Author's Notes: (And be warned, they may be lengthy)
Right. And so I do not pretend that this fic is anything but a deplorable onanistic attempt at inserting myself and two highly disreputable roommates of mine into the Buffy universe. Mary Sue-ism to the nth degree. Believe me, I am ashamed, but the part of me that is not ashamed is kinda giggly about the whole thing. There are some parts that are rather fun.
Except that my namesake has decided she and a certain librarian just OWN this fic. Stupid girl, she's taken my hair AND my MAN and just…run away with them! Note to impressionable readers/aspiring authors: DON'T LET YOUR CHARACTERS TAKE YOU OVER.
Oh. And the timeline. Er. Well, Mlle le Slayer and her Slayerettes are seniors in high school. And it's about April. But…yeah. Taking license with…pretty much everything. Caveat lector.
Anyway. Hope you enjoy, hope you don't kill me for being so very self-involved as to put myself in their universe (even if it IS much more fun than this one), hope you say something nice amidst the flaming comments.
On with the fic!
go to sleep, little baby
Willow sometimes wondered why her mother was never around.
She had been around during Willow's childhood, that was for sure. A million timeouts and trips to the library were evidence that her mother DID exist. But as soon as Willow had hit puberty, poof! Now you see the maternal figure, now you don't.
"Maybe that's why I'm a witch…obviously magic in the blood…" Willow said thoughtfully, tapping her notebook with the pen in her hand.
"What's that, baby?" a young man's voice came from the other side of the room.
"Nothing. Just…pondering the mysteries of the world."
Oz stopped stringing his guitar and put it down carefully before unfolding his legs from beneath him and moving to sit at the edge of her bed. He gave Willow his very best quizzical look (which, since it was Oz, was very effective) and asked "Any particular mysteries or the general lineup?"
Willow smiled embarrassedly and paused for a minute, trying to give her thoughts accurate voice. "It's…well, I know my mom must have an active social life because she's never here unless it's very inconvenient to me that she be here…which proves even more that she has some sort of magical abilities…" Willow wandered off before one look at Quizzical Oz got her back on track. "But then, she never talks about having any friends or doing overtime at work or anything…" Willow stopped. "My mom does work, doesn't she? That isn't just a story, is it? Wait, how do I know that she's even my MOM?" she raised two worried eyes to Oz's, which were no longer quizzical, but mocking.
"Um. Will, no more caffeinated beverages after seven. They make you all…insecure."
"Gee, thanks. That's comforting." Willow put her pen down on the notebook and shoved it away from her.
Oz went back to his guitar and picked it up. "I don't think any woman who claims to be your mother would do so just for kicks and giggles. Especially considering the whole…ability to conjure things and make pens float. So you're not an orphan, sorry." He winced as one of the strings suddenly snapped. He glared at the girl still perched on the bed. "You want to not take out your frustrations on my instrument?"
Willow blushed a bit and snickered. So did Oz, after a minute. "You know I didn't mean it like…geez, Willow."
The sound of a car engine roaring down the block made them both look out the window onto the darkened street below. Willow and Oz both glanced at each other as the sounds grew closer, and suddenly Oz dropped his guitar on the floor made him way over to the window to have a better look. Willow raised an eyebrow; Oz never dropped his precious baby. A few seconds later, a car sped down the street, screeching its tires as it negotiated the turn and revved down another quiet residential road. They could hear the slight sound of singing coming from the passengers inside. Oz raised his eyebrows a bit and turned back to Willow.
"Crazy teenage drivers," he laughed. "Nice car, though. An old 73 convertible, I think…someone's looked after that thing."
Willow nodded and reached for her notebook. Oz went back to tuning his guitar. And somewhere in Sunnydale, an old 73 convertible continued to wake up the town's sleeping residents.
***
"Oh no! This isn't the right part of town at all," a petulant voice echoed through the deserted street. Its owner was pacing the sidewalk, scowling up at the street sign.
"Jesus Christ, Gina, it takes a massive amount of talent to get us lost in a podunk like this. From now on, I drive," a bored voice drawled from the backseat of the parked convertible. Gina stopped pacing and whirled around to snarl at her passenger. "Right, and get us speeding tickets every five miles?"
"I thought you liked that, Gina," the same voice said, its owner struggling to right herself in the backseat.
"It gave you policemen to talk to," another female voice said.
"And you loved talking to policemen," the girl in the backseat smirked. "Absolutely loved it."
Gina smirked back at the girl. "This is true. All right, Laura, you drive. Get me some coppers to…talk to."
Laura grinned as the girl in the passenger seat let out a whoop of excitement. She climbed over the bench and plopped into the driver's seat. Gina raced over to the car and vaulted into the backseat. The girl in the passenger seat cheered as Laura gunned the engine, and she suddenly stood up, raising her arms in victory as she screamed "Hel-lo, Sunnydale!"
A spatter of female laughter bounced off the dormant houses and trees as the tires squealed. Gina reached up and pulled the other passenger down, laughing so hard she could barely squeak "Sit down, Lisa, you'll wake up the neighborhood!"
The three girls continued to laugh as the car sped down the street, the brightest burst of energy in Sunnydale at 2 a.m. And the grass clippings swirled and eddied in their wake.
***