Fic: Something of the Night
Something of the Night
The Divine Goat
A/N MPs aren’t allowed to resign. They have duty to fulfil, and fulfil it by golly they will. An MP needing to resign will take on the position of Steward of Northstead Manor, or Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds, and so become disqualified from sitting as an MP. (Both these posts are paid nominally by the crown)
All other notes and disclaimers at the end of the fic.
***
Ian wasn’t used to short, blonde, American women barging into his dressing room. He especially wasn’t used to them barging in when Paul was doing things that weren’t meant to be shared with the general public. Still, he felt he showed remarkable composure in the circumstances, and made a fair attempt at nonchalance as he asked,
“Yes, can I help you?”
The woman gulped, looked at him, looked down at Paul, (who Ian just knew was knelt there with a smug grin plastered all over his face) looked back at Ian, blushed and started backing out of the room.
“Um… wrong room... Sorry… Looking for someone different. Didn’t mean to disturb… Don’t let me stop you, I mean I’ll go and you carry…” As she trailed off in embarrassment another woman appeared and grabbed the blonde’s arm.
“It’s the wrong room, I got the wrong number, he’s in make-up.” She said as she pulled the blonde out into the corridor. The door swung shut behind them.
“So what do you reckon that was about?” Paul asked as he bent back to the task in front of him.
“God knows.” answered Ian rather breathlessly, “With those Americans your guess is as good as mine.” Paul grunted his agreement, and Ian found coherent thought had vanished.
“And on Ian’s team tonight we have the ousted Tory Leader, Former MP and my ex boss, Michael Howard.” Boris paused for a beat and then turned towards Michael, “So did good old Mandy give you any tips on Stewardship of the Manor of Northstead?” The smile that Michael directed back was anything but good natured, but before he could reply Ian interrupted.
“You known, I always though Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds had a much classier ring to it. I surprised you didn’t go for that position. But then again,” he said, smirking across at Michael, “You weren’t given any choice in the matter, were you?” Michael’s glare turned poisonous.
“Historically, the positions are awarded alternately, and as Tony became Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds last September, I was offered” his gaze momentarily flicked from Ian back to Boris, “the position of Steward of the Manor of Northstead.”
“A hundred what?” Paul said suddenly. “Puppies? Horses? Hippies? Steward of the Hundred Hippies. Sounds like a commune to me. You want to be careful Michael; they’ll try to indoctrinate you.”
“No, Michael’s the Steward of the Manor of Northstead. It’s a gloomy pile of bricks in the North Riding of Yorkshire. All rather gothic and Bram Stoker. You must feel right at home, Michael.” Ian glanced over at his team mate and was gratified to see him wince.
“It wasn’t a part of England I was hugely familiar with, but it is an area of outstanding natural beauty.” Michael tried to seem relaxed, but it was obvious to everyone he was rattled.
Ian leaned back and grinned across to Paul. This was going to be fun.
***
“And on to our final round, the Missing Words Round…” As Boris introduced the guest publication, Ian became aware of a commotion to the side of the set. The blonde woman and her friend from earlier were trying to force their way onto the stage, and were being blocked by security. Ian did a double take as he noticed the third woman stood by them harassing the floor manager. Why was Anne Widdecombe in the studio? But before he could even try to work out what was going on, he found himself hauled out of his seat and pulled back against the wall. Time slowed and he realised several things.
“Come any closer and he’s dead, Slayer” Michael snarled, and Ian wondered if Paul had slipped something medicinal into his tea before the show. Because really, this couldn’t be happening.
“Don’t think you’re going to win any votes doing that now Mikey.” The blonde said, for all the world as if he had proposed doubling income tax. “Although, we’d all get to trot out our undead politician jokes, so yay! for satirical humour.” As she spoke she moved sideways away from Anne.
“I said don’t come any closer!” Michael shouted as he tightened his grip on Ian and moved Ian’s neck closer to his mouth. Ian’s eyes sought out Paul, who was stood up, white faced and horrified. Ian looked into his eyes, and wished he’d spoken all those things they both thought they had forever to say. Paul’s hand was reached out as if trying to hold on to something, but before Ian could work out what, Michael was speaking again.
“Do you really think I’d need a reason to spill his blood? It would be a public service ending his life. Smug little spawn of the devil.” Ian became aware of Boris whispering “Well, really. I say.” But there was none of his usual bluster and Ian found himself momentarily gratified that Boris didn’t hold grudges.
Against the backdrop of the frozen audience the other American was chanting, and when Michael turned to see what she was doing, the blonde moved outwards couple more steps.
“You know, Mikey. You could just let him go. Save yourself a whole world of pain before I kill you.” Ian decided the Blonde was being inappropriately casual about the situation now. Michael was hardly going to be threatened by her.
“Yes, right. I’m just going to release him. Just like that. You’re as naive as a Lib Dem voter.” And in the tradition of all good villains he laughed at his own, unfunny joke.
“No. You’re going to release him like this.” At the nod of the Blonde’s head, things happened in very quick succession.
Before he had time to process this, Anne was beside him helping him to his feet. How did she move so fast? Ian was too stunned by events (and the desk) to notice that it was Anne Widdecombe was checking him over for damage.
“Is he okay?” The blonde sauntered up to them, carelessly twirling the stake through her fingers. Michael was nowhere to be seen.
“Just winded from what I can tell.” Anne replied and the blonde nodded and turned towards her friend.
“Nice one on the Holy Water delivery Willow. We’re definitely going to have to include that one in the handbook.” Willow grinned back at her
“Credit where it’s due, Dawn came up with the idea, Buffy. I just implemented it.” She looked at Ian, “Sorry about the whole wet thing. I didn’t know how much would be enough.” Ian stared at her wordlessly as Buffy turned back to Anne.
“Thanks for the heads up. And remember, there’s always a place for you in the Council.” Anne shook her head.
“Now I’m no longer an ex-potential, but an actual slayer, I can finally do something about undead that sadly seem to infest our party.” The look on her face indicated she was looking forward to it.
Buffy shrugged her shoulders. “Well, if you need any help, you know where to find us. Willow and I better get going.” She looked over to where Paul was still stood in open-mouthed amazement. “He’s probably going to need a lot of reassurance to get over the shock.” She winked at Paul, patted Ian on the back, and made her way out of the studio, followed by Willow.
As if their departure was a signal, the studio started coming back to life. The audience fell to furious whispering, whilst the floor crew bounced of each other, panicking about the lack of a guest to finish the show. Paul slowly made his way over to where Ian was stood, dripping on the floor, trying to comprehend the last ten minutes of his life.
“You alright?” And whilst Paul’s voice betrayed nothing in such a public arena, Ian heard the unspoken distress.
“Mostly wet.” To anyone other than Paul, his words would have sounded like composure, and nothing like need for comfort.
“Come on then. Let’s get you into some dry clothes.” All anyone would hear was one colleague being solicitous to another after a harrowing experience.
And if Paul’s arm had gone around Ian before they were completely out of sight, well, everyone else was too pre-occupied to notice.
The last thing Paul and Ian heard before leaving the studio was Boris muttering in a confused tone,
“Something of the night… The bally bastard’s a vampire!”
The End
Title: Something of the Night
Author: The Divine Goat
Rating: If you’re old enough to be in this community, you’re old enough to read this.
Disclaimers: Buffy & Willow are the property of the nice people who own the rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I lay no claim to them whatsoever. Also, I obviously lay no claim to the other characters in this fic, given that they are real people and this is work of fantasy. So Michael Howard is still the Leader of the Tory Party, and has not been forced to resign over some unspecified scandal*. He is also not a vampire. (To the best of my knowledge). Paul and Ian are sadly not in a loving relationship involving lots of sweaty blowjobs. (To the best of my knowledge) Anne Widdecombe is also sadly not a Slayer. (No, she really isn’t) Boris however, is always Boris whether fictional or real.
Further Author Notes: This was going to be a drabble and it slightly got away from me. Many thanks to alicamel for the beta and reassurance. Any errors are entirely my fault. You can find out more about Resigning as an MP here
*It involved a blow up sheep, the blood of seven virgins and a copy of Private Eye.
The Divine Goat
A/N MPs aren’t allowed to resign. They have duty to fulfil, and fulfil it by golly they will. An MP needing to resign will take on the position of Steward of Northstead Manor, or Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds, and so become disqualified from sitting as an MP. (Both these posts are paid nominally by the crown)
All other notes and disclaimers at the end of the fic.
***
Ian wasn’t used to short, blonde, American women barging into his dressing room. He especially wasn’t used to them barging in when Paul was doing things that weren’t meant to be shared with the general public. Still, he felt he showed remarkable composure in the circumstances, and made a fair attempt at nonchalance as he asked,
“Yes, can I help you?”
The woman gulped, looked at him, looked down at Paul, (who Ian just knew was knelt there with a smug grin plastered all over his face) looked back at Ian, blushed and started backing out of the room.
“Um… wrong room... Sorry… Looking for someone different. Didn’t mean to disturb… Don’t let me stop you, I mean I’ll go and you carry…” As she trailed off in embarrassment another woman appeared and grabbed the blonde’s arm.
“It’s the wrong room, I got the wrong number, he’s in make-up.” She said as she pulled the blonde out into the corridor. The door swung shut behind them.
“So what do you reckon that was about?” Paul asked as he bent back to the task in front of him.
“God knows.” answered Ian rather breathlessly, “With those Americans your guess is as good as mine.” Paul grunted his agreement, and Ian found coherent thought had vanished.
“And on Ian’s team tonight we have the ousted Tory Leader, Former MP and my ex boss, Michael Howard.” Boris paused for a beat and then turned towards Michael, “So did good old Mandy give you any tips on Stewardship of the Manor of Northstead?” The smile that Michael directed back was anything but good natured, but before he could reply Ian interrupted.
“You known, I always though Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds had a much classier ring to it. I surprised you didn’t go for that position. But then again,” he said, smirking across at Michael, “You weren’t given any choice in the matter, were you?” Michael’s glare turned poisonous.
“Historically, the positions are awarded alternately, and as Tony became Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds last September, I was offered” his gaze momentarily flicked from Ian back to Boris, “the position of Steward of the Manor of Northstead.”
“A hundred what?” Paul said suddenly. “Puppies? Horses? Hippies? Steward of the Hundred Hippies. Sounds like a commune to me. You want to be careful Michael; they’ll try to indoctrinate you.”
“No, Michael’s the Steward of the Manor of Northstead. It’s a gloomy pile of bricks in the North Riding of Yorkshire. All rather gothic and Bram Stoker. You must feel right at home, Michael.” Ian glanced over at his team mate and was gratified to see him wince.
“It wasn’t a part of England I was hugely familiar with, but it is an area of outstanding natural beauty.” Michael tried to seem relaxed, but it was obvious to everyone he was rattled.
Ian leaned back and grinned across to Paul. This was going to be fun.
***
“And on to our final round, the Missing Words Round…” As Boris introduced the guest publication, Ian became aware of a commotion to the side of the set. The blonde woman and her friend from earlier were trying to force their way onto the stage, and were being blocked by security. Ian did a double take as he noticed the third woman stood by them harassing the floor manager. Why was Anne Widdecombe in the studio? But before he could even try to work out what was going on, he found himself hauled out of his seat and pulled back against the wall. Time slowed and he realised several things.
- Michael Howard had just physically manhandled him, and with no more effort than if he was a child.
- There was no heat coming from the body he was being held intimately close to.
- The teeth being held obscenely close to his jugular were much longer and sharper than they had any right to be.
- The blonde American and Anne were now a few feet away holding wooden stakes.
“Come any closer and he’s dead, Slayer” Michael snarled, and Ian wondered if Paul had slipped something medicinal into his tea before the show. Because really, this couldn’t be happening.
“Don’t think you’re going to win any votes doing that now Mikey.” The blonde said, for all the world as if he had proposed doubling income tax. “Although, we’d all get to trot out our undead politician jokes, so yay! for satirical humour.” As she spoke she moved sideways away from Anne.
“I said don’t come any closer!” Michael shouted as he tightened his grip on Ian and moved Ian’s neck closer to his mouth. Ian’s eyes sought out Paul, who was stood up, white faced and horrified. Ian looked into his eyes, and wished he’d spoken all those things they both thought they had forever to say. Paul’s hand was reached out as if trying to hold on to something, but before Ian could work out what, Michael was speaking again.
“Do you really think I’d need a reason to spill his blood? It would be a public service ending his life. Smug little spawn of the devil.” Ian became aware of Boris whispering “Well, really. I say.” But there was none of his usual bluster and Ian found himself momentarily gratified that Boris didn’t hold grudges.
Against the backdrop of the frozen audience the other American was chanting, and when Michael turned to see what she was doing, the blonde moved outwards couple more steps.
“You know, Mikey. You could just let him go. Save yourself a whole world of pain before I kill you.” Ian decided the Blonde was being inappropriately casual about the situation now. Michael was hardly going to be threatened by her.
“Yes, right. I’m just going to release him. Just like that. You’re as naive as a Lib Dem voter.” And in the tradition of all good villains he laughed at his own, unfunny joke.
“No. You’re going to release him like this.” At the nod of the Blonde’s head, things happened in very quick succession.
- Her friend finished chanting with a shout, pointing directly at Ian.
- Ian was aware of being doused in something cold which soaked him from head to foot.
- Michael screamed and shoved him away, causing Ian to slam into the desk.
- He fell to the floor, a blur shot past him, and Michael’s screaming abruptly stopped.
Before he had time to process this, Anne was beside him helping him to his feet. How did she move so fast? Ian was too stunned by events (and the desk) to notice that it was Anne Widdecombe was checking him over for damage.
“Is he okay?” The blonde sauntered up to them, carelessly twirling the stake through her fingers. Michael was nowhere to be seen.
“Just winded from what I can tell.” Anne replied and the blonde nodded and turned towards her friend.
“Nice one on the Holy Water delivery Willow. We’re definitely going to have to include that one in the handbook.” Willow grinned back at her
“Credit where it’s due, Dawn came up with the idea, Buffy. I just implemented it.” She looked at Ian, “Sorry about the whole wet thing. I didn’t know how much would be enough.” Ian stared at her wordlessly as Buffy turned back to Anne.
“Thanks for the heads up. And remember, there’s always a place for you in the Council.” Anne shook her head.
“Now I’m no longer an ex-potential, but an actual slayer, I can finally do something about undead that sadly seem to infest our party.” The look on her face indicated she was looking forward to it.
Buffy shrugged her shoulders. “Well, if you need any help, you know where to find us. Willow and I better get going.” She looked over to where Paul was still stood in open-mouthed amazement. “He’s probably going to need a lot of reassurance to get over the shock.” She winked at Paul, patted Ian on the back, and made her way out of the studio, followed by Willow.
As if their departure was a signal, the studio started coming back to life. The audience fell to furious whispering, whilst the floor crew bounced of each other, panicking about the lack of a guest to finish the show. Paul slowly made his way over to where Ian was stood, dripping on the floor, trying to comprehend the last ten minutes of his life.
“You alright?” And whilst Paul’s voice betrayed nothing in such a public arena, Ian heard the unspoken distress.
“Mostly wet.” To anyone other than Paul, his words would have sounded like composure, and nothing like need for comfort.
“Come on then. Let’s get you into some dry clothes.” All anyone would hear was one colleague being solicitous to another after a harrowing experience.
And if Paul’s arm had gone around Ian before they were completely out of sight, well, everyone else was too pre-occupied to notice.
The last thing Paul and Ian heard before leaving the studio was Boris muttering in a confused tone,
“Something of the night… The bally bastard’s a vampire!”
The End
Title: Something of the Night
Author: The Divine Goat
Rating: If you’re old enough to be in this community, you’re old enough to read this.
Disclaimers: Buffy & Willow are the property of the nice people who own the rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I lay no claim to them whatsoever. Also, I obviously lay no claim to the other characters in this fic, given that they are real people and this is work of fantasy. So Michael Howard is still the Leader of the Tory Party, and has not been forced to resign over some unspecified scandal*. He is also not a vampire. (To the best of my knowledge). Paul and Ian are sadly not in a loving relationship involving lots of sweaty blowjobs. (To the best of my knowledge) Anne Widdecombe is also sadly not a Slayer. (No, she really isn’t) Boris however, is always Boris whether fictional or real.
Further Author Notes: This was going to be a drabble and it slightly got away from me. Many thanks to alicamel for the beta and reassurance. Any errors are entirely my fault. You can find out more about Resigning as an MP here
*It involved a blow up sheep, the blood of seven virgins and a copy of Private Eye.