Disclaimer: There are sometimes when I wish a large semi-truck would come
screaming through my house, killing the reasons for my misery. And as of
this moment, it's staring me in the face, wearing a ridiculous white
leisure suit. "I just can't believe your standing in my living room,
Anyanka," I mutter, taking a long swig of eggnog. She grins at me stupidly.
"Yeah, I'm excited to be here too, Lily," she yells, patting me roughly on
the back. "It's a shame the older ones couldn't come," she continues, while
managing to break a fifty-year old Christmas decoration, "We've got the
daughter in the clinic, getting' cured off the Wild Turkey, and the son,
bless his soul, is preparin' for his career." "College?" "Carnival." "You
must be proud," I sigh, forcing a smile to appear on my face. "Yeah, I told
him 'Son, you can't live up to your Aunt Lily's profession of writin' fan
fiction based on Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer or William
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's dream, so take what you can get.' So,
he's spreading pitch dust on the tilt-a-whirl, but is hopin' to bark for
the yak woman next summer." Again, I thank god for the gift of hard liquor.
Rating: PG-13- Naughtiness by the Bard
Summary: 100% AU! Magic? Mistaken identity? Fairies? True love? And . . . donkey lovin'? BTVS meets Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream!
Author's Notes: I don't know what's going on? You all like this story? Weird! *Laughs* I'm just kidding. I love this story too. Almost as much as I love my other two works of fiction (shameless self-promotion). As I mentioned in my other WIP story, I'm going to update every other story, so it'll be a bit slower on the finishing front. But Christmas break is coming, so I'll be able to write more often. Here, we get to meet my version of Shakespeare's troupe of actors. As I said before, not everyone is who they seem (duh-duh-duh!). After the next update, I'll explain whom everyone represents for those of you who have never read the play. Anyway, please like this shorter chapter, or I'll find you and make you! (Again, kidding). Hugs and kisses and a swift kick in the crotch.
PS: For those of you who aren't familiar with my writing, I like making weird disclaimers based off of movies, TV episodes, songs, and occurrences in my daily life. The one up above was taken from the contemporary movie classic, National Lampoon's A Christmas Vacation. Cousin Eddie is the best! And Anyanka is my sister, Anyanka Faith. She's appears in many of my weird disclaimers, and is one of my main source of inspiration and a kind of muse for me (even if she thinks punk music sucks). Um . . . that's about it.
Chapter Three- Play in Our Interlude
Whenever something unusual occurred at the University of Sunnydale campus, a crowd would always be expected. Not much happened in the sleepy suburb, so a disturbance was always welcome.
Students crowded into the small lounge of Adams Hall, watching and whispering as a small group busily set up instrument equipment.
But Daniel "Oz" Osbourne ignored the commotion. The blue haired boy had been in bands since the age of fourteen, and was used to always having an audience. Instead, he chose to focus on the large amplifier, struggled to put in place.
With a loud grunt, he slowly set the amplifier on the ground, then went about plugging in his guitar.
"Hey," a girl next to him sarcastically yelled, "When you're done with your display of masculinity, could ya clean up your crap?"
The lead guitarist looked to his left. Anya Jenkins, lead vocalist of their band 'The Groundlings', held up a large knot of extension cords, smiling when Oz groaned at the web of cables.
"Help me out Awn, please!" he pleaded, not wanting to untangle the mess.
She shook her head. "Nope, you made it quite clear early on that we weren't allowed to touch your crap!" With saucy grin, she threw the cords on the ground. Pulling out a magazine, she sprawled out on the makeshift stage.
Crouching down, he stared helplessly at the tangled wires.
Someone came up behind him. "Lemme help you out," offered drummer Riley Finn, sitting beside his friend. Oz shot a look of gratitude at the good- natured boy from Iowa. Not a few minutes later, the cords were separated.
Before anything else could happen, Oz spotted their manager, Wesley Price, rushing to the band.
"Great. Here comes Mr. Anal-Retentive," muttered rhythm guitarist Devon Benson. The others on stage chuckled.
"Alright," Wesley rubbed his hands excitedly together, "You are all probably wondering why I called this practice!"
"Because we wonderfully and truly . . . SUCK?" offered Anya, receiving a few laughs.
Ignoring the comment, Wesley continued. "Actually, I have an exciting announcement. We have just been . . ." He stared at the band. "Where exactly is Miss Holden?" he asked, inquiring the whereabouts of the bassist.
"Who, Faith?" asked Riley. "She got a case of the munchies, and went to get some burgers."
" . . . And I'm back!" yelled the brunette bassist as she pushed through the crowd. Seating herself on stage, she passed around the burger orders to her band mates.
"Thank you very much for showing up, Miss Holden. May I continue?" Faith mockingly nodded, as their manager became irritated. "As I was saying, I have an exciting announcement that deals with the future of this band."
The man paused dramatically, waiting as they all leaned forward.
"What exactly is that?" Oz asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Apparently, someone out there heard our demo tape, because we've just been offered an audition with Rupert Giles, owner of Sire Records."
A silence filled the stage, as onlookers began to whisper to themselves.
"M-mm-Mr. Giles?" repeated Anya, "But he barely auditions anyone!"
Wesley grinned. "Well, he is going to make an exception for you."
Chaos broke out as the band members leapt up, screaming, hugging, crying and dancing.
"So when's the audition?" questioned Devon once the group had settled.
"In two days, which doesn't give us a lot of time to prepare. So I say, let's get on it!" answered Wesley, jumping on stage to help with the set up.
As Oz helped Riley adjust his snare drum, he noticed the large crowd now forming in front of the stage.
"Hey Wesley," he whispered to the manager, "I think you made a mistake."
Defensively, Wesley stepped back. "How did I make a mistake?"
"You announced it in front of our audience. We're not going to have a peaceful rehearsal."
Turning his head, the manager stared into the crowd. They watched the band set up, whispering and occasionally yelling suggestions to the group.
"What exactly should we do?" he asked.
An idea hit Oz. "We could have an acoustic rehearsal tomorrow night in Stratford forest. It'll be quiet if no one else knows about it, and we'll be able to center ourselves for preparation."
Laughing, the man acted as if he had the idea. "That's a wonderful suggestion," he replied in a condescending tone. Turning, he addressed the band. "Tomorrow-"
"NO!" Oz whispered venomously, "Tell them later, in private!"
Getting the meaning, Wesley nodded, then turned to help Devon set his amp up.
Oz chuckled to himself. *Thank God the man's a genius with publicity, because he's a moron when it comes to human actions.*
Rating: PG-13- Naughtiness by the Bard
Summary: 100% AU! Magic? Mistaken identity? Fairies? True love? And . . . donkey lovin'? BTVS meets Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream!
Author's Notes: I don't know what's going on? You all like this story? Weird! *Laughs* I'm just kidding. I love this story too. Almost as much as I love my other two works of fiction (shameless self-promotion). As I mentioned in my other WIP story, I'm going to update every other story, so it'll be a bit slower on the finishing front. But Christmas break is coming, so I'll be able to write more often. Here, we get to meet my version of Shakespeare's troupe of actors. As I said before, not everyone is who they seem (duh-duh-duh!). After the next update, I'll explain whom everyone represents for those of you who have never read the play. Anyway, please like this shorter chapter, or I'll find you and make you! (Again, kidding). Hugs and kisses and a swift kick in the crotch.
PS: For those of you who aren't familiar with my writing, I like making weird disclaimers based off of movies, TV episodes, songs, and occurrences in my daily life. The one up above was taken from the contemporary movie classic, National Lampoon's A Christmas Vacation. Cousin Eddie is the best! And Anyanka is my sister, Anyanka Faith. She's appears in many of my weird disclaimers, and is one of my main source of inspiration and a kind of muse for me (even if she thinks punk music sucks). Um . . . that's about it.
Chapter Three- Play in Our Interlude
Whenever something unusual occurred at the University of Sunnydale campus, a crowd would always be expected. Not much happened in the sleepy suburb, so a disturbance was always welcome.
Students crowded into the small lounge of Adams Hall, watching and whispering as a small group busily set up instrument equipment.
But Daniel "Oz" Osbourne ignored the commotion. The blue haired boy had been in bands since the age of fourteen, and was used to always having an audience. Instead, he chose to focus on the large amplifier, struggled to put in place.
With a loud grunt, he slowly set the amplifier on the ground, then went about plugging in his guitar.
"Hey," a girl next to him sarcastically yelled, "When you're done with your display of masculinity, could ya clean up your crap?"
The lead guitarist looked to his left. Anya Jenkins, lead vocalist of their band 'The Groundlings', held up a large knot of extension cords, smiling when Oz groaned at the web of cables.
"Help me out Awn, please!" he pleaded, not wanting to untangle the mess.
She shook her head. "Nope, you made it quite clear early on that we weren't allowed to touch your crap!" With saucy grin, she threw the cords on the ground. Pulling out a magazine, she sprawled out on the makeshift stage.
Crouching down, he stared helplessly at the tangled wires.
Someone came up behind him. "Lemme help you out," offered drummer Riley Finn, sitting beside his friend. Oz shot a look of gratitude at the good- natured boy from Iowa. Not a few minutes later, the cords were separated.
Before anything else could happen, Oz spotted their manager, Wesley Price, rushing to the band.
"Great. Here comes Mr. Anal-Retentive," muttered rhythm guitarist Devon Benson. The others on stage chuckled.
"Alright," Wesley rubbed his hands excitedly together, "You are all probably wondering why I called this practice!"
"Because we wonderfully and truly . . . SUCK?" offered Anya, receiving a few laughs.
Ignoring the comment, Wesley continued. "Actually, I have an exciting announcement. We have just been . . ." He stared at the band. "Where exactly is Miss Holden?" he asked, inquiring the whereabouts of the bassist.
"Who, Faith?" asked Riley. "She got a case of the munchies, and went to get some burgers."
" . . . And I'm back!" yelled the brunette bassist as she pushed through the crowd. Seating herself on stage, she passed around the burger orders to her band mates.
"Thank you very much for showing up, Miss Holden. May I continue?" Faith mockingly nodded, as their manager became irritated. "As I was saying, I have an exciting announcement that deals with the future of this band."
The man paused dramatically, waiting as they all leaned forward.
"What exactly is that?" Oz asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Apparently, someone out there heard our demo tape, because we've just been offered an audition with Rupert Giles, owner of Sire Records."
A silence filled the stage, as onlookers began to whisper to themselves.
"M-mm-Mr. Giles?" repeated Anya, "But he barely auditions anyone!"
Wesley grinned. "Well, he is going to make an exception for you."
Chaos broke out as the band members leapt up, screaming, hugging, crying and dancing.
"So when's the audition?" questioned Devon once the group had settled.
"In two days, which doesn't give us a lot of time to prepare. So I say, let's get on it!" answered Wesley, jumping on stage to help with the set up.
As Oz helped Riley adjust his snare drum, he noticed the large crowd now forming in front of the stage.
"Hey Wesley," he whispered to the manager, "I think you made a mistake."
Defensively, Wesley stepped back. "How did I make a mistake?"
"You announced it in front of our audience. We're not going to have a peaceful rehearsal."
Turning his head, the manager stared into the crowd. They watched the band set up, whispering and occasionally yelling suggestions to the group.
"What exactly should we do?" he asked.
An idea hit Oz. "We could have an acoustic rehearsal tomorrow night in Stratford forest. It'll be quiet if no one else knows about it, and we'll be able to center ourselves for preparation."
Laughing, the man acted as if he had the idea. "That's a wonderful suggestion," he replied in a condescending tone. Turning, he addressed the band. "Tomorrow-"
"NO!" Oz whispered venomously, "Tell them later, in private!"
Getting the meaning, Wesley nodded, then turned to help Devon set his amp up.
Oz chuckled to himself. *Thank God the man's a genius with publicity, because he's a moron when it comes to human actions.*