The Apocalypse Has Been Postponed
Yet another post inspired by Two To Tango, by quinara. A sort of sequel, or more like a sideswipe, to it.
Setting: BtVS season 7, post-Showtime. Buffy's 22nd birthday party.
Rating: PG
1000 words of utterly silly fluff.
The Apocalypse Has Been Postponed
"Are you sure this is the right house?" War elbowed Death aside to peer through the window.
Death shoved War back. "Yeah, I'm sure. 1630 Revello Drive. And that's the Slayer- the skinny little thing dancing with the blond guy in the kitchen."
"Looks like there's a party going on," War groused. "What happened to that One Girl in All the World crap? And isn't the guy the Slayer's dancing with a vampire? Aren't vamps on our side? What is he? Some kind of double agent?"
"Who cares?" Famine chipped in, jostling them both. "I'm hungry. Can't we just go eat?"
"You're always hungry," War snarled.
"Well, hello-o?" Famine said, in a sarcastic voice. "The name's kind of a clue."
"Don't talk about food," Pestilence muttered from behind them. "Makes me sick to my stomach."
Famine gave Pestilence a disgusted look. "Looking at you would make anyone sick to their stomachs. I mean, those latest boils are gross. As for the foot rot...eww! Just eww!"
"Says the walking skeleton," Pestilence shot back. "If you think all the dieting's gonna get you a catwalk gig, you're wrong. You don't have the cheekbones."
There was a ghastly clicking noise as Death put skeleton hands on fleshless hipbones. "And just what is wrong with being a walking skeleton?"
Pestilence opened a sore-lined mouth to reply, but suddenly, the house door shot open and golden light, accompanied by laughter and music, spilled into the front yard.
The Slayer looked from one startled face to another. "You four had better have a good reason for trampling my mom's flowerbed."
The vampire was standing behind her with an I-told-you-so expression on his face. "What'd I say, Slayer? Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Right on cue."
"Hey, I've no intention of inviting them in for crudities," the Slayer protested. "Not that I know what those are." Her eyes narrowed. "If you're selling something, I don't want it."
War, Death, Famine and Pestilence found themselves inexplicably bunched closer together. War pushed clear of the others, scowling. But the other three stayed huddled where they were, and after a moment, War stepped back into the huddle, looking sheepish.
"Well?" The Slayer folded her arms. "I'm waiting."
The four glanced at each other. Somehow, Death got pushed to the front.
"Hey," Death complained. "Stop that."
"You're the oldest," War hissed, "as you never tire of reminding us. We elect you spokesman."
Death heaved a rib-splitting - literally rib-splitting - sigh. "Why do I always get the dirty jobs?"
"Still he-ere," the Slayer sing-songed. The vampire, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and lit up. The Slayer wrinkled her nose at the smell, but didn't take her eyes off the huddled Horsemen. "Do I look like I have all day?"
Death drew itself up to its full height and shook its scythe menacingly in the Slayer's direction.
"Tremble, mortal, for we are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. We will destroy this town with fire....."
"And sword," War hissed, urgently. "Remind her about the sword."
Death scowled in exasperation, though of course you couldn't tell.
"And sword," Death continued, "and...."
"....outbreaks of very unsightly boils," Pestilence chipped in, at which Famine elbowed Pestilence in the ribs. "And hunger. Why does the hunger always get left out?"
But Death ignored the interruption this time.
"We will grind your bones into dust and then grind the dust into dust. The end days are here." Death brandished the scythe again. "Beware, Slayer. The Apocalypse has come."
The Slayer gave Death a pleasant smile. "No, it hasn't."
There was a brief silence. Then Death said, uncertainly, "It hasn't?"
The Slayer shook her head. "Uh-uh."
Death glanced back at the other three horsemen for reassurance. "But..."
"Excuse me," the Slayer snapped, while the vampire smirked around his cigarette. "Still talking here. Today's my birthday. Ergo, no Apocalypse."
"But.." Death began again.
"Do you realise," the Slayer cut in, in an aggrieved tone, "how many years I've waited for this? What with ex-boyfriends turning evil, and being poisoned by my Watcher, and my mom getting sick, and being trapped in my house, I just want a normal birthday, or as normal as it ever gets around here, which means Ultimate Evil is trying to kill me and end the Slayer line and my house is full of teenage girls on massive sugar highs, and my current boyfriend is too mopey to dance with me. I just don't have time for Apocalypses right now, 'kay?"
"Oh," Death said, non-plussed, while the vampire stood upright, looking half-stunned.
"Boyfriend?"
The Slayer winced, seemingly in realisation of what she'd just said. "Not the time, Spike."
"No," the vampire agreed, slumping again. His expression said, it never was. Still, Death couldn't help noticing that the Slayer had stealthily reached out and grabbed his hand in hers.
"Sorry about the dancing comment, though," she said. "I appreciate that you tried."
The vampire shut his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "Don't mention it, Slayer."
"No, really." The Slayer was looking at him now, big-eyed and uncertain. To Death's admittedly inexpert eyes, the air almost seemed to tremble between them. "I mean it, Spike. Thanks."
The vampire smiled and the tension eased. "Any time, love. In fact, speaking of dancing, what say I teach you how to tango? Can still remember the moves, I think. Also, better music."
"Yeah?" The Slayer smiled back at him. "That'd be great." Abruptly, she turned on the four horsemen. "Are you still here?"
Death opened his mouth to respond, but the Slayer wagged her finger at them. "Get gone." As the door slammed in their faces, she added, "And get those horses off my lawn."
There was a short, embarrassed silence. Death cleared his throat. "Some serious UST going on there, I thought."
There was muttered agreement, another embarrassed silence.
At last, Famine shrugged. "Since the Apocalypse is on hold, anyone for pizza?"
Setting: BtVS season 7, post-Showtime. Buffy's 22nd birthday party.
Rating: PG
1000 words of utterly silly fluff.
The Apocalypse Has Been Postponed
"Are you sure this is the right house?" War elbowed Death aside to peer through the window.
Death shoved War back. "Yeah, I'm sure. 1630 Revello Drive. And that's the Slayer- the skinny little thing dancing with the blond guy in the kitchen."
"Looks like there's a party going on," War groused. "What happened to that One Girl in All the World crap? And isn't the guy the Slayer's dancing with a vampire? Aren't vamps on our side? What is he? Some kind of double agent?"
"Who cares?" Famine chipped in, jostling them both. "I'm hungry. Can't we just go eat?"
"You're always hungry," War snarled.
"Well, hello-o?" Famine said, in a sarcastic voice. "The name's kind of a clue."
"Don't talk about food," Pestilence muttered from behind them. "Makes me sick to my stomach."
Famine gave Pestilence a disgusted look. "Looking at you would make anyone sick to their stomachs. I mean, those latest boils are gross. As for the foot rot...eww! Just eww!"
"Says the walking skeleton," Pestilence shot back. "If you think all the dieting's gonna get you a catwalk gig, you're wrong. You don't have the cheekbones."
There was a ghastly clicking noise as Death put skeleton hands on fleshless hipbones. "And just what is wrong with being a walking skeleton?"
Pestilence opened a sore-lined mouth to reply, but suddenly, the house door shot open and golden light, accompanied by laughter and music, spilled into the front yard.
The Slayer looked from one startled face to another. "You four had better have a good reason for trampling my mom's flowerbed."
The vampire was standing behind her with an I-told-you-so expression on his face. "What'd I say, Slayer? Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Right on cue."
"Hey, I've no intention of inviting them in for crudities," the Slayer protested. "Not that I know what those are." Her eyes narrowed. "If you're selling something, I don't want it."
War, Death, Famine and Pestilence found themselves inexplicably bunched closer together. War pushed clear of the others, scowling. But the other three stayed huddled where they were, and after a moment, War stepped back into the huddle, looking sheepish.
"Well?" The Slayer folded her arms. "I'm waiting."
The four glanced at each other. Somehow, Death got pushed to the front.
"Hey," Death complained. "Stop that."
"You're the oldest," War hissed, "as you never tire of reminding us. We elect you spokesman."
Death heaved a rib-splitting - literally rib-splitting - sigh. "Why do I always get the dirty jobs?"
"Still he-ere," the Slayer sing-songed. The vampire, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket and lit up. The Slayer wrinkled her nose at the smell, but didn't take her eyes off the huddled Horsemen. "Do I look like I have all day?"
Death drew itself up to its full height and shook its scythe menacingly in the Slayer's direction.
"Tremble, mortal, for we are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. We will destroy this town with fire....."
"And sword," War hissed, urgently. "Remind her about the sword."
Death scowled in exasperation, though of course you couldn't tell.
"And sword," Death continued, "and...."
"....outbreaks of very unsightly boils," Pestilence chipped in, at which Famine elbowed Pestilence in the ribs. "And hunger. Why does the hunger always get left out?"
But Death ignored the interruption this time.
"We will grind your bones into dust and then grind the dust into dust. The end days are here." Death brandished the scythe again. "Beware, Slayer. The Apocalypse has come."
The Slayer gave Death a pleasant smile. "No, it hasn't."
There was a brief silence. Then Death said, uncertainly, "It hasn't?"
The Slayer shook her head. "Uh-uh."
Death glanced back at the other three horsemen for reassurance. "But..."
"Excuse me," the Slayer snapped, while the vampire smirked around his cigarette. "Still talking here. Today's my birthday. Ergo, no Apocalypse."
"But.." Death began again.
"Do you realise," the Slayer cut in, in an aggrieved tone, "how many years I've waited for this? What with ex-boyfriends turning evil, and being poisoned by my Watcher, and my mom getting sick, and being trapped in my house, I just want a normal birthday, or as normal as it ever gets around here, which means Ultimate Evil is trying to kill me and end the Slayer line and my house is full of teenage girls on massive sugar highs, and my current boyfriend is too mopey to dance with me. I just don't have time for Apocalypses right now, 'kay?"
"Oh," Death said, non-plussed, while the vampire stood upright, looking half-stunned.
"Boyfriend?"
The Slayer winced, seemingly in realisation of what she'd just said. "Not the time, Spike."
"No," the vampire agreed, slumping again. His expression said, it never was. Still, Death couldn't help noticing that the Slayer had stealthily reached out and grabbed his hand in hers.
"Sorry about the dancing comment, though," she said. "I appreciate that you tried."
The vampire shut his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "Don't mention it, Slayer."
"No, really." The Slayer was looking at him now, big-eyed and uncertain. To Death's admittedly inexpert eyes, the air almost seemed to tremble between them. "I mean it, Spike. Thanks."
The vampire smiled and the tension eased. "Any time, love. In fact, speaking of dancing, what say I teach you how to tango? Can still remember the moves, I think. Also, better music."
"Yeah?" The Slayer smiled back at him. "That'd be great." Abruptly, she turned on the four horsemen. "Are you still here?"
Death opened his mouth to respond, but the Slayer wagged her finger at them. "Get gone." As the door slammed in their faces, she added, "And get those horses off my lawn."
There was a short, embarrassed silence. Death cleared his throat. "Some serious UST going on there, I thought."
There was muttered agreement, another embarrassed silence.
At last, Famine shrugged. "Since the Apocalypse is on hold, anyone for pizza?"