I was flipping through some electronic files on the computer (it's tax time and I have to get my paperwork shit together) and I find this odd Word file in a folder.
It reads: Ghost Hunters Cross.
So I open it.
I read something that's three pages and obviously set up to be a comedy of errors of some sort. (Hey, it made me laugh.)
And, it's a BtVS fanfic.
The date? October 23, 2010.
One problem. I don't remember writing it. It's my writing style, for sure. But I don't remember writing this. At all.
It's like...blank. My mind is completely blank on this point.
What is this...I don't even...*waves hands*
Going by the timing, I think it may have been while I was starting the charge against the Evil Former Employer. God knows the timing is about right, and certainly my attentions were scattered enough that I could, conceivably, have written it and then forgot about it.
For those who are curious, it's under the cut. It's a snippet. A snippet-lette really. And going by the title and setting, I was possibly planning to cross it with Ghosthunters in some way, but...
Just so you know? This is a little bit disconcerting to find.
“Are you sure this is the place?”
Xander sounded like he was ready to turn around and head back to the car. Faith didn’t blame him one bit.
“Yo, hired gun here,” Faith said with more bravado than she actually felt. “You’re the bossman, remember?”
“You mean The Tweeds — worst band name ever, by the way — sent me out for a pizza run and when I got back they all had an evil glint in their beady little Watcher eyes,” Xander grumped. “Not so much the bossman. More like ‘designated cannon fodder’.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your fault,” Faith shot back. “I mean, Watchers and pizza? The only way that set-up could’ve been more obvious is if they added beer to the shopping list.”
“I just want you to know that your continued show of support is deeply appreciated,” Xander said. “When we reach the top of that sniper’s nest of a clock tower and you fall out of the window, remind me to point and laugh when you land in a heap of compound fractures on the front steps.”
Faith grunted as her practiced eye scaled the worn brick front of the abandoned prison-turned insane asylum-turned rehab hospital-turned abandoned building. Somewhere in there was a Portal, and they had to close it before it bust wide open and let ghostly armies of the not-so-nice dead loose on the locals.
Under normal circumstances, Faith would be game for some quality ghost-bothering and portal-closing in a same-shit-different-day kind of way. Xander would be equally blasé about the deal because, frankly, ghosts with evil intent ranked waaaaay down on his list of crap he needed to worry about.
Sucked for them that this mission was not even remotely normal. Not the Portal. Not the location. Not the MVP in the coming drama on which the whole success of the mission hinged.
Scratch that. The sole source of Faith’s current case of nervous hives could be boiled down the MVP himself.
The only comfort she had — if there was any real comfort to be had — was that this time the fact that they got volunteered for this mess wasn’t her fault in any way, shape, or form. This was a 100% gold-plated, Xander Harris fuck-up. Normally, this would be cause for no small amount of gloating on her part.
Too bad normal — or at least their version of it — was nowhere to be found.
“You know what this means, right?” Faith began.
“We’re just going to have to call London and claim our car with all of our stuff got stolen, including the all-important mission profile?” Xander hopefully proposed.
Faith nodded. “We can make it work. First, I knock out Our Hero. Then, you burn our shit in that dumpster over there, and I’ll drive the car into the river. ”
“On it!” Xander practically yodeled with relief as he spun around to the car.
“Never fear, fellow heroes!” Andrew’s breathless voice chirped as he jogged over to them from the car.
“Is that…” Faith began.
Xander’s shoulders slumped. “The file folder with our mission profile in it? Yes, yes. I’m sure it is.”
“Maybe later,” Xander reflexively answered. “Why did we not plan ahead and chloroform Andrew back at the motel again?”
Faith went with the simple truth. “Because we forgot to pack the chloroform.”
Faith nervously glanced up the swooping marble staircase. She was pretty sure that she saw yet another menacing shadow. While activity around a proto-Portal was to be expected, there were too many around for comfort. She got the distinct feeling that something very, very evil and equally as dead was just panting for the sun to go down so it could take a bite out of her ass.
“Yo! Andy! When’s that Portal supposed to open again?” Faith asked.
Andrew hemmed and hawed.
Xander groaned. “Translation: It’s going down tonight.”
“Fuck. Me,” Faith remarked.
“You know? You keep saying that. Call me crazy, but I’m beginning to think that you’re not asking for some sexyfuntimes,” Xander nervously joked.
“Shut up, Harris,” Faith snarled. “Andy? Did Xander translate right?”
“Ummmm, not exactly,” Andrew mumbled. “More like it happened last week.”
“WHAT?!?” Xander and Faith exclaimed in unison.
There was yelling.
There were recriminations.
It ended with Xander holding Andrew up by the scruff of the neck to give him a bone rattling shake, and Faith threatening to deny all knowledge of Xander’s threats to bury Andy in a shallow grave if he didn’t spill right this second.
“But I reported this was coming. I reported it last year!” Andrew wailed.
And that, as they say, is that.
Yeah, I don't know where it came from either.