Evil Deadening, part 1: First Impressions
Angst with a touch of humor, I hope.
Summary: For phendog and for fransisca who posted a request at the_fund "a ficlet about Ash (Bruce)/Giles. Any genre, any rating, any length (100 words is fine, or as much as you care to write) that you feel is reasonable and tickles your fancy. Must include a chainsaw reference. Massive quanties of blood (of any color) all over everything wouldn't be hated either if it happens to work."
For those not familiar, Ash is a the unlikely hero of what's lovingly been referred to as the Evil Dead Trilogy. He's cheesy as all heck. That should be enough for you to follow this.
Giles stood in awe, stunned to silence at the rainbow wash of blood oozing thick over every inch of his clothing and pooling at his feet. He'd never seen a demon spew such a storm of unnatural colors. Bile, blood, puss and entrails dangled from his axe and arms, caked along his shoulders and stained his jeans. While it was entirely too satisfying to dispatch the foul beast, he felt his stomach churn ill at the grotesque massacre on display before him. The Watcher scanned the disembodied limbs-laden cemetery landscape, looking for any signs of life, or unlife, as it were. He ignored the plentiful mess of wiggling hands and squirming legs, concerning himself only with able-bodied assailants.
At first glimpse, the only thing mobile was a solitary figure standing at the center of an impressive heap of corpses. He appeared human. It was hard to tell with the generous goo of demon's flesh covering most of his raggedy clothed body. In one hand, the stranger clutched a sawed-off shotgun. In the other, he had an older model chainsaw that quieted to a low idling growl. It was larger than Giles' in comparison, with a blade that dared attack with vicious teeth eager to taste flesh and bone. Another quick inventory of the scene encouraged Giles to decided that even though it was quite the messy choice, the chainsaw was a satisfactory weapon.
"Are you alright?" Giles asked, still working to catch his breath.
"Just groovy." The stranger trampled over the rotting torsos in his approach. "No thanks to you. What kind of lame-brained moron brings a gardening tool to a slaughter?" He scowled, wild-eyed and gesturing precariously with the barrel of his shotgun.
"While it may not have the blue-collar appeal of your lumberjack special, there, I assure you, I can hold my own." With a skillful twirl, Giles returned the handle within the strap of his belt then retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe his face clean. "It's a rather graceful weapon in the hands of a capable fighter."
"Fighter?" The man chuckled. Not to be outdone, he twirled the shotgun stock within his hand, slipping it into a holster strapped to his back. "You call this fighting? More like trash day, if you ask me. "
"Luckily, I didn't." Growing frustrated with his boisterous company, Giles decided to try and locate Buffy. He began to wander through the tombstones.
"Hey! Where you think you're going, Sherlock? Did I say I was through with you?" The stranger objected, pursuing Giles.
"I seem to have been separated from my companion." Giles froze, wide-eyed at the sight of a slight build, pony-tailed blond laying face down in a pool of blood. "Lord, no! Buffy?" He rushed forward only to be stopped by a firm grasp of his arm.
"Wouldn't do that if I were you, buddy." The dark stranger advised sternly, shaking his head in warning.
"While I appreciate your concern, I happen to have ample experience with such..."
Suddenly, unearthly, the figure sprang up, flailing erratically in mid air, startling Giles. The creature slowed long enough to focus in on the pair. It wore a monstrous grimace, twisted and barely human features as it cackled menacingly. "Swallow your soul! Swallow your soul!"
With a brief glimpse sideways, Giles realized his companion had cowardly retreated. He fumbled to retrieve the axe from his belt only to feel it escape every anxious attempt. The beast soared forward, charging Giles. It struck fast with vicious, raking claws. Giles just managed to dodge the daggers but watched as the demon came back around for another pass, intent to tear through him.
"Hey, Hell Bitch! I got what you're after right here!" The stranger challenged coolly from yards away as the familiar sound of his chain saw roared in agreement.
Giles ducked and tried to pivot clear only to get tripped up in a freshly unearthed grave. He tumbled clumsily to the dampened soil.
"Come get some," the stranger goaded the creature further.
Giles glanced back, watching with guilty relief as the demon changed targets and charged after the stranger. The man waited for his moment then struck swiftly, decapitating the demon with a single brutish slice. That's when Giles realized the chainsaw wasn't just a tool but had been strapped purposefully to the man's forearm, replacing the appendage that should have been there. After a few more grizzly cuts, the man finally seemed satisfied with his kill and backed off. The rumbling chainsaw mellowed silent as he approached Giles who sat motionless on the ground, staring at the unfortunate remains of what looked to be formerly a young lady. There was a rush of relief, almost euphoria at the realization it hadn't been Buffy. He'd absorbed enough of her fashion sense to recognize cheap knock-offs and what shredded labels he saw were not to his Slayer's demanding standards.
"If that was your old lady, she isn't getting any prettier. Better hit the bricks, Sherlock, and leave the clean up to the big dog."
"It's not her... not who I was looking for. But thanks, just the same." Giles tried to steady his raging heartbeat, already scanning the darkness again for Buffy as he tried climbing his way up the side of the shallow grave.
"No sweat. It's what I do." The stranger shrugged and outstretched his one hand. Giles accepted the help and they both managed to get him to his feet. He kept hold of the man's hand, shaking it graciously.
"Normally, I pride myself in distinguishing such tricks but I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with this classification of demon. Just the same, I'm indebted to you."
"Deadite," the stranger corrected and yanked his hand away. His brow perked up suspiciously. "It's a Deadite. As far as I can make of it, the dead reanimated and the living possessed, but with a bad ass attitude to boot. And thanks for the girly gratitude and all, Poindexter, but I just want to find my way home."
"Oh, alright... where do you hail from, then?"
"None of your business." The stranger took a few strides east then stopped and upon further consideration backtracked a few paces.
"Might I be of some help? If memory serves, Deadites aren't native to this region. To be more specific, they aren't native to this dimension. Since you're obviously experienced in confronting them, perhaps you're from the same..."
"Listen here, pantywaist. I'm not like one of those creeps. I'm just a normal Joe trying to find my way back home. First it's a dead end cabin in some God forsaken neck of the woods, then I'm sucked into some crazy Christmas light vortex thing and tossed into a medieval Twilight Zone. I managed to get this far, I'll figure out the rest. Besides, I don't play well with others."
"While I appreciate the confusion of your extreme circumstance, I must insist on ensuring your safety. You see, I'm somewhat responsible in..."
"You don't take no for an answer, do you, buddy? Listen up, I'm not into sausage so why don't you just lay off me, man, and go get yourself a nice..."
"I'm afraid you're mistaken. While you presume yourself to be quite adequate at what you do, you're not safe here. This is a Hellmouth and not to be taken lightly," Giles urged.
"Hellmouth, shmellmouth, bucko! Been battling hell bitches for a while now and I've got the loss of limbs to show for it. I think I can handle some measly..."
"Vampires," Giles concluded.
"Vampires, behind you!" Giles had retrieved the stake from his jeans by reflex alone and charged the duo of crooked-brow beasts closing fast from behind his companion. He pushed the stranger out of the way as he attacked the first. It was a fledgling, slow moving and unfamiliar of its intrinsic capabilities. With a few swift strikes to the beast's face and blocks of its telegraphed punches, Giles managed to penetrate its defenses and pierce its chest with a solid hit of his stake. It ashed instantly. The second vampire was on him a breath later, wiser and well aware of its inhuman assets of strength and speed. Giles retreated, keeping tombstones between him and his assailant. He could hear the sputtering chokes of a failing chainsaw time and again off in the distance.
"Bloody idiot," Giles mumbled under his breath. He inventoried the landscape, and glimpsed a crucifix fashioned tombstone nearby. He ran for it and the vampire pursued. He dove behind it and when the beast reached over the grab him, Giles grasped and demon's face and pressed it firm to the stone below. It began to smolder immediately and the vampire howled in agony. The smoke from its scorched skin stung its eyes, temporarily blinding it and giving the Watcher the advantage. Giles hurried around to get a clearer shot and buried the stake just off center of the beast's back, piercing its heart. With a yelp, it powdered and was carried off on the breeze.
Giles straightened and dusted himself off as the stranger approached, shotgun at the ready.
"Thanks. Didn't see that coming," the stranger explained.
"And you won't the next time as well. Vampires rarely give warnings. Though some prefer a good hunt, many thrive on the stalking. Allow me a chance to help you arrange your way home, to guarantee your..."
"I could have had them. Just needed to get Old Betsy awake. She's juiced and ready to tear a new a-hole in the next Deadite that crosses my path. Better than rude gestures any day."
"Most certainly, but those were vampires, quite a different brood altogether. It takes more than blind luck and brute strength to..."
"Hey, four-eyes... while it would be peachy keen to exchange beast buster stories with you, I'm supposed to catch the first mystical bus outta town, courtesy of a book goes by the name Necronomicon. Part of the whole chosen one deal."
" Chosen One?" Giles asked in a sober tone. "What do you know of the Chosen One?"
"Well, for starters, Sherlock, it's me."
"You?" Giles couldn't restrain his chuckle with that claim.
"What's it to you anyway, English?"
"I happen to know quite a lot about the Chosen One and I can assure you that you are far from it."
"Chosen One, promised one, something like that. Whatever it is, it's a raw deal. What's the difference anyway as long as I'm the one left standing and they're the ones left Chop Suey. Catch my drift, tea breath? Now stop wasting my time!" The stranger dismissed Giles with a frustrated wave and stormed off into the night.
Giles heard Buffy approach from behind him and smiled with restrained relief.
"Friend of yours?" She asked in a blatantly perky tone.
"Mercifully, no." Giles sighed.
"Who was he, then?" She asked, watching the chainsaw wielding stranger sink into shadows.
"Haven't a clue and would prefer to keep it that way." Giles raked his fingers through his gore sodden curls. "With the lack of reliable information I managed to pry from him, I'd wager he's a village idiot from a lesser demon dimension."
"Looks like he can he handle himself?"
"Yes, but little else, I'm afraid."
"My keen Slayery sense of perception tells me... you kinda liked him." She finished in a singing juvenile tone.
"Not at all, actually." Giles corrected evenly. "Arrogant berk, probably march himself right into a vampire nest."
"Then maybe we should go after him..."
"He'll get by, Buffy. While arrogance isn't considered a valuable trait in social circles, it can be quite beneficial in self perseverance. We best get home. I'm in desperate need of a shower."
"A cold shower?" She teased.
"You liked him," she concluded.
"Oh ... bloody hell," Giles grumbled, casting a frustrated gaze to the stars.
"The book he referred to..."
"A book? Giles, you're an addict, you know. There's more to life than text filled pages and stout bindings."
"He mentioned the Necronomicon."
"Nothing good can ever come from Necro. What about it?"
"The book of the customs of the dead."
"See, what did I tell you? Not of the good."
"I know where he can find it."
"Is that a good thing?"
"It could be for him."
"Well then, my studious Watcher. Shall we be off to fetch him posthaste?" Buffy smirked.
"If we must." Giles heaved a heavy sigh. "You're enjoying this entirely too much, you know."
"You liked him." She concluded and they ventured off to catch up to the chainsaw wielding stranger.