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Paper
Author: Blade_and_Roses and Morticia the Vampire Bunny
Rating: Easily a G.
Disclaimer: We all know the drill. I do not own the characters, only
the story ideas. Please do not sue, as I can’t pay you. And I don’t
think you want to take Morticia in trade . . .
Wesley Wyndham-Price thought he had seen everything in his lifetime.
Quite literally everything. Human frailty, stupidity and just
plain insanity. Life. Death (almost his own, and the less said about
that, the better).
Magic. Prophecies. Oracles and higher powers, vampires and demons. Even
werewolves (well, a werewolf, to be precise).
Then there were the interdimensional portals to various levels of hell.
The death of a god and the impossible birth of a vampire’s child.
And he couldn’t forget 2 vampires with souls and at least 3 averted
apocalypses.
He had never seen this before.
“Xander?”
“Ulp, gawp, yeah, Wes?”
“Why is Mr. Pak - is Mr. Pak laughing?”
“Uh, yeah, he uh told us to, and then ‘llyria . . .” and Harris
was off again, holding onto the door in a vain attempt to stay upright.
Giving up, he slid down the doorframe and collapsed onto the floor,
his face turning a rather interesting shade of red as he tried to simultaneously
gulp air and continue the maniacal cackling.
As Wes watched in disbelief, Mr. Pak, seated in his usual meditative
pose on the mat, continued trembling slightly with what appeared to
be a suppressed fit of laughter, then slowly toppled over onto the floor,
his face now mercifully hidden from Wes’ view.
And Illyria, the God-King, walked over from Mr. Pak to ask Wes, in a
plaintive voice, “I do not understand why this paper is so funny.”
And she held the paper out to him.
Wes studied it for a moment, then leaned over Xander.
“Harris?”
All he got was a stream of largely incomprehensible gurgles.
Reasoning that anything involving Illyria would require a somewhat clearer
explanation than an hysterical Xander Harris was capable of giving,
Wes turned to the only other coherent source he could count on.
“SPIKE!”
“No need to yell, mate, they’ve heard you over in bleedin’ Sunnydale
with that volume.”
““Why is Mr. Pak laughing? More to the point, where did Illyria
get this?” And he held the paper out to Spike.
“Ah.”
“Ah is not sufficient. An explanation, please.”
Wes began to worry. Spike looked - amused. Gleeful, almost. A happy
vampire was never a good thing.
“Now, see, Mr. Pak told Harris that he thought that we needed to explain
some things to Big Blue here about the world and how it operated.”
“I’ve been doing that!” an affronted Wes retorted.
“Well, yeah, but you’ve been showing her things around here, like
how the stove works and how to access the Internet. Mr. Pak thought
she needed to be able to wander ‘round the city on her own. So, we’ve
been taking her places. And answering her questions.”
“Such as?”
“Why taxis are yellow. Why people wear clothes on the beach - and
that was fun, watching Harris tryin’ to persuade her to keep her
clothes on. Not what he usually does.” Spike began to laugh
himself.
“It does not make sense, some clothes are to get wet, others are to
stay dry,” Illyria complained.
“Hell, the other day in that new Italian place she asked, out loud
mind you, just what a napkin could be used for - other than as an effective
garotte.”
Wes felt sick. “Spike -”
“Wes, it’s not your fault, you’ve been busy trying to straighten
out all our lives. And I don’t mind the questions, it’s been a nice
distraction. But we found out pretty quickly she really has a
problem with machines. Cars - ah, I didn’t give you the bill for Mr.
Pak’s van repair yet, did I?”
“No,” Wes said flatly.
““Yeah. I should explain -“
“Half-breed.””
“Yeah, Blue?”
“You are speaking of nonsense. I and my Wesley require an explanation
of the paper.”
“Oo-kay. Well, she’s got this problem with machines, right? And
Harris had a bit of a brainstorm, thought if we showed her machines
could be helpful, she wouldn’t automatically try to break them. Turns
out she likes soda -”
“The bubbles tickle my nose,”” Illyria interjected.
“-- so we thought it’d be okay to teach her how to work the vending
machines.”
““And did it work?” Wes was trying to both follow the conversation
and figure out if there was enough money in the account to pay for broken
vending machines.
“Like clockwork, mate. ‘Cept for the part where we’’ve all had
to learn to carry lots of quarters, ‘cause Blue can really hold her
soda.”
“But then why does she have this?””
“Well, we were out last night, and we passed a bunch of vending machines.
Blue put money in them all, only the last one, well she thought it was
for soda but . . .”
“She didn’t.”
“Popped in her coins like a pro, punched a few buttons and out came
her lottery ticket. And when we checked the numbers today . . .”
“No,” Wes moaned.
“Won the bleedin’ lottery, she has. All hundred ninety million of
it.”
Wes closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. “Illyria -“
“I have once more triumphed over my enemies,” she announced proudly,
“and I shall require all my tribute in these coins,” and she held
up a quarter.
Wes stared at her for a moment, then realized there was only one thing
to do.
Tears streaming down his face, shoulders shaking in mirth, he slid down
the wall to join Harris on the floor.
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