Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Season 3.5
Dr Midnight
Explorer
Giles walked slowly down the stairs. He winced as he passed a window and closed the curtains. Had he anything to drink last night? No, no… he wasn’t hung over. He was incredibly tired, though, and his head hurt. He needed some tea. He put the pot on and sat in his chair.
The pot was boiling. He jerked awake and trudged to his cupboard. There was a knock at the door. “Just a minute,” he called. He went to the door and opened it, cringing as the light filled his head like a migraine.
Willow stood there. “Giles, what’s the matter? We were meeting to finalize things for the memorial, remember?”
“Yes, of course. Come inside.” He stepped back and let Willow in, then shut the door. He went and filled his cup with tea, sighing. “You’ll have to forgive me. I feel somewhat run down today.”
Willow grinned and plunged onto his couch. “Not me. I’m peppy and full of Willowey vigor. In fact, I laughed harder than I ever have just this morning, when an old woman tripped on a garden hose. You had to be there. What, Giles, have you been drinking of the big glass bottle on your counter again?”
Giles looked to the bottle. Full, as he’d left it last night. “Uh, no, Willow. Bourbon is more of an after-dinner treat.” He smiled and took a sip of his tea. His brow knotted and he looked into the tea cup. It was hot and soothing, but it wasn’t what he wanted.
Across town, Xander was waking up. His eyelids fluttered open and he sat up. “Urrgh.” He stood. “Gnah.” He sat back down on the bed, rubbing his eyes. What time was it? He looked and groaned. “11:35. The matinee starts in thirty minutes. Stand. Up.” He leaned forward and stood, then began to throw on his work clothes, which were strewn about the floor of his room. “No time for a shower.” He sniffed himself and frowned. “…which is unfortunate.”
He splashed a lethal dose of Brut over his skin and lurched up the stairs and out the door, groaning.
When he finally reached the theater, he was five minutes late. He just couldn’t seem to move his legs fast enough… he was very, very tired. He took his place behind the counter and withstood a mild tongue-lashing from Mr. Wenning, who was in fact eight years younger than he was, and his supervisor. “Tuck in your shirt, Harris… and for god’s sake, next time wear less cologne or whatever that is. You stink, and stinking doesn’t sell popcorn.”
“Yes sir.” Xander waited until he was gone, then relaxed. He leaned on a wall for a moment to rest and his little paper hat fell off. He opened his eyes and reached down to get it, then noticed that a small, thin clump of hair lay in the hat. His hair. He put a hand to his head, his eyes widening. “Oh, no… Dad said this wouldn’t happen till I hit twenty-five.”
“Well, well. Look who’s failing.”
Xander put the hat on quickly and turned to see Cordelia Chase. His old flame had gone ice cold after the entire Xander-Willow-kissing-bad-incident, and she never missed an opportunity to go for the deep shank-stab to his ego. They’d had something of a reconciliation during prom, when he’d paid for her dress, but that was really just a small smudge on the blackboard. The big, black board.
“Cordelia,” he coughed, trying to sound better than he felt. “What brings your sun-shiny disposition around to my neck of the crappy job market?”
“I’m seeing a movie today with Damon Rarenfeld… college senior, good looking, still has daddy’s money, and isn’t attracted to mousy nerd tramps. He’s got a lot going for him.”
“What’s the matter, not enough heartless airheads left from your own class to hang around with, post-doomsday?”
She sighed. “That’s true enough. What with Harmony and most of my friends either dying or fleeing, there’s little left to do here unless I want to chill with you and the rest of the J.C. Penny commandos… which I do NOT.”
“Such a shame, too. We miss your cavalier flair for making everyone around you feel worthless.”
“Ooh, good one. Hey, while you’re thinking up another insult, why don’t you… oh, I dunno… GET ME SOME POPCORN. Medium.” She fired off each word like she was throwing it with a handful of daggers.
Xander grumbled and turned to scoop some popcorn into a bag. As he did, his left index fingernail fell off. Just like that, if fell off, into the bag, down beneath the yellow puffs. His finger was left with a disgusting cavity of reddish-brown goo, glistening under the heat lamps. Xander gasped and stared in horror.
Cordelia sighed impatiently behind him. “Chop chop with the popcorn, Harris, and maybe you’ll make supervisor one day. Won’t that be something! You could wear the little red vest and everything!”
He considered giving her the bag for a moment, then shook his head. He dumped the bag and got her a fresh bag full of popcorn. “Thanks so much!” she grinned. “Here’s three fifty, plus a big silver nickel for you.” She turned on one heel and walked into a theater, with his eyes burning after her. Someday he’d tell her off for certain, except maybe. She was easily his match for on-the-spot insults.
God, he missed her.
Back at Giles’ apartment, Willow was excitedly talking to the caterers on the phone. “Okay, so everything’s all set for tonight, right? Mm hmm! Show up at 7:30. Bye! Bye now!” She slammed the phone back into the cradle, and Giles winced from the noise.
“Willow, please, more quiet. I’m trying to finalize my speech.”
“Oh, Giles, you and the quiet. What’s with the quiet?”
“I don’t share your zeal for yelling and bashing things. Not today.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are SO cursed or possessed or something.” Before he could respond, she gasped and picked up the newspaper. She threw it down and turned on Giles’ small television set, then turned to channel 37. Large rubbery reptiles smashed downtown Tokyo on screen. “Godzilla movies! All day, apparently. C’mon, let’s watch!”
“Uh. No, thank you, I like all my monsters Hellmouth-based. Don’t you have work to do, yet?” She shrugged. Giles sighed and went back to his speech. He was trying to find a more eloquent way to segue from the horrors of the past week to the promise of the future in the face of decay and destruction.
Despite all this, I think we’ll find that Sunnydale is an ever-stronger town in spite of what we live with every day. The blood of our children flows in the streets, but we will rise, more powerful than we were.
No no, that was far too dark. He crossed that part out and wrote again.
The terrors of the night notwithstanding, I think you’ll find that Sunnydale is a town worth fighting for. The toils of fighting the dead are thankless and eternal. Our reward shall lie in seeing the eyes of the children that are not killed and drained of their life’s essence, shining with the glories of what’s to come. Their comrades were drunk from like champagne glasses… but they live on.
He sat back and read that. No, that was just no good at all. Far too dark. He crumpled the paper and threw it away. Giles stood and walked to the teapot. He poured a cup and remembered that tea wasn’t soothing him today.
There was a knock at the door, and Giles crossed the room to open it from as far back as he could. His head still ached when he looked into the brightness. Buffy stood there, supporting Xander.
“Giles, rally the books and rouse the... uh… books. I think Xander’s got something.”
“I’m fine.”
Xander most certainly did not look fine. His eyes were darkly ringed and his skin was clammy. He looked like he could barely stand.
Giles ushered them in. “Please, come in… What’s the problem?”
Buffy moved Xander to the couch and explained. “I was shopping and walking around the galleria when I saw Senor Shuffles here lurching down the street.”
“It wasn’t lurching, it was laconic traipsing,” he offered weakly. “I was sent home from work.”
“Whatever, you look like hell and I’m betting it’s some big ooey-gooey power at work. Giles being Giles, I thought he could help. So, can you?”
Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Buffy, I’m certain he’s just sick. Is… isn’t there some bug going around?”
Willow offered “Giles is sick too. He’s all mopey and headachey, plus he complains about his tea.”
Buffy looked at him. “You do look a little more pallid than usual, and you’re British so that’s saying something. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” he snapped. “If you need to examine anyone, have a look at Willow. She’s laughing hysterically every time some poor Japanese civilian gets crushed.”
“I am not!” Willow offered meekly. She pouted and said “It’s funny.”
Xander brightened from his spot on the couch. “Godzilla? Hey, cool… good place to crash for a bit. Willow, good form.” She smiled.
Giles said “I know I’m all right, but Xander does look a bit odd. Maybe we can make him some chicken soup?”
“Yeah,” Buffy said. “Nurse Me to the rescue.” She walked to the cupboard and took out a can of soup. “I tell you, once this Memorial thing is done tonight, I’m grabbing summer by the throat and squeezing. No monsters ruining my good time summer fun. Who’s up for a little Frankie and Annette tomorrow?”
Giles gave her his best pained look of confusion. “What and what?”
A knock at the door.
Willow shouted. “That’s probably Oz!”
“Beach, Giles. It means ‘who’s up for a little beach time with their favorite undead-fighting heroine’.” Buffy walked to the door and opened it while talking to her friends on the couch. “Frankie, Annette, this is not beyond your age bracket. I’m making pop culture references from within your own-“ She turned and looked at the chest of something tall. She looked upward.
A huge demon stood there. “Slayer. I’ve brought a message for you.” He punched her in the face with a giant fist, and she flew straight through Giles’ hallway to smash through his hallway closet.
Xander heard the noises and limped to the door, picking up a battleaxe on the way and barely lifting it. “Guh!” he said when he saw the monster there. “D-don’t make me go all tin man on you!”
The demon swung a claw at Xander, who buried the axe in the demon’s head. Buffy ran up from behind and plunged a longsword through its heart. Luckily, she’d landed right near the weapons chest. She shouted at it as it died. “I WILL have summer fun, do you hear me?!”
Xander coughed. “Easy Buff. Hey, look…” He pointed. In the demon’s ragged clothes, something was peeking out.
Buffy kicked it loose. It was a VHS tape. It was plain, with PLAY written on it. She picked it up. “Giles, tape. We’ve got tape.”
Willow said “We’ll have to go somewhere else… Giles doesn’t have a VCR.”
Giles got up and walked to a book-covered area and began moving things around. “Hold on a moment, I think I… Ahh, yes.” He pulled out a VCR and began attaching it to the television. “This is Wesley’s. I do wish he’d remove it from my home already…”
He ejected the tape that was in there: BUNS OF STEEL. Giles looked up nervously and saw that everyone was staring at him. “That is also Wesley’s, and I’ll thank you to take my word on it straightaway.” He put the demon’s tape into the VCR and it slid into place.
Gray static on the screen, then a nicely decorated office. A big wooden desk, some plants, an official seal on the wall behind. On the desk sat Mayor Richard Wilkins. He smiled at the camera.
“Well, hiya! And just how are we today?”
[cue commercial break]
The pot was boiling. He jerked awake and trudged to his cupboard. There was a knock at the door. “Just a minute,” he called. He went to the door and opened it, cringing as the light filled his head like a migraine.
Willow stood there. “Giles, what’s the matter? We were meeting to finalize things for the memorial, remember?”
“Yes, of course. Come inside.” He stepped back and let Willow in, then shut the door. He went and filled his cup with tea, sighing. “You’ll have to forgive me. I feel somewhat run down today.”
Willow grinned and plunged onto his couch. “Not me. I’m peppy and full of Willowey vigor. In fact, I laughed harder than I ever have just this morning, when an old woman tripped on a garden hose. You had to be there. What, Giles, have you been drinking of the big glass bottle on your counter again?”
Giles looked to the bottle. Full, as he’d left it last night. “Uh, no, Willow. Bourbon is more of an after-dinner treat.” He smiled and took a sip of his tea. His brow knotted and he looked into the tea cup. It was hot and soothing, but it wasn’t what he wanted.
Across town, Xander was waking up. His eyelids fluttered open and he sat up. “Urrgh.” He stood. “Gnah.” He sat back down on the bed, rubbing his eyes. What time was it? He looked and groaned. “11:35. The matinee starts in thirty minutes. Stand. Up.” He leaned forward and stood, then began to throw on his work clothes, which were strewn about the floor of his room. “No time for a shower.” He sniffed himself and frowned. “…which is unfortunate.”
He splashed a lethal dose of Brut over his skin and lurched up the stairs and out the door, groaning.
When he finally reached the theater, he was five minutes late. He just couldn’t seem to move his legs fast enough… he was very, very tired. He took his place behind the counter and withstood a mild tongue-lashing from Mr. Wenning, who was in fact eight years younger than he was, and his supervisor. “Tuck in your shirt, Harris… and for god’s sake, next time wear less cologne or whatever that is. You stink, and stinking doesn’t sell popcorn.”
“Yes sir.” Xander waited until he was gone, then relaxed. He leaned on a wall for a moment to rest and his little paper hat fell off. He opened his eyes and reached down to get it, then noticed that a small, thin clump of hair lay in the hat. His hair. He put a hand to his head, his eyes widening. “Oh, no… Dad said this wouldn’t happen till I hit twenty-five.”
“Well, well. Look who’s failing.”
Xander put the hat on quickly and turned to see Cordelia Chase. His old flame had gone ice cold after the entire Xander-Willow-kissing-bad-incident, and she never missed an opportunity to go for the deep shank-stab to his ego. They’d had something of a reconciliation during prom, when he’d paid for her dress, but that was really just a small smudge on the blackboard. The big, black board.
“Cordelia,” he coughed, trying to sound better than he felt. “What brings your sun-shiny disposition around to my neck of the crappy job market?”
“I’m seeing a movie today with Damon Rarenfeld… college senior, good looking, still has daddy’s money, and isn’t attracted to mousy nerd tramps. He’s got a lot going for him.”
“What’s the matter, not enough heartless airheads left from your own class to hang around with, post-doomsday?”
She sighed. “That’s true enough. What with Harmony and most of my friends either dying or fleeing, there’s little left to do here unless I want to chill with you and the rest of the J.C. Penny commandos… which I do NOT.”
“Such a shame, too. We miss your cavalier flair for making everyone around you feel worthless.”
“Ooh, good one. Hey, while you’re thinking up another insult, why don’t you… oh, I dunno… GET ME SOME POPCORN. Medium.” She fired off each word like she was throwing it with a handful of daggers.
Xander grumbled and turned to scoop some popcorn into a bag. As he did, his left index fingernail fell off. Just like that, if fell off, into the bag, down beneath the yellow puffs. His finger was left with a disgusting cavity of reddish-brown goo, glistening under the heat lamps. Xander gasped and stared in horror.
Cordelia sighed impatiently behind him. “Chop chop with the popcorn, Harris, and maybe you’ll make supervisor one day. Won’t that be something! You could wear the little red vest and everything!”
He considered giving her the bag for a moment, then shook his head. He dumped the bag and got her a fresh bag full of popcorn. “Thanks so much!” she grinned. “Here’s three fifty, plus a big silver nickel for you.” She turned on one heel and walked into a theater, with his eyes burning after her. Someday he’d tell her off for certain, except maybe. She was easily his match for on-the-spot insults.
God, he missed her.
Back at Giles’ apartment, Willow was excitedly talking to the caterers on the phone. “Okay, so everything’s all set for tonight, right? Mm hmm! Show up at 7:30. Bye! Bye now!” She slammed the phone back into the cradle, and Giles winced from the noise.
“Willow, please, more quiet. I’m trying to finalize my speech.”
“Oh, Giles, you and the quiet. What’s with the quiet?”
“I don’t share your zeal for yelling and bashing things. Not today.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are SO cursed or possessed or something.” Before he could respond, she gasped and picked up the newspaper. She threw it down and turned on Giles’ small television set, then turned to channel 37. Large rubbery reptiles smashed downtown Tokyo on screen. “Godzilla movies! All day, apparently. C’mon, let’s watch!”
“Uh. No, thank you, I like all my monsters Hellmouth-based. Don’t you have work to do, yet?” She shrugged. Giles sighed and went back to his speech. He was trying to find a more eloquent way to segue from the horrors of the past week to the promise of the future in the face of decay and destruction.
Despite all this, I think we’ll find that Sunnydale is an ever-stronger town in spite of what we live with every day. The blood of our children flows in the streets, but we will rise, more powerful than we were.
No no, that was far too dark. He crossed that part out and wrote again.
The terrors of the night notwithstanding, I think you’ll find that Sunnydale is a town worth fighting for. The toils of fighting the dead are thankless and eternal. Our reward shall lie in seeing the eyes of the children that are not killed and drained of their life’s essence, shining with the glories of what’s to come. Their comrades were drunk from like champagne glasses… but they live on.
He sat back and read that. No, that was just no good at all. Far too dark. He crumpled the paper and threw it away. Giles stood and walked to the teapot. He poured a cup and remembered that tea wasn’t soothing him today.
There was a knock at the door, and Giles crossed the room to open it from as far back as he could. His head still ached when he looked into the brightness. Buffy stood there, supporting Xander.
“Giles, rally the books and rouse the... uh… books. I think Xander’s got something.”
“I’m fine.”
Xander most certainly did not look fine. His eyes were darkly ringed and his skin was clammy. He looked like he could barely stand.
Giles ushered them in. “Please, come in… What’s the problem?”
Buffy moved Xander to the couch and explained. “I was shopping and walking around the galleria when I saw Senor Shuffles here lurching down the street.”
“It wasn’t lurching, it was laconic traipsing,” he offered weakly. “I was sent home from work.”
“Whatever, you look like hell and I’m betting it’s some big ooey-gooey power at work. Giles being Giles, I thought he could help. So, can you?”
Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Buffy, I’m certain he’s just sick. Is… isn’t there some bug going around?”
Willow offered “Giles is sick too. He’s all mopey and headachey, plus he complains about his tea.”
Buffy looked at him. “You do look a little more pallid than usual, and you’re British so that’s saying something. Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” he snapped. “If you need to examine anyone, have a look at Willow. She’s laughing hysterically every time some poor Japanese civilian gets crushed.”
“I am not!” Willow offered meekly. She pouted and said “It’s funny.”
Xander brightened from his spot on the couch. “Godzilla? Hey, cool… good place to crash for a bit. Willow, good form.” She smiled.
Giles said “I know I’m all right, but Xander does look a bit odd. Maybe we can make him some chicken soup?”
“Yeah,” Buffy said. “Nurse Me to the rescue.” She walked to the cupboard and took out a can of soup. “I tell you, once this Memorial thing is done tonight, I’m grabbing summer by the throat and squeezing. No monsters ruining my good time summer fun. Who’s up for a little Frankie and Annette tomorrow?”
Giles gave her his best pained look of confusion. “What and what?”
A knock at the door.
Willow shouted. “That’s probably Oz!”
“Beach, Giles. It means ‘who’s up for a little beach time with their favorite undead-fighting heroine’.” Buffy walked to the door and opened it while talking to her friends on the couch. “Frankie, Annette, this is not beyond your age bracket. I’m making pop culture references from within your own-“ She turned and looked at the chest of something tall. She looked upward.
A huge demon stood there. “Slayer. I’ve brought a message for you.” He punched her in the face with a giant fist, and she flew straight through Giles’ hallway to smash through his hallway closet.
Xander heard the noises and limped to the door, picking up a battleaxe on the way and barely lifting it. “Guh!” he said when he saw the monster there. “D-don’t make me go all tin man on you!”
The demon swung a claw at Xander, who buried the axe in the demon’s head. Buffy ran up from behind and plunged a longsword through its heart. Luckily, she’d landed right near the weapons chest. She shouted at it as it died. “I WILL have summer fun, do you hear me?!”
Xander coughed. “Easy Buff. Hey, look…” He pointed. In the demon’s ragged clothes, something was peeking out.
Buffy kicked it loose. It was a VHS tape. It was plain, with PLAY written on it. She picked it up. “Giles, tape. We’ve got tape.”
Willow said “We’ll have to go somewhere else… Giles doesn’t have a VCR.”
Giles got up and walked to a book-covered area and began moving things around. “Hold on a moment, I think I… Ahh, yes.” He pulled out a VCR and began attaching it to the television. “This is Wesley’s. I do wish he’d remove it from my home already…”
He ejected the tape that was in there: BUNS OF STEEL. Giles looked up nervously and saw that everyone was staring at him. “That is also Wesley’s, and I’ll thank you to take my word on it straightaway.” He put the demon’s tape into the VCR and it slid into place.
Gray static on the screen, then a nicely decorated office. A big wooden desk, some plants, an official seal on the wall behind. On the desk sat Mayor Richard Wilkins. He smiled at the camera.
“Well, hiya! And just how are we today?”
[cue commercial break]
Lela
First Post
Dr Midnight said:
EVILLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And, by that, I'm completely refering to you Doc. Though I admit that it's the exact place a commercial break would fit in (with story telling and dialog that would fit in perfectly on the Buffy show to match), it's still an EVIL thing to do.
Which, of course, is what I expect from both you and the Buffyverse writers. You are, after all, taken from the same mold. Still, [cue cut wittle silky voice, ala Willow] I want more story.
I mean, my gosh, that would be a perfect spot for an end of episode--implied, though rarely stated, To Be Continued--moment.
Elder-Basilisk
First Post
Fewer commercials. More Buffy. Or at least end the commercial break soon. . . .
Dr Midnight
Explorer
bleh... never mind.
Last edited:
Lela
First Post
Dr Midnight said:
We don't care of someone else proposes an idea that may or may not be right. If he is, woopie for him (no offense Steveroo). We want the whole story and only you can give us with in the quality and professionalism we're looking for. Admitidly that kind of thing is a hazard inherent in the Story Hour. With so many readers someone is bound to get it. The rest of us take it with a grain of salt and just enjoy the story.
I know how seriously you take your writing Doc and you know I love it. Please don't stop.
Last edited:
Jon Potter
First Post
Dr Midnight said:
I'm a little unclear here. Is this a case similar to what happened with "Bastion of Broken Souls"? Where someone who read the adventure is dropping secrets?
If so, shame on Steveroo! Part of the fun of reading a story hour (any story hour) is wondering what's going to happen next and trying to figure out where the adventure is leading.
Or is this just a case where someone happened to guess the plot?
If so, shame on you Doc! Part of the fun of reading a story hour (any story hour) is wondering what's going to happen next and trying to figure out where the adventure is leading.
In either case, I must take this opportunity to further laud Dr. Midnight's writing ability. You've done a really good job of capturing the Scooby Gang's dialog. Thanks for breathing a little more life into my favorite show that used to be on television.
Last edited:
As a fan of your story hours and Buffy, I'll add to the chorus - I'd really like to see this continue Doc. Both you and your players have the Buffy thing down. The dialouge is great.
And if Steveroo guessed something right, BFD. I for one am still very interested in what you have to write.
And if Steveroo guessed something right, BFD. I for one am still very interested in what you have to write.
Elder-Basilisk
First Post
For my part, I don't so much mind knowing what's going to happen--whether it's because Steveroo guessed correctly or read the module or for whatever reason. There are only so many plots in the world and they all get recycled. It doesn't spoil Henry V to know that the English win the battle of Agincourt, Henry IV to know the kind of king Henry turns out to be, Hamlet to know that he dies, or the Lord of the Rings to know that Gandalf returns from the dead or that Gollum bites off Frodo's finger and falls into the crack of doom. I read and watch those to enjoy the telling of the story not to find out how they end.
Reading this story hour is still fun, even if I've already read the synopsis.
Reading this story hour is still fun, even if I've already read the synopsis.
Similar Threads
