Author's Note: This chapter is rated a bit higher than the others due to its scurrilous subject matter. Just a little advance warning, okay?
Susan Tedford was soooo excited about being a Slayer in training! Changed from an ordinary fifteen-year-old girl living at Tallahassee into the newest superhuman female warrior dedicated to battling vampires and other demonic nasties, Susan was soon on her way to Cleveland and the New Council headquarters there. Life there quickly became a whirl of learning about her new abilities, hearing from the older SIT's about the legendary Scooby Gang and their Sunnydale exploits, and helping around the school when told to by the senior staff.
She'd been doing a lot of the latter lately, given how this weekend had been the yearly memorial for the New Council. Gathered from all over the world were this supernatural organization's directors to solemnly mark those who'd given their lives to protect humanity. At the conclusion of the ceremonies was the final meeting limited to the New Council's core group itself, starting with Rupert Giles himself, the Prime Slayers of Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane, none other than Willow Rosenberg, the Red Witch, Xander Harris, and not more than a dozen summoned individuals closely connected to these people, all of whom were cognizant of the highest honor of their invitation.
As a reward for all her efforts of assisting in the set-up the conference room, Susan had been allowed to watch from the sidelines while the session attendees entered together, most of them bearing serious miens appropriate to the event. A thrilled Susan observed for the first time these renowned heroes and silently vowed to herself that one day she'd be among them, right in that room!
Although…
When the room's double doors shut and sealed themselves at the Red Witch's casual manifestation of her magic, Susan turned to the older SIT who'd been in charge, Mary Frannigan. This newbie then asked with some bewilderment what'd just occurred to Susan, "If everyone's only holding a real big get-together in there to discuss the New Council's most important future plans, exactly why do they need a full bar with them for that?"
Sprawled around the room in their comfortable chairs, jackets discarded, ties loosened, hair let down, shoes kicked off, and every drink firmly clutched in their hands containing a double shot of very expensive booze, the eager Scoobies waited with bated breaths to see which of them would kick things off this year. Most importantly, who'd be the victim—
That is, the honoree.
All too aware of everyone's gaze shifting at once to him when he arose from his seat and walked to the front of the room, Andrew Wells turned around to face his friends and comrades. Taking a sip from his glass of flavored vodka, Andrew milked the moment for everything he could get, before looking directly at someone else in their own chair.
Addressing him and also the entire now-hushed conference center, Andrew said with every bit of earnestness he could put in his tone, "Xander Harris is the nicest guy who ever sent a killer avalanche crashing downhill towards an innocent Swiss village."
A loud, happy cheer resounded throughout the room, along with everybody then taking a deep swallow of their drinks after saluting with these glasses a modestly-waving Xander who'd clearly been chosen tonight as the main recipient of the New Council Annual Roast.
It'd started the very first anniversary of the New Council commemorating the Sunnydale Collapse and all the hard work they'd successfully accomplished since then. However, one of the Hellmouth's survivors was so sullen about their own miserable memories of that tumultuous time that they'd mainly concentrated on getting as loaded as possible rather than become involved in all the feel-good crap.
Things came to a head at the small, private soiree hosted by Willow when one final chug of liquor was the tipping point. Lurching up onto their feet to the surprise of the others there, they next heard a long, vicious rant laying out those many failings, mistakes, and blown calls made by the Scoobies from somebody who'd moreover been there or later heard about these catastrophes during everything.
Just about the only thing which prevented an immediate lynching of this swaying drunk was the fact they were equally merciless in taking responsibility for their own fiascos and the resulting pain they'd caused.
There was also the notable point that this unexpected outburst was delivered with the darkest of black humor throughout it all. Really, the horrible stuff they'd lived through then, you had to either laugh or cry about it.
Well, the last couple of days, it'd been a whole bunch of teary eyes among themselves and to hell with this anymore! What we deserve now is a good guffaw because nobody else but us went through our whole stupid shit to know the funny parts that still came with it! And if you don't like it, go and get stuffed while I find another bottle of booze to kill!
In vino veritas indeed was the unspoken consensus of the rest of the group while they watched their vocal assailant stagger off in search of even more alcohol than they'd already consumed.
The incredible hangover the following morning wasn't helped any by the awful memories this person also woke up with then over what they'd said last night, right to the faces of those guys who would definitely be upset about it today. An extremely sheepish appearance at breakfast led in turn to the rather astonishing news that the rest of the Scoobies didn't blame a very confused member of their company. Actually, it'd been a distinct cathartic release for them to hear it last night and as a result finally confront all their faults.
Not to mention even those a direct target of the funniest insults possible were more than happy to repeat them back to someone who could only blearily remember how they'd come up with those zingers in the first place.
In fact, why not do it again? Maybe next year, after the commemorations, they'd all go off to hold their own private wake and throw around many more jokes at each others' expense. Competing at it, even, for the most inspired needling. God knows, there were still a way lot of things to work out and mock about among the group.
And so, that's how the New Council Annual Roast came to be.
After the previous roast, one of the attendees would be magically chosen at random and provided with their equally arbitrary target. They'd have a full year to polish up their routine while researching the most embarrassing and wretched details about this schmuck's life.
Nothing whatsoever was off limits. The worst tragedies, the greatest heartbreak…there was always some way to ridicule these in such a manner to elicit a startled giggle even from the injured party.
For example, Buffy Summers at last made peace with her unwelcome removal from a dimension of everlasting contentment years ago when Robin Wood performed a hilarious five-minute bit on how that made this Slayer an actual fall girl for every single cheesy pick-up line tried by horny guys having to do with angels descending from heaven.
In a machine-gun delivery done of numerous gags both clean and dirty while circling Buffy and miming the necessary actions all the while, Robin mentioned, "Yo, girl, where's the tag at the back of your blouse that says 'made in heaven'? Baby, somebody better call God, because he's missing an angel! Can I get your picture to prove to all my friends that angels really do exist? Don't mind me, I'm an astronomer checking out heavenly bodies. I didn't know angels flew this low! The top of my Christmas tree is missing an angel like you! How 'bout later on you check what's in my pants; I wanna tell everyone I was touched by an angel!
He finished off by patting Buffy's head and declaring to a chortling room, "My mama done told me I'd feel the spirit at church one day; she never said it'd be somewhere else and one hot chick!"
At that point, Buffy was howling just as hard as the rest of them.
While others tried to outdo that wonderful routine, no one ever came near, leading soon to the development of hopefully just as entertaining parts of the New Council Annual Roast: the imaginary accusations. People began alleging the most ridiculous transgressions possible, which Andrew Wells seemed to be using as the opening portion of his roasting of Xander Harris.
Standing there in his best cool-dude posture, Andrew took another sip from his glass and confided to an awaiting crowd, "You guys ever wonder when me and Xan first met? It was around junior high for us both, at the old Sunnydale Roxy movie theater when they were hosting Retro Week. Back then, they showed Love Story, a 1970 tear-jerker drama with Ali MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal as the main characters."
An additional sip of his drink was done by Andrew before he continued, "Hey, there's real reasons why either of us would even bother seeing that movie. My mom took me and Tucker when she couldn't get a babysitter for us. As for Xan…he thought it was porn."
Derisive sniggering came from all there when they saw Xander give a shamefaced shrug, playing along with Andrew's silly story. Their attention was brought back to a scolding, "Whoa, whoa!"
Andrew followed up by waggling a reproving finger at the listening crowd, "Don't forget Xan was just thirteen then! You can't blame him, considering the title! I mean, Love Story. Got to be at least one money shot in there, right?"
There was full-fledged laughter at that last line, egged on by Xander nodding wide-eyed at everyone.
Satisfied, Andrew did another drink pause before continuing again, "When the movie started, there we were, though we didn't know it, me in one part of the seats and Xan elsewhere in his raincoat, about to make the floor stickier any second now."
The laughter was near-continuous now, with Andrew speaking over it, "You know, that film lasts forever! I was waiting and waiting for it to be over with so we could go home, but Ali MacGraw just wouldn't kick the bucket! Until…"
The crowd quieted, eagerly waiting for the payoff.
"The whole movie theater was filled with sniffling women having a wonderful time watching such a sad movie, right up to the point when MacGraw was about to take her last breath. Then, we all heard in there a kid yell at the top of his lungs, 'DIE ALREADY, YOU BITCH!'"
Hilarity promptly ensued in the conference room, assisted by a deadpan Andrew saying, "That's when the riot started."
Andrew waited patiently for the room to finally calm down, ignoring how Xander had just clasped both hands together and was shaking these above his head, copying a prizefighter's gesture of triumph.
When he was sure they were all paying attention to him once more, Andrew said reminiscently, "After we got out of our seats and went into the theater foyer, there was a real big ring of women and girls surrounding Xan rolling around on the floor while they tried to kick him to death."
The laughter began again, causing Andrew to coolly regard his audience. "Well, I didn't think that was really fair, so I yelled, 'Hey, ladies, the mens room's been specially opened for you!' I barely escaped being trampled in the rush."
As if to himself, Andrew said in an aside, "I don't think Tucker ever got over it, shoved into a corner by a 300-pound woman who squeezed herself in the stall so he couldn't leave."
Blinking at where he'd just presumably become aware of his audience's entertained interest, Andrew took another sip of his vodka and shrugged, "I went to where Xan was lying on his back to see if he was all right, but all he did was glare at me, grumbling, 'What'd you go and do that for? I was having a great time seeing up all their dresses!'"
By now, Dawn and Willow were wiping away actual tears of laughter, and most of the room wasn't far behind.
Andrew now smirked at Xander warily expecting even more bizarre accusations and who was not to be disappointed, "That's when I knew I had to hang around with that dude as much as possible. Over the years, I've been Xander's pal, his compadre, and his alibi for multiple beastiality charges."
A sudden gleeful inhalation was done by the entire audience welcoming this newest part of Andrew's routine, especially when Xander's face just as abruptly became utterly virtuous.
"Yep," Andrew said, grandly gesturing towards Xander, "I still love you, man. I won't shake hands with you anymore, though."
He confided further to the expectant crowd, "Back in Sunnydale, he was the best dogsitter ever! Those pets were really sorry when Xan finished the job! Of course, the owners could never figure out why all of their pooches afterwards had to be broken of the habit of humping everything that moved."
Staring straight ahead to avoid looking at anyone, Xander began slowly sinking down in his chair. That didn't stop Andrew from adding, "Makes you think real hard about exactly why Xan was so ready to take everybody's turn when it came time to keep watch over werewolf Oz in his library cage, doesn't it?"
In his own chair, Daniel Osbourne slowly clapped the palm of his hand over his eyes. To be fair, just like all there, he knew there were no innocent bystanders during the New Council Annual Roast. Anyone was an acceptable target, particularly if it meant the opportunity for a genuinely great punchline.
Even so, it didn't make it any easier for him and Xander when they and the rest of the cracking-up audience heard from Andrew Wells, "Got to say, it puts an entirely new light on the term 'Scooby snacks!'"