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, W/?, D/Other.
***
Anya was sitting languidly on one side of the couch; Spike, at the opposite end.
The two of them had their chins supported by their hands, which in turn were supported by the arms of the couch. Crestfallen expressions were glued to their faces, making them look like brooding drunks to a casual observer.
The night's guest of honor, the previously acclaimed booze, was between both their hands in the tempting form of a can. Once in a while, deeply seductive signals were sent to the twosome's brains, which led to the container's aperture being between two sets of bewitched lips; one vampiric cold, the other warmer, and covered with lipstick.
"This is just so stupid," the clown-costumed demoness lamented, exhaling a drawn-out sigh.
Spike eyed her briefly, sideways. Tiredly he said, "For the last time, I do not look like Hitler! Ya dumb bint..."
"I wasn't talking about your Hitler-looking moustache, Spike," Anya replied, with more than a little grouchiness in her voice. "Even though that is also stupid," she added reflectively.
Another sip of beer helped the platinum blond-haired undead to ignore the comment.
Deciding he had nothing better to do, the recently ensouled vampire proceeded to say casually, "So, did ya figure out a plan to give Monkey Boy an incredible lot o' suffering yet? 'Cause I've got some really cute sketches I thought you might wanna 'ave a look at it, if you were still interested..."
"I don't wanna hurt Xander," Anya retorted hurriedly. "I just want eternal acute pain to happen, in his sorry excuse for a life!" the blonde suddenly made a determined face.
"Grr...argh!" the demoness finally gave up, taking a gulp of her booze. "Why can't I just sit here with a super popcorn pack, and enjoy the hating part? It used to be so easy to do, and I was so damn good at it!"
"Super popcorn pack, huh? Hmm, them post-bloodbath dietary habits you've got have always held more 'n bit of curiosity for me, luv," Spike mused out loud.
"Sometimes I'd also go for chicken wings," the demoness hinted to the British undead, not-too-subtly.
"Yeah, well, I always had a thing for them too. 'Course, ever since I got this bloody soul, vanilla ice cream has been the thing for me," the chipped vampire remarked, a certain nostalgia in his tone.
Despite herself, Anya frowned, a small grin playing on her booze-stained lips. "Really? Vanilla ice cream, you? I've always found that so... vanilla. Ya know, nobody wants to be vanilla. It's just too... vanilla."
A raised eyebrow later, "I really got the point, luv," Spike shrugged in response. "Tastes good with blood though, in my opinion. Gives it a bit o' kick in flavor."
"Oh," was Anyanka's blunt reply. "Icky."
"Well, yeah," Spike agreed half-disinterestedly.
A minute of silence. The only sound echoing between the couple of brooding comrades was the one of hard liquor, finding its way down their thirsty throats.
"Hating Olaf was a lot easier, you know," Anyanka added morosely, out of the blue.
"The blissful nuance of sweet ol' love," Charles Chaplin's vampiric counterpart pondered with a bitter smirk. "First, they see you only as a pathetic demon..."
"Yeah," Anya agreed contemplatively, wrapping her fingers around the can's orifice absent-mindedly, eyes lost into the void.
"Then they stick with ya, just for the good soddin' shag..."
A keen snort and a nod from the demoness, as a way to agree completely.
Blue eyes blazing with excited exaltation, Spike laid out his thesis: "Then, before ya know it, you're bloody well beneath them, and they won't see all the bleedin' changes you've gone through for 'em. And since you're not some great bloody poof with nancy-boy hair gel, havin' a soul don't seem to mean anything and..."
Spike stopped, as soon as he noticed Anya's awkward look directed to him. "This is just a, uh, a hypothetical situation," the vampire finished lamely.
"Of course, definitely hypothetical," the demoness assented in an odd voice, nodding exaggeratedly.
***
"I'm kinda glad we're having this moment," John stated, looking a little too eager, with the same idiotic 360-degree smile that just never seemed to leave his face.
"Ah, what?" Xander replied after some time, obviously disinterested and bored; just barely acknowledging at all, the words coming from the other young man's mouth. "Oh, yeah, right, of course. Me, glad too. Super glad."
Anya's lame boyfriend continued, the poor guy being ecstatically foolish, "I think it's important, you know, the whole male bonding thing? Anya's one special gal, I don't need to tell you that, and I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable with me dating her and all. I mean, I don't wanna intimidate you or anything..."
Xander looked at him dumbly, for a second. And then, he chuckled loudly.
Poor old John looked around, trying to see what was so funny that Xander was laughing at. "What, what's it?" Anya's boyfriend asked curiously, still lost in his meaningless search.
That is, if he didn't happen to look into a mirror at that moment.
***
Thanks for all the kind reviews, love ya guys! And don't worry, I'll include some good ol' Spikey-presence that gits are so crazy about :) Review!
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, W/?, D/Other.
***
Anya was sitting languidly on one side of the couch; Spike, at the opposite end.
The two of them had their chins supported by their hands, which in turn were supported by the arms of the couch. Crestfallen expressions were glued to their faces, making them look like brooding drunks to a casual observer.
The night's guest of honor, the previously acclaimed booze, was between both their hands in the tempting form of a can. Once in a while, deeply seductive signals were sent to the twosome's brains, which led to the container's aperture being between two sets of bewitched lips; one vampiric cold, the other warmer, and covered with lipstick.
"This is just so stupid," the clown-costumed demoness lamented, exhaling a drawn-out sigh.
Spike eyed her briefly, sideways. Tiredly he said, "For the last time, I do not look like Hitler! Ya dumb bint..."
"I wasn't talking about your Hitler-looking moustache, Spike," Anya replied, with more than a little grouchiness in her voice. "Even though that is also stupid," she added reflectively.
Another sip of beer helped the platinum blond-haired undead to ignore the comment.
Deciding he had nothing better to do, the recently ensouled vampire proceeded to say casually, "So, did ya figure out a plan to give Monkey Boy an incredible lot o' suffering yet? 'Cause I've got some really cute sketches I thought you might wanna 'ave a look at it, if you were still interested..."
"I don't wanna hurt Xander," Anya retorted hurriedly. "I just want eternal acute pain to happen, in his sorry excuse for a life!" the blonde suddenly made a determined face.
"Grr...argh!" the demoness finally gave up, taking a gulp of her booze. "Why can't I just sit here with a super popcorn pack, and enjoy the hating part? It used to be so easy to do, and I was so damn good at it!"
"Super popcorn pack, huh? Hmm, them post-bloodbath dietary habits you've got have always held more 'n bit of curiosity for me, luv," Spike mused out loud.
"Sometimes I'd also go for chicken wings," the demoness hinted to the British undead, not-too-subtly.
"Yeah, well, I always had a thing for them too. 'Course, ever since I got this bloody soul, vanilla ice cream has been the thing for me," the chipped vampire remarked, a certain nostalgia in his tone.
Despite herself, Anya frowned, a small grin playing on her booze-stained lips. "Really? Vanilla ice cream, you? I've always found that so... vanilla. Ya know, nobody wants to be vanilla. It's just too... vanilla."
A raised eyebrow later, "I really got the point, luv," Spike shrugged in response. "Tastes good with blood though, in my opinion. Gives it a bit o' kick in flavor."
"Oh," was Anyanka's blunt reply. "Icky."
"Well, yeah," Spike agreed half-disinterestedly.
A minute of silence. The only sound echoing between the couple of brooding comrades was the one of hard liquor, finding its way down their thirsty throats.
"Hating Olaf was a lot easier, you know," Anyanka added morosely, out of the blue.
"The blissful nuance of sweet ol' love," Charles Chaplin's vampiric counterpart pondered with a bitter smirk. "First, they see you only as a pathetic demon..."
"Yeah," Anya agreed contemplatively, wrapping her fingers around the can's orifice absent-mindedly, eyes lost into the void.
"Then they stick with ya, just for the good soddin' shag..."
A keen snort and a nod from the demoness, as a way to agree completely.
Blue eyes blazing with excited exaltation, Spike laid out his thesis: "Then, before ya know it, you're bloody well beneath them, and they won't see all the bleedin' changes you've gone through for 'em. And since you're not some great bloody poof with nancy-boy hair gel, havin' a soul don't seem to mean anything and..."
Spike stopped, as soon as he noticed Anya's awkward look directed to him. "This is just a, uh, a hypothetical situation," the vampire finished lamely.
"Of course, definitely hypothetical," the demoness assented in an odd voice, nodding exaggeratedly.
***
"I'm kinda glad we're having this moment," John stated, looking a little too eager, with the same idiotic 360-degree smile that just never seemed to leave his face.
"Ah, what?" Xander replied after some time, obviously disinterested and bored; just barely acknowledging at all, the words coming from the other young man's mouth. "Oh, yeah, right, of course. Me, glad too. Super glad."
Anya's lame boyfriend continued, the poor guy being ecstatically foolish, "I think it's important, you know, the whole male bonding thing? Anya's one special gal, I don't need to tell you that, and I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable with me dating her and all. I mean, I don't wanna intimidate you or anything..."
Xander looked at him dumbly, for a second. And then, he chuckled loudly.
Poor old John looked around, trying to see what was so funny that Xander was laughing at. "What, what's it?" Anya's boyfriend asked curiously, still lost in his meaningless search.
That is, if he didn't happen to look into a mirror at that moment.
***
Thanks for all the kind reviews, love ya guys! And don't worry, I'll include some good ol' Spikey-presence that gits are so crazy about :) Review!