Buffy ficlet with no title (or plot!)
Buffy missed the feeling of solid ground beneath her feet.
Truth be told, the ground was solid, but the surface switched from being icy to having the consistency of uncooked cookie dough. Every time she put her foot down she slipped. Running was becoming a challenge to stay upright. And then there was the problem of her having lost feeling in her toes about half an hour ago.
She couldn’t understand how the Canadian Slayers managed in weather like this. They ran through the snow and ice as if they were walking on air. In comparison, her efforts to keep up with them left her looking like, well, not a Slayer. She might as well have been a normal young woman. It struck Buffy that she now knew how Xander felt when he had to keep up with their contingent of Slayers while on assignment.
The snow that had been falling lazily only an hour ago was now being whipped up into a whirlwind. Buffy could barely see the forms of the three Canadian Slayers running ahead of her and she had completely lost track of the demon they were chasing.
She should have stayed behind with Xander in the truck. Native Californians weren’t cut out for cold weather. The temperature never dropped-
Buffy didn’t get the chance to finish her thought. The ground disappeared from under her feet. For a split second, she felt weightless. Then she felt solid ground once more, though this time she was feeling it with her whole body.
The impact knocked the air out of Buffy’s lungs. She had experienced a slip on ice before while skating, but never outside in the middle of a blizzard. The ground was hard and cold beneath her and the snowflakes were hitting her face with more ferocity than she thought snowflakes could muster. And it wasn’t fluffy snowflakes. No, these snowflakes stung Buffy’s face and the sound of them hitting her was like being pelted with handfuls of salt (which she did know how that felt like thanks to a zombie fiasco in Spain last month).
She couldn’t even tell where she was anymore. It was just white in all directions.
“Get up,” Buffy muttered to herself. She had no clue how cold it had to get to worry about frost bite, but she had no intention to find out. The three Canadian Slayers she had met earlier in the week seemed more than capable. They could probably chase down the demon without her. For once, she was going to sit this one out.
Rolling over, Buffy pushed herself up onto her knees. The thin gloves that had been loaned to her did very little to keep out the cold and her fingers were suffering from the same fate as her toes. The only part of her that was warm was her head and that was probably due to the knitted hat - or “toque” as the Canadian Slayers had called it - she had bought at the airport on the first day.
She planted one foot on the ground, as if she were climbing a steep mountain. When it seemed like she had a solid grip, she rose to her feet, making sure she wasn’t facing the direction the wind was blowing. For a moment, Buffy stood where she was, staring out into the wall of white. It all would have been very pretty if she had been sitting inside somewhere warm, with a roaring fire in the hearth and maybe a nice hunky guy to cuddle up beside…
Something wasn’t right. The wind was still blowing, but Buffy couldn’t feel it on her back anymore. Great, she thought, I’ve wandered into a bad horror movie. Holding back a sigh, she looked over her shoulder.
A hulking demon dressed all in black towered over her.
Buffy turned, hoping to strike first. She lashed out with a punch aimed at the demon’s stomach; she didn’t dare using her feet. Her fist hit its mark, and with her hands frozen solid she didn’t feel anything, but the demon didn’t even budge.
The punch Buffy took, however, moved her considerably.
She flew backwards, striking the hard ground even harder than before. As she slid to a stop, she couldn’t help but think: Canadian winters suck.