Disclaimer: The characters herein, with the exception of the demons, belong to Joss Whedon, ME, and Fox. I'm not making any money off of this.
Author's note: The great thing about having an older brother who also writes fanfiction is the bizarre conversations that turn into even more bizarre stories. This is one of them.
Trash
by Casix Thistlebane
The demon clutched its burden to its chest and eyed the darkened cemetery warily. There was a time, not even long ago, when this would be a simple, routine task, but that was before the Call that had rocked the demon world, sending it whirling into chaos. Now, even for this, it had to be on guard.
It'd taken no more than three steps away from the crypt it called home when the first crossbow bolt flew. It caught the bolt in one hand, grimacing as the tip bit into its palm, but refusing to release its cargo even as it dropped the bolt, and the first girl rushed it.
She was screaming, holding a claymore easily in one hand, swinging at its neck.
It hissed and ducked the swing, shooting its left foot out to catch her in the chest with its clawed toes. She fell back, but there were plenty others to take her place.
Some it swatted aside easily. Others, an older blonde, a red head shouting foreign words, and a brunette, were more persistent.
A man stood back from them all, firing bolt after bolt with an astounding accuracy, considering his eye patch.
They were determined, but so was the demon. Its task would be completed. It wrapped its arms tighter around its burden and flung out a foot, sending the blonde into a nearby tombstone, then it bolted.
The girls were fast, it still had to dodge and swerve and kick, but its target grew nearer, and with a triumphant howl, it slammed the plastic package home.
It turned. The girls stood, frozen, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. It eyed them and the crossbow-man warily, then, with a deep, regenerative breath, the demon started to its crypt.
All hell broke loose as the fight began anew. One bolt caught it in the shoulder, about halfway home, but with both arms free, it fought the slayers back with ease. The bolt-wound ached, but it wasn't serious.
The demon slammed through the iron gates of the crypt, panting. Its fellow demon looked up from the cauldron in the corner, and it grinned.
"You forgot some," the other demon gestured to a large, black plastic bag it its feet, and the demon cursed.
It really HATED taking out the trash.
The end
Author's note: The great thing about having an older brother who also writes fanfiction is the bizarre conversations that turn into even more bizarre stories. This is one of them.
Trash
by Casix Thistlebane
The demon clutched its burden to its chest and eyed the darkened cemetery warily. There was a time, not even long ago, when this would be a simple, routine task, but that was before the Call that had rocked the demon world, sending it whirling into chaos. Now, even for this, it had to be on guard.
It'd taken no more than three steps away from the crypt it called home when the first crossbow bolt flew. It caught the bolt in one hand, grimacing as the tip bit into its palm, but refusing to release its cargo even as it dropped the bolt, and the first girl rushed it.
She was screaming, holding a claymore easily in one hand, swinging at its neck.
It hissed and ducked the swing, shooting its left foot out to catch her in the chest with its clawed toes. She fell back, but there were plenty others to take her place.
Some it swatted aside easily. Others, an older blonde, a red head shouting foreign words, and a brunette, were more persistent.
A man stood back from them all, firing bolt after bolt with an astounding accuracy, considering his eye patch.
They were determined, but so was the demon. Its task would be completed. It wrapped its arms tighter around its burden and flung out a foot, sending the blonde into a nearby tombstone, then it bolted.
The girls were fast, it still had to dodge and swerve and kick, but its target grew nearer, and with a triumphant howl, it slammed the plastic package home.
It turned. The girls stood, frozen, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. It eyed them and the crossbow-man warily, then, with a deep, regenerative breath, the demon started to its crypt.
All hell broke loose as the fight began anew. One bolt caught it in the shoulder, about halfway home, but with both arms free, it fought the slayers back with ease. The bolt-wound ached, but it wasn't serious.
The demon slammed through the iron gates of the crypt, panting. Its fellow demon looked up from the cauldron in the corner, and it grinned.
"You forgot some," the other demon gestured to a large, black plastic bag it its feet, and the demon cursed.
It really HATED taking out the trash.
The end