Slug Soup
Disclaimer: This plot is solely ours, but the characters?...not so much.
Considering this plot came out of a dream…
Rupert Giles was deathly, deathly ill. He had a fever of 103 (Celsius), a splitting headache, and all he could see were stripes. This may have been because he currently had his rather puffy face pressed into the tablecloth, but no matter.
"Demonic Fragglepox" Willow said authoritatively. "Remarkably short-lived, painful, and the only cure…" She paled.
"Arrrrrghtyummpffufle" Giles groaned. "Yuppurgumnkle."
"Buffy! Can you cook?" A burst of laughter emitted from the living room and there was a thud as Xander fell off the couch and Buffy knocked over the lamp.
"Only if you want something that's 90 carbon." Xander expostulated.
"Because the only cure is about twelve different kinds of soup, some of which involve slug parts." Giles gagged and slid from his chair, hitting the floor wetly.
"Suuuuprggtsluggggg?" Giles moaned.
"Yes, and we better get started."
Some time later
"I like tomato soup, but I've never had it made for me. I've always made it myself. I've never tried onion in my life, but now I'm having them both in the same day! New experiences. Bloody hell. Mmm. This pink kind is good." Willow eyed the bowl of pinkish chowder.
"Uh, well, that's-"
"Don't tell me what it is, please." Willow looked relieved. "Oh, that's even worse! Get that look off of your face right now! Or put a blindfold on me." Buffy came out of the kitchen with another steaming pot of something… gray.
"Well, you sound better. Last one!"
"Aaaaagh…"