The U.S. Poet Laureate (100 words) by Luna
"Should we write our own vows?" he asked.
"Maybe..."
Xander, my love, light of my life,
"...then again, maybe not," she said.
We Killed Yamamoto (100 words) by Luna
"Is he dead?"
"Going by the burn-y disappear-y thing he just did, yeah."
"That was so cool."
"Dawnie, it's not like it's your first--"
"It's the first time I got to stake my biology teacher."
"True. One of the perks."
"I *knew* he was evil. He always gave pop quizzes. To the point where they
didn't really pop anymore."
"This is no excuse to let your grades slip."
"Buffy, we killed Mr. Yamamoto. He's not gonna come back and haunt me for
not doing my homework."
"Stranger things have happened."
"I... you know, I can't really argue with that."
Angel Maintenance (100 words) by Ryo Sen
His hands were on her hips, sliding down and his tongue was in her mouth.
She pulled him closer, her fingers clutching at his leather jacket.
He moved away for a moment, shrugged out of the jacket, jerked her back
into his arms. She pressed herself against him, wanting to burrow all the
way inside him.
Their kisses grew more frantic. Her fingers tugged at his shirt, slid
underneath to his smooth skin.
"Buffy," he groaned, one hand on her ass, the other tangled in her
hair.
She froze, good sense overcoming lust. "Wait," she managed, breathing
hard. "We can't."
War Crimes (100 words) by unkle_garfunkle
He was dead. They'd killed a man. A living, breathing man. Buffy saw
what he was before, Faith only after. There was no ash, no disappearance,
only the echo of pain...and blood -- human blood.
And then it wasn't just this man, this death, this killing...it was all
the killings. She'd been killing for years, things that lived or
half-lived, things with lives and memories of sorts.
Where do you turn when you've killed one of those you protect, when you've
become what you kill? Suddenly the line in the sand was as transient as
what it was drawn in.
On the Day Before (100 words) by Staring Blankly
Willow absently pours cheerios into her bowl. She picks up the milk
carton. Half full.
"We're almost out of milk."
She can't tell if mom hears her.
She goes to her stop. Xander is there. They beam hello at each other.
Jesse arrives, seconds before the bus does. The driver glares. She squints
at the sunlight pouring through the window and turns away to watch Xander
and Jesse attempt to make sense of trigonometry.
Behind her two girls are talking. "There's a new girl transferring from
LA."
The words linger briefly, then disappear. She turns her attention back to
Xander.
The Short List (100 words) by Ryo Sen
"I don't know," Buffy admitted. "I don't have that much experience."
"Let's make a list," Willow suggested. "Lists are so organize-y." She
pulled out a pen and grabbed a napkin from their table. "You were a
counselor."
Buffy shrugged one shoulder. "Not a good one."
"There was the Doublemeat--" Dawn started.
"No!" Buffy interrupted, eyes wide.
Xander straightened up in his seat. "Oh! Fitness instructor."
Buffy looked at him askance. "Huh?"
"You know, share your fancy moves with others. And wear those little
spandex outfits--"
"Xander," Giles admonished.
"I have talents other than fighting," Buffy insisted. "Don't I?"
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc (100 words) by Ryo Sen and Jo March
"So then Jimmy Carter caused the high interest rates," Buffy guessed.
"No," Willow smiled. "That's a post hoc fallacy."
Buffy blinked. "A whatsit?"
"Post hoc fallacy," Willow repeated. "After, therefore because of."
"Willow-to-English translation, please, 'cause--"
"Girls!" Giles shouted, bursting out of his small office, scythe in
hand.
"Giles, what--?" Buffy glanced over her shoulder, saw the incredibly tall,
incredibly slimy demon, and pushed Willow out of the way.
Giles lopped off the demon's head and turned a disapproving look their
way. "Willow, how many times must I tell you--don't speak Latin in front
of the books."
The Black Vera Wang (100 words) by Ryo Sen
"I like this one," Kendra says, fingering Buffy's favorite black tank
top.
Buffy reaches farther into her closet and snags a shimmery blue v-neck.
"How about this?"
Kendra studies it for a moment, her head cocked to one side. "It will
clash with my pants."
With a glance at the aforementioned pink pants, Buffy grimaces and swaps
the blue for another black tank top. "This?"
Kendra holds stubbornly to the original. "This fabric drapes better."
"What are you," Buffy asks, "the black Vera Wang?"
"Who is this Vera Wang?"
"She's --" Buffy sighs. "Never mind. Take the tank top."
Celestial Navigation (100 words) by Macha
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Willow stops in the middle of the
sewer tunnel with a dubious look.
Xander squints at her. "Considering this map spent the last forty years
underground and is barely legible... No."
"Xander!"
"What?" he answers, standing in ankle-deep water. "It's not like I can see
the North Star from in here!"
"Oh!" Willow looks for one of those vertical shafts to street level. "We
could look at the North Star." Off Xander's look, she shrugs. "You got a
better idea?"
Xander glances at the illegible map in his hand, sighs, and says, "No."
Dead Irish Writers (100 words) by Ryo Sen
Buffy frowned at the computer screen. She was supposed to be looking for
employment, but she'd picked up a few computer tricks from Willow and
she'd always been nosy. "Angel?"
He looked up from his book. "Anything interesting?"
"Who's Got_Soul?"
He stared at her for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"This site," she tapped the screen. "It seems like some sort of diary."
"It's an online journal," he admitted.
Buffy narrowed her eyes. "So you'd never tell me what you were thinking,
but now you post it to the entire world?"
"There's no good way to answer that question, is there?"
The Women of Qumar (100 words) by Ryo Sen
Xander waggled his hand around in the air. "I think I've found your bad
guys."
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Guys?"
Xander grinned. "Bad girls just has a whole different meaning."
"Could we please?" Giles asked.
"I've found your bad *women*," Xander said, holding up a dusty old tome
with line drawings of female figures in flowing robes. "The women of--" He
frowned, studying the page. "Khmer?"
Giles stifled a groan. "We've got genocidal Cambodians on the loose?"
Xander slid the book across the table. "Oh, dear," Giles said. "The women
of Qumar."
"Oh, dear?" Buffy echoed. "Damn."
"Yes. Quite."
In This White House (100 words) by Ryo Sen
"Get out here," Buffy hollered, punctuating her words with a kick.
The front door opened a few inches. "I've got a gun!"
"Excuse me?" Buffy said. Willow and Xander edged backwards.
"Why are you harassing my family?"
"Family?" Buffy echoed, eyes wide.
The man's decidedly undemony face peered out. "My two-year-old is here.
Leave us alone!"
Buffy looked to Willow. "Will?"
"White house on Fairmont," Willow said. "Spike said the demons hid--"
"Demons? In *this* white house?" He slammed the door shut, hollering.
"Lunatics!"
Xander, Willow, and Buffy slowly turned to look at the white house next
door. "Oops."
H.Con 172 (100 words) by Ryo Sen
Willow stares down at her notepad, as if she can make the abbreviations
make sense if she studies them long enough. She has a respectable
assortment of herbs at home, but she'd been missing a few essentials. Only
now she can't remember what stood for what. "Hib," she reads with a slight
frown. "Oh! Hibiscus. Of course. Okay."
"Gr. of p." She tilts her head a little, pondering. It clicks. "Grains of
paradise!" Willow snags a pouch and puts it in her basket. "H.Con," she
says, then gnaws on her lip. "H.Con 172." Willow frowns. "What the hell is
that?"
Guns Not Butter (100 words) by Ryo Sen
Buffy--
If you get home before I do, could you run to the store and pick up a few
things? I'm leaving you $40.
A dozen eggs
Thanks, honey.
Mom
***
Mom--
Giles called with apocalyptic stuff. Gotta run. Didn't get to the store.
When you go, could you swing through the gardening department? I'm running
low on stakes.
Wish me demons
Take Out The Trash Day (100 words) by Kyllikki
Jimmy grimaced when Frank turned the truck up Revello. Fifteen years
hauling garbage in Sunnydale, he'd seen a lot of strange things in the
trash, up to and including assorted limbs poking out of dumpsters like
multicolored tree branches. If tree branches had skin and looked vaguely
like arms. With sixteen fingers.
The pay was good, so you learned to ignore the weirdness.
But after weeks of an always-mountainous pile of garbage in front of one
particular house, Jimmy wondered if good pay was enough. Especially when
he heard a plaintive wail from within: "Xaaaander, Spike is watching
Passions again!"
Shibboleth (100 words) by White Star 2
She has that dream again. Buffy stares her in the face, long hard glare.
"Say it," she commands. And she knows by now that it's a dream. Still, she
panics, tries to say it, stutters. Never gets past the first syllable. As
if her lips have forgotten every other sound but "Shi." And Buffy turns
away.
She wakes up, a little rattled, like all the other times. Willow's still
asleep beside her. She wonders where those Judeo-Christian dreams come
from. She mutters "Shibboleth" just to prove to herself that she can.
She's never going to really be one of them.
Lord John Marbury (100 words) by Staring Blankly
"Tell me a story."
"Last time we tried that, niblet, your sister got very, very mad."
"Buffy's not here. And anyway, I don't care what she says. She can't
tell me what to do just because she knows how to drive pointy stakes into,
well, you."
"Point taken. Once upon a time, there was an old man. And this old man,
um, John-"
"John?"
"Lord John, in fact. Lord John Marbury."
"What stupid kind of name is that?"
"It's English. Just listen. He had a puppy, and one day (Hi, Buffy!)
they won the lottery and lived happily ever after."
In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, part 1 (500 words) by White Star 2
Willow stops to breathe, slow, heavy breaths. She manages two before she
starts sobbing again. She ignored Kennedy's knocks on the locked door, now
she's ignoring Buffy's.
She isn't sure why, but all through the months that passed, everyone was
treating her like she wasn't there when it happened. Like it wasn't her
when Warren burst into the back yard with a gun. It wasn't her, upstairs
with Tara, it was just her evil alter-ego.
They never expected her to remember it. They never considered that she
did. As soon as the affair was over and done with, as soon as she was back
to herself, not evil anymore, and locked herself in her room, everything
was forgotten. The scoobies were like that sometimes. Heavy on the
repressing.
And just like that had been locked in the black box in the back of
everyone's minds, today's "mishap" was going straight there, as well. It
was just some magic gone wrong. It was just Amy's fault. It wasn't really
Willow that marched in with a gun and nearly killed Kennedy.
She would really like to be able to think that. She'd like to say it was
Amy's fault, that she was just an innocent bystander caught in some
fiend's web of schemes, in Amy's head-first dive to the bottom of the pit.
She would like to lie to herself now and then.
But the truth then and now remains the same. She was there, holding Tara
as she died, and it was her on that hill, trying to destroy the world.
Some days she almost wishes she had. And today, it was her, giving in to
Warren's presence in her mind. It was easier to let go and not fight.
Easier than to face the shock and try to take control. She picked her own
punishment, and it was so easy to surrender and just wallow.
She can still feel the gun in her hand. It was cold, icy cold. Colder than
a dead hand. She wonders how many dead hands she's touched. And how many
of those were still moving, still, in every way but the technical, alive.
Too many. The scooby business is taking its toll on her.
"You're okay now, you're back," Buffy said as she took the gun away,
handed it to Xander who disappeared from view with it. But she was never
gone. She wanted to stand up and scream it at them. This is me, it always
has been me. For the good and the bad, it's always me. But her feet
betrayed her, and so did her vocal cords, and she let Buffy and Kennedy
help her inside.
It would be easier to believe that Warren was the only one to blame, that
it was all him. But, no. There are two guilty people. Two gunmen.
She ignores another knock on the door, Xander's voice. She can't stand the
looks on all their faces, like all is forgotten. She still remembers too
well for that.
In the Shadow of Two Gunmen, part 2 (100 words) by White Star 2
He puts the gun in a paper bag. That's the last place anyone would look
for a gun, that is, if they thought he had it. Almost like old times. "Do
this," and he follows. He's good at following.
Still, he has to wonder what Jonathan wants the gun for. There have aleady
been two shootings - well, nearly shootings - right there in their back
yard. Right there where someone could get hurt. Last time, Warren got
hurt. And he and Jonathan nearly got killed.
And what would Buffy think? He's helping Jonathan-slash-The-First.
Maybe he's not ready to be good yet.
The Indians in the Lobby (100 words) by Luna
In Mexico it's too hot to sleep, and Andrew snores. Jonathan locks the
door when he leaves the room, like it would matter.
He's crossing the lobby when he bumps into them. Three berry-brown men,
drinking beer, on a bench that wasn't there yesterday. He scrambles
backward, almost falls down. "Sorry. I didn't see you."
One of them looks up. His eyes are very black, very old. "We're waiting
for our boat."
"Oh. Me, too. I guess."
The Indian nods like he knows everything, and it's funny. "Your boat ain't
coming."
Jonathan returns the nod. His back's against the wall.
Bartlet's Third State of the Union (100 words) by Penny
He was starting to pace as he talked, never a good sign. "I spoke to your
mother today. She's worried about how your duties as Slayer are affecting
your schoolwork. We realize you're facing pressures that no teenaged girl
should have to deal with, but I know how intelligent you are, Buffy -- all
we're asking is that you try. This history test she showed me..." Giles
sighed, leafing through the pages. "'The Louisiana Purchase of
1893'...'Theodore Roosevelt's battle against polio'...'In Bartlet's third
state of the union address--' Bartlet?"
"I don't know," she muttered, scowling. "It sounded presidential."
A Proportional Response (100 words) by Ryo Sen
Buffy paused, the large crossbow in her hands. It was kind of big and a
pain to get out of her bag with any sort of speed, but it didn't hurt to
be prepared. She added it to the growing pile on her bed.
"Um, Buffy?" Willow said, sitting on the edge of her bed.
Buffy tested the pointy end of a large knife. "What?"
"I thought this demon was, you know..." Willow held her hand out about two
feet above the floor. "This big."
Buffy glanced over and shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. So?"
"So maybe the scythe is overkill."
Isaac and Ishmael (100 words) by Ryo Sen
"Twin vampires?" Buffy said, looking back and forth between the two
towering figures. "You've *got* to be kidding me."
The one on the right shrugged. "I couldn't live forever without my twin
brother."
Buffy made a disgusted face. "You bit your own brother? Eww."
"We're very close," the left vamp answered.
"You even dress alike," Buffy observed with a shudder. "That's vaguely
creepy considering the leather." She shrugged. "Who's first?"
Left vamp glanced at his brother. "Isaac?"
Isaac gave a gallant gesture. "You first."
"Why thank you," his brother answered, turning to face Buffy with a grin.
"Call me Ishmael."
He Shall, From Time to Time... (100 words) by Luna
Gone, she's been, for decades now, nearly a century. Still. Sometimes.
Restless, midmorning, a basement apartment so deep you can hear the fault
line growling, know in another few years the sea will lick this city up,
and he wonders what he'll do then. Lying on his bed, on his back, one arm
flung over his eyes, one hand under the sheet, and he dreams, and it
hurts, and he dreams, and he sighs her name.
"Buffy," into the deaf darkness.
Only sometimes. Still. When he leaves, he doesn't know where he'll go;
when he goes, she'll meet him there.
Noël (100 words) by White Star 2
Willow bends down, looks for where her pencil rolled. Writing up a spell
is hard enough without losing her good pencil under Tara's bed. She
reaches for it, flattens on her stomach. Tara giggles. Instead of the
pencil, her hand finds a book.
She pulls it out, examines it. The cover is black, there's no title. She
opens it, and opposite "Spells and Charms" it says in pen,
To Noël,
Before she can turn to the index it's snatched out of her hand. Tara
clutches it to her chest, suddenly defensive. "It was my mother's."
College Kids (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
Giles couldn't have gone to university that long ago. He knows at least
that much.
And yet, the way the children were acting post-high school seemed so
foreign to him that he couldn't imagine he'd ever been that way, ever.
Self-involved, histrionic, easily swayed into debauchery, and, well,
hormonal. So he sat at home, alone, twanging on his guitar, alone, fully
aware that he was quite on the verge of a mid-life crisis, alone, as
Buffy, Riley, and the others spent this hot summer night somewhere that
wasn't his flat.
Without the Initiative around, they still didn't seem to need him for
anything more than post-slayage munchies, and even then, they had Xander;
one of the perks of his various jobs was that he had cash to spend on not
only Anya, but also, it seemed, a life-time supply of Ho-Ho's and
Twinkies. Putting his pick between his teeth for the moment, he set about
tuning his guitar; a thought flitted along the back walls of his mind that
his own father might have felt what he's now feeling, back when he'd been
in school. He huffed wryly at the thought, and started to play.
He wasn't long into the song when he heard a knock on the door; Spike,
maybe, looking for blood. Spike hadn't been around for a while, but it was
always a possibility. He grabbed a sword in case it was simply a polite
demon that knocks before it attempts to rip out its victim's spleen, and
opened the door.
"Ripper, do put down that sword. Is that any way to greet and old . . . "
Ethan grinned lecherously, searching for the right word. "Companion?"
"Last time I saw you, you tried to kill me," Giles said, letting the sword
fall to his side.
Ethan put on his best pout and replied, "And I wanted to say, I'm sorry.
Well, not really, but I've got alcohol." He waved the bottles in front of
Giles' face the way a parent would wave a stuffed toy at an infant. Giles
rolled his eyes and stepped aside.
"What are you doing here?" Giles asked wearily. "Aren't you supposed to be
in Nevada?"
"Like they could hold me," Ethan said smugly, putting the bottles down.
"And I've come to make amends."
A spark lit his eyes, the type of spark that hadn't been seen in his eyes
in years. "Kiss and make up, you mean?"
"A little more than kisses," Ethan said. He dropped to his knees, undid
Giles' trousers, and did things with his mouth what made the blood rush
from Giles' head to his . . . er, head. Giles forgot he was supposed to be
mid-life-angsting about how college kids these days were so self-centered
and wild. See, when he was at university, he was an upstanding, structured
student.
But that little break between his university days, when he debauched,
involved in self, and gave into hormonal urges? Well, that was a different
story entirely.
The Drop-In (100 words) by White Star 2
Faith glances around the room, and for a second she feels uneasy. She was
never accepted in this house. At least last time Mrs. Summers was a little
welcoming. Now there isn't a friendly face in sight.
The little brat stares at her with hatred that has unexplored potential.
Giles just looks disapprovingly, like he had from the first moment she's
met him. She doesn't expect them to welcome her. Not when she drops in to
the middle of their lives, their big fight. Still, for some reason, it
hurts her inside just a little to know nothing has changed.
Gone Quiet (100 words) by White Star 2
He considered tossing the hat away. It would make a nice souvenir if he
were the kind that kept everything. He wasn't, but it seemed like this
would be something to remember. He hadn't been like this for years. He
liked it more than he should have.
It'd been wonderful. The freedom, the youthfulness. Even the cigarettes,
though his throat would be reminding him of those for a few days. And
being called "Ripper." As if the name alone held some magical power.
Today he was back to being Giles.
This was a part of him that had gone quiet.
25 (100 words) by Priya
Deonarain
When she was in high school, Buffy learned that the oldest any slayer ever
lived was twenty-five. She'd learned this accidentally, when she and
Willow had accidentally snuck into Giles' office and accidentally pulled
out all his Watcher's diaries and accidentally read them.
Accidents happen.
When he'd found out, he'd assured her she'd live longer than that, and
she'd known he was lying. But presently: she's in a cheese-yellow
schoolbus, driving north to L.A. with a dozen other slayers, and she asks
Giles, "You think I'll live past twenty-five?"
When he looks around, smiles, and answers, "Yes," she believes him.
Take This Sabbath Day (100 words) by Staring Blankly
"We're like them," Halfrek says, suddenly.
"Who?"
"Those girls who dress in nurse costumes and fight crime."
"Charlie's Angels," Anyanka offers, "and sometimes they dress up as
prostitutes."
"Them. We're D'Hoffryn's Angels. We wear those stupid costumes to smite
his stupid men and we’ll be doing that for the rest of time. And we
aren't ever supposed to care."
"So," says Anyanka, slowly, "should I ask D'Hoffryn to give you a day
off?"
"Yes." There are bodies all over the floor. "No. Will it help?"
"We'll go anywhere you like. It'll be fun.
"All right. But no smiting."
"No smiting."
17 People (100 words) by Darwin's Ape
Spike inhaled the scent of the blood pooling around the corpses. None of
the bodies had more than a pint taken from them and the flow from the more
recently dead seemed to be abating.
Bloody waste, that's what it was. Angrily, he kicked a stray disembodied
limb.
"Dru?" he called. He'd go hungry tonight: no way would another death go
unnoticed in this poxy town. "Princess?"
Her voice came from the shadows. "Miss Edith was hungry."
"It's okay, love. But why d'you have to eat all sixteen of them?"
She walked into view, cradling a baby's body.
Ah. Seventeen.
Lord John Marbury (100 words) by Darwin's Ape
Drusilla dragged her nails across the baronet's inflamed skin, drawing
blood. He wouldn't last much longer, but Spike wanted another go at him
before he died.
"Can daddy play?" he asked, sliding his fangs against her neck just hard
enough to break the skin. "Can daddy play with the nasty man?"
Dru pouted, but didn't try to stop him. He smiled to see the look of
terror on the man's face as he stepped forward, railroad spike in hand. It
felt good doing something for his former self, and would teach this Lord
John pillock not to insult people's poetry.
The Indians in the Lobby (100 words) by Darwin's Ape
"Oh for- Bloody Hell, Ripper!" Ethan's obvious amusement belied his
voice's angry tone. "What, did you miss working on top of the Hellmouth?
Was there something wrong with starting the day without all that impending
doom beneath your feet? Come on, rule seven of the Watcher's Code: Don't
build your office on the site of an ancient Indian burial ground." With
that, he started to laugh in earnest.
"Be that as it may," said Giles, deciding not to tell the warlock that was
actually rule eight, "if you really want my protection, you'll first
remove the zombies from the foyer."
Noël (100 words) by unkle_garfunkle
You have to be pretty special for it snow in California on Christmas
morning purely to keep you alive. For nature to change to save the life of
a cursed vampire is even more peculiar. No sunrise meant no fiery death.
Someone up there had to really like you to want to reassure you out of
suicide that badly. Neither Buffy nor Angel were complaining though as
they walked hand in hand through the drifts of white. It wasn't a
Christmas miracle or an angel of carol or hymn but this was Sunnydale and
it would do none the less.
Bartlet for America (500 words) by Michelle K.
"Bartlet...err...America!"
With that, the creature ran away, the ground shaking in his wake.
"Whoops," Willow said. "Maybe I should give up on that spell."
"See?" Anya said proudly. "I was completely and utterly quiet. This was
all your fault. I know you tell everyone that I am an instigator of magick
related trickery--"
"We have more important things to worry about than whose fault this
was."
For a moment, silence. "I'm assuming you're saying that because this was
obviously your fault."
Willow scowled ineffectually. "Let's go. And *I'm* driving."
They rode for a while in silence, until Willow said, "What did that troll
say?"
"It wasn't a troll. It was an ogre."
"Oh God," Willow gasped. "You didn't date this one too, did you?"
"No. I may have had sex with him, though."
"Eew."
Anya sighed. "You humans. You claim to have a sense of humor, then you
can't tell when someone is making a comical statement based on a false
premise."
"Oh." Willow paused. "Just to be clear, you *didn't* have sex with the
ogre?"
"No. And he said, 'Bartlet for America.'"
"Why would he say that?" Willow asked.
"Because his name's Bartlet and he wants to destroy America. Or save it.
Or run for office."
"You did date him!"
"No," Anya insisted. "I'm just making a series of non-specific
guesses."
"I know," Willow admitted. "But I thought he said, 'Bartlet puns
America.'"
"That's stupid."
"Hey! I didn't call yours stupid."
"Well, mine made sense. An ogre would prefer destroying America to making
plays on words."
"Maybe he's a brilliant ogre! Or, a particularly smug and annoying one. I
couldn't really tell but, if he loves puns, he'd be one or the other.
Depending on the quality of the pun. Some of them are so cutesy that
I--"
"Stop talking about puns! The ogre was not interested in puns!" Anya
spotted the ogre slamming a mailbox into the ground. "See! He's not making
a pun."
"Maybe he's boxing with the mail." Anya stared at her with a mix of anger
and irritation. "Okay, I hated that one, too."
The monster turned to them. "Bartlet...err...America!" Again, he ran
away.
"Maybe he's just grunting," Willow ventured.
"Possible." She paused. "But he did say, 'Bartlet for America.'"
"You don't know that!" She sighed. "I wish Buffy was here."
"Where did he go?"
Willow looked over to see Buffy standing by her car door. "Why doesn't
that work with anything else?" She shook her head. "He went that way. And
he either wants puns or grunting."
"No! He wants America to die, thrive or be under his rule."
Buffy blinked. "I could ask what all that means...but I won't." In another
moment, Buffy was following the trail of the ogre, leaving Willow and Anya
alone.
"So," Willow began. "We should follow her, right?"
"Yes," Anya agreed.
For a moment, Willow was pleased to be in harmony with Anya, but that was
quickly dispatched with:
"He *did* say, 'Bartlet for America.'"
"Ugh!"
100,000 Airplanes (100 words) by Luna
He wonders exactly what they've done.
Dozens of Potentials in Sunnydale alone. How many, around the world? A
fleet. An army of Slayers. Still outnumbered, but the odds have never been
this close to fair. Giles can't quite imagine it. A hundred, a thousand, a
hundred thousand lovely young women, suddenly endowed with the power and
authority to fight and kill. As if they'd fallen from a ledge and found
themselves able to fly.
From the back of the bus, Buffy calls, "Hey, whoever brought the apple
juice? Much with the thank-you."
He smiles to himself. There's still only one.
Pilot (500 words) by White Star 2
"You must be joking," Giles said. "You absolutely can *not* be
serious."
She shrugged, arms folded across her chest. "Serious as can be."
Pilot
500 words
Xander raised his hand. "Just one question - why do I have to be a part of
this?"
"Because I need you to be." Buffy hoped she didn't seem as on the verge of
screaming as she really was. She sat down in the empty seat next to
Willow. "I need you to do this. I need you two to show him the ropes."
"Again, not clear on the why." Xander thumped two fingers on the dining
room table and gave her a hard look, demanding an answer.
"I'm the Slayer." Buffy sat up a little straighter and hurried on in the
explanation before someone - before Xander - could come up with a
wisecrack. "And once in a while there's slaying to be done outside
Sunnydale."
Like, she added silently, Cleveland.
"Obviously," Giles said. "But we can manage here without you for a day or
two."
"What if it's longer? What if it's a week? And it's not like vampires will
stop rising for one night even if I'm only away for that long. Someone
needs to patrol."
We can handle that." Willow tilted her head up slightly, trying to look
braver than she was. Realizing she was fooling no one, she sank back into
her chair and added, "We have before."
"Not alone," Buffy retaliated. "It's dangerous and I won't allow it."
"Being a scooby is dangerous work." Xander was right, she knew. And it
wasn't all that long ago that she'd stood up to defend their right to be
part of her inner circle.
"Look, Buffy," Willow started, "I know you're just looking out for
us..."
"Then listen to me and take Spike with you!"
"No!" Xander pushed his chair back and stood up.
"Give me a good reason why not."
"Oh, you mean other than the being a blood-sucking fiend thing?"
"Yeah."
"I don't like him."
"While Xander might be a little blunt," Giles interrupted, "I'm inclined
to agree."
Buffy sighed. With Giles it might at least be more about logic. Might.
"You don't think they'll be safer with Spike?"
"Actually, I don't."
"Giles, we entrusted Dawn to him."
"For lack of a better choice. Buffy," Giles took off his glasses and
looked at them while he spoke. "Like it or not, Spike attracts trouble,
sometimes more than even he can handle."
"We all do. He can fight it off better than you can."
Xander, she could tell, was silent because of wounded pride. Giles seemed
to be considering his words. Willow spoke first.
"Buffy, why are you pushing this?"
"I need to know that when I'm not there, things are taken care of."
"Buffy..."
"You know we can handle it."
"Just try it out," Buffy pleaded. "Just this once. We could call it a
pilot program."
Xander snorted. "We could call it a worst-case scenario."
Buffy stood up and, without a word, left the room.
100,000 Airplanes (100 words) by Staring Blankly
The sound of airplanes is so much part of Rona, she has to strain to hear
it. As a kid, it lulled her to sleep. Living near an airport is like
that.
Once, she told her mother she must have already seen a million airplanes.
"Count," mom suggested.
She did. One, two, thirteen, a hundred. When the monks who weren't came
after her, she was on 99,998. She saw a white spot in the sky as she ran.
99,999.
She bought her ticket (plane to LA, then a greyhound to Sunnydale) that
day. 100,000. On the flight, she doesn't sleep.
Evidence of Things Not Seen (100 words) by White Star 2
She looks into his eyes and she sees her own reflection. She knows she
isn't reflected back and wonders why, after all this time, this still
means anything to her. She's seen this, thought this, before. She's even
used to seeing herself alone in mirrors. This is her last reminder.
He looks into her eyes and sees nothing. Nothing but the depth and the
beauty. He doesn't remember what it felt like when he could see himself,
but now it's a thrilling feeling for him, a wonderful experience. Now, he
looks and sees nothing there but her. He sees forever.
The Stackhouse Filibuster (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
There is a definition, Riley knows, for the word "filibuster" that's not
commonly used in the US: it means, "an adventurer waging a private war in
a foreign country." He knows this term from reading an old book his father
had given him when he was younger, a book all about swashbuckling
privateers of old, looting and romancing and sailing around the world.
The literal ghost town of Stackhouse, Pennsylvania, isn't quite foreign,
but as he stabs another vampire with a standard-issue stake, he knows that
he's not exactly in a US military unit; the fact that there are women,
including his lately ex-wife, in his battalion was the first to clue him
into this, and the fact that he was, really, of indeterminate rank and not
at all getting direct deposits courtesy the US government kind of slammed
the fact home. He is commanding this squad of privateers, though, doing
his part to protect all mankind from evil menaces.
At any rate, he knows this different meaning of the word filibuster,
because he's not just some dumb commando whose only skill is assembling an
M-16 in under two minutes. The last time he'd been "settled down," he'd
been working on a doctorate. Came this close to actually getting it, too,
before he let her get away.
He wonders about her -- knows she's alive, even after the "fire" or
"earthquake" (the authorities couldn't yet agree on what happened to
Sunnydale, but it surely wasn't a portal to hell opening and then being
crushed and covered by the sacrifice of a peroxide-blond ensouled vampire,
oh no), but he wonders about the specifics. Who she's fallen for. He
wonders if anyone else has ever noticed that every guy who gets to know
her falls desperately in love with her, in one shape or another -- lover,
brother, father, it doesn't matter, it's all the same. Willing to die for
her, willing to kill. That half-doctorate was in psych, after all; he
knows how to read these things.
Sometimes, he wonders if she knows the other meaning of the word
"filibuster." Petite general, waging a silent nightly war in a world
separate from what she'd lived in for her first fifteen years. He wonders
if she knows she's the textbook definition.
And he is as well, as he dusts another vampire in this quaint dead town.
An adventurer who knows adventure isn't at all like those old stories his
father gave him. No romance or money or fame; nothing but the dust to
whisper his accomplishments, and even that whisper is bitter to the
taste.
Graham appears by his side, steel dog-weary eyes and rifle at the ready.
"All sectors clear," he says, and suddenly Riley's hit by the memory of
some kegger they'd thrown way back when. He looks around this empty town
and thinks, This is my legacy.
He turns from the decrepit farmhouse, follows Graham out. And in the back
of his mind, he curses the books his father gave him.
100,000 Airplanes (100 words) by Kyllikki
The next time she visited the basement, she found him not hunkered down
with his arms wrapped around himself, but surrounded by boxes of copy
paper, furiously folding ... airplanes?
"Spike."
He didn't look up. "Can't fold cranes, the girl won't let me. But I'll
show her, I will..."
"Spike, what is going on? And what's with the stash of office
supplies?"
"Needed the paper."
"For what? Postcards from the Hellmouth?"
"Thousand cranes for a wish ... can't fold a crane. Bloody origami." He
tossed his latest plane on top of the pile. "Hundred thousand airplanes
ought to do it."
The Crackpots and These Women (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
Mid afternoon has rolled around, and they are closer to LA. Sunnydale is a
pockmark behind them, a scuff in the dirt, and will probably remain that
way for a while. He idly wonders if the government will put a playground
over the scab of the old town. It worked in the movies, after all.
There's a part of him that can't quite grasp Anya's not being there. He
can't focus because of that part -- every thought is tied to her, her
face, her voice. So he blanks out, and looks around. It helps only
marginally, because there are so many girls around him that he can't help
but notice her absence. For the first time in his entire life, he thinks
this particular thought tiredly: so many girls.
Women, he corrects himself. Women. Dawn, working like a medic, Buffy,
getting the gauze treatment from Giles, Faith, giving the gauze treatment
to Wood, and Willow, getting some sort of treatment from Kennedy that on
any other day would set his mind reeling. But he doesn't want his mind
reeling today, so he stares at the vinyl back of the seat in front of him.
Andrew is staring out the window beside him.
"You think -- you think I could stay with you guys?" Andrew asks softly,
like he's afraid. "You could use a cook, maybe."
Xander nods, even though he and the others hadn't thought that far ahead.
They might need a cook, and Andrew certainly knew how to feed an army.
"How long do you think it'll be til we get to LA?" Andrew asks, again
quietly.
Shrug, then the reply: "Fifteen, twenty minutes." Andrew nods, resumes
staring out the window.
They were crazy to be doing this, helping out where help was unnecessary,
and he knows it. The women on this bus -- they have power he can't
comprehend, and he's known two of them seven years, and one fifteen. And
there were countless others around the world just like them. He is
nothing; so are Andrew, Wood, even Giles. These women could stand on their
own; they had for centuries before the Watchers' Council was fully formed,
and they will for centuries to come, he was sure. These guys, himself
included, could hold their own, but they were lesser creatures than these
women, and they'd get underfoot in battle. These women needed them like
they needed bullets to their heads.
Then, Buffy looks at him, smirks, and says, "You better be thinking of how
to rebuild my weapons chest."
"Of course I'm thinking about your chest," he replies glibly, and
conversation erupts from the previously death-silent slayers. He looks
around again, at Giles hushing the happily stunned Buffy and cleaning her
wounds, at Wood keeping Faith at ease even while he bled, at Andrew
possibly thinking about the cheapest way to keep the slayers happy and
fed.
The boys are useless. But maybe these women'll need a cook, a couple of
teachers, and a carpenter. Crazy, but he smiles.
18th and Potomac (500 words) by Julie
The five of them sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the sun low in
the sky behind the building, casting shadows across the reflecting
pool.
"So, like, where are we right now?" Dawn asked.
"The Lincoln Memorial," Xander grinned.
"Thanks, Xander, the huge statue didn't actually tip me off," she
replied.
"I think she meant what streets are we near?" Kennedy clarified. Dawn
nodded.
Willow peered at the street map of Washington D.C. that they'd just
purchased from the gift shop inside. "Independence or Constitution and
23rd. We're kinda inbetween."
Buffy pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket. "Giles said we
had to go to the Congressional Cemetery if we're going to get this amulet
thing he said they need up in Cleveland. Is that on the map?"
"Let me see... Yep! It is! But, oh, wow, we're so at the other end of the
city."
"And whose fault is that,
Miss-But-I-Can't-Be-In-Washington-Without-Seeing-The-Monuments?" quipped
Kennedy.
"Well, I *can't*! And we had lots of time before sundown! It was you and
Xander needing to have those nasty hotdogs from the street vendors that
slowed us down," she argued.
"Hey, you're the one who thought they smelled good!" the younger slayer
smirked.
"Yes, but I-"
"You guys, we've got less than an hour to get to the cemetery," Buffy
interrupted.
"I don't even get why we're here. One slayer being sent to get the amulet?
I could understand that. But two slayers, a witch, me and a
pirate-slash-carpenter?" Dawn questioned. "What was Giles thinking? Is it
really that dangerous?"
"First of all," the aforementioned pirate-slash-carpenter said, "that's
carpenter-slash-pirate," he clarified. "Secondly, I think he's trying to
get some alone-time. He kinda freaked out when he walked into his own
bathroom the other day to see Andrew thumbwrestling Robin to see who would
get the shower first, and they were both only in towels."
"Yeah, he's been kind of wiggy lately," Dawn agreed.
Willow was still looking over the map. "Ooh, we didn't get to Ford's
Theater!"
"Okay, still less than an hour to get there, you guys." Buffy took the map
from Willow and trailed her finger along the green strip that was The
Mall. "Okay, we'll just have to walk along here," she said, pointing out
the route, "and then we can turn down Massachusetts Avenue."
"That's going to take forever," complained Dawn. "Not all of us here can
keep up with you and Kennedy," she reminded them.
"We'll try anyways. Ken and I can always run ahead if we need to. So,
after Massachusetts, we can go along 18th until we hit..." she trailed off
and squinted. "Pottamack?"
Willow giggled. "Pah-TOE-mick, I think they say it."
"Right. 18th and Potomac, then. That should bring us close. Sound
good?"
"Or, you know," Xander said, "we could just hail a cab."
Buffy looked at him and he pointed to the row of taxis waiting nearby.
The girls looked at each other.
"Cabs are good," they all agreed.
The Two Bartlet(t)s (100 words) by Priya Deonarain
Buffy stared into the bag of food that Andrew had packed for when they
headed off to the school tomorrow morning. Chips, crackers, cereal, candy
bars -- the only things that weren't spoiled at the grocery store. She
sighed, frustrated at the sight of nothing fresh.
Then, she spotted them. Two of them, golden and glorious. She pulled them
out and set them down on the porch next to her.
Two hands appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the pears, and Xander said,
"You're not stealing those for yourself, missy." She watched him bite one,
watched Dawn bite the other, and pouted.
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc (100 words) by Jacito
It happened because it was meant to happen. Any other argument would be a
logical fallacy. "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc", Anya would have said,
enunciating each word carefully, prompting him to wonder just how much she
had learned in her thousand years on earth.
And then to realize how little he knew her.
He didn't leave because of the old man, because of what he had shown, the
darkness of their future. He had known already. History repeats itself if
you're not looking out for it, but Xander Harris had finally opened his
eyes.
He would have left anyway.
He Shall, From Time to Time (100 words) by Jacito
She had a stillness about her, a sharp contrast to Willow in his mind. It
drew him to her, slowly, but inextricably. But she wasn't quiet, not when
you knew her; she had a laugh that filled the room. And such strength, an
energy that balanced and anchored him. Her hands cool on his body, calming
the wolf-heat. Her voice soft, chanting the cycles of moon and earth.
But that was then. Now, from time to time, he returns to her beyond the
gloaming, rests his forehead against the stone, and breathes deep and slow
as she centers him again.
20 Hours in L.A. (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
He sits down on a bench, and puts his head in his hands.
Giles hasn't slept since he'd gotten word, a day ago. A spotting. Decrease
in vampire population. Blond head in a crowd. He'd driven to the city
straightaway. Found nothing for his time, money, and jitters.
He knows he's strange in this city. In Sunnydale, his tweed would be an
eccentricity no worse than those of the rest of the town. But in the city
of handkerchief clothing, he's self-conscious of the thick coarseness
surrounding him. The steady Old World stereotype, looking for a wayward
woman-child like he's written by Nabokov. No little girls groping for
their lost baubles around him, oh no. Their stylish mothers warn them
away.
He looks up across the street, eyes bleary and useless. He hasn't slept
since he'd gotten word, but, truth be told, he'd rarely slept before that.
Not since her mother had come to the library with that letter. Warned him
to stay away from her daughter when (not if, never entertained that
thought) when, when she returned. Yes Miss Haze, he'd almost said. Found
out our little secret, he'd almost said. And then the impulse had passed,
and he'd left her alone, and they'd come to a shaky understanding
eventually. But the look in her eyes, days later: oh yes, mother warns her
away, desperately, in her thoughts. Mind the old man and his secrets.
Twenty hours. Nearly a day; might as well have been a decade for the
weariness he feels. Blond head in a crowd -- dozens have walked past him
today, and half could have been her if not for the ignorance and innocence
in their eyes. One would think, perhaps, there'd be some empathic if not
slightly telepathic bond between Watcher and Slayer. One would think he
would be able to feel her among the masses. But his hands had shaken and
his mind had trembled when he'd tried a location spell days, months,
centuries ago, and he can't bring himself to focus enough to see her
unless she was standing right in front of him. Too tired. Too tired for
all of it.
At least the others are safe, he thinks. Safe at home, tucked away in
their beds unless they're fighting his war for him. Their mothers hadn't
warned them away. He's suddenly sick of the smog-choked city, gritty sky
and crowded streets. Glamorously disgusting, all of it, and his throat
goes dry.
There's a diner behind him. He almost goes in for a bottle of water
against the heat and dirt. Catches a glimpse of blond heading into the
restroom. No, he thinks as he steps back onto the sidewalk. Can't take the
heartache of another hope crushed. He steps away from the diner, heads for
his car. At least he knows with certainty that the old thing will still be
where he'd parked it, rusting, clanking, steady Old World stereotype that
it is.
City has nothing for him, so he leaves it.
The Lame Duck Congress (100 words) by Kyllikki
Sixteen days after, he calls a meeting. Their first.
He glances around the table, not quite able to meet their eyes, trying to
ignore the empty space.
"The, uh ... the demon community has, it seems, returned to its pre-Glory
activity," he begins, because it's all he knows to say now, a Watcher with
no one to watch. "There is no indication they are aware of recent ...
developments."
Willow's eyes blaze at that. "'Developments'? Buffy's a development?"
"I think we need to determine a way to handle patrols," he continues,
forcing the words around the gravel in his throat.
Mr. Willis of Ohio (100 words) by Priya Deonarain
It was seven days since the Master fell. On that seventh day, Giles
rested; Oz and Larry puttered around his flat, lounging and drinking.
Giles'd never minded that before.
A knock on the door. Larry approached it cautiously. Outside was a girl in
scanty clothing. Didn't seem dangerous. He opened the door. "Yeah?"
"My watcher sent me to Cleveland, but once there Mr. Willis told me I'm
needed here," she said with an untraceable accent.
Larry blinked. "Mr. Willis?"
She eyed him critically. "Mr. Giles, yes?"
"I'm Larry," he said lamely. "He's upstairs."
She nodded, extended her hand. "Kendra. Slayer."
Somebody's Going to Emergency, Somebody's Going to Jail (100 words) by
Sarah
The blood is soaking her hands. She feels the bile rise up in her throat,
the tears begin to stream down; the world has gone from shades of gray to
a fury of red around her. She'll soon learn her best friend had lain on
the ground, life slowly draining out of her body. She'll learn of the one
who escaped, who took all her dreams and shattered them; of the two who
were caught. She'll swear revenge on all of them. But first, she'll let
the blood seep into her skin, filling her veins with rage. And she'll
scream.
The White House Pro-Am (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
Willow stormed into his office and angrily tossed one of his already-read
letters onto his desk. "What's this, Giles?"
He put down the book of prophecies, took off his glasses. "My mail, and
why were you rifling through it?" he replied, slightly perturbed.
"I only rifle through the ones with White House addresses," she stated
self-righteously. "That's an invitation in there, mister!"
"What's an invitation?" Buffy said as she poked her head inside his
office.
Willow pointed to the letter. "Giles got invited to the White House. For
an archeology something or other."
Buffy picked up the letter, surprised. "Well, he is one of Sunnydale's
finest archeology people."
"One of the world's finest, actually," Giles muttered, knowing he wasn't
heard.
Willow stepped into the library and yelled, "Xander! Tell Giles he needs
to go to the White House!"
"Why does Giles need to go to the White House? Is somebody getting
deported?" Xander asked, walking into the already crowded office. Buffy
smacked his arm. "Um, ow."
"Giles doesn't need to go anywhere," Giles said wearily. "If you'll
notice, there's supposed to be a minor apocalypse that week."
Buffy glared at him. "There's an apocalypse every week. You can miss one
to go to the White House."
"All it is is a speech on science and history, and some sort of meet and
greet," Giles said, putting his glasses back on and trying to get on with
his reading. "No reason to dress up in a tuxedo and pay an arm and a leg
for airfare."
"Aww, you're just worried that you'll have no date," Xander teased.
Ignoring Giles' glare, he added, "Come on, you'll have fun. It's a room
full of geeks and government staffers. Nobody there'll have dates."
"I-" He sat back and shook his head. "No. I've made my decision, I'm not
going."
"Y'know, the President's kinda an archeology buff," Willow said
helpfully.
"I know," Giles replied, pretending to be immersed in his book.
She smiled. "You'd have a lot to talk about."
"That's precisely what I'm afraid of," Giles said. "I don't want to
discuss archeology with a man who treats the field like it's analogous to
building model airplanes. Especially when that man's a politician."
"You know, Giles has a point," Xander said. "I mean, politicians are
notoriously competitive. If the President and Giles got into a so-called
discussion about archeology, it could turn into a Moldy Old Crap Knowledge
Pro Am Tournament, right there in the White House. I'm tellin' ya,
someone's head is bound to explode, and it may just be Giles'."
"It would not be my head," Giles snapped. "I'd trounce the little snot in
every field."
They stared at him in surprise. "You really don't like our President,"
Buffy finally said.
"Not particularly, no."
"Still a teensy bit bitter about that revolution of ours?" Willow asked
knowingly.
He rolled his eyes, praying for this conversation to be over. "Yes, right,
God save the Queen and all that." He flipped the page, annoyed.
Life on Mars (100 words) by White Star 2
They lie on the grass, the plaid blanket still folded next to the picnic
basket, far away. Willow points at stars, constellations, names names.
Buffy watches fascinated. Then Willow asks, "You think there's life up
there?"
Buffy turns her head sideways, gives Willow a questioning look. Willow
rephrases: "Do you believe in aliens?"
"Somewhere, I guess," Buffy replies. "It's in all sorts of dimensions and
it's pretty strange already."
"No, I mean closer. Like life on Mars."
"Little green men?"
Willow chuckled and added, "Little Martians running around Sunnydale with
their antennas."
Buffy shrugs. "I'd probably end up slaying them."
Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics (100 words) by White Star 2
He's sitting between them in study hall, and his is a courier's job. "I'm
coming over for some history tonight, before patrol," Buffy writes in
purple ink.
Willow replies in fading black. "No problem, 7:30?"
Buffy grabs it out of his hands, then passes it back with, "Sure. Throw in
some French?"
This time the page is folded. He unfolds it without a second thought. "And
History. Bring Xander, he's in danger of flunking."
He stops the page and scribbles in pencil, huge block letters, "Lies! Damn
lies!"
Buffy passes it over, his words are crossed out. "...and statistics."
Galileo (100 words) by Staring Blankly
She comes out wearing her black dress, and sees him catch his breath. She
can almost hear the switch in his mind clicking, as the parcel labeled
"Willow" is moved from the "friend" slot to the "hottie" slot. She knows
Xander's brain isn't that simple. Except sometimes it is. And he's looking
at her like he made some sort of breakthrough, discovered her like one
would a scientific principle or a continent. Galileo, Columbus, Harris.
I don't need to be discovered, she thinks stubbornly. I was here all
along.
She's willing to bet a million dollars Oz's breath won't catch.
Ellie (100 words) by Maria
Ellie. Anya decided that if she and Xander ever had a child, she'd name it
Ellie. It didn't matter if it was a boy or a girl, she wanted that name.
She presented the idea to Xander, and he wondered in typical Darrin
Stephens fashion if they did have a child (after he freaked out over the
whole child idea to begin with) whether it would be demon or mortal. Then
he protested that if they did have a boy, they couldn’t name it Ellie.
Anya pouted, and promised to have mad sex sessions with him. Ellie it
would be.
The Long Goodbye (100 words) by Michelle K.
"I should get going."
"You sure?" Buffy replies. "We could still use you."
"You don't need me, B." Faith waits for Buffy to argue. She's not
surprised when she doesn't. "I like it better on my own anyway. So," she
continues, flinging her meager bag of possessions over her shoulder, "I
should go."
"Wait."
"Yeah?"
"I did forgive you."
Faith nods. She doesn't believe it, but she appreciates the lie. "And I'm
really sorry." She pauses. "I should--"
"Yeah."
She watches Buffy, waits for a reason to stay: love, friendship, anything.
But there's: nothing.
She leaves without another word.
Ways and Means (500 words) by Priya Deonarain
Xander had found the t-shirts on eBay. Concert dates, locations, white
text on black. Five sharp black t-shirts in all, three size smalls for
Dawn, Buffy, and Willow, and two larges for him and Giles. Hey, he'd been
the one with the steadiest non-Council income -- a fact that continues to
amaze him, considering how they'd all started out -- and, even two months
after the apocalypse didn't happened, he was the only one with a permanent
non-Sunnydale shipping address in the US. Made sense that he'd be the one
to buy these for the rest of the gang.
When he handed them out, well, needless to say they were confused. Dawn
didn't like Aimee Mann. Giles had never heard of her. He chuckled, and
left to get groceries -- while the former potentials, Robin, and Faith had
fanned out, these five were transients, still searching for the missing
Slayers, at least until the school year started. It was easier to just buy
food to eat in the rooms and on the road. Less visibility that way. He
left them after he'd handed out the shirts, though, knowing they'd figure
it out sooner or later.
He came back to see maps and atlases opened on the hotel room floor. All
of them were new. He put the perishables in the mini-fridge and asked,
"What're we lookin' for?"
Well, they all looked at him, and if he were still in high school, he
would most likely have squirmed at the attention. But he wasn't in high
school anymore, so he let the attention go ignored.
Dawn was the first to speak, while Buffy pretended to continue searching,
while Willow half-smiled nervously, while Giles cleaned his glasses. "It's
not in here," she said quietly.
"I know," he said. Perishables away, he let the rest of the food stay in
the bags as he reached into his duffel. Dirty clothes, dirty clothes,
dirty magazines -- well, he was still a Xander-based life-form,
post-apocalypse or no -- and he said, "It's not listed in any of them. It
won't ever be listed in any map ever again."
He found what he was looking for -- his own black shirt, still folded
crisply and in a clear plastic sheath. The locations were visible; he put
the shirt down in the middle of the floor, right in the center of the
circle the others had formed. "But it's listed there," he said. And right
in between Albuquerque and Los Angeles, Sunnydale was written in bright
bold letters. "I see, therefore it was. This is our way of proving it to
the rest of the world."
"Our means of proving it," Giles said softly.
It was quiet again, except for the sound of the air conditioning and the
quiet shuffle of Giles putting the maps away. "You know, we'd look like
complete idiots if we all wore the same shirt," Buffy said with a
smirk.
"As if we've never looked like idiots before?" Willow asked.
They changed shirts, happily looking like grinning idiots.
Five Votes Down (100 words) by Skywater
She was aware of two feelings at once, ones she seemed to have felt every
day of her life, and were yet altogether sudden and new. It took her a
while to name them. Fear and doubt. She decided that perhaps she would add
hopelessness into the mix. She was sans her army of support, and all alone
on the abandoned streets of Sunnydale, Revello rapidly decreasing behind
her in the dark. The feel of the First twisted around her. She had never
done an apocolypse on her own before.
Faith. Anya. Willow. Xander. Dawn.
She was five votes down.
The Leadership Breakfast (100 words) by Minna Leigh
"I'll tell you this, my friends, what we have here is the very definition
of a power breakfast," said Mayor Wilkins as he looked around the
table.
"What's this all about?" asked Mr. Trick.
"I wanted to tell you I'm pleased, quite pleased, in fact, with the
progress on my little project. Now, having said that, there is, of course,
a considerable amount of work still to do. Jeez, this is good fruit
salad."
He gestured toward the limp forms on the floor near the table. "Did you
enjoy your breakfast?" He giggled. "I trust you didn't mind serving
yourselves."
Game On (100 words) by Sadbhyl
I dddon't see why we have to keep her hidden in the pantry."
"Tara, sweet, you know your father doesn't approve."
"Can't we just ..." she wiggled her fingers.
"Working against another's free will is wrong. Magic isn't to make our
lives easier, its to celebrate and protect life." She adjusted the goddess
figurine. "Besides, I think she looks happy in the flour."
"She'd look happier on top of the ppppiano."
"The love that's in our hearts will always shine brighter than the objects
on our altar."
"I jjjjust don't like hiding."
"Someday soon, you won't have to."
And It's Surely To Their Credit (100 words) by Sadbhyl
Miss Calendar just sighed and shook her head whenever they passed in the
hall.
Willow blushed and talked real loud. Then she'd find an excuse to go
somewhere else quickly.
Buffy was now using him as a training dummy. But she wore a full sweatsuit
instead of her usual tank top number.
Mrs. Summers was repressing with her usual skill.
And in the face of abject humiliation, Cordelia had publicly accepted him
as her boyfriend.
He had to give them credit. The women in his life were incredibly
forgiving.
And best of all, no one had slapped him.
Except Giles.
The Portland Trip (100 words) by Sadbhyl
He was gone.
No matter what she did, she couldn't reach him anymore.
And she needed him. There was an aching hole in her heart, and she wanted
more than anything to stuff it up with him. Especially after the tragedy
of her birthday.
But, despite his promises to always be there for her, he was beyond
contact. And who did she have to take his place? A tweedy, uptight
Englishman? A high school boy even more emotionally immature than she was?
She loved them both, but they weren't him.
Why did Dad have to go to Portland anyway?
The Posse Comitatus (100 words) by Sadbhyl
If I don't keep moving, they're going to find me.
Fucking Council. And fuck Wesley for calling them in the first place.
Should have known. Can't trust anyone. Especially not someone who's
responsible for you. But then, he wasn't really my Watcher, was he? No.
The Council sends a new Watcher right away for Miss Perfect Slayer Buffy.
Faithy gets hers killed, she doesn't deserve another.
What was so great about Buffy anyway? I'm better at getting the job done.
And I never sunk to boning the enemy.
Cuz he preferred her.
Bitch.
I'm so glad you asked me if I'd be your wife.
I promise to love and to honor, that's cool,
But not to obey, 'cause we're not that old school.
If all demonkind came to fight us and howl,
It's you I'd protect, and them I'd disembowel.
I'll stick close to you like a shell on a turtle,
'til death do us part, which it will, 'cause you're mortal.
I'll remember this moment, this day of this month--
Those little cheese doodle things you like
A pint of Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia
Two rolls of first-aid gauze
A tube of Neosporin
Waterproof medical tape
Band-aids -- the pack with three sizes to choose from
Buffy
Pleasant studies,
With love, Morgana