Tom Sawyer's Island/Critter Country

All the way across Critter Country to Splash Mountain, "Pirates of the Caribbean" was still the focus of avid conversation.

" 'S really amazing," Spike commented philosophically, "how much losing the entire sound system takes away from a ride."

"What was left of the ride, you mean," Gunn amended. "Who knew a sound system could warp so bad it takes the rest of the electrical system with it."

"Oh, an' here's a shock," Spike added in mock surprise, holding out his Fastpass and thumbing at the entrance sign to Splash Mountain. Behind him was the ride itself, fronted by an impressive flume drop. "Peaches here gets all worked up about having these bloody things, an' now we still have to wait."

"It's not my fault that 'Pirates' broke down," Angel protested just as one of the log boats hit the bottom of the drop with a crash of water. "If it hadn't we wouldn't be here too early for our Pass time."

"Actually…" Gunn started.

"It wasn't my fault! The sound system blowing out was a total coincidence. It had nothing to do with my singing! It was probably those girls in front of us with their cell phones. You know-the…. Ummm…"

"Interference?" Gunn filled in skeptically.

"That's it!"

"Well, it was pretty tight getting to step out onto the sets when they had to evacuate us. Just try not to sing again when we're going down the drop on this thing, okay? We wouldn't want to de-rail."

The vampire, realizing that he was clearly not going to win the argument, changed tack. "Fine, whatever. There's still plenty of rides right here in Critter Country and on Tom Sawyer Island that we can go on while we're waiting." He consulted his park mapwhich he held as something akin to a sacred textand frowned. "Though technically the island is in Frontierland and I just don't know if we should be crossing over into…"

"Critter Country?" Gunn cut back in, raising an eyebrow. "I ain't going on anything with the word 'critter' in it. Had enough 'critters' this morning on that Indiana Jones ride."

Angel went on, sounding a bit exasperated. Why was no one else taking this planning seriously? Even Wesley, his fellow strategist, looked completely distracted. Typicaljust typical. "There's the 'Winnie the Pooh' ride…"

"Please," Spike grunted out a laugh. "The line's way too long for what it is… and look, 's got a Fastpass," he added, rubbing it in. He turned toward Fred. "Hey, Winifredanyone ever call you 'Winnie?'"

"Not twice," Fred replied sweetly.

"What does that have to do withthis isn't helping!" Angel fought the urge to tear at his own hair. "We're on a schedule, people!"

"This isn't some Apocalypse," Spike reminded him.

"You gotta change modes," Fred agreed, though without Spike's mocking tone. "Just relax and enjoy it."

There was a long pause, during which Angel temporarily seemed to be trying out her advice. Then"Davey Crockett Explorer Canoes?"

"Nuh-uh," Gunn replied with a decisive shake of his head.

"What's wrong with them?"

"Those are for kids, man," he explained.

Fred beamed. "Oh, Charles, don't you remember last time we were here? You looked so cute paddling around in the little canoe with your raccoon hat and…"

"Fred!" poor Gunn ground out under his breath, sending a desperate look in her direction. It was too late. The damage had been done. The three other men straightway burst out into snickerseven the stoic Angel. Illyria didn't laugh, but then she wasn't paying much attention. She'd earlier grown impatient with the group's tiresome deliberation and had moved on to engage in what she undoubtedly considered better conversation with a nearby flowering shrub.

"Spiiike," Gunn warned, noticing that the vampire was about to loose what was sure to be a snarky comment. "Nuh-uh. Not a word."

"Oh, I wasn't going to say anything…" Spike replied, raising his hands. "… Charles."

"This from the Big Bad who spent both his lives getting jerked around by the nose by his girlfriends!" Gunn teased back.

"That's not true!" Spike protested, then crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Just so happens 'm a romantic, 's all."

"You're married to a blue dominatrix!"

" 'm not! I'll 'ave you know she's actually right cuddly once you…" Spike cut himself off, realizing for the umpteenth time that he was revealing the cracks in his otherwise tough persona.

"She wanted me to take her to Petco the other day so she could get 'her pet' a new collar. Halfway through the trip I figured out it was you!"

"I… think I'm just going to check out of this conversation now," Wes said, taking a step back.

"Like you didn't want to know!" Spike half-teased on impulse.

"What?" broke in Fred.

"Nevermind," said Wesley.

Illyria moved onto the next flower bed and struck up a chat. Angel was still buried to the eyebrows in his park map.

"We're going to take a vote, people!" he cut in at last, having to raise his voice to be heard over the now rather noisy conversation. "Gunn, what do you want to do?"

"Anything but the canoes," he grumbled.

"The canoes!" countered Fred excitedly, visions dancing in her head of her four boys paddling her around the river like Cleopatra on her barge. Since Illyria was clearly engrossed in talking with the trees, she probably wouldn't notice that they'd gone, and the guys would be hers, all hers…

"Wes?"

"The canoes," put in Wesley, the notion of impressing Fred with his paddling skills foremost in his mind. If Gunn had done it, he wanted to do it, and there was little more to it than that. Unfortunately, he really had no canoeing experience and so there was the distinct possibility that he'd only make a bumbling mess out of it… A slightly worried expression came over his face.

"Spike?"

"Tom Sawyer Island doesn't look bad." The blond vampire had been eyeing the canoes in question, and he had no particular desire to be splashed in the face by children's errant paddlingwhich appeared to be the activity du jour. In fact, it seemed to him a minor miracle that the boats were actually moving forward at all.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with you," Angel said. "And since it looks like Illyria's vote is for communing with the landscaping, we're going to go with…"

Just then, Illyria whirled back around toward the group and shot her usual hard, dispassionate stare in Angel's direction. "Do not presume to answer for me, vampire. The Green has informed me that there is a large fortification on this island you mentioned. I demand to see it."

"The island it is then," Spike agreed.

"Fine. But I still want to take the canoes," Fred pouted.


Fred, Illyria, and Spike were all disappointed upon embarking across the narrow Rivers of America. Spike wanted to take the impressive pirate ship, The Columbia, across, while Illyria insisted that only the majestic white paddle steamer, the Mark Twain Riverboat, was worthy enough to provide adequate passage to a great being such as herself. Fred was still canoe-happy. Unfortunately, all three of those boats went around the island, not to it, and so they had to make do with crowding onto the small, simple, flat-bottomed Injun Joe Ferry with the rest of the park patrons.1 While Spike and Fred handled their disappointment with minimal fuss, Illyria was quite vocal, earning several dirty looks from those nearbylooks which, of course, she appeared to completely ignore. As things turned out, the other guests didn't really care for being referred to as "stinking flotsam."

"You misunderstand," Wesley tried to cover. "She was referring to the build-up under the docks. Really quite filthy."

Fred offered a simpler explanation. "PMS," she whispered confidentially, and several women nodded in understanding. She whispered not because she was afraid of angering Illyria with the word but simply because she could just hear the big Smurf coming out with 'What is this PMS?' at ninety decibels. Winifred could come up with ten things she really did not want to do on her day of Disney fun (or really, ever) and explaining human bodily functions to the demon who had taken over her original body was pretty high on the list.

Thankfully for all involved, Illyria's disdain for the ferryboat evaporated upon landing. In no time at all she was headed uphill for the fort while the rest of the gang took their time exploring the small wooded island. There was a barrel bridge to run across as well as several rock tunnels and formations. The largest was shaped like a castlebut unfortunately it was not quite large enough for average-sized adults. Fred managed to shimmy through by almost army-crawling, but Angel was not so lucky. Stuck half-inside and half-outside of the castle "door," he grimaced and kicked his feet as Spike howled in laughter.

"Let's 'ave that camera, Fred," he grinned, and she complied, giggling in spite of herself.

"We really should get him out," she gasped, holding her sides. Spike's reply was to take three or four shots of Angel's feet helplessly thrashing at the air.

"Yes, absolutely," Wesley concurred, but he was laughing, too.

"Ladies and gentlementhe world's champion!" Gunn joked.

"Not funny guys!" Angel's voice echoed from inside the rock walls. They only laughed harder, and the sound propelled him enough to finally wrench free. He immediately took off after the camera-holding Spike, who raced across the swaying barrel bride. His grandsire was hot on his heels.

"They're just like big kids," Fred shook her head, watching them run full-tilt for the fort. "Uh, oh."

Illyria, back in full leather-armor gear, stood atop said fort with one end of what looked like a large, curving battle scythe firmly planted beside her. She certainly hadn't had it coming into the park, but Fred supposed that if she could conjure up armor, she could likely use the same process for a ceremonial weapon. "I claim this fortress in the name of Illyria, master of all Old Ones!" she thundered, her voice literally rumbling the stones. "Bow in submission or be destroyed and ground into dust!"

As if on cue, every single childand several adultson the island burst out crying.

Coming up on the fort, the two vampires skidded to a halt. "Spike," Angel groaned, "your wife just terrified half the population again."

"'M on it," Spike sighed, running to avert his beloved's latest domination scheme. Honestly, in his opinion, humans were altogether too jumpy.


By that time, the gang was well within their allotted Fastpass return time for Splash Mountain, and so they headed back to the attraction. Illyria, weaponless and tee-shirted after a long persuasion session by her husband, was as happy as she'd been all day. Her Tom Sawyer Island kingdom, though paltry and small, was secure. Not a single one of the terrified human pupae inhabitants had dared set foot on her fortress since she had claimed it. Many of them had fled the island entirely, not even waiting for the ferryboat but choosing instead to dive into the river and swim across in their panic.2 Their fear of her was so great that she need not occupy the island but could explore other areas of this Disney land that she might wish to conquer at her leisure. Tiny kingdoms though they were in comparison to her territory in her first life, they were colorful and full of Green, and, being so easily-maintained, would give her something to do in her spare time. Illyria would have died before admitting it, but one of the aspects of her human life that she found… almost bearable… was that it was certainly more restful than her former one. Tending (and being tended by) her Spike-pet took up a fair amount of her time, as did fighting lower demons with her "team," but neither activity was nearly so strenuous as her duties in the past. In fact, they were more… enjoyable… as well. If she had to live in this world in a human form, she could certainly do worse, and the addition of a few territories to run in her idle minutes would only improve it. Her new allies could not object, either, she was certain. After all, she had not broken her word (and Illyria never broke her word) and killed humans in order to conquer her island. It had been almost disappointingly easy.

On their way back to Critter Country, however, the gang could not help but notice a large crowd babbling and gesturing wildly to a couple of overwhelmed Disney employees. A second look made their identities perfectly clearthe panicked throng of people were none other than Illyria's new "subjects," many of them dripping wet from recent swimming.

"Her voiceit justit just shook the ground! And she had this big curved blade thing!" spit out one individual, eyes wide.

"She was blue, man! I'm not kidding, she was blue!" gasped a terrified teen.

One of the employees attempted to placate the speakers with a "slow down" gesture. "It's okay. What you probably saw were some of the pieces from our 'Fantasmic' show. They're stored on the island and some prankster might've got back there and set off a few of the effects."

That seemed to quiet everyone… until they saw Illyria walk by, freezing them with a dominant look designed to get them all back in line. The babbling erupted anew.

"That's her! That's her!"

"She's less blue now," puzzled the teen, worrying his lip. "But it's her!"

The other employee, a kindly-looking elderly gentleman, turned to look at Illyria. "That little lady?" The demoness responded with a tilt of her head. "Awww, now look at that. It couldn't have been that sweet girl. Look how cute she is."

"Awwwwww," agreed the crowd in chorus. Illyria, relating their 'awwww' to awe, was well pleased. She had not taken the man's words as an insult. Though she vastly preferred her native form, which had been large enough to blot out suns and moons from view, she needed not size to rule. If the humans believed she was "sweet" and "cute," their misconceptions could be used to her own advantage.

Fred, on the other hand, was not pleased. In fact, she rapidly turned downright purple. "Darling, what's the matter," asked Wesley, slightly alarmed, as they moved away from the now much calmer scene.

"I'm the cute one, dang it," she muttered between her teeth.


"Gee, do you think we're going to get wet?" jested Gunn, pointing to a wooden sign on the Splash Mountain line path. It was at least the sixth "You Will Get Wet" sign they had seen so far, hanging alongside old-fashioned farming implements and gas lanterns on the wooden walls. As they progressed, the carved inscriptions grew more and more emphatic. The next read "You Will Get Very Wet." As the gang climbed up a final flight of stairs to the log loading area, the message was upgraded to "You Will Get Soaked!"

The promise of impending wetness was realized the moment the little group prepared to climb down into their boat. Not only was the long, narrow central seat dripping water, but there was at least a good two inches sloshing about on the curved floor.

"They weren't kidding around," Gunn groused, unable to hide a wince at the prospect of sitting down on the damp seat.

"It's not gonna get any drier," Fred rationalized, going for the front of the log.

"We better put Spike in front," Angel commented, then cracked a rare smile of his own and pointed to the loading chart. It read, in big bold print"Shorter Passengers to the Front" along with a helpful diagram. Spike made an ugly face in reply. Fortunately for him, Angel's joke could not quite be carried through. Illyria had claimed the front seat already and from the looks of it was not going to be moved. Wesley had already dropped down into the log behind Fred, who was silently fuming at Illyria's sudden usurpation of her chosen seat, and wrapped his arms around her. His maneuver was not carried out solely for romantic purposes (it was difficult to be romantic anyway dropping down a multi-story flume), but more for the purpose of separating her from Illyria. (Dropping down a multi-story flume was also not, he figured, the best time and place to launch WWIII.) He shot Spike a look and a gesture which the vampire correctly interpreted as a call for intervention. In a moment, Spike was behind Illyria and in front of Fred, while the remaining two men filled in the last two seats. The height differences were not enough to cause any loading problems, and in another moment the log was released into a quick-flowing stream.

"You get the wettest in the front seat, anyway," Fred grumbled as they started off. The prospect of seeing multiple gallons of cold water drop onto Illyria's head brightened her mood somewhat.

If Illyria just so happened to be knocked clean out of the log in the process, Fred amended, she would be even happier.


Five minutes later into the ride, Illyria was still seated and Fred was considerably mollified, due to the cheery theme and sunny songs of the ride. It was based on "The Song of the South," and followed the adventures of Brer Rabbit through the bayous, accompanied at every turn by his happily singing animal friends. So far they had gone down one small drop, and, if the shrieks coming from the logs directly in front of them were any indication, they were headed rather quickly for a second.

Sure enough, the ride cavern darkened, lit only by illuminated, bright yellow beehives above their heads. Tricks of light and buzzing effects created the image of bees angrily swarming about.

"There's nothing in here," cried a narration voice over the loudspeaker, "but beeeeeeessss…..!"

On his last word, the log plummeted downward though the darkness in a stomach-fluttering double-drop. Small waves sloshed briskly against the sides of the boat as they hit the bottom. The cool, fresh scent of churning water drifted up though the air.

"The 'bee drop' caused a strange sensation to arise in my midsection," Illyria yelled over the resuming music.

"That's why people go on these rides, Illy," Spike yelled back. Around them, the ride was once again taking a much darker turn. "To feel their stomachs come up into their throats!"

"I could have assisted them in such a matter if they wished it. They need not have waited in line."

"Illyria, if you're going to get sick, do it over the side," instructed Angel, also at a yell. Evidently he'd only picked up part of the conversation. Far in front of them, a passenger in the next log turned around and shot them all a somewhat disgusted look.

Angel's vampiric hearing picked up whimpering from the self same log. "Mommy, is my stomach really going to…?"

Just then, there were screams filling the air. The log in front of them completely disappeared.

Spike was still attempting, without much success, to explain a figure of speech to his incredibly literal demoness. "No, that's what it feels like, they don't really…. Hold on." He realized that he was no longer having to shout over the music, which had changed from its upbeat tune to a foreboding, minor-key lament. The singing voice came from a mother rabbit animatronic, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, her bunnies in her lap. Underneath it all was the unmistakable sound of gears pulling their log slowly but steadily up a steep incline towards a circle of light ahead.

"This is it! We're almost there!" Gunn exclaimed. Fred, also excited, pointed out another group of figures alongside the narrow waterway. Poor Brer Rabbit was dangling precariously above a bubbling stew pot, a flickering shadow of a sharp-toothed and grinning Brer Fox behind him.

"No, no!" Brer Rabbit pleaded. "Do anything to me, just don't throw me in the Briar Patch!"

At that very moment, the log reached the top of the incline and seemed to teeter on the brink of the fall. It was the point of no returna slight delay designed to give the riders pause as to why in the heck they had been crazy enough to try the ride in the first placeand to realize that there was no possible way to get out of it. There was the Briar Patch…. a good 52-and-half-feet… straight… down. For a few long seconds the gang had a view of not only the entire Disneyland park, but the neighboring cities as well. Illyria was just scouting a few prime spots for kingdom expansion when the log went over the spillway.

"Um, would this be a bad time to tell all of you that I'm afraid of HEEIIIGGGHHHTTTSSS!" Angel yelled as the log plunged down the 45-degree flume at at least 40 miles per hour, sending up tall sheets of water on each side as it hit the bottom of the drop. His voice died down to a gargle when both waterwalls folded down in on themselves and crashed directly onto his head.

Everyone else, save for having slightly wet jeans from the already-damp seats, was bone dry.


The ride ended with a short trip through some spectacular settings, the finale being a large, rocking steamboat decked with singing animals. An unscathed Brer Rabbit reclined off to one side, and from all around rang the happy strains of "Zip-E-Dee-Doo-Dah."

"Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay

My-oh-my what a wonderful day.

Plenty of sunshine heading my way

Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay!"

Just before the log boat pulled back in to the loading station, it passed a small television mounted near the ceiling. A camera had snapped pictures of each logful of riders as they zipped down the flume, and those pictures now flashed on the screen as the appropriate boat passed. The gang had only a fleeting glance of their photo before they reached the boarding area and climbed out.

Upon winding their way down the exit path, they paused at the photo station, at which the flume pictures could be viewed againand, of course, purchased. Several snaps of other groups cycled through before theirs came up on one of the small viewing screens.

"There it is!" Gunn pointed, and all heads swiveled to look.

At first, the photo appeared perfectly typical. Angel was screaming, Gunn was cheering. From then on things grew distinctly… odd. Wesley was holding onto an airborne Fred, who, being practically weightless herself, was floating a good foot above the bench seat. However, she'd still managed to put bunny ears on an equally air-lifted Illyria. Spike was doing a similar service as Wes in holding down his own lady-love, with the big difference that he was holding onto a vaguely inappropriate part of her anatomy. (No one believed that this was an accident.) Illyria, completely nonplussed, was starting at the hand in question.

"It's uhh... not exactly one you'd send home to Mom, is it?" Gunn commented with a little laugh.

"Let's get one!" Fred said.

"It costs seven bucks!" Angel spluttered.

"Hey, Leery—do you remember those numbers that were on the 'strange plastic card?'" Spike asked out of the side of his mouth.

Too busy wringing out his shirt for the second time, Angel didn't hear her as she started to rattle them off…


1 Only having been to TSI once myself, I don't really remember anything but the ferry. My statement about the other boats may be inaccurate.

2 As per my disclaimer, don't try this.

3 Okay, so they really wouldn't let you buy the picture with just the credit card number. It's a plot joke. Work with me.