Promt 147: drabble
The fledgling raised his fists, ready. Buffy rolled her eyes and leaned on a tombstone.
“You know what today is, right?” Buffy asked.
“Er, the day you die?” he said.
“Slayer's holiday. Think of it as a moratorium on me slaying you.”
“Mora-what?”
“I’m not here to dust you,” she made a little shooing motion. “Go.”
The fledgling studied her, lowering his fists. “Woah. Really?”
“Nope!” Her hidden stake flew through the air with a flourish, hitting his heart, a perfect bull’s-eye.
“April fools!” she shouted as he turned to dust.
Buffy chucked to herself, “Buffy: twelve. Stupid vampires: zero.”
“You know what today is, right?” Buffy asked.
“Er, the day you die?” he said.
“Slayer's holiday. Think of it as a moratorium on me slaying you.”
“Mora-what?”
“I’m not here to dust you,” she made a little shooing motion. “Go.”
The fledgling studied her, lowering his fists. “Woah. Really?”
“Nope!” Her hidden stake flew through the air with a flourish, hitting his heart, a perfect bull’s-eye.
“April fools!” she shouted as he turned to dust.
Buffy chucked to herself, “Buffy: twelve. Stupid vampires: zero.”