I really should be writing The Assassin but...
Title: Simple As That
Author: If this isn't obvious then I'm just going to say that that the Cherry Ripe I've been eating did it.
Rating: Umm what was Buffy's rating again? Somewhere in the PG-13 to M range I guess.
Disclaimer: I'm fairly certain absolutely nothing in this is mine, the vampire concept and certain themes mentioned belong to Joss, the characters and setting belong to Dan (oh lookies my two favorite writing ppls mashed together!!), and I'm sure I made a joke that belongs to whoever wrote Finding Nemo (I'm gonna credit it to Ellen anyway).
Summary: "It wasn’t that Samantha Puckett hated her job, she got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do what she loved, but was more that she absolutely hated the vampiric part of her job!"
It wasn’t that Samantha Puckett hated her job, she got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do what she loved, but was more that she absolutely hated the vampiric part of her job!
Sam was more than happy to be a freelance Slayer for the Watcher’s Council, they needed all the help they could get with the spontaneous outbreak of superhuman girls, but she just couldn’t handle the boring monotony that came with them. There was really only a limited few ways that one can kill a vampire, and it’s not like they bothered to make it more interesting. The most entertaining job she’d ever completed was a gang of vampire’s who’d somehow convinced themselves that they were and ABBA revival group that wore human lungs rather than sparkly outfits.
In short, nineteen year old Samantha Puckett was tired of killing boring old vampire after sparkly eighties reject vampire with little to no deviation from the norm. She needed a challenge, something almost impossible to carry out, something like what was waiting for her at the top of Bushwell Plaza.
Her brand new Ducati bike roared into the quiet streets of night time Seattle, her destination the near deserted block that housed Bushwell Plaza. Sam ignored the loitering drug dealers and prostitutes who all eyed her expensive bike, her blue eyes focused on the road ahead and the target at the end of her journey, the new head vampire in the area, Carly Shay.
The target vampire sat casually on the ledge of Bushwell Plaza’s rooftop, taking sips from her wineglass as she peered through binoculars at the approaching blonde. Carly smirked, jumping onto the fire escape while growling gleefully. “I love the smell of Slayer in the morning!”
Sam heard her words, the vampire’s bright white leather coat glimmering in the darkness of the night. She fleetingly wondered if there were reflective mirrors or sequins involved in the garment. Sam rolled to a stop directly below the grinning predator. “And I hate boring vampires, I don’t even have to make a bad movie reference to do it!”
Carly slid easily down a ladder as Sam yelled, enjoying the scent of petrol and ash coming from the short Slayer. If she was less dead, then she was sure that the soft, hard to distinguish smell would drive her to forcing this blonde creature into a prison of some sort. But Carly Shay was very, and happily, dead, and the only type of prison she wanted to put the now climbing Slayer into was the kind with chains and other such vampiric fun bits of metal. In fact she’d call the blonde her puppy, or squishy, or maybe Miss Pretty Hair Fantastical, torture was best carried out with strange names involved. Carly knew how to be an effective vampire, act crazy and don’t piss off Slayers. She was about to do neither as the pair met halfway up, or down (optimistic vampire or pessimistic Slayer) Bushwell Plaza, both stunned into inaction as they came into fighting distance.
To Sam, this vampire wasn’t different. She was just another young upstart (what sort of older, romanticised vampire wore a white leather coat with blindingly black skinny jeans?) who didn’t quite understand how not to get killed, the first thing Sam had ever been taught. The vampire wasn’t remarkably tall or well-built, Sam knew she wasn’t either of those things either and she was a totally unremarkable Slayer. In fact, the brunette looked like someone Sam would steal from.
Sam was pleased with her dismissive assessment of Carly Shay, until she started to look a little bit further into the seemingly hopeless and boring dead woman in front of her. Sure, she looked like Sam could steal from her, but there was something there, in her eyes or in the way her muscles had tensed when Sam’s eyes roamed freely over her cold body, something that screamed that she’d have a fight on her hands if she even tried to take a poorly made ABBA costume off her.
Then she was taken by the striking and somewhat timeless beauty of Carly Shay. Years later, when she teaches at the Academy, Sam frequently breaks into an anecdote about the young vampire who could’ve been a silent movie star, but always stops just before the end. No one who’d ever taken a class with Samantha Puckett knew what happened to the silent movie star on the fire escape. Not one.
Carly, on the other side of life, was stuck between assessing the shorter woman and trying to figure out what the Slayer thought of her. It was one of the annoying things she’d inherited from her human self, that silly being-a-teenager thing. It annoyed her to no end, culminating in her decision to stop herself from thinking it. If asked, any one of Carly’s underlings would happily snicker about how their boss decided to kill everyone she could in order to combat teenage insecurity. From the look of the blonde, Carly was absolutely certain that Sam would tease her mercilessly for this, but would understand eventually. Probably after the Slayer was subjected to the same type of not-abuse in a comedic twist of fate.
They were fascinated by the open book that was each other. Both reading pages of information without a thought to the fact that they were standing in front of the being they were essentially designed to kill.
“Shay comma Carly?” Sam asked, her voice taking on the softest tone it had since she was three and had discovered ham. She was almost reverent in her addressing of the vampire’s name, as if she was worshiping at the altar of a higher power than herself. Their eyes locked as Carly smiled, Sam could see both conformation and something that could possibly hint at something else that she knew simply couldn’t be there.
The wooden stake hit hard and fast.
Samantha Puckett is a Slayer, Carly Shay was a vampire.
Simple as that.
Author: If this isn't obvious then I'm just going to say that that the Cherry Ripe I've been eating did it.
Rating: Umm what was Buffy's rating again? Somewhere in the PG-13 to M range I guess.
Disclaimer: I'm fairly certain absolutely nothing in this is mine, the vampire concept and certain themes mentioned belong to Joss, the characters and setting belong to Dan (oh lookies my two favorite writing ppls mashed together!!), and I'm sure I made a joke that belongs to whoever wrote Finding Nemo (I'm gonna credit it to Ellen anyway).
Summary: "It wasn’t that Samantha Puckett hated her job, she got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do what she loved, but was more that she absolutely hated the vampiric part of her job!"
It wasn’t that Samantha Puckett hated her job, she got paid a ridiculous amount of money to do what she loved, but was more that she absolutely hated the vampiric part of her job!
Sam was more than happy to be a freelance Slayer for the Watcher’s Council, they needed all the help they could get with the spontaneous outbreak of superhuman girls, but she just couldn’t handle the boring monotony that came with them. There was really only a limited few ways that one can kill a vampire, and it’s not like they bothered to make it more interesting. The most entertaining job she’d ever completed was a gang of vampire’s who’d somehow convinced themselves that they were and ABBA revival group that wore human lungs rather than sparkly outfits.
In short, nineteen year old Samantha Puckett was tired of killing boring old vampire after sparkly eighties reject vampire with little to no deviation from the norm. She needed a challenge, something almost impossible to carry out, something like what was waiting for her at the top of Bushwell Plaza.
Her brand new Ducati bike roared into the quiet streets of night time Seattle, her destination the near deserted block that housed Bushwell Plaza. Sam ignored the loitering drug dealers and prostitutes who all eyed her expensive bike, her blue eyes focused on the road ahead and the target at the end of her journey, the new head vampire in the area, Carly Shay.
The target vampire sat casually on the ledge of Bushwell Plaza’s rooftop, taking sips from her wineglass as she peered through binoculars at the approaching blonde. Carly smirked, jumping onto the fire escape while growling gleefully. “I love the smell of Slayer in the morning!”
Sam heard her words, the vampire’s bright white leather coat glimmering in the darkness of the night. She fleetingly wondered if there were reflective mirrors or sequins involved in the garment. Sam rolled to a stop directly below the grinning predator. “And I hate boring vampires, I don’t even have to make a bad movie reference to do it!”
Carly slid easily down a ladder as Sam yelled, enjoying the scent of petrol and ash coming from the short Slayer. If she was less dead, then she was sure that the soft, hard to distinguish smell would drive her to forcing this blonde creature into a prison of some sort. But Carly Shay was very, and happily, dead, and the only type of prison she wanted to put the now climbing Slayer into was the kind with chains and other such vampiric fun bits of metal. In fact she’d call the blonde her puppy, or squishy, or maybe Miss Pretty Hair Fantastical, torture was best carried out with strange names involved. Carly knew how to be an effective vampire, act crazy and don’t piss off Slayers. She was about to do neither as the pair met halfway up, or down (optimistic vampire or pessimistic Slayer) Bushwell Plaza, both stunned into inaction as they came into fighting distance.
To Sam, this vampire wasn’t different. She was just another young upstart (what sort of older, romanticised vampire wore a white leather coat with blindingly black skinny jeans?) who didn’t quite understand how not to get killed, the first thing Sam had ever been taught. The vampire wasn’t remarkably tall or well-built, Sam knew she wasn’t either of those things either and she was a totally unremarkable Slayer. In fact, the brunette looked like someone Sam would steal from.
Sam was pleased with her dismissive assessment of Carly Shay, until she started to look a little bit further into the seemingly hopeless and boring dead woman in front of her. Sure, she looked like Sam could steal from her, but there was something there, in her eyes or in the way her muscles had tensed when Sam’s eyes roamed freely over her cold body, something that screamed that she’d have a fight on her hands if she even tried to take a poorly made ABBA costume off her.
Then she was taken by the striking and somewhat timeless beauty of Carly Shay. Years later, when she teaches at the Academy, Sam frequently breaks into an anecdote about the young vampire who could’ve been a silent movie star, but always stops just before the end. No one who’d ever taken a class with Samantha Puckett knew what happened to the silent movie star on the fire escape. Not one.
Carly, on the other side of life, was stuck between assessing the shorter woman and trying to figure out what the Slayer thought of her. It was one of the annoying things she’d inherited from her human self, that silly being-a-teenager thing. It annoyed her to no end, culminating in her decision to stop herself from thinking it. If asked, any one of Carly’s underlings would happily snicker about how their boss decided to kill everyone she could in order to combat teenage insecurity. From the look of the blonde, Carly was absolutely certain that Sam would tease her mercilessly for this, but would understand eventually. Probably after the Slayer was subjected to the same type of not-abuse in a comedic twist of fate.
They were fascinated by the open book that was each other. Both reading pages of information without a thought to the fact that they were standing in front of the being they were essentially designed to kill.
“Shay comma Carly?” Sam asked, her voice taking on the softest tone it had since she was three and had discovered ham. She was almost reverent in her addressing of the vampire’s name, as if she was worshiping at the altar of a higher power than herself. Their eyes locked as Carly smiled, Sam could see both conformation and something that could possibly hint at something else that she knew simply couldn’t be there.
The wooden stake hit hard and fast.
Samantha Puckett is a Slayer, Carly Shay was a vampire.
Simple as that.