant to be. The two of them deserve to be together. It's like...destiny somehow.'
Mad-Hamlet was grinning like an idiot. 'Take _that_ Seth Green!' he thought.
Figuring 'What the hell.' after his third beer, Oz worked his way across the rapidly crowding bar and sat down next to Tara. The blonde was eyeing the drink in front of her the way a rabid badger might examine a small cuddly puppy.
"Look like you could use a friend," Oz said. Not the best opening line but he never cared overly much. "Name's Oz."
He offered the blond his hand in greetings.
"Geshphaellarrgga," Tara burbled happily and tried to shake Oz's hand, missed and nearly shoved her fingers up the bass player's nose.
Yanking his head back just in time Oz continued the conversation. "Hurt?" He asked gently.
Tara's eyes rolled wildly, actual thoughts began skittering across her mind as the young man in front of her swam before her vision. 'Talking...talking...talking' her mind chanted. 'He's...talking. What do to, what to do. Oh right, talk back.'
"Frushal!" Tara exclaimed with a nod.
Oz had had just enough beer to put him into what, many college men label as 'What the Fuck' mode. As in, 'What the Fuck, One more Drink'. Ego becomes invincible in 'WTF' mode, common sense goes 'bye bye' and hormones have a front row seat.
'I'm single now,' Was the his only thought of justification as his arm slooowwlly rose up and he eased closer to slide it over the shoulders of the imbibed wiccan-
SMASH!
VrrrrrooooOOOOOMM!
Crunch.
In longer terms, the large Harley Davidson smashing through the wall came as a complete surprise to the young Daniel Ozbourne. So much so in fact that he did not have time to react to the descending front wheel of said vehicular plot line and therefore his head was caught between the tire, the one thousand pound frame for the motorbike and the concrete floor.
For about zero point zero zero zero three seconds. After that the bones of his skull gave way and his grey matter when squirting across the ground, tumbling and bouncing like very old, discolored white play-doh mixed with cherry sherbet.
No one really noticed.
"Ugologllloooo," Tara tried to whistle, but wound up gurgling.
The girl on the bike wore ultra sexy leather pants, that clung to the skin like..well.. Careful scientific investigation would have revealed it was not actually a vacuum and there was a slight amount of air between the inside of the pants, and the womans skin, but only just.
A loose fitting olive green tank top allowed ample cleavage to be freely visible, the open collar on her studded leather jacket directed any causal observers eye in that direction. Tara was no exception.
Sobriety glittered along her mind like ice water.
"Oooooo," She purred.
The blonde girl, straddling the bike tossed her head, her short blonde hair whipping about.
"I'm Veruca, a she-werewolf who would have been interested in wolf boy here," She gave Oz's corpse a swift kick. "But I find the idea of a drunken, newly nihilistic blonde far more of a turn on."
"Yay," Tara replied. While she was sobering up fast, anything more than monosyllabic responses were still beyond her.
"Gonna make you my bitch," Veruca crooned, sliding one rough, palm along Tara's hip, sliding her fingers under the wiccan's shirt her nails dug into the soft flesh beneath and began sliding higher, and higher, "Gonna give you the good stuff."
Tara couldn't help it. This girl stood for everything she was opposed to. Violence and power, taking and keeping, giving nothing and relishing in the damage she did around her.
"Wait a sec," Mad-Hamlet thought. "That's not right. Better fix it."
The second, larger even louder, Harley Davidson surprised no one as it too, came barreling through the wall of the pub. Only this time airborne. The rider gave the handlebars a massive yank, twisting the bike sideways in mid air so the side of the bike smashed into the upper part of Veruca's body lifting her off the ground and crushing her between the side of the bike and the far wall. The total effect was...
Take a sponge. A person sized sponge. Dip it in spaghetti sauce, with extra ground beef. Now, fling that sponge at a wall with around two thousand pounds of force behind it and don't forget to add in the physics of the two thousand pound object moving at roughly seventy miles per hour.
See?
The remains of Veruca slid down the wall. The mark would never be cleaned as many regular goers to the college bar thought it lent the place a sense of 'Avant Guard'.
The brunette straddling the second Harley also was decked in leather. The only real difference was her tank top was white, and had a lot more trouble holding back the packages. This meant there was a lot more cleavage to be drawn to.
Tara gravitated toward the brunette, following the curves of those thrusting slopes like an alpine skier leaning into a curve.
"Wanna go for a ride?" Faith smiled.
"Uh-huh," Tara nodded.
Faith's hand snapped out, encircled the blondes waist and pulled her over the bike's seat. She examined Tara carefully, well, her backside at least.
"Mmm... Not Buffy's but..." She gave the wiccan's upturned ass a light swat. "Should make for a fun evening..or week...or month."
Tara just sighed happily.
Faith gunned the engine, pulled a tight donut with the rear tire screeching, this spread Veruca around even more, even into some of the other patrons drinks(They didn't notice and drank them anyway.) and barreled out of the bar, making a third whole in the wall.
Mad-Hamlet leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Okay," he said to himself. "Never really liked Faith that much, but...better than Veruca. Psycho bitch."
With a contented sigh Buffy Summers relaxed. Next to her, equally without apparel, Willow. The redhead giggled and buried her head in the crux of theSlayer's strong shoulder.
"That..that was incredible." Willow murmured. "I can't believe you could move like that."
"It's a gift," Buffy shrugged dismissing her performance. "You didn't do to badly yourself you know." She chucked her lover gently under the chin.
"I could tell., Willow smiled, her eyes lazily burning with contentment.
"Oh?" Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "What clued you in?"
"Weeeeelll.." Willow squirmed deliciously, pushing her body against Buffy's, curve matching to curve, skin to skin, br-
Mad-Hamlet froze...took a cold shower, sat back down, got back to work.
"One," Willow counted, "There was the yummy goodness. Two," she held up two fingers, "There was the gasping and moaning. Three," she held up a third finger, "The constant mantra of 'red's betters than dead' was nice, but most telling part was that rising shriek of ecstasy of yours that blew out the window and the television screen."
Buffy had the decency to blush. "Sorry about that," she muttered.
"Hey," Willow began kissing her lover's neckline. "That's what a security deposit is for."
Savoring the tender caresses of her Willow Buffy couldn't help but sigh. "Just think," she mused aloud. "It'll be like this for ever and ever, no more angst, or pain, or darkness! Just love and warmth and pleasure and happy things."
An echoing silence reverberated throughout the dorm room.
With a snarled curse Buffy reached off screen, yanked Mad-Hamlet into the room and shouted in his face, "I SAID, IT'LL BE LIKE FOREVER AND EVER! NO MORE ANGST, OR PAIN, OR DARKNESS! JUST LOVE AND WARMTH AND PLEASURE AND HAPPY THINGS!"
Mad-Hamlet was triple boggled. First, being yanked into a fiction, second, being faced with a very pissed off slayer, third and last, being in the same room with a _Naked_ Buffy and Willow.
"Yes. Yes. Yes." He said hysterically. "Happys, fuzzies, waffies, you got it."
"Good." Buffy growled shoving the author back out of that reality. "Now get back to work."
Willow took the whole thing in stride. "Mmm...Buffy, you're so ..authoritarian." she purred. Her hands were easing over her own body, which was rapidly growing in heat and need.
"Ah, ah, ah." Buffy clucked halting Willow's self exploration by grabbing the redhead's hands. "Thats my job."
Mad-Hamlet was feeling grouchy. 'It's not supposed to go this way.' he grouched mentally. 'I'm the god here, not them. Subject to my will and whims and piques and moods and...and..other stuff.'
He crossed his arms with a pout. 'Then she goes and gets all interfering, telling me what I can and cannot do. Who does she think she is?'
An unasked for voice popped up in his head. 'A hell of a lot stronger than you.' It said.
Mad-Hamlet conceded the point with a nod. He set his mind to the task at hand, mainly, keeping his skin on by giving the Slayer what she wanted without compromising his reputation of being an utter bastard.
"Hmmmm..." he said aloud scratching his beard. "_There's_ an idea."
The knock on the door was entirely unwelcome. Willow had just confessed to Buffy that she could research more than hellishly evil subjects by demonstrating, vividly, her collected recollections of what parts of the Karma Sutra she had memorized- reedited for the more sapphic persuasion..
With a muffled curse Buffy disentangled herself from the...whatever kind of embrace they were in. Mad-Hamlet didn't know, he was carefully averting his eyes the entire time. Really. Flinging on a conveniently placed robe over her strong...supple..flexible...hot...bronze...
Mad-Hamlet took ANOTHER cold shower.
Putting on a robe Buffy yanked the door open, a snarling question dying on her lips. The hallway was packed...PACKED...with ...with...THINGS!
At the forefront of this great mass stood an eerily recognizable character. Kind of short, fuzzy, with big, innocent eyes and a cute button nose. It was purple. Carried a small red purse and had some weird antenna on it's head shaped like an upside down triangle.
"Too too choo," It said waving happily.
Another figure spoke up. This one looked a LITTLE better, shorter than the purple thing, blue skin, red hat, red pants, large fluffy white beard, no shirt, big feet. "He's inviting you to go on a picnic with us," It said gesturing at the purple thing with its thumb.
Buffy backed away slowly, shaking her head in denial. "No." she whispered. "No, no, no!"
Willow, completely ignoring her own lack of clothing, looked through the doorway with a growing expression of horror on her face.
"What's their problem?" the blue thing asked the purple Teletubby. "I mean, it's not as if we don't got enough food. The Huggabunch brought enough for everybody."
Turning back to the stunned slayer Papa Smurf addressed her again. "Come on, it'll be fun. The Cabbage Patch Kids brought their croquet set and the Carebears play a wicked game of Tetherball."
Buffy screamed.
Willow screamed.
Mad-Hamlet grinned.
"Warm and fuzzies?" He chortled through clenched teeth. "I got yer warm and fuzzies RIGHT HERE!"
END
Authors Notes: An 'Omake' is sort of taking a fic apart and poking fun at it. Or making small, small, continuance of any flavor that add...mm..dimensions to a story though are in no way actually connect to it. Some have just one scene, others have many various ones.(Mad-Hamlet shudders, remembering that Ranma 1/2 Omake with scenes from C.H.U.D.)
Basically, it's me taking a break from the dark stuff.
Man, I need a beer.