Written for the Death By Ficathon .
Issued By: nashmaveric
Character You Want to See Die: Buffy
Death By (Pick a Noun [or noun phrase]…the more creative the better!):
Prefer angst or humor?: humour
Other characters involved in the death? (yes, no, who? or don't you
care?): Angel and Giles
Anything you absolutely do NOT want to see: erm...angst?
“Woe is me,” Buffy moaned spectacularly, slumping further into Giles' couch.
“Woe… is… me,” she said, drawing out the words in an agonizing whimper. When she failed to receive a response, she took up a decorative pillow and began to smother it within her powerful arms, pouting all the while.
“And you're certain the stone tablets can withstand the intensity of this particular brand of magicks you're suggesting, here?” Angel asked, examining intently the etched granite slabs upon Giles' desk.
“Certainty is a luxury we're seldom given, Angel. However, I can say with reasonable confidence that the artifacts should survive the process. The consistency of the granite suggests it comes from the rarest earth, imbued with natural protection from…”
“Hello, I said ‘woe is me',” Buffy repeated angrily.
“We're distracted, Buffy, not deaf,” Giles explained patiently.
“Buffy, this is important,” Angel said in a disciplining tone.
“And what, I'm not?” Her pout thickened.
“I didn't say that,” Angel sighed, catching a glimpse of Giles rolling his eyes.
“You might as well have with that pissy attitude, ignoring me like you are.”
“Attitude? What attitude? Giles and I are trying to avert an apocalypse here.”
“Big whoop! I do that all the time without copping an attitude and without neglecting my friends and family.”
Giles chimed in, irritated, “Actually Buffy, you frequently disregard…”
“I said friends and family, Giles. You're a Watcher, *my* Watcher, so I can treat you any way I want? Besides, you're no better than he is. You're my Watcher, shouldn't you be Watchering me or something?”
“Would it be too much to suggest we gag her?” Giles asked.
“How much longer are we going to have to put up with this?” Angel sighed dramatically.
“ Willow determined the spell will remain in effect indefinitely until we can find the witch or sorcerer who originally cast it.”
“So where's Willow ?”
“In the loft, seeking a reprieve from Buffy's endless and increasingly irritating affliction. I believe she's working on a locator spell as we speak.”
“You're doing it again!” Buffy hollered.
“So how's the manhunt going?”
“Well it had to be that Rayne guy, right?”
Giles straightened up and crossed his arms, suddenly bothered. “That's quite a judgmental leap to make, on account you scarcely know Ethan.”
“Doesn't really take supernatural grey matter to figure that one out that, Giles. Call me old fashioned but I think cursing the children of Sunnydale into demons, bodily mutilating my girlfriend and attempted…”
“Girlfriend? Ah, isn't that interesting. And here I was lead to believe that you and Buffy had parted ways, seeing as how the slightest slip of joining interlocking bits sends you headlong into a murderous sociopathic rampage.”
“Hello… pay attention to me, now!”
“I told you that won't happen… again.” Angel growled.
“Well honestly, Angel… you'll have to forgive me if I tend to discredit you as a character witness in forecasting your future indiscretions, you being a vampire and of the formerly evil camp.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Sorry, did I stammer?”
“No. Not at all and that's what's pissing me off.” Angel's fists clenched. “I'm not going to stand here and take lip from a has-been, dust sucking, Librarian.”
“Then perhaps you should take a seat?”
"Me me me me me..."
“You're either incredibly brave or abundantly stupid. I've tortured people for less than this, you pompous prick.” Angel huffed.
“I was one of them, you undead ponce. And if memory serves, I've nothing to be concerned about, survived worse from possessed bookends than your amateurish attempts at torture.”
“Then let's have another go, I'm itching to cripple your other hand, stumpy.”
“I can't take this anymore!” Buffy howled.
They paused with notice of Buffy's bluish, pouting features motionless and sunken into the cushions of the couch.
“What's happened to her, then?” Giles winced in frustration, swiping off his glasses to give them a good polish.
“She looks dead?” Angel shrugged.
“Rather smells it as well.”
“But what killed her?”
“If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say she died of excessive boredom. Entirely your fault, of course.”
“How'd you figure that? We were both shaking the rafters with our little ego tiff.”
“Most likely because it wasn't all about her,” Giles said and let out a pained sigh.
“Oh. Huh… you think the spell is infectious?”
“Well, it would go a long way into explaining our recent hostilities and apparent indifference with the Slayer's passing. Not that we've ever been more than tolerant allies, but our current behavior would suggest…” He paused with the sound of a loud thump from above. “Dear Lord, what was that, now?”
Angel shook his head. “I think we lost another one.”
The End (Thank God)!