fanfiction: The Anniversary
This odd little one shot wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it down. Warning: It's not spuffy, although Buffy plays a part. I'd love your honest opinions- this is the first thing I've ever written from an outsider's POV and I'm thinking of an expanded story (which is Spuffy) if this one works. Thanks to enigmaticblues for the read thru and positive encouragement. The story is 1500 words and rated G.
The Anniversary
"The AB tank is messing up again and I’ve got a customer waiting.”
Willy nodded at Delta to let her know he’d heard. It figured even on the fifth anniversary of the bar’s opening, he wouldn’t catch a break. He set the dry glasses down on the bar and looked over at the disgusted waitress standing there balancing the loaded tray in her arms. He didn’t blame her. Friday and Saturday nights were the bar’s busiest and vampires were notoriously cheap tippers as it was. Factor in that the most popular blood type was now MIA and that would make any waitress a little pissed.
“Give me five minutes. Offer him O Pos for half price if he doesn’t want to wait.”
Dropping the towel, he looked around for Bart. The regular was warming his usual corner stool, nursing his drink. Willy gauged the amount of alcohol still in the glass. It was never smart to approach Bart before he’d completely downed his first drink. Alcoholic Levert demons could be a little tetchy stone cold sober.
“Bart, you want a couple free drinks?” Willy leaned against the bar and waited.
The demon didn’t disappoint. Looking up from the contemplation of his glass, his eyes glowed orange. “Who do I have to kill?”
“I need one of the big tanks changed in the back. The line keeps plugging.”
“Sure, I’ll do it.” Slugging down the rest of his drink, the demon slid off the barstool.
“Uh, Willy? Before you go, do you have any change?”
Willy obligingly turned back around. It was standard policy to have a lot of extra change around for the Saturday night poker players. They bought lots of food and drinks.
“What do you need Clem?” He cast an eye on the squirming Persian. “Will two Tuxedos do ya? If not, there are four striped shorthairs in there. ”
Clem smiled. “The Tuxedos would be great. Thanks.”
“No problem, here’s the key for the cage. Honor system, you know.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t rip you off.”
Willy nodded. Clem was one of the few he’d actually trust with the key. Glancing around suspiciously he asked, “Spike’s not with you, is he?”
“No, he’s still in the back.”
“Fine. Give the key to Delta when you’re finished.”
Willy pushed through the swinging door into the back room where Bart was already removing the broken tank. “Where do you want this, Willy?”
“Over there is fine.” He’d have a mechanic he knew look at it in the morning. “Probably just a broken valve. This is the one to replace it with.” He indicated the heavy tank that weighed in at around four hundred pounds. Bart picked it up and slid it in place.
“Great. Thanks Bart. Tell Delta I said three on the house.” The demon was already hooking up the tap lines. The first fire of the night had been put out, but he knew it wouldn’t be the last. No Saturday night ever went smoothly, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved his job.
He quickly returned to his accustomed location behind the bar. When he’d bought the bar from the previous owner, he’d been warned to never leave the bar and its cash register unattended for too long and he’d smirked at the advice. Like he’d been born yesterday.
The bar hadn’t been making as much money as it should have been when Willy had bought it, but he’d seen the potential. Demon bar? Right on a Hellmouth? Come on, that was prime real estate. It should have been raking in the dough.
He’d hired cuter waitresses; stopped watering down the booze-well, not as much anyway, after all a man’s gotta make a living- and installed new deep fryers and promoted the availability of the back room for poker and other activities. The customers flocked in and suddenly his became the most popular demon bar in Sunnydale.
Of course there was one thing the previous owner hadn’t bothered to mention before the deal was struck. In fact the ink was hardly dry on the bill of sale before Willy discovered the one real drawback to his new enterprise.
This prime Hellmouth location came fully equipped with its own Slayer.
He still remembered the first time he’d realized a couple of his new regulars had gone missing and he’d asked Delta if there had been a vampire clan war.
“Nah, they were out hunting for dinner last night and the damn Slayer got ‘em.”
Slayer??!!
He’d quickly learned all about the Slayer the week after his neon sign was installed when a slim blond wearing a miniskirt and a determined glint in her eye threw open the bar’s solid mahogany door like it was balsa wood and came striding in as if she owned the place. Utter silence followed in her wake. Add in the fact that every single patron that caught sight of her immediately cringed and the unknown woman’s identity was patently obvious.
The Slayer.
Willy wiped his hands on his apron and nodded at the woman standing in front of him. “Evenin’.”
She looked pointedly at the demons sitting at the bar. “So it would seem.”
Smiling, he held out his hand. “I’m Willy, the new owner.”
She ignored the outstretched hand. “Buffy Summers.”
Dropping his hand to his side he tried again. “I suppose you noticed the new sign.”
She crossed her arms and asked, “Where’s Rafe?”
Willy let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but concern couched as curiosity over the previous owner wasn’t even in the ballpark.
“He and the wife retired to central Florida.”
He watched the Slayer- he knew he’d never have the balls to call her Buffy- nod thoughtfully. “He was getting pretty old. His arthritis had really been bothering him lately.”
Before he could relax into the conversation, her eyes hardened. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the Slayer.” He replied, forcing himself not to fidget.
“Your customers have a get out of jail free card while they’re in here as long as you keep your bar from coming up on my radar. Too many fights in your parking lot, complaints about noise or people disappearing from the neighborhood and I’ll be back to tone it down.” She stared at him. “I have enough to do without playing bouncer for a bunch of drunken demons. Got it?”
“Don’t worry Slayer, there won’t be any problems.” Unsure what to do with his hands; he stuck them in his pockets. Her steely stare made him feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar instead of a forty-three year old business owner. “I’m running a classy establishment here.”
She snorted and Willy noticed a brief twinkle in her eyes. “For that, you’d have to change your clientele.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be watching.”
Turning away she added, “If you hear from Rafe, tell him I said good luck.”
He watched the customers on the crowded floor part as demons twice her size respectfully stepped aside, their eyes firmly planted on the floor.
There was a palpable sense of relief when the door finally closed.
Listening to the noise level rise again, he picked up his bar rag and realized that some time during her recitation of his bar’s potential problems and her not-so-subtle threat to remedy them when necessary, he was surprised to discover that he actually liked her.
It could be the way she’d asked about Rafe or the fleeting glimpse of humor in her eyes when she’d made the pointed comment about his customers, or the way she carried such incredible power and responsibility so gracefully, or even her cool blonde beauty. Or maybe it was all those things combined.
Impulsively he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to occasionally throw a small bone her way, lighten her load with some insider info, maybe a heads up now and then. Customers tell their bartenders everything and demons were no different. And after all, no one would ever have to know. He would make sure of that. A small cynical voice inside his head whispered that it might just make her lighten up on the bar, too.
“Willy, I need four orders of nachos for the back room and Spike wants a fresh bottle of bourbon.”
Delta’s voice roused him from his reflections. “Right. Give me four minutes on the nachos and make sure Spike’s been winning before you give him the bottle.”
“The Wheyven in the corner needs another round. He wants extra eyeballs and less ice. Oh, and a pretzel with mustard.”
“Two AB neg, one O Pos and two drafts.”
Filling all the orders starting to pile in, Willy smiled. He’d definitely made the right decision five years ago. It would never be boring with the Slayer and the demons slugging it out over the Hellmouth and he owned a prime location to watch the action. Life just doesn’t get any better than this.
“Delta, give everyone a round on the house. We’re celebrating tonight.”
The End.