Title: Wheels Of Engagement
Author: Jane McCartney
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be either, damn!
Classification: BTVS Season 7 Halloween future fic.
Rating: PG13
Feedback: Gimme, gimme, gimme. Ah, 'nuff said.
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone involved and, of course, a big special thanks to Theo.
Summary: In one possible reality, the Sunnydale gang comes together on October 31st, 2002. For some, things are looking up; for others, definitely down. Friendship issues, some angst, a little bit of romance and Rudolph the Red-Nose reindeer. B/S, X/A, D/Other.
***
Buffy, Xander, Dawn, John, Dan and Anya were distributed throughout the living room, everyone but the two minors with a drink on hand. In John's case, a well-behaved orange juice; in the other's, the blessed martyr of the night - a can of beer.
"I wonder how we got the power on again," Buffy said off-handedly with her head tilted up, looking fixedly at the living room's lamp.
"I mean," the Slayer added, as the other people in the room eyed her and the whole staring thing oddly. "I know the bills didn't just get paid off by themselves, all of a sudden."
"'Specially in a Saturday night," Xander pondered. "It's their night off," the guy explained with a shrug.
Anya enthusiastically popped her right hand up. "Maybe the electric company wanted to do something nice, y'know, a good deed to get into the spirit of this day," she risked guessing.
"That's not for Halloween, Anya," Xander pointed out, a little annoyed.
"Damn," the demoness crossed her arms and retrieved her body on the couch, looking upset. "I'm always getting these inane traditional human holidays mixed up!"
"Candy, turkey, Santa?" her former fiancé elucidated helpfully.
The demoness nodded with a wild grin at the epiphany. "Right, stomach ache, double stomach ache and expensive gifts! Well, of course, that's if you're not cheap like Buffy..."
"I *am* standing right here, ya know," Buffy said, as the temperature dropped noticeably.
Anya smiled forcefully, remembering the last Christmas gift given to her by the Slayer. "Buffy, come on, boxes aren't gifts! Boxes are things you use to put in the real gifts. Boxes are gifts only in the world of cheap people."
"They were decorative boxes," the petite blonde defended herself, seeming either annoyed or hurt. Maybe both. "And I thought they'd be useful, it'd be a practical gift and, oh, the design with those cute little rainbows?.."
"Cheap," Anya the capitalist covered the word under a toss of alcohol, but still it hinted clearly.
The Slayer stayed in defense mode. "Xander had told me you guys didn't have any place to put his old comic books, and that you constantly kept ragging on him 'cause of that. Sayin' you would get rid of it all, if he didn't find a place other than the closet to keep 'em after the wedding. And I-" Buffy cut herself off, realizing what she had said.
The room went silent for an instant, and Xander subtly turned his face away from any place where his glance could meet Anya's. But, to the former couple's misfortune, the demoness seemed to have exact similar thoughts.
That resulted in two pairs of hazel and brown eyes unfortunately meeting each other, as the outcome of their avoidance games.
It would have been cute, if it wasn't so absolutely tragic.
Dawn gulped. Dan, feeling the odd vibes, looked lost and expertly chose to stay in silence. Chances were, probably safe then. Willow's head kept snapping alternately to Xander and Anya, in expectance of disaster.
Buffy's look was a guilty one, but nothing that a gulp of beer wouldn't erase in this sea of disasters that the Scoobies had lived through for the last 18 months. Or maybe a whole new can would be a damn good idea.
John, this big, stupid grin of expectation on his face, questioned Buffy's last line, obviously oblivious to the whole odd situation.
Oblivious too to Xander and Anya staring firmly at each other, either seeming to hate each other with all their hearts... or else wanting to make with the mind-blowing sex right there, right then.
"You..."
***
A little later Willow entered the bathroom, a fluffy pink cotton towel in one hand, a can of beer in the other.
"You, my friend, are a very nice confidant," the redhead grunted, a grouchy look dawning on her features. She took a look at the mirror, and felt like crying.
"Let's get you fixed up now, Willow," the petite girl said to herself, eyeing her reflection with a sigh.
The former witch stepped into the shower - Willow knew she'd have to wash her hair all over again, in order to turn it back into its regular self.
After all, going out with wet hair would be a lot better than going out looking like some sort of alien. Or like some Cher-hairstyle wannabe. Just creepy.
Willow turned the metallic faucet, unconsciously preparing her body for the expected contact of the tepid water.
She felt nothing. Not a drop. Not even a much-needed hair-tranquilizer.
After sending a dumb glance around the bathtub, there was one moment of sheer panic.
And then, realization and anger flashed through her mind... at what else the Slayer had forgotten to do. She felt like ripping a certain Slayer's heart right then, and triturating it in millions of little pieces and feed the cute little blue birds that'd appear in her window by the dawn.
"Buffy...!"
***
TBC - should I keep writing? Should I stop and just cut my hand off and give every reader eternal relief? Or perhaps scratch out the last line to stop looking like a sick psycho or something? Drop me a review and lemme know!
Author: Jane McCartney
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be either, damn!
Classification: BTVS Season 7 Halloween future fic.
Rating: PG13
Feedback: Gimme, gimme, gimme. Ah, 'nuff said.
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone involved and, of course, a big special thanks to Theo.
Summary: In one possible reality, the Sunnydale gang comes together on October 31st, 2002. For some, things are looking up; for others, definitely down. Friendship issues, some angst, a little bit of romance and Rudolph the Red-Nose reindeer. B/S, X/A, D/Other.
***
Buffy, Xander, Dawn, John, Dan and Anya were distributed throughout the living room, everyone but the two minors with a drink on hand. In John's case, a well-behaved orange juice; in the other's, the blessed martyr of the night - a can of beer.
"I wonder how we got the power on again," Buffy said off-handedly with her head tilted up, looking fixedly at the living room's lamp.
"I mean," the Slayer added, as the other people in the room eyed her and the whole staring thing oddly. "I know the bills didn't just get paid off by themselves, all of a sudden."
"'Specially in a Saturday night," Xander pondered. "It's their night off," the guy explained with a shrug.
Anya enthusiastically popped her right hand up. "Maybe the electric company wanted to do something nice, y'know, a good deed to get into the spirit of this day," she risked guessing.
"That's not for Halloween, Anya," Xander pointed out, a little annoyed.
"Damn," the demoness crossed her arms and retrieved her body on the couch, looking upset. "I'm always getting these inane traditional human holidays mixed up!"
"Candy, turkey, Santa?" her former fiancé elucidated helpfully.
The demoness nodded with a wild grin at the epiphany. "Right, stomach ache, double stomach ache and expensive gifts! Well, of course, that's if you're not cheap like Buffy..."
"I *am* standing right here, ya know," Buffy said, as the temperature dropped noticeably.
Anya smiled forcefully, remembering the last Christmas gift given to her by the Slayer. "Buffy, come on, boxes aren't gifts! Boxes are things you use to put in the real gifts. Boxes are gifts only in the world of cheap people."
"They were decorative boxes," the petite blonde defended herself, seeming either annoyed or hurt. Maybe both. "And I thought they'd be useful, it'd be a practical gift and, oh, the design with those cute little rainbows?.."
"Cheap," Anya the capitalist covered the word under a toss of alcohol, but still it hinted clearly.
The Slayer stayed in defense mode. "Xander had told me you guys didn't have any place to put his old comic books, and that you constantly kept ragging on him 'cause of that. Sayin' you would get rid of it all, if he didn't find a place other than the closet to keep 'em after the wedding. And I-" Buffy cut herself off, realizing what she had said.
The room went silent for an instant, and Xander subtly turned his face away from any place where his glance could meet Anya's. But, to the former couple's misfortune, the demoness seemed to have exact similar thoughts.
That resulted in two pairs of hazel and brown eyes unfortunately meeting each other, as the outcome of their avoidance games.
It would have been cute, if it wasn't so absolutely tragic.
Dawn gulped. Dan, feeling the odd vibes, looked lost and expertly chose to stay in silence. Chances were, probably safe then. Willow's head kept snapping alternately to Xander and Anya, in expectance of disaster.
Buffy's look was a guilty one, but nothing that a gulp of beer wouldn't erase in this sea of disasters that the Scoobies had lived through for the last 18 months. Or maybe a whole new can would be a damn good idea.
John, this big, stupid grin of expectation on his face, questioned Buffy's last line, obviously oblivious to the whole odd situation.
Oblivious too to Xander and Anya staring firmly at each other, either seeming to hate each other with all their hearts... or else wanting to make with the mind-blowing sex right there, right then.
"You..."
***
A little later Willow entered the bathroom, a fluffy pink cotton towel in one hand, a can of beer in the other.
"You, my friend, are a very nice confidant," the redhead grunted, a grouchy look dawning on her features. She took a look at the mirror, and felt like crying.
"Let's get you fixed up now, Willow," the petite girl said to herself, eyeing her reflection with a sigh.
The former witch stepped into the shower - Willow knew she'd have to wash her hair all over again, in order to turn it back into its regular self.
After all, going out with wet hair would be a lot better than going out looking like some sort of alien. Or like some Cher-hairstyle wannabe. Just creepy.
Willow turned the metallic faucet, unconsciously preparing her body for the expected contact of the tepid water.
She felt nothing. Not a drop. Not even a much-needed hair-tranquilizer.
After sending a dumb glance around the bathtub, there was one moment of sheer panic.
And then, realization and anger flashed through her mind... at what else the Slayer had forgotten to do. She felt like ripping a certain Slayer's heart right then, and triturating it in millions of little pieces and feed the cute little blue birds that'd appear in her window by the dawn.
"Buffy...!"
***
TBC - should I keep writing? Should I stop and just cut my hand off and give every reader eternal relief? Or perhaps scratch out the last line to stop looking like a sick psycho or something? Drop me a review and lemme know!