liz_marcs (liz_marcs) wrote,

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This is all ffutures fault...

ffutures stuck this in my head from the Stalking the Fannon Xander entry.

It's almost drabble-like. Just three people and a conversation.

“Easy. Eeeeeaaaaaassssssy…”

“Buffy, are you sure we can’t shoot him?”

“I am merely trying to help you hone your aim so we’ll be able to…”

“Xaaaander. No. We cannot shoot Wes. That would be bad. Very bad.”

“How exactly would this be bad?”

“Because I imagine that if I were shot it would hurt.”

“Wes? You’re a ghost. Bullets can’t hurt you.”

“Ahhh, thanks for the reminder Bufferino. Shooting him wouldn’t shut him up and might injure innocent bystanders.”

“Listen, I am here out of the goodness of my heart…”

“I’m not breaking out the violins for you, Wes.”

“Xander! Behave!”

“But he keeps whining! Oooooo! I’m dead! Deader than John Cleese’s parrot!”

“The parrot is at least singing with the choir invisible. Whereas I, I Wesley Wyndham-Price, am condemned to help you lot out until you manage to solve this sticky wicket. Or you get killed. Whichever comes first.”

“I love how you have such faith in us, Wes.”

“Ms. Summers, it seems to me that Mr. Harris has had plenty of Faith…”

“That’s it! I’m shooting him. I’m shooting him right now!”

“Xander! Calm down! Besides, there are people living in Bolivia who wish you had a little less Faith so they can actually get a full night’s sleep.”

“We’re not that noisy.”

“Says you. I thought there were two water buffalos playing tag the other night.” Pause. “There weren’t water buffalos involved, right? Because if there were? That would explain sooooo much.”

“Which I believe goes a long way to explaining why young Mr. Harris is not aiming the bazooka properly.”

“I’ll have you know I am so aiming this bazooka properly. Okay, I probably can’t break it down and pack it away like I could when I was all soldier-guy, but I know how to point, aim, and pull the trigger.”

“Perhaps Buffy…”

“I got my sword. I got my stake. I’m mmm-mmm Slayer good.”

“Okay. Wes the Wet has a point there, Buff. Maybe you should…”

“Leeeeetle Slayer. Big recoil. See leeeeetle Slayer pull trigger. See leeeeetle Slayer get thrown into that brick wall twenty feet away.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s okay if I splat against a wall and spend the rest of the fight trying to find what’s left of my head, but it’s not okay for you.”

“Because I’m speshul. And you love me. You’d hate to see Buffy Pate. You’d feel guilty for the rest of your life.”

“Not so much.”

“You could seriously live with yourself if I became one with a brick wall?”

“Why, yes. Yes. I do believe I could.”


[stereo] “What?”

“Much as this charming bickering would interest people who are not myself, I really do believe we are running out of time.”

“You just want to report that I’m dead when you get back to Angel, dontchya?”

“Mr. Harris, right about now I’m praying that this mission ends very soon. If your death is the golden ticket…”

“Keep it up, Wes, and I’m letting Xander shoot you.”

Apologies for scarceness online. I have to finish my Faith fic-a-thon entry so it'll be ready on time.

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