Survived the typhoon.
Just thought I'd let you know. The weather's been lovely since then, but distinctly colder. Winter's a-comin'.
So, anyway, flist o'mine, I was hoping some of you might do me the favor of reading what I've written so far of my BtVS/DW crossover. I just need to know if my Sunnydale-ese has rusted to the point of incomprehension. And also if you'd like to read more, or if this is just boring right now. So, without further ado:
Xander was, of course, the first one to notice the new girl.
“She’s cute, she’s blonde, she’s got a great smile, and she sounds a bit like Spike when she talks,” he told Willow between classes. “The last one’s a bit weirdness-making, but I can work around it.”
“She’s English?” Willow asked, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “Wow. That makes two more English-type people than usual.”
“Two?” Xander stopped. “Please tell me Spike’s not back in town. Or Ethan Rayne. I can’t handle teenaged Snyder again.”
Willow shook her head. “No. I mean, not that I know of. The new history teacher’s British. His accent’s different than Giles and Wesley’s, though. Not like Spike’s, either. But he does wear a leather jacket.”
“Five bucks says he’s a vampire, if you can spot me two bucks,” said Xander.
“He didn’t seem to mind the sun.” Willow resumed walking. “Does seem weird, though, that we’ve doubled our U.K. expatriate population overnight.”
As usual when there was strangeness afoot, the teens headed for the library. “Hey, Giles,” said Xander as he entered, and then he abruptly stopped. “I see you have made contact with another of your tribe.”
The cute blonde Xander had noticed was standing at the library counter. She gave them a wide smile. “Hi, Xander. Nice to see you again.”
Xander remembered his manners enough to make the introductions. “Rose, this is Willow. Willow, Rose.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Willow, offering a hand and a smile of her own.
Rose shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. I love your hair. The color’s gorgeous.”
Willow blushed a little. “Thanks. I help it out a bit.”
“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” said Rose with a wink. She picked up a small, but substantial, pile of books from the counter. “Thanks, Mr. Giles.”
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Tyler.” Giles looked just as charmed by Rose as Xander and Willow. “If you need anything else, feel free to ask.”
“Trust me, I will.” She hefted the books and headed for the door, saying to Xander and Willow as she did so, “Be seein’ you around, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you.” Xander watched as she left. “Hooboy, she’s cute. Even if she does sound like Spike.”
“Actually, Rose’s accent is working-class Estuary, whereas Spike’s smacked of Mockney--that is, a working-class accent affected by upper-class twits wanting to sound like they aren’t upper-class twits.” Giles filed away the cards he’d taken out of the books he gave Rose.
“Speaking of upper-class twits, is Wesley around?” Xander asked.
“He’s locked himself in the back in an attempt to prove he can decode a prophecy without my help, which I’m certain he can, but if implying the opposite keeps him out of my hair for a few hours, the word is ‘mum.’ Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Rose and the new teacher just reminded me of his existence, that’s all.”
Giles looked up sharply from his filing. “The new teacher?”
Willow spoke up. “Mrs. Haversham’s replacement after her, um, accident.”
“Ah, yes.” Giles started cleaning his glasses. “There’s a recent postcard from her in the teachers’ lounge. It was sent from Tibet and reads, ‘Get out, get out, for God’s sake get out!’ But you say this new teacher appears to be British?”
“Yeah, but his accent’s, I don’t know, different. Not like yours or Rose’s,” said Willow. “His name is Mr. Smith, and now that I say that, does it sound suspicious to anyone else?”
“Mysteriously-appearing British men named Smith? Yeah, I’m feeling the suspicion,” agreed Xander.
Giles looked slightly disgusted. “Unpleasant as the prospect may be, then, I appear to have little choice but to spend more time in the teachers’ lounge. I’ll attempt to accidentally run into the mysterious Mr. Smith there.”
Xander patted his shoulder. “Go with God, my friend.”
None of them, at that point, had any clue that Sunnydale had been invaded by aliens.
***
“I dunno--two more English-type people in town doesn’t exactly send my Weird-o-Meter into the red zone,” said Buffy that evening as she and her friends downed soft drinks and fried foods at the Bronze. “I’m more worried that something’s weirding out the demons.”
“Sounds like cause for concern,” Willow said.
Buffy stretched in her chair. “Yeah, it’s like they’ve gone into hiding. Makes my job easier, but they normally only do that when the big boys come to town. Not liking it.”
“Well, lemme know if you need some help in the research or spellcasting department, ‘cause uh-hey-uh . . .” Willow trailed off, mouth open, staring at something over Buffy’s shoulder.
Buffy instantly whipped around, looking for what might have caused her friend’s sudden incoherence. “What is it, W--homyguh!”
Xander, who’d been dispatched to fetch another round of drinks, came back to the table to find his two best friends in a state of apparent catatonia. “Buffy? Will?” He looked back over his shoulder, toward the bar. “Oh. That’s--something.”
The “something” was a man--tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, obnoxiously good-looking. He was chatting animatedly with one of the bartenders while every girl and not a few of the guys in the club stared at him in open lust.
Larry the football player sidled up. “Whoa, Mama, where can I get me some of that? You seen him before, Xander?”
“I wasn’t staring!” Xander blurted. Turning away from Larry’s knowing smile, he snapped his fingers in front of Willow’s eyes. “Willow? Wake up!”
Willow shoved his hand out of the way. “Stop it. You’re ruining the view.”
Gorgeous chose that moment to turn away from the bar and stride for the exit, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving. He threw a wink in the general direction of Buffy’s table, and then he was gone.
“Evil,” said Xander decisively. “He’s got to be evil. A face like that does not come to Sunnydale unless it means no good.”
Buffy sighed. “Yes. I should stalk his every move.”
“Yes, you should--Buffy!” Xander looked at her, appalled. “You, too, Will. Are you two not ashamed to be drooling over that creature of evil while you’re both doing the relationship thing with guys who are not him?”
“Involved, not dead,” insisted Willow.
***
As it turned out, the dead were looking, too. Angel was haunting the Bronze when the subject of Buffy, Willow and Xander’s conversation left the club, nearly running into him. The mystery man gave him the once-over a few times.
“Oh, if I only weren’t in love and out of time,” the man said, almost to himself. “Love the scenery in this town. Take care of that face, gorgeous.” He gave Angel a toothy smile and slipped away.
Only his scent remained, and it set Angel’s instincts off. He smelled human enough in most ways, but his pheromones were wrong for a human male. At least, Angel had never met a man who smelled like that, and he’d had over two hundred years of encounters with smelly males.
So, as silently and invisibly as only a vampire could, Angel followed him.
***
The following day, Giles forced himself to enter the teacher’s lounge under the pretext of needing hot water for his tea, in spite of having a fully-functional electric teakettle in his library office. Most of the other teachers roundly ignored him, with only two or three of the newer ones being optimistic enough to wish him a good morning.
Fortunately, the object of Giles’s investigation was also in the process of making tea. The mysterious Mr. Smith was eyeing a bottle of liquid creamer with a great deal of suspicion.
“I shouldn’t add any of that to your tea, if I were you,” said Giles. “It’s ghastly.”
“Barbaric,” agreed Smith. “I wonder if they’ve any idea just what’s in this concoction?”
Giles noted that his accent was strongly Northern. “If you were to ask me, I’d say that anything that pretends to be cream but has never seen the inside of a cow should be avoided at all costs.” He held out a hand. “Rupert Giles, librarian.”
The other man shook it, and Giles noted that his hands were cold. “John Smith, English teacher. I believe Rose mentioned you yesterday.”
“Then you know her?” Giles relaxed slightly. “I was wondering if it was a mere coincidence that an English girl and a fellow Englishman turned up at the same time at our school.”
“I’m her guardian,” explained Smith. “Her father died when she was a baby, and her mother . . .” He shook his head. “Unstable, that woman. You wouldn’t like to meet her. Terrible influence on Rose--you should have seen the likes of the men she’d bring home. Rose’s much better off where she is now.”
So, anyway, flist o'mine, I was hoping some of you might do me the favor of reading what I've written so far of my BtVS/DW crossover. I just need to know if my Sunnydale-ese has rusted to the point of incomprehension. And also if you'd like to read more, or if this is just boring right now. So, without further ado:
Xander was, of course, the first one to notice the new girl.
“She’s cute, she’s blonde, she’s got a great smile, and she sounds a bit like Spike when she talks,” he told Willow between classes. “The last one’s a bit weirdness-making, but I can work around it.”
“She’s English?” Willow asked, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “Wow. That makes two more English-type people than usual.”
“Two?” Xander stopped. “Please tell me Spike’s not back in town. Or Ethan Rayne. I can’t handle teenaged Snyder again.”
Willow shook her head. “No. I mean, not that I know of. The new history teacher’s British. His accent’s different than Giles and Wesley’s, though. Not like Spike’s, either. But he does wear a leather jacket.”
“Five bucks says he’s a vampire, if you can spot me two bucks,” said Xander.
“He didn’t seem to mind the sun.” Willow resumed walking. “Does seem weird, though, that we’ve doubled our U.K. expatriate population overnight.”
As usual when there was strangeness afoot, the teens headed for the library. “Hey, Giles,” said Xander as he entered, and then he abruptly stopped. “I see you have made contact with another of your tribe.”
The cute blonde Xander had noticed was standing at the library counter. She gave them a wide smile. “Hi, Xander. Nice to see you again.”
Xander remembered his manners enough to make the introductions. “Rose, this is Willow. Willow, Rose.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Willow, offering a hand and a smile of her own.
Rose shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. I love your hair. The color’s gorgeous.”
Willow blushed a little. “Thanks. I help it out a bit.”
“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” said Rose with a wink. She picked up a small, but substantial, pile of books from the counter. “Thanks, Mr. Giles.”
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Tyler.” Giles looked just as charmed by Rose as Xander and Willow. “If you need anything else, feel free to ask.”
“Trust me, I will.” She hefted the books and headed for the door, saying to Xander and Willow as she did so, “Be seein’ you around, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you.” Xander watched as she left. “Hooboy, she’s cute. Even if she does sound like Spike.”
“Actually, Rose’s accent is working-class Estuary, whereas Spike’s smacked of Mockney--that is, a working-class accent affected by upper-class twits wanting to sound like they aren’t upper-class twits.” Giles filed away the cards he’d taken out of the books he gave Rose.
“Speaking of upper-class twits, is Wesley around?” Xander asked.
“He’s locked himself in the back in an attempt to prove he can decode a prophecy without my help, which I’m certain he can, but if implying the opposite keeps him out of my hair for a few hours, the word is ‘mum.’ Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Rose and the new teacher just reminded me of his existence, that’s all.”
Giles looked up sharply from his filing. “The new teacher?”
Willow spoke up. “Mrs. Haversham’s replacement after her, um, accident.”
“Ah, yes.” Giles started cleaning his glasses. “There’s a recent postcard from her in the teachers’ lounge. It was sent from Tibet and reads, ‘Get out, get out, for God’s sake get out!’ But you say this new teacher appears to be British?”
“Yeah, but his accent’s, I don’t know, different. Not like yours or Rose’s,” said Willow. “His name is Mr. Smith, and now that I say that, does it sound suspicious to anyone else?”
“Mysteriously-appearing British men named Smith? Yeah, I’m feeling the suspicion,” agreed Xander.
Giles looked slightly disgusted. “Unpleasant as the prospect may be, then, I appear to have little choice but to spend more time in the teachers’ lounge. I’ll attempt to accidentally run into the mysterious Mr. Smith there.”
Xander patted his shoulder. “Go with God, my friend.”
None of them, at that point, had any clue that Sunnydale had been invaded by aliens.
***
“I dunno--two more English-type people in town doesn’t exactly send my Weird-o-Meter into the red zone,” said Buffy that evening as she and her friends downed soft drinks and fried foods at the Bronze. “I’m more worried that something’s weirding out the demons.”
“Sounds like cause for concern,” Willow said.
Buffy stretched in her chair. “Yeah, it’s like they’ve gone into hiding. Makes my job easier, but they normally only do that when the big boys come to town. Not liking it.”
“Well, lemme know if you need some help in the research or spellcasting department, ‘cause uh-hey-uh . . .” Willow trailed off, mouth open, staring at something over Buffy’s shoulder.
Buffy instantly whipped around, looking for what might have caused her friend’s sudden incoherence. “What is it, W--homyguh!”
Xander, who’d been dispatched to fetch another round of drinks, came back to the table to find his two best friends in a state of apparent catatonia. “Buffy? Will?” He looked back over his shoulder, toward the bar. “Oh. That’s--something.”
The “something” was a man--tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, obnoxiously good-looking. He was chatting animatedly with one of the bartenders while every girl and not a few of the guys in the club stared at him in open lust.
Larry the football player sidled up. “Whoa, Mama, where can I get me some of that? You seen him before, Xander?”
“I wasn’t staring!” Xander blurted. Turning away from Larry’s knowing smile, he snapped his fingers in front of Willow’s eyes. “Willow? Wake up!”
Willow shoved his hand out of the way. “Stop it. You’re ruining the view.”
Gorgeous chose that moment to turn away from the bar and stride for the exit, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving. He threw a wink in the general direction of Buffy’s table, and then he was gone.
“Evil,” said Xander decisively. “He’s got to be evil. A face like that does not come to Sunnydale unless it means no good.”
Buffy sighed. “Yes. I should stalk his every move.”
“Yes, you should--Buffy!” Xander looked at her, appalled. “You, too, Will. Are you two not ashamed to be drooling over that creature of evil while you’re both doing the relationship thing with guys who are not him?”
“Involved, not dead,” insisted Willow.
***
As it turned out, the dead were looking, too. Angel was haunting the Bronze when the subject of Buffy, Willow and Xander’s conversation left the club, nearly running into him. The mystery man gave him the once-over a few times.
“Oh, if I only weren’t in love and out of time,” the man said, almost to himself. “Love the scenery in this town. Take care of that face, gorgeous.” He gave Angel a toothy smile and slipped away.
Only his scent remained, and it set Angel’s instincts off. He smelled human enough in most ways, but his pheromones were wrong for a human male. At least, Angel had never met a man who smelled like that, and he’d had over two hundred years of encounters with smelly males.
So, as silently and invisibly as only a vampire could, Angel followed him.
***
The following day, Giles forced himself to enter the teacher’s lounge under the pretext of needing hot water for his tea, in spite of having a fully-functional electric teakettle in his library office. Most of the other teachers roundly ignored him, with only two or three of the newer ones being optimistic enough to wish him a good morning.
Fortunately, the object of Giles’s investigation was also in the process of making tea. The mysterious Mr. Smith was eyeing a bottle of liquid creamer with a great deal of suspicion.
“I shouldn’t add any of that to your tea, if I were you,” said Giles. “It’s ghastly.”
“Barbaric,” agreed Smith. “I wonder if they’ve any idea just what’s in this concoction?”
Giles noted that his accent was strongly Northern. “If you were to ask me, I’d say that anything that pretends to be cream but has never seen the inside of a cow should be avoided at all costs.” He held out a hand. “Rupert Giles, librarian.”
The other man shook it, and Giles noted that his hands were cold. “John Smith, English teacher. I believe Rose mentioned you yesterday.”
“Then you know her?” Giles relaxed slightly. “I was wondering if it was a mere coincidence that an English girl and a fellow Englishman turned up at the same time at our school.”
“I’m her guardian,” explained Smith. “Her father died when she was a baby, and her mother . . .” He shook his head. “Unstable, that woman. You wouldn’t like to meet her. Terrible influence on Rose--you should have seen the likes of the men she’d bring home. Rose’s much better off where she is now.”