TITLE: 'Twas the Night Before the Hangover
AUTHOR: SykoShippo
RATED: PG, for much alcohol
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything Buffy-ish, sadly T_T
WARNINGS: Nothing, really. Unless of course you have something against much booze…
SUMMARY: Spike gets really drunk, and becomes the undead Santa Clause
A/N: This took much longer than I expected, but then it was harder than imagined to get the whole rhyming thing. I, like William, am not a good poet ^_~
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the tomb
Not a creature was stirring, for that would be doom;
The booze was set by the telly with care
In hopes that intoxication soon would be there.
The graveyards of Sunnydale seemed far too quite for the time of night it was. All anyone could guess was that the occupants had left for some Christmas Eve fun.
The demons were nestled in their beds,
While visions of kittens danced in their heads;
And Buffy with her sickle, and I with my light
Had gotten ready for a long winter's night.
While in the Summers' house Buffy was preparing for another long and cold patrol. Dawn had been granted permission to go along, but wouldn't be fighting. She settled for watching and carrying the flashlight.
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders and threw up the sash.
Suddenly the sisters heard a crash out on the street. Dawn ran to the window and opened it before Buffy could tell her not too.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day on the objects below,
When what to my wonder eyes should appear,
But a stumbling vampire and eight tiny Gachnar.
Out on the street they saw Spike walking along the street with a group of little Gachnar demons.
With a bottle of rum, and dance with much funk
I knew in a moment they must be so drunk.
More twisting than snakes his group of demons came,
And he crowed, and shouted, and he called them by name;
The Gachnar swarmed around the taller vampire, most of them offered him different bottles of alcohol. He ignored the bottles and led them in an odd version of the Electric Slide. He stopped and called to them:
"Now, Deceiver, now Despair, now Prankster, and Villain!
On Contempt, on Culprit, on Destroyer, and Bitchen!
To the top of the pub! Be sure not to fall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
His words were slurred together quite a bit, but they were understandable. Dawn and Buffy wished they weren't able to understand him, as he rhymed badly.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When met with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to Willy's the demons they went,
With Spike full of beer and helmets sadly bent.
They seemed to be passing their house by, but no such luck.
And then he came stomping, as if on a whim,
The Gachnar dancing and prancing around him.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Through the wide open door they came with a bound.
They turned towards the two, and Dawn hurried to move before they made it to the porch. Spike made it into the house before the door was closed though. The Gachnar settled down on the porch steps and began singing Christmas carols in an off-tune pitch.
He was dressed all in black, a chain hung to his bust,
And his duster was all covered in vampire dust.
A bundle of junk he had flung over his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
Spike had his classic duster and black look, but it was off set by the old dirty Santa hat, and large burlap bag.
His eyes were glazed like his bottle of Bailey's Cream,
His nose was like a rose, his cheeks nearly green!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his head was as white as the snow;
He seemed to be in much worse state than normal though. His usually pale face was flushed from alcohol, and Dawn was surprised that vampires were effected by beer like humans. His heavily gelled hair was all out of place, and the roots were showing through.
The stump of a butt he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a sharp face, and no type of little, round belly,
Strange with his time spent sitting in front of the telly.
He held a cigarette butt in his mouth, which seemed rather normal for Spike. In the pale light of the hall bulb though, his features were thrown into stark relief.
His words were mumbles, then went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
He gave a nod, what happened next I can't tell,
Near as I can reckon, out the door he fell;
He mumbled something to them, then pushed by them into the living room. He dropped the sack onto the ground and pulled out various items that he shoved into the stockings hanging by their tree. He finished his work, grabbed his bag again, then passed them again to the door. Dawn wasn't quite sure what he had tripped on, but his tottering balance was throwing, and he fell threw the doorway.
He sprang to his feet, to his gang gave a whistle,
And away they went like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he was out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
He picked himself up as if nothing had happened, then called the Gachnar again. He continued down the street and yelled, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" Dawn turned to Buffy and asked, "So you wanna see what he gave us?"
A/N: So whatcha think? I'm really feedback starved here! Gingerbread houses to anybody that reviews!