Buffybot's Birthday Adventure
RATING: PG-13 for sex.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please, to [email protected]
PAIRINGS: None.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first - but I'm going to say yes.
PROPS: Miss Murchison and Chartophile for the beta. Thanks!
SPOILERS: None. This is set pre-season 6.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine, but I’m just poking fun.
Chapter 16 - How Did You Make Them Do That?
"Well, 'swivelly' is one way of putting it. I prefer 'Holy orbs, washed by sunshine and storm.' That's from a poem. About me! Young men are daft aren't they?" The strange woman gave a hearty laugh, and slapped Buffybot on the back. Buffybot tottered forward a foot under the weight of the blow. Golly, the nice lady was very strong!
The lady blinked, and her irises stopped moving. "One of my aspects is Tempestra, Bringer of Storms." She drew herself up to her full, impressive height of seven feet or so, and held out an imperious hand. Lightning flashed, and sizzled to the ground, immolating the nearest vine.
"Wow!" said Buffybot.
The lady smiled modestly. "I'm in retirement now, of course. I settled down, married my dear Arturo, and took on a human aspect, so I didn't accidentally burn him alive, or crush his puny little limbs into kindling in an absent minded moment. It's nice to revert a bit now and then, though." She took a deep lungful of air, and breathed out. A gout of flame emerged.
Buffybot stepped back a pace.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" said her new friend. "Just clearing the old tubes out a bit. I won't do it again." She bent down, and smiled at Buffybot, her red face flushed, and her green eyes glowing. "So, who are you, my pretty little friend? And do you always bathe in fish sauce, or is this a special occasion?"
"I'm the Buffybot, and I am pretty, aren't I?" said Buffybot, delighted. "In fact, I'm normally even prettier, because I have lovely blonde hair with a natural curl; but I've been stuck in a crocodile's stomach for ages, and I haven't had a chance to get a shower and shampoo yet. The crocodile's where the fish came from," she brushed a lingering speck of river trout from her sweater, "And it's where I found you, as well!"
"Well, well, how very interesting," said Tempestra. "You must tell me all about it. After I've said hello to your friends." And she made a beckoning gesture with her right hand.
Anya, Xander-dog, Tara and Willow emerged backwards from the shelter of the trees, their dug-in heels creating furrows in the forest litter. Willow was reciting fiercely, her hands making complex figures in the air. Tempestra made a casual flicking gesture with her left hand and Willow froze in mid gesture.
"Now," said Tempestra, beaming at them all. "Let's all sit down and have a little chat, shall we?"
..........
The tow truck careered into the clearing, horn tooting. El Bombero knelt perilously on the cabin roof, hollering a Sorcerous war cry. Acathla swung the crane he sat on, making it veer wildly about. Dawn crouched down in her seat, eyes closed.
Giles steered the tow truck into a looping showy half turn, and slammed on the brakes in a spray of leaf litter. El Bombero and Acathla were thrown violently about, hanging on for dear life. The truck drew finally to a halt, brakes screaming, wheels skidding.
“Ha!” said Giles, shutting down the engine, and releasing his seatbelt. “I haven’t lost my rallying skills, I see. Though the truck is too unwieldy for any really tight cornering.”
Dawn cast him a bitter look. “You’re nuts, Giles, you know that? You could have killed us all! And you guys may be ancient and wrinkly and tired of life, but I am way too young to die.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, and jumped out of the cab, slamming the door for emphasis. She strode across the clearing, towards the shady hammock where Spike was lying, high-heeled sandals swinging from her hand.
“Whoo hoo!” cried El Bombero, clambering down from the cab roof. “That was more fun than I’ve had in ages, Ripper!”
The tow truck creaked, and then bounced upwards a few inches as Acathla dismounted from the crane. “Riding this metal steed is strangely invigorating,” he said, “even though it’s shaken a few chunks of rock loose.”
“Wouldn’t hurt you to lose weight, anyway, old son,” said El Bombero, slapping Acathla on the back. A dark frown appeared on Acathla’s brow, and he patted his stomach self-consciously. The Sorcerer was spouting nonsense of course - he hadn’t eaten any fatty sacrifices in ages. Hearts, and livers, all the way.
……………
Tempestra and her guests sat in a big circle on the riverbank, drinking herbal tea. She had listened with great interest to the tale of their adventures, and had been extremely eloquent about how grateful she was to them all for rescuing her from the crocodile, no matter how accidentally. She had admired Anya’s spear, and complimented Xander-dog’s bristling eyebrows, she had marvelled at the wonderful spells Tara and Willow had been casting, and had sympathised with their terrible ordeals by mosquito, heatstroke, dinosaur and crocodile.
All in all, she had been so pleasant, and so warmly admiring, that they barely noticed the spells weaving around them, holding them to their seats and compelling their stories from their mouths. And the tea was nice too.
Buffybot blinked, drowsily. She was getting along splendidly with her new friend, but there was one thing she needed to ask. What was it? Oh, yes ...
“Are you really Mrs El Bombero?” she said, sipping dreamily at her tea. “Because I think he’s mean.”
Tempestra laughed. “Dear me, no. El Bombero is a nickname, not a surname. The Fireman, or The Pump, or The Bomb, take your pick. I certainly have, on different occasions.” She winked at Anya, who raised an eyebrow. “I am married to him though, yes. Dear Arturo. And he’s not really mean, little Buffybot. Just careful, as Sorcerers learn to be. They spend so much of their time around very unpleasant people, you know.”
“Can I ask a question, too?” It was Tara, who was now leaned up against Willow, dreamily picking dried saliva from her skirt with one hand, and scratching Xander-dog’s tummy with the other.
Tempestra nodded. “Of course you can, sweet Tara.”
“I wondered, well we wondered,” Tara took Willow’s hand. “How you came to be imprisoned in that piece of serpentine, and how it got into a crocodile, and how we came to discover you.” She blinked. “I guess that’s more than one question, actually.”
Tempestra rubbed her chin. “But all linked, as you have spotted.” She rose to her feet, and took the kettle from the fire. “It’s a long story, so I’ll tell you along the way - after I’ve got rid of this nasty mess.” She crossed the clearing and pointed to the Harpy’s nest, and the guano-spotted heap of bones beneath it. The tree and the pile burst into flame with a great ‘whomp’, and were consumed in seconds, ash raining down from the sky to form a neat conical pile. Tempestra looked modestly satisfied. She stepped forward, and emptied the kettle on to the ashes, “But it all started,” she continued, in the same tone, gesturing encouragingly for everyone to get up and stir themselves, “when I decided to become a Girl Scout Leader.”
…………
Across the clearing, Dawn was explaining the presence of Acathla to an interested Spike.
“Blood sacrifice, eh?” he said, looking at the plaster on Dawn’s elbow. “The witch is getting mighty ambitious, isn’t she?”
“And binding Acathla to me wasn’t what she planned at all,” said Dawn, indignant, “I could have been killed, or he could have swallowed the planet or something!” She remembered the chalk pentacle, and decided not to go into details about how she had broken it with her own backside.
Spike patted her shoulder, his eyes straying to where Giles, El Bombero and Acathla were milling around the truck, discussing the finer points of rally driving, “Would you look at that lot? I haven’t smelled that much middle-aged testosterone in one place since I gate crashed the Professional Footballers Lifetime Achievement Awards dinner back in ‘73. Still, at least we’ve got a truck at last.” He flexed his fingers, “and once I’ve winkled Mr Tweed out from behind the steering wheel, I should be able to thrash it along a bit.” He frowned, “Oh, what’s he doing now?” he muttered.
For Giles had bounced into the cab of the truck, and re-emerged, bearing a box of tools. He and El Bombero rummaged through the box, their heads together in earnest conversation. Finally, El Bombero handed him a spanner. Giles stripped off his shirt, flexed his arms a little, and as Acathla raised the truck off the ground with a casual hand, he disappeared beneath it. Soon a muffled banging could be heard. Spike looked down at Dawn again, and ruffled her hair, but then his eyes were drawn inexorably back to the shiny truck, and the sounds of work being done. His hands twitched impatiently. “The daft bugger. You don’t just go around banging things with a spanner. And those other two wouldn’t know a truck transmission from an elephant’s arse. Look at ‘em.” He ground his teeth in frustration.
Dawn groaned. Now all the boys wanted to play.
Let's go back to the chapter index!
Feedback is very welcome!
Return to Keswindhover's home page