The Wild Colonial Slayer.
By Dave Turner.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Buffyverse or the song used in this fic, I write these stories for fun not profit.
Crossover: Song fic, The Wild Colonial Boy…Well girl in this case.
Spelling Punctuation and Grammar: Written in glorious English-English, both Australian and English idioms are used throughout this Fic.
Timeline: Set about 1907.
Warnings: Death, and Australian jokes.
Summary: Bunyips, and vampire Bushrangers in the Australian outback.
The Wild Colonial Slayer.
By Dave Turner.
‘Tis of a wild Colonial Girl, Polly Doolan was her name,
Of poor but honest parents she was born in Castlemaine.
She was her father’s pride and joy, her mother’s only pearl,
And dearly did her parents love that wild Colonial Girl.
So, come along me hearties we’ll drink the taverns dry,
Together we will chunder, together we will cry!
We’ll wander over valleys and stagger over plains,
And we’ll scorn to live in sobriety, we’ll drink until it rains!*
*: You may have noticed these are not the traditional words. However, I think my version truly captures the real character of Australia.
Two lonely figures rode through the endless Australian Outback, dust rose from their horse’s feet as they walked wearily on.
“Tell me again,” asked Polly, “why we’re riding through the Outback instead of enjoying a nice cool beer in Wonga-Wonga?”
Her companion sighed heavily and adjusted his hat before squinting up at the sun. Yes, the man thought this would be the twelfth time she had asked the self-same question in the last hour.
“The Bunyip,” replied Henry Carter-Browne, gentleman adventurer and at present, Watcher to possibly the most annoying slayer there had ever been.
“The Bunyip?” the girl pushing some of her long auburn hair out of her eyes and back up under the wide brimmed hat she wore. She wore riding boots, khaki trousers, a white shirt and a grey waistcoat, from a distance she looked like a boy, but only from a distance. The closer you got to her the more she looked like a girl…very much like a girl, even a blind man would see the difference.
“Yes the Bunyip,” Henry was dressed very much like the girl. But where she was short and…‘well rounded’, he was tall and thin; where she was olive skinned he was painfully fair, or in this case…pink.
“The Bunyip?” queried the girl, “Pray tell, oh Watcher mine…why are we chasing after imaginary creatures?”
“Well,” Henry spoke earnestly; “you may be wrong there,” he licked his lips before going on, “I heard reports that a couple of drover’s were scared away from a billabong a few miles up ahead.” He pointed into the bush, “Plus there’s been reports of live stock going missing, and as you’ve been doing such a splendid job of thinning out the local vampires I thought we’d come and have a look.”
“You did, did you?” Polly eyed suspiciously the long object in a canvas bag that had recently joined their belongings strapped to the back of their pack horse.
“Yes I did,” Henry replied defensively.
“So what’s in the bag?”
“A .75 calibre Elephant Gun,” Henry announced proudly, “I had it sent all the way from London.”
“An Elephant Gun?” Polly sounded incredulous.
“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”
“Hate to tell you this sport,” Polly smiled and shock her head, “but there’s no elephants in god’s own country…maybe one or two in a zoo somewhere but otherwise…” Her voice trailed off.
“Ah but it is the perfect weapon to shoot a Bunyip!” explained Henry.
“AH-HA!” Polly shouted triumphantly, “Got ya’.”
“What do you mean, ‘got ya’?”
“Well,” Polly scanned the horizon before carrying on, “I bet you thought ‘Slayer gals killed all the bad blokes, time to get in some huntin’ and’ fishin’!” Polly said this in a passable imitation of an upper class English accent.
“Just because these Bunyips aren’t demons or whatever…” began Henry but Polly cut him off.
“…you thought a Bunyip head would look pretty good above the old fireplace back in ‘jolly old England’.”
“Weeell,” admitted Henry, “I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Fair does,” agreed Polly, “no worries mate.”
“You mean you’re not angry?” it was Henry’s turn to sound incredulous.
“Naaah,” Polly flashed a smile in his direction, “sounds like it could be fun.”
They rode along in silence for a while until Polly started to whistle through her teeth. Henry sighed; she was whistling that damned annoying ‘Waltzing Matilda’ song that had become an unofficial Australian national anthem. Polly turned to Henry and grinned showing even white teeth.
“Hey y’know what the ‘Jolly swagman’s’ name is?”
“No,” Henry sighed wearily, “but I’m sure you’ll inform me.”
The girl seemed to delight in torturing him thus. But really he didn’t mind, she would be dead all too soon, let her have her fun while she could. If it was at his expense…well so be it.
“Andy!” Polly cried.
“Andy?” a puzzled look on Henry’s face.
“Andy sang, Andy sat, Andy waited ‘till his billy boiled!” Polly laughed at the expression on Henry’s face as she galloped off singing at the top of her voice.
“Waltzing Matilda, somebody killed her,
Found her in the grass with a shovel up her arse!
Andy sang, Andy sat…”
Henry watched her disappear into a cloud of dust and smiled. Let her have her fun, she was only seventeen; he just wished she was a little less…crude?
Taking a cigarette from his silver cigarette case Henry watched Polly brush out her hair in the light from their camp fire. He reached towards the fire and lit his cigarette with a smouldering twig. He sighed and sat back against his saddle, smiling to himself he studied Polly as she tried to get the tangles out of her hair, she would make little ‘ow’ noises as she pulled her brush through her hair.
“I wish I could cut my hair short,” she announced suddenly, “like a bloke’s y’know?”
“That would never do,” Henry drew on his cigarette.
“Why not?” she gave up on her hair and put her brush away in her saddle bag.
“Well it just wouldn’t,” was Henry’s rather lame reason.
In truth he had no good reason why Polly shouldn’t cut her hair short, it would certainly save a lot of time and bother. Henry flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette as he thought about it.
“It’s up to you,” he shrugged, “do it if you want but…”
“But?” Polly turned to face him.
“I’m sorry but I rather like your hair as it is.”
“What? Full of twigs an’ tangles and dust!”
“You know what I mean,” Henry looked away hurriedly.
“You’re the nicest Watcher in the world, y’know that?” Polly smiled before going off at a tangent as she often did, “I stink! Do you think it’s safe to take a swim?”
Henry looked off into the dark and considered, “I doubt there’s any Crocs, but if there is a Bunyip…”
“It wouldn’t look go on your report if it said, ‘Slayer eaten by Bunyip’,”
“No it wouldn’t,” replied Henry, “and I’d be a little upset myself,” he added smiling to cover his true feelings.
“You would?” asked Polly.
“Yes,” Henry picked up his Elephant gun and started to clean it, to hide his embarrassment; the truth was he’d be devastated if anything happen to Polly.
“Well in that case,” Polly conceded, “I’ll wait till be get back to Wonga-Wonga.
They had arrived at the Billabong late in the afternoon and had spent an hour riding around the water and through the surrounding bush. They’d only found a few tracks that they couldn’t immediately identify.
Polly said she couldn’t sense anything with her slayer senses; she called it her ‘Spider Sense’ because the first time she had become aware of it she had been attacked by a Spider Demon. They’d made camp in a clearing next to the billabong, only to have their sleep disturbed by strange calls that floated through the night air and sent a chill down their backs.
The next morning they made a more careful search of the area around the billabong. Within an hour or so Henry had discovered some odd tracks leading from the waters edge and off into the bush. The tracks seemed to belong to some sort of large bird like a duck. Only this duck, from the size of the foot prints, would have to be six or eight feet tall. Clutching his Elephant Gun and followed by a still sceptical Polly, Henry followed the tracks into the bush; only to loose them again after about fifty feet or so.
“Damn!” exclaimed Henry then looking over at Polly he said, “Umm sorry.”
“No worries,” Polly searched the ground for tracks but found none, “I’ve heard worse,” she admitted, “what d’you want to do now?”
“You still can’t feel anything?”
Polly closed her eyes and concentrated, “No,” she admitted after a short pause.
Henry looked up at the sun, “We might as well spend the rest of the day here and another night,” he saw the look of disappointment on Polly’s face, “then tomorrow morning we’ll head back to Wonga-Wonga.”
Polly’s face lit up, “BONZA!” she yelped startling the horses.
They spent a fruitless day searching for the elusive Bunyip. Later Henry found some ‘interesting’ Aboriginal rock paintings and spent an hour or two sketching them, much to Polly’s despair and disgust. Eventually as the sun headed for the western horizon Henry packed up his gear and the two started back towards their camp site.
One evening she was riding the Outback with her Pom,
A-listening to the little birds, their pleasant laughing song.
Three mounted vampires rode alone – Kelly, Davis and McKerl,
They swore that they would capture her the wild Colonial Girl.
Unseen by either Polly or Henry three Vampire Bushrangers sat on their horses and watched the couple from the shade of a Coolabah tree.
“You sure that’s her?” asked Kelly the leader.
“Sure thing mate,” replied McKerl, “an’ that’d be her Watcher fella.”
“Suns almost down,” commented Davis the third vampire, “shall we take ‘em alive an’ have some fun with ‘em first or just kill ‘em?” He loosened his revolver in its holster.
Kelly considered for a minute, “Kill the Watcher, he’s only a Pom anyway. We’ll take the girl!”
Polly and Henry rode side by side as they made their way back towards their camp. Polly was explaining to Henry what she was going to do once they got back to civilisation…or at least Wonga-Wonga. She would soak in a bath for at least an hour, and then she was going to go out and buy a new dress, and then eat in a proper restaurant until she burst!
Henry would smile and laugh as the girl babbled on beside him. He, however, would have to contact the Council when they got to a Telegraph Office and find out where they would be needed next. Maybe they would be sent somewhere that required a long sea voyage…Polly would enjoy that, he thought.
“Surrender now Polly Doolan for you see it’s three to one,
Surrender now Polly Doolan, for your Slaying days are done.”
She drew a stake from her belt and brandished it with a twirl,
“I’ll fight but I’ll not surrender,” said the wild Colonial Girl.
Henry looked up in shock as three riders burst from the bush in the evenings gloom. In an instant he saw their disfigured faces, their yellow eyes and fangs. One of them stopped his horse and pointed a pistol at him. Henry turned to shout a warning to Polly, but before he could speak he felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a horse, and he felt himself falling from his saddle to lie in the dust. He tried to get up but darkness claimed him before he could move.
“SLAYER!” exclaimed the nearest Vampire as the gun smoke cleared and Polly looked up from where Henry lay.
“Come on girlie,” leered another of the Vampires, “what y’say we have some fun?”
“NO FEAR!” screamed Polly as she dug her heels into her mount’s ribs kicking him into a gallop from a standing start.
She charged at the vampire who had spoken, and plunged a stake, which had appeared in her hand as if by magic, into his heart. The vampire turned to dust, as she pulled one more stake from her belt and launched herself at another of the bloodsuckers. She knocked the second vampire from his saddle and the pair fell to the ground and rolled in the dust as she tried to plunge her stake into the foul fiends black heart. As they rolled across the ground the third vampire, Davis, raised his revolver and tried to get a clear shot at this damned slayer who had already killed one of his confederates. Finally, not caring if he hit McKerl or not he fired.
Polly noticed a flash over to her right, her head was smashed to the left and she felt as if someone had hit her in the jaw with a sledgehammer. Moments later as the gunshot echoed around the bush the pain hit her. She found that her field of vision was beginning to narrow and her body felt as if it didn’t belong to her.
She started to lose the feeling in her hands as she continued to struggle with the vampire. Her strength was ebbing away as she rolled on top of the bloodsucking fiend, she felt her stake come in contact with the vampire’s chest. As the darkness closed in around her she leant forward putting all her weight onto the stake.
She threw a stake at Kelly and dusted him to the ground,
And in return from Davis received her mortal wound.
All shattered through the jaw she fell still stabbing at McKerl
And that is how they finished her, the wild Colonial Girl.
Davis looked on in amazement as McKerl turned to dust.
“DAMN YOU GIRL!” he yelled as he ran over to where the Slayer lay and kicked her in the ribs; the girl’s body hardly moved and he knew she was dead.
“Damn you, damn you,” he muttered as he put his pistol away.
He never heard the double click as Henry pulled back the hammers on his Elephant gun. The first .75 calibre shot hit Davis in the left knee cap. He clawed frantically for his gun as his leg turned to dust and he felt to the ground. He looked up to see the Watcher standing over him and pointing an enormous shotgun at his head.
“Y…You’re dead!” exclaimed Davis pulling his pistol from his holster, Henry kicked it from his hand.
“You should always check your kills,” smiled Henry as he produced his silver cigarette case, the pistol bullet still embedded in it, from his shirt pocket.
Henry fired his second barrel and the slug tore through the vampire’s neck neatly removing the fiends head. The creature still had a look of surprise on its face as it turned to dust.
The sun rose over the Billabong the next morning as Henry broke camp. He had collected up the vampires horses and tied them by their reigns to his pack horse. He walked over to the bundle that lay next to the ashes of his camp fire. He looked down at Polly and brushed the hair away from her face.
“How are you this morning?” he asked smiling down at her.
“Huh hmm um,” she replied through her bandages.
“You’ve got a broken jaw,” he explained, “and you’ll probably have a scar, but the way slayers recover, it shouldn’t be too bad. You died y’know?”
“Hmmm!?” exclaimed Polly as she tried to sit upright.
Henry helped her up and rested her back against his leg.
“You stopped breathing,” explained Henry, “but when the vampire kicked you, you must have started to breath again. Do you know what this means?”
“HUUUT?” asked Polly.
“You’re not ‘The Chosen One’ anymore…as soon as you died another girl was chosen…you’re free!”
“Feeee?” she mumbled.
“Yes,” Henry helped Polly to her feet, he winced as they stood up.
“Huh?” she asked concerned.
“I think I’ve a cracked rib,” Henry replied, “anyway you’re ‘a’ Slayer now, not ‘the’ Slayer!”
“Hu huhull?” she asked.
“I won’t tell them if you don’t.” Henry helped her towards her horse, “Miss Doolan,” Henry asked formally, “How would you care to join me on a long sea voyage? So you can recuperate of course…nothing improper...I mean I’d never presume…” Henry flustered.
“Ho?” Polly sounded disappointed.
“So what do you say?” Henry boasted her into her saddle.
“HONZA!” Exclaimed Polly her eyes smiling.
So, come along me hearties we’ll drink the taverns dry
Together we will chunder, together we will cry!
We’ll wander over valleys and stagger over plains,
And we’ll scorn to live in sobriety, we’ll drink until it rains!
Bunyip (Bun-yip): Mystical predator that lives in Billabongs in the Outback. Could be a race memory of a prehistoric predator.
Bushranger: Bandit, outlaw.
Chunder: To vomit often from the effects of too much alcohol.
Outback: The great outdoors, wilderness.
Drover: Like a cowboy, but for sheep.
Billabong: An area of deep fresh water.
Sport: Friend, mate, buddy.
Swagman: A Tramp, hobo.
Billy: A tin for boiling water.
Waltzing Matilda: To walk through the outback.
Bonza: Great, really good, fantastic.
Pom: An English person.
Coolabah Tree: A tree native to Australia.