Voyeurs, Destroyers and Predators
Dec. 3rd, 2011 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misseDisclaimer: Don't own or claim rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural
First Impressions
Dean woke to the sound of thunder at the door.
"Wake up, Faith. I know you're in there," a masculine voice called. "Get up. You have ten minutes before I come in there and haul your fine ass out."
"You wish, Boytoy," the brunette beside him called out, grinning. She then turned, and afforded him a blinding smile. "Well, BT2, nice to meet you, but I gotta split." With that, she bounced out of the bed and began to collect her clothing.
Somewhat dazed, Dean watched her drag her clothes on - tight leather pants and a matching leather corset top, socks and boots were all checked, donned, and straightened in ultra-quick time. A knife was slipped down the front of the corset, and arranged to her comfort. Dean had a feeling she had turned around just so he could get the whole show. And a very nice, if rather disturbing, show it was. Then she gave one final pat down to make sure everything was smooth and straight, before starting to finger-comb her hair.
Dean took that as a cue to roll out of bed and drag on his jeans. He had a feeling that the show wouldn't be over until the girl was gone. He had just done the zip when the door rattled again.
"Coffee!" the man from before called out.
"X, you are a god!" the woman called out, throwing the door open. The other side of the door was a man about Dean's own height, with dark, shaggy hair, wearing a flannel shirt over a dark t-shirt, dark jeans, and boots, and carrying two coffees.
"You better damn well believe it," he agreed, handing one of the coffees to the woman. "And what is it with your bag? Why do you girls always seem to pack everything plus the kitchen sink? I just about got a hernia dragging it out to the car," he grumbled. "If I can pack light, why can't you?"
"Hey! Those who can, do. Those who can't," she went on, poking his chest, "watch!"
The man rolled his eyes. Make that, Dean decided, eye. The shaggy-haired man wore an eyepatch that looked not just real, but well worn. The man looked back at Dean, as if to say good-bye, but then tilted his head and frowned. He then shook his head, and pulled out his wallet. With a bit of manoeuvring, he managed cradle his coffee in the crook of his arm, and pull a business card from his wallet before handing it over to Dean.
Dean looked at the business card in shock, then back to the man in front of him. The man sighed. "If you ever need help with a Hunt, call that number. Let them know where you are, and what the problem is, and if they can help, they will. If you need to contact me directly, my phone and e-mail are at the bottom of the card."
"Who the hell are you people?" he asked in wonder.
"My name's on the card. If you want more than that, well, I'm called 'The One Who Sees' and she's 'The Dark Slayer.'" With that, he walked away.
"What the hell?" Sam asked, having just returned to the apartment.
As the man walked off, they could hear him muttering, "God damned woman picking up a God damned Hunter!"
Dean handed over the card, which Sam checked out. In large type at the top, it had the initials 'RWC', followed by a phone number. Below that was the name Xander Harris, with his contact details.
"What the hell?" Sam repeated.
Second Child
Sam was jerked awake by the thunderous knocking on the door. The woman with him only seemed to react when a man's voice was heard shouting at her through the door.
“Dawnie, get your ass out here before I come in there and haul you out. And don't make me do that, because you won't like what will happen if I do. I will haul your scrawny ass out and dump it in the pool. Then I will tell Buffy where I found you in the first place. You hear me? You have ...” there was a slight pause in the ranting, “three minutes before I come in there.”
The lithe brunette was already out of the bed and dragging clothes on. Sam slid out of the bed, and caught her by the wrist as she desperately hunted for more clothes. “You don't have to do this, you know. If you are in any trouble, I can help you.”
She looked back at him, confused. “Huh? Oh, Xander? Oh, no, he wouldn't hurt me,” she added, grinning.
“Two minutes, Dawnie, and then I'm telling Faith what you did with her boots.”
“Oh, shit. He'd do that, though,” she muttered, retrieving her jacket from the couch.
“Seriously, you don't have to put up with this. If you're in any danger -”
She cut him off with a quick kiss. “Seriously, there's no problem. He wouldn't hurt me, nor would anyone else. Of course, the ride home might be a bit … uncomfortable … but that's more embarrassment and guilt than anything else.”
“I've got my axe in the car, Dawnie. Do I need to go and get it? 'Cause it's not my security deposit that will be in the shitter.”
“Jeez, what's your problem?” she snarked as she yanked the door open, revealing a tall, pissed off, one-eyed, shaggy-haired brunet. “Anyone would think he'd dragged me from a convent and ravished me.”
“Gah! No, there is to be no sex for the Dawn-meister. Though the convent sounds good. It's sounding better the more I think about it,” he added as they turned and walked away.
“Oh, hell no! If I want to have a shag, I will go and find one. Just because you haven't had a good shag in who knows how long, doesn't mean that I have to do without.”
“Hey! No talking about my sex life. Do you not remember the list of things that Dawnie is not permitted to do? Talking about my sex life is number twenty-seven, if I recall correctly.”
She snorted. “It used to be number twenty-seven, but you moved it up to number eight after the last date that I set up for you.”
“Oh, yeah. Right after number seven – thou shalt not set up the Xan-man on blind dates with anyone, regardless of gender, species or orientation. Remember why I had to make that rule?”
'Species?' Sam thought, wide-eyed. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop their conversation, but apart from their volume making it difficult, the actual conversation was more like watching a train wreck – undeniably riveting.
“Hey! I didn't know it was going to turn out like that,” she countered.
“Please! She didn't even turn out to be a she, which is so not my thing. And then there was the mucus, and the -” The conversation ended when they got into the car. Sam watched them drive off, still quite stunned.
~~~~~
“So, Sammy, have a good night?” Dean asked as he entered the room.
“Ah, yeah. Good. Well, quiet, but good.”
“Uh huh,” Dean grunted, then smirked as he spotted something. He fished out the lacy panties from beside the chair, and held them up. “Quiet, huh?”
“Okay, so I had someone over. But she's gone now, and I don't think she's ever going to be allowed out of whatever convent her family sees fit to send her to,” he added, rolling his eyes.
“Convent?” Dean asked with mixed tones of horror and disgust.
“Her brother came for her, and he was not pleased that his little 'Dawnie' had spent the night. I swear, it was the weirdest conversation I have ever heard. There were rules about what she can and can't do – no talking about her brother's sex life, or arranging dates for him -”
“Can understand that one,” Dean interrupted.
“Ah... Oh, he said he had an axe in his car and threatened to break down the door.”
Dean nodded approvingly. A man had to take care of his sister, after all. It was just as well he didn't have any. She would either be locked in a convent with a chastity belt, or be like that Faith chick he had met a few months ago. Man, she was wild. Huh, she's been all but hauled out on her ass, too.
“Oh, and the no arranging blind dates rule? Stipulates gender, orientation, and – get this – species!”
“Species? What? She arranged a date with a dog?”
“Ah... She turned out to be he, or, at least, not-she, and apparently there was mucus involved.”
Dean made a face. “Oh, man, that is just ...” he trailed off, not able to fully express his disgust.
“And you know what? He was really pissed off, and yet she thought nothing of it. She said that no one would hurt her, it was going to be all okay. Although she was a but nervous about him telling Faith about her boots,” he added, contemplatively.
“Faith, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Um, her sister, I think. There was Buffy, I guess that's the oldest sister 'cause he was going to tell her where Dawn was, and Faith, with the boots. Um, his name was Xander. So I guess they got the weird names out of the way first, then. Buffy and Xander, then Faith and Dawn.”
Dean stopped what he was doing for a moment. Xander and Faith. He pulled out his wallet, and checked the business card Faith's friend had given him. Hmm... Xander Harris. Surely not.
Third Time, er, Lucky?
“What the hell am I doing in this place,” the hunter grumbled to himself. This was nothing like his kind of place. They sold girly drinks, had strobe lights, and played the kind of music that Hell, itself, rejected. “Damn pop-dance-crap. Who in their right mind actually listens to this stuff?”
He stopped to watch the dance crowd for a few minutes. Actually, if you could get past the noise they called music, the view was actually quite something. All those sexy bodies, wearing not much, and writhing around. Actually, he decided, grinning, it almost made up for the sound. Yeah, he might let Sam off for this. Nah. Can't do that. Sammy might think he's getting weak in his old age.
After watching the crowd for a few minutes more, he decided to enter the fray. After working himself into the crowd for a while, he settled in near a little blonde. Arms in the air, she had lost herself to the beat. He found himself drawing closer, eventually touching her. Her eyes flickered open, a suspicious frown on her face, but grinned when she saw him smiling down at her. And then it was on.
Ignoring the music, he stayed with the beat, matching his body to hers as she danced. Hands moved over bodies as they drew closer, inch by slow-moving inch. He finally had her, bodies sliding against one another, when she pulled away. She mimed drinking, and took his hand to lead him off the dance floor. At the bar, she ordered a bottle of water, then raised her eyebrows for his drink order. “Got to keep hydrated,” she grinned.
“Yeah. Got to say, this isn't really what I was expecting.”
“No? Not your thing?”
“Do I look like I belong here?” he asked, grinning.
She eyed his outfit. He really didn't look like he fit in. While other men were dressed in nice trousers, or designer jeans, his looked … worn in. Mind you, there was nothing to complain about in how they fit. Nothing at all wrong there. As for his shirt, well, it wasn't bad. It just wasn't some expensive name-brand thing from some mens' boutique. Actually, he reminded her a little of a very good friend, who would remain forever a friend, and not to ever be considered eye-candy. “Actually, no, you don't really look like any of the other guys here. Not that I'm at all complaining.” 'And shutting up now, before I say anything regrettably honest. And horny,' she added to herself.
“So my name's Dean. What's yours?”
“Buffy.” When he choked on that, she scowled at him. “You have a problem with my name?”
“Er, no. It's fine. I don't suppose you have a friend named Xander? About my height, eye-patch?”
“How do you know Xander?” the tiny blonde asked, suddenly suspicious.
“You gotta be shitting me,” he complained. “Is he in town? Because if anything gets going here, I don't really want to be woken at the ass-crack of dawn just 'cause he wants you to get in the car!”
“Huh?”
“Let's just say you're not the first member of the family I've met.”
Four for Conversation
“So, Xan,” Buffy began as she slid into the seat beside him. “What's this about you hauling innocent young men out of bed at the, and I quote, 'ass-crack of dawn?'”
Xander stared at her, horrified. “Who the what, now?” he demanded.
“I was in the middle of hooking up with this hottie last night, when I told him my name, and he freaked.”
“Yeah, which is weird, 'cause Buffy is such an ordinary name,” Dawn smirked from another couch.
Buffy offered her sister a gesture of her deep love and affection before going on. “To be fair, he was more concerned about you dragging me to the car.”
“Ah,” her Xander-shaped friend sighed. “Now we're on familiar ground. Yeah, have to admit, that is a fair accusation. I have, as the fair Lydia is wont to say, knocked the occasional Slayer and/or Slayerette up at an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“Never going to get used to that Brit-ism,” Buffy admitted, shaking her head.
“Kind of with the weird,” Dawn agreed.
“'Sides which,” Faith smirked, “you can't really call what you do 'knocking'. Thumping, maybe, or thunderous pounding,” she considered.
“I'm going with 'thunderous pounding,'” Dawn decided. “Accompanied by screeching, and murderous threats.”
“I do not screech,” Xander frowned.
“Why would Xander need to pound thunderously, and not-screech murderous threats at you, at the ass-crack of dawn?” Buffy asked archly. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
Dawn's eyes went wide, and she looked quickly to Xander, who shook his head. “Ain't lying for you, Dawnie. Won't tell, but not lying, either.”
“There might have been this incident with this absolute hottie, who was – oh, my god – just so absolutely hot, and would never have seen you 'cause he was like huge! And Xander just about dragged me out of bed at I-don't-want-to-know-what-time of the morning, screeching (“I don't screech,” Xander muttered.) all kinds of horrendous threats, and he was so sweet, and wanted to help me, and told me he could protect me from Xander, 'cause that's how bad he was, and he was so sweet, and did I say how much of a hottie he was?” Dawn babbled.
“Any good in the sack?” Faith grinned.
“Oh. My. God,” Dawn whispered.
“The word 'convent' was mentioned,” Xander informed his smallest friend.
“Convent is sounding good, right about now,” Buffy agreed.
“Oh, hells no,” Dawn disagreed. “I'd be more likely to traumatise them than Angelus!”
“Way to over-dramatise,” Xander teased. “Hey, what did this guy look like?”
“Kind of like you, actually,” Buffy replied.
Xander raised an eyebrow. “I'm curious,” he prompted.
“Well, you know,” Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “Tall, dark hair, and, well, not uber-fashionable.”
“Ah. So he was wearing clothes that might actually last a night patrolling, then.”
Buffy pouted fiercely at the man.
“Well, don't blame me if your brand new fancy-schmancy shirt gets all slimed the day you bought it. If you recall, I did make a comment about letting things get a bit used before wearing them on patrol. Same goes for brand new, Italian leather bustiers,” he added, grinning at the brunette Slayer.
“So what about your guy,” Buffy asked her sister.
“Oh, no. My guy was way tall, and had this really cute hair, and was a total sweetie.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember him. Nothing like Faith's guy. Gave him my card, too.” After a moment, he thought to clarify, “Faith's guy, not Dawnie's. Someone, it seems, decided to hook up with a hunter, and I'm not talking the killed-Bambi's-mother type hunter, either. Faith, that is, not Dawnie,” he clarified again. “Though,” he added thoughtfully, “there was something about Dawnie's guy. Bit of a white knight,” he mused.
“Oh, hells no,” Buffy glared at her sister. “You are not getting involved in anyone like that. You will find a nice, normal guy who is not going to running off to save the world, do you hear me?”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “'Cause those are in such abundant supply when I'm around,” she drawled.
Buffy's lips thinned to a tight line. “Whatever. And there will be no hooking up with random hotties, and having to be dragged out of bed. Is that clear?”
Dawn raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you were doing the horizontal mamba with Angel long before you were my age.”
Silence reigned in the room for a good minute after that comment. Then Xander simply stood and walked out, while Buffy sputtered, and Faith laughed so hard she slid off the chair.
When Faith finally calmed down sufficiently, she grinned at Dawn. “And that's what's called a 'conversation stopper.' Damn, Little D, but it was a good one, too. Don't think X is going to let you tag along for a while, though.”
Dawn rolled her eyes, and grumbled softly about overprotective siblings and pseudo-siblings. Now. Where had she hidden Mr Hottie's number?
Overheard Conversations
Notes: Note exactly related, but...
“So a blonde, a brunette and a redhead come into the bar.”
“No, this isn't a joke.”
“No, it isn't a porno, I swear.”
“So the blonde's name – get this – is Buffy!”
“God's own truth. I am not shitting you.”
“No, I swear it isn't a porno.”
“Uh huh. Anyway, the redhead? Get this, her name's Willow, and she's a Wiccan.”
“Yeah. California.”
“The brunette? Oh, yeah. Her name's Faith. Which is appropriate, 'cause living proof there is a god!”
“Oh, and hey! The blonde and brunette? They're slayers.”
“No, not fans of the band. Jeez. No, vampire slayers.”
“Yes, vampires. You know, 'I vant to drink your blood.'”
“No, it's really cool. You whack them with a stick of wood and poof! They're gone. Then Buffy bitches about dust in her hair. Hey – reminds me of you!”
“Bitch.”
“And Willow the Wiccan? She's a witch.”
“No, a good one, apparently.”
“Anyway, there's a reason I called you.”
“Um, yeah. Well, anyway, I kinda need some help.”
“The kind where you bring me some clothes.”
“Well, I kinda said something to Buffy.”
“Yeah, the vampire slayer.”
“Ah, well, something like how tiny she is. Other stuff, too.”
“Upside? I now know how someone so little can deal with the nasties. Those girls are damn good fighters. Willow not so much, but then she does with the mojo. Like the invisible rope that just disappears after like twelve hours.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You can stop laughing now.”
“So, clothes? Yeah. I'm at the Motel 7, lucky room 13.”
[click]
First Impressions
Dean woke to the sound of thunder at the door.
"Wake up, Faith. I know you're in there," a masculine voice called. "Get up. You have ten minutes before I come in there and haul your fine ass out."
"You wish, Boytoy," the brunette beside him called out, grinning. She then turned, and afforded him a blinding smile. "Well, BT2, nice to meet you, but I gotta split." With that, she bounced out of the bed and began to collect her clothing.
Somewhat dazed, Dean watched her drag her clothes on - tight leather pants and a matching leather corset top, socks and boots were all checked, donned, and straightened in ultra-quick time. A knife was slipped down the front of the corset, and arranged to her comfort. Dean had a feeling she had turned around just so he could get the whole show. And a very nice, if rather disturbing, show it was. Then she gave one final pat down to make sure everything was smooth and straight, before starting to finger-comb her hair.
Dean took that as a cue to roll out of bed and drag on his jeans. He had a feeling that the show wouldn't be over until the girl was gone. He had just done the zip when the door rattled again.
"Coffee!" the man from before called out.
"X, you are a god!" the woman called out, throwing the door open. The other side of the door was a man about Dean's own height, with dark, shaggy hair, wearing a flannel shirt over a dark t-shirt, dark jeans, and boots, and carrying two coffees.
"You better damn well believe it," he agreed, handing one of the coffees to the woman. "And what is it with your bag? Why do you girls always seem to pack everything plus the kitchen sink? I just about got a hernia dragging it out to the car," he grumbled. "If I can pack light, why can't you?"
"Hey! Those who can, do. Those who can't," she went on, poking his chest, "watch!"
The man rolled his eyes. Make that, Dean decided, eye. The shaggy-haired man wore an eyepatch that looked not just real, but well worn. The man looked back at Dean, as if to say good-bye, but then tilted his head and frowned. He then shook his head, and pulled out his wallet. With a bit of manoeuvring, he managed cradle his coffee in the crook of his arm, and pull a business card from his wallet before handing it over to Dean.
Dean looked at the business card in shock, then back to the man in front of him. The man sighed. "If you ever need help with a Hunt, call that number. Let them know where you are, and what the problem is, and if they can help, they will. If you need to contact me directly, my phone and e-mail are at the bottom of the card."
"Who the hell are you people?" he asked in wonder.
"My name's on the card. If you want more than that, well, I'm called 'The One Who Sees' and she's 'The Dark Slayer.'" With that, he walked away.
"What the hell?" Sam asked, having just returned to the apartment.
As the man walked off, they could hear him muttering, "God damned woman picking up a God damned Hunter!"
Dean handed over the card, which Sam checked out. In large type at the top, it had the initials 'RWC', followed by a phone number. Below that was the name Xander Harris, with his contact details.
"What the hell?" Sam repeated.
Second Child
Sam was jerked awake by the thunderous knocking on the door. The woman with him only seemed to react when a man's voice was heard shouting at her through the door.
“Dawnie, get your ass out here before I come in there and haul you out. And don't make me do that, because you won't like what will happen if I do. I will haul your scrawny ass out and dump it in the pool. Then I will tell Buffy where I found you in the first place. You hear me? You have ...” there was a slight pause in the ranting, “three minutes before I come in there.”
The lithe brunette was already out of the bed and dragging clothes on. Sam slid out of the bed, and caught her by the wrist as she desperately hunted for more clothes. “You don't have to do this, you know. If you are in any trouble, I can help you.”
She looked back at him, confused. “Huh? Oh, Xander? Oh, no, he wouldn't hurt me,” she added, grinning.
“Two minutes, Dawnie, and then I'm telling Faith what you did with her boots.”
“Oh, shit. He'd do that, though,” she muttered, retrieving her jacket from the couch.
“Seriously, you don't have to put up with this. If you're in any danger -”
She cut him off with a quick kiss. “Seriously, there's no problem. He wouldn't hurt me, nor would anyone else. Of course, the ride home might be a bit … uncomfortable … but that's more embarrassment and guilt than anything else.”
“I've got my axe in the car, Dawnie. Do I need to go and get it? 'Cause it's not my security deposit that will be in the shitter.”
“Jeez, what's your problem?” she snarked as she yanked the door open, revealing a tall, pissed off, one-eyed, shaggy-haired brunet. “Anyone would think he'd dragged me from a convent and ravished me.”
“Gah! No, there is to be no sex for the Dawn-meister. Though the convent sounds good. It's sounding better the more I think about it,” he added as they turned and walked away.
“Oh, hell no! If I want to have a shag, I will go and find one. Just because you haven't had a good shag in who knows how long, doesn't mean that I have to do without.”
“Hey! No talking about my sex life. Do you not remember the list of things that Dawnie is not permitted to do? Talking about my sex life is number twenty-seven, if I recall correctly.”
She snorted. “It used to be number twenty-seven, but you moved it up to number eight after the last date that I set up for you.”
“Oh, yeah. Right after number seven – thou shalt not set up the Xan-man on blind dates with anyone, regardless of gender, species or orientation. Remember why I had to make that rule?”
'Species?' Sam thought, wide-eyed. He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop their conversation, but apart from their volume making it difficult, the actual conversation was more like watching a train wreck – undeniably riveting.
“Hey! I didn't know it was going to turn out like that,” she countered.
“Please! She didn't even turn out to be a she, which is so not my thing. And then there was the mucus, and the -” The conversation ended when they got into the car. Sam watched them drive off, still quite stunned.
“So, Sammy, have a good night?” Dean asked as he entered the room.
“Ah, yeah. Good. Well, quiet, but good.”
“Uh huh,” Dean grunted, then smirked as he spotted something. He fished out the lacy panties from beside the chair, and held them up. “Quiet, huh?”
“Okay, so I had someone over. But she's gone now, and I don't think she's ever going to be allowed out of whatever convent her family sees fit to send her to,” he added, rolling his eyes.
“Convent?” Dean asked with mixed tones of horror and disgust.
“Her brother came for her, and he was not pleased that his little 'Dawnie' had spent the night. I swear, it was the weirdest conversation I have ever heard. There were rules about what she can and can't do – no talking about her brother's sex life, or arranging dates for him -”
“Can understand that one,” Dean interrupted.
“Ah... Oh, he said he had an axe in his car and threatened to break down the door.”
Dean nodded approvingly. A man had to take care of his sister, after all. It was just as well he didn't have any. She would either be locked in a convent with a chastity belt, or be like that Faith chick he had met a few months ago. Man, she was wild. Huh, she's been all but hauled out on her ass, too.
“Oh, and the no arranging blind dates rule? Stipulates gender, orientation, and – get this – species!”
“Species? What? She arranged a date with a dog?”
“Ah... She turned out to be he, or, at least, not-she, and apparently there was mucus involved.”
Dean made a face. “Oh, man, that is just ...” he trailed off, not able to fully express his disgust.
“And you know what? He was really pissed off, and yet she thought nothing of it. She said that no one would hurt her, it was going to be all okay. Although she was a but nervous about him telling Faith about her boots,” he added, contemplatively.
“Faith, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Um, her sister, I think. There was Buffy, I guess that's the oldest sister 'cause he was going to tell her where Dawn was, and Faith, with the boots. Um, his name was Xander. So I guess they got the weird names out of the way first, then. Buffy and Xander, then Faith and Dawn.”
Dean stopped what he was doing for a moment. Xander and Faith. He pulled out his wallet, and checked the business card Faith's friend had given him. Hmm... Xander Harris. Surely not.
Third Time, er, Lucky?
“What the hell am I doing in this place,” the hunter grumbled to himself. This was nothing like his kind of place. They sold girly drinks, had strobe lights, and played the kind of music that Hell, itself, rejected. “Damn pop-dance-crap. Who in their right mind actually listens to this stuff?”
He stopped to watch the dance crowd for a few minutes. Actually, if you could get past the noise they called music, the view was actually quite something. All those sexy bodies, wearing not much, and writhing around. Actually, he decided, grinning, it almost made up for the sound. Yeah, he might let Sam off for this. Nah. Can't do that. Sammy might think he's getting weak in his old age.
After watching the crowd for a few minutes more, he decided to enter the fray. After working himself into the crowd for a while, he settled in near a little blonde. Arms in the air, she had lost herself to the beat. He found himself drawing closer, eventually touching her. Her eyes flickered open, a suspicious frown on her face, but grinned when she saw him smiling down at her. And then it was on.
Ignoring the music, he stayed with the beat, matching his body to hers as she danced. Hands moved over bodies as they drew closer, inch by slow-moving inch. He finally had her, bodies sliding against one another, when she pulled away. She mimed drinking, and took his hand to lead him off the dance floor. At the bar, she ordered a bottle of water, then raised her eyebrows for his drink order. “Got to keep hydrated,” she grinned.
“Yeah. Got to say, this isn't really what I was expecting.”
“No? Not your thing?”
“Do I look like I belong here?” he asked, grinning.
She eyed his outfit. He really didn't look like he fit in. While other men were dressed in nice trousers, or designer jeans, his looked … worn in. Mind you, there was nothing to complain about in how they fit. Nothing at all wrong there. As for his shirt, well, it wasn't bad. It just wasn't some expensive name-brand thing from some mens' boutique. Actually, he reminded her a little of a very good friend, who would remain forever a friend, and not to ever be considered eye-candy. “Actually, no, you don't really look like any of the other guys here. Not that I'm at all complaining.” 'And shutting up now, before I say anything regrettably honest. And horny,' she added to herself.
“So my name's Dean. What's yours?”
“Buffy.” When he choked on that, she scowled at him. “You have a problem with my name?”
“Er, no. It's fine. I don't suppose you have a friend named Xander? About my height, eye-patch?”
“How do you know Xander?” the tiny blonde asked, suddenly suspicious.
“You gotta be shitting me,” he complained. “Is he in town? Because if anything gets going here, I don't really want to be woken at the ass-crack of dawn just 'cause he wants you to get in the car!”
“Huh?”
“Let's just say you're not the first member of the family I've met.”
Four for Conversation
“So, Xan,” Buffy began as she slid into the seat beside him. “What's this about you hauling innocent young men out of bed at the, and I quote, 'ass-crack of dawn?'”
Xander stared at her, horrified. “Who the what, now?” he demanded.
“I was in the middle of hooking up with this hottie last night, when I told him my name, and he freaked.”
“Yeah, which is weird, 'cause Buffy is such an ordinary name,” Dawn smirked from another couch.
Buffy offered her sister a gesture of her deep love and affection before going on. “To be fair, he was more concerned about you dragging me to the car.”
“Ah,” her Xander-shaped friend sighed. “Now we're on familiar ground. Yeah, have to admit, that is a fair accusation. I have, as the fair Lydia is wont to say, knocked the occasional Slayer and/or Slayerette up at an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“Never going to get used to that Brit-ism,” Buffy admitted, shaking her head.
“Kind of with the weird,” Dawn agreed.
“'Sides which,” Faith smirked, “you can't really call what you do 'knocking'. Thumping, maybe, or thunderous pounding,” she considered.
“I'm going with 'thunderous pounding,'” Dawn decided. “Accompanied by screeching, and murderous threats.”
“I do not screech,” Xander frowned.
“Why would Xander need to pound thunderously, and not-screech murderous threats at you, at the ass-crack of dawn?” Buffy asked archly. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
Dawn's eyes went wide, and she looked quickly to Xander, who shook his head. “Ain't lying for you, Dawnie. Won't tell, but not lying, either.”
“There might have been this incident with this absolute hottie, who was – oh, my god – just so absolutely hot, and would never have seen you 'cause he was like huge! And Xander just about dragged me out of bed at I-don't-want-to-know-what-time of the morning, screeching (“I don't screech,” Xander muttered.) all kinds of horrendous threats, and he was so sweet, and wanted to help me, and told me he could protect me from Xander, 'cause that's how bad he was, and he was so sweet, and did I say how much of a hottie he was?” Dawn babbled.
“Any good in the sack?” Faith grinned.
“Oh. My. God,” Dawn whispered.
“The word 'convent' was mentioned,” Xander informed his smallest friend.
“Convent is sounding good, right about now,” Buffy agreed.
“Oh, hells no,” Dawn disagreed. “I'd be more likely to traumatise them than Angelus!”
“Way to over-dramatise,” Xander teased. “Hey, what did this guy look like?”
“Kind of like you, actually,” Buffy replied.
Xander raised an eyebrow. “I'm curious,” he prompted.
“Well, you know,” Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “Tall, dark hair, and, well, not uber-fashionable.”
“Ah. So he was wearing clothes that might actually last a night patrolling, then.”
Buffy pouted fiercely at the man.
“Well, don't blame me if your brand new fancy-schmancy shirt gets all slimed the day you bought it. If you recall, I did make a comment about letting things get a bit used before wearing them on patrol. Same goes for brand new, Italian leather bustiers,” he added, grinning at the brunette Slayer.
“So what about your guy,” Buffy asked her sister.
“Oh, no. My guy was way tall, and had this really cute hair, and was a total sweetie.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember him. Nothing like Faith's guy. Gave him my card, too.” After a moment, he thought to clarify, “Faith's guy, not Dawnie's. Someone, it seems, decided to hook up with a hunter, and I'm not talking the killed-Bambi's-mother type hunter, either. Faith, that is, not Dawnie,” he clarified again. “Though,” he added thoughtfully, “there was something about Dawnie's guy. Bit of a white knight,” he mused.
“Oh, hells no,” Buffy glared at her sister. “You are not getting involved in anyone like that. You will find a nice, normal guy who is not going to running off to save the world, do you hear me?”
Dawn rolled her eyes. “'Cause those are in such abundant supply when I'm around,” she drawled.
Buffy's lips thinned to a tight line. “Whatever. And there will be no hooking up with random hotties, and having to be dragged out of bed. Is that clear?”
Dawn raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you were doing the horizontal mamba with Angel long before you were my age.”
Silence reigned in the room for a good minute after that comment. Then Xander simply stood and walked out, while Buffy sputtered, and Faith laughed so hard she slid off the chair.
When Faith finally calmed down sufficiently, she grinned at Dawn. “And that's what's called a 'conversation stopper.' Damn, Little D, but it was a good one, too. Don't think X is going to let you tag along for a while, though.”
Dawn rolled her eyes, and grumbled softly about overprotective siblings and pseudo-siblings. Now. Where had she hidden Mr Hottie's number?
Overheard Conversations
Notes: Note exactly related, but...
“So a blonde, a brunette and a redhead come into the bar.”
“No, this isn't a joke.”
“No, it isn't a porno, I swear.”
“So the blonde's name – get this – is Buffy!”
“God's own truth. I am not shitting you.”
“No, I swear it isn't a porno.”
“Uh huh. Anyway, the redhead? Get this, her name's Willow, and she's a Wiccan.”
“Yeah. California.”
“The brunette? Oh, yeah. Her name's Faith. Which is appropriate, 'cause living proof there is a god!”
“Oh, and hey! The blonde and brunette? They're slayers.”
“No, not fans of the band. Jeez. No, vampire slayers.”
“Yes, vampires. You know, 'I vant to drink your blood.'”
“No, it's really cool. You whack them with a stick of wood and poof! They're gone. Then Buffy bitches about dust in her hair. Hey – reminds me of you!”
“Bitch.”
“And Willow the Wiccan? She's a witch.”
“No, a good one, apparently.”
“Anyway, there's a reason I called you.”
“Um, yeah. Well, anyway, I kinda need some help.”
“The kind where you bring me some clothes.”
“Well, I kinda said something to Buffy.”
“Yeah, the vampire slayer.”
“Ah, well, something like how tiny she is. Other stuff, too.”
“Upside? I now know how someone so little can deal with the nasties. Those girls are damn good fighters. Willow not so much, but then she does with the mojo. Like the invisible rope that just disappears after like twelve hours.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You can stop laughing now.”
“So, clothes? Yeah. I'm at the Motel 7, lucky room 13.”
[click]