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LAST SEASON . . . BUFFY DIED (DUH!)
"Slayer!" Spike awoke with a start. He blinked a few times,
momentarily disoriented. "What was that all about?" he wondered aloud.
For the past one hundred forty seven days, his dream was a constant.
Well, it was more of an unwanted memory that consistently replayed in his
head while he dreamed, and it always ended the same way; Buffy's bruised
and broken body sprawled lifelessly on the ground. The dream plagued
his mind day and night, never allowing him a moment's peace. Only,
this time, the dream had been different. So completely different,
in fact, that Spike found himself climbing out of his bed. He grabbed
his duster, and raced out the door of his crypt. He wasn't exactly
sure himself why he was going there.
THIS SEASON . . . NOW SHE'S BACK, BUT THINGS AREN'T THE SAME
Wreckage. Complete and total carnage. Broken tables, chairs,
shattered bottles, peanut shells, body parts all over the place.
Demons unconscious, dead, and dismembered strewn all over the floor.
In the middle of all this chaos, Spike and Xander, both a little worse
for wear, were slumped back-to-back on the floor.
THEY REALLY AREN'T THE SAME!!!
Xander continues. "Demons piss me off. So do women.
Women are demons."
"You're just now figuring that out, mate?"
Xander waves him off and plunges on forward. "No, I think I'm
on to something here! Look at the women in Sunnydale! The Hellmouth
is a convergence point for crazy, man-hating females. No man or demon
is safe from their wrath. They come in with their short skirts and
perfect hair and turn us into whipped little sissy boys. None of
us are safe! Their goal in life is to turn us into brooding, hair
gel using pansies!"
Spike touches his hair and a look of horror crosses his face.
"I must be drunker than I thought. You're making sense."
"We have to do something, Spike! We have to take our manhood back!"
"I think you're right, mate."
"You know, it's all Dead Boy's fault. He came into town all dark
and mysterious, with his annoying ability to attract every human within
a fifty mile radius."
Spike imitates Angel. "I'm all caring and strong, yet sensitive
to a woman's needs. I'm single, brooding, and available."
Xander takes over imitating Angel as well. "Feel free to cry on
my shoulder, take off my shirt, bend me to your will, and don't worry about
me trying to get into your pants because (gasp), I'm cursed and cannot."
Xander stops and looks up. "How can I compete with that?" He
sighs. "Man, I need a drink."
OK, WELL MAYBE SOME THINGS ARE THE SAME, BUT SOMEONE IS MISSING . . .
She studied her pile of animals for a moment, then looked around and
frowned. She didn't feel right. At the moment, one question
was plaguing her head. It wasn't How did I get back here? She
knew the answer to that. It wasn't Why am I back here? Her
friends wanted her back. No, this was the type of question that tackles
a person at a random moment when they are completely baffled.
She looked at her bed again and shook her head. Finally, she asked
her unblinking friends. "Where is Mr. Gordo?"
NO, SOMEONE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT . . .
"Where's the whelp?" Spike asked.
"Xander was here! During all of this! Where is he?" Willow asked. She grabbed Cordy's shoulders. "Where is he?!?!"
Spike searched the room with his eyes. "Where's Xander?"
Dawn looked around again and turned to Anya. "Where's Xander?"
Tara looked at Anya. "Where's Xander?
Dawn looked around again and turned to Anya. "Where's Xander?"
"WHERE . . . IS . . . XANDER?" Spike yelled.
Anya looked at Tara. "I don't know." She nonchalantly added,
"He caught me and Giles playing tonsil hockey and ran out."
AND SOMEHOW EVERYONE ENDS UP IN L.A.
"What kinda idiot knocks on a hotel's front door?" Cordelia yelled.
IS THIS GOING TO DRIVE ANGEL MAD?
Angel slowly approached the vile creature, an ax gripped firmly in his
hand. "I'll give you one chance. Give it up without a fight,
and you won't become friendly with the ax."
"ANGEL!" Cordelia screamed. "Put that ax down this instant!"
She stomped over, snatched the ax, and gave him The Look. Angel
frowned.
Spike chose that moment to enter the room. Giving the two as innocent
a look as he could muster, he crossed the room, whistling a jaunty tune
he had heard from Xander, and entered the kitchen. As the kitchen
door closed, laughter erupted.
Angel grabbed the ax back from Cordelia. "That's it. Soul
or no soul, I'm sending them straight to hell."
AND WHAT'S UP WITH THE ROBED GUY?
The figure howled in frustration. "Stupid spoon. I should
just burn it." It lifted the spoon and moved toward the fire lit
under the cauldron. Suddenly, the spoon clattered to the floor again
as the strange figure clasped its head in pain. "All right, all right!
I get it!" The figure yelled. It looked around its dark, dank abode,
then at the still swirling contents of the cauldron, laughing maniacally.
"Soon. It's happening SOON!"
I'LL MOST LIKELY KILL YOU IN THE MORNING
by KELLEY AND SHELLEY
at
www.fanfiction.net!
Rated W for Warped.
Are YOU ready? Can you handle it?
