The name's Bond, James Bond
A Slayer in the Cupboard
Title : A Slayer in the Cupboard
Author : Kiwikatipo
Rating : F18
Disclaimer : The BtVS folks belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The character James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. The movies were produced by MGM. The Borrowers, were created by Mary Norton. The Indian in the Cupboard, was written by Lynn Reid Banks.
Warning: Character death on a scale possibly never seen before. But don’t angst about it, after all, none of the survivors have time to.
Summary: A naughty brat steals her cousin's action figures, sticks them in a magic cupboard and animates them. This puts all of the characters, that were ever made from James Bond, BtVS and Angel, in a ‘Land of the Giants’ situation. There are about sixty of them combined. But don’t panic about keeping track and following them all, because over half will be killed in the first chapter. One character if not more, is guaranteed to die every chapter.
Timeline: Characters from all James Bond movies and BtVS and Angel seasons.
Pairings: Wait and see.
My name is Bond, James Bond. I’m thirty two, I was born on Armistice day, 1930, in Scotland. My favorite food is scrambled eggs, I’m a womanizer, a secret service agent, I’m licensed to kill by Her Majesty’s Government, and currently I am attending the most peculiar wedding of my life.
There are sixty of us all told, attending this matrimonial extravaganza. I’m standing beside Q and Miss Moneypenny. Perhaps she asked me to accompany her to this event, because I know no one else here. The thing I find even odder than the fact that I and several other guests, are wearing tuxedos and ball gowns, while every one else is attired in black leather or denim, is that there is an extraordinary number of identical twins at this gathering.
Many of the guests wearing black leather have facial deformities.
Another thing that is too queer for words is the fact the marriage ceremony is being performed by the evil genius, Dr No.
But what takes the cake, is that God, in the shape of a giant seven year old, is ordering us about the place.
Anya didn’t remember the lodge that she was going to be married in, being made out of pink plastic. She should have got a wedding planner. How could she have overlooked this detail?
She descended from the bridal car, an Edwardian classic, being driven by a tall man, wearing a long purple coat.
Buffy and a woman with dark hair, Anya did not recognize, were acting as her bridesmaids. They were both wearing long white dresses. That was wrong. Buffy looked years younger and made Anya look old in comparison. No fair, this was meant to be Anya's big day!
Buffy wore a black leather jacket, over the top of her stained, white, long gown. Anya had chosen green dresses for her bridesmaids. Holy Moley, a bride could only take so much.
Tara was sitting in the congregation. She should have dressed up and made a freaking effort. This was Anya's wedding, not a Scooby meeting at the Magic Box.
There were two Taras. Anya realized she was having a bridal jitters dream.
That explained why Anya's groom was a handsome blond stranger in his mid-thirties, wearing a tuxedo.
Xander, all five of him, was sitting passively in the congregation.
A scantily clad Cordelia, stood up and screamed in agony, putting her head to her hands. A tuxedoed Wesley, sitting beside Cordelia and Fred, supported her before she fell.
“Giant miniature terriers, attacking us all!” Cordelia gasped, leaning into him. “Hey, when did you rescue me from Pylea?”
“Months ago.” Wesley hugged her tight. “But Cordy, I must apologize for the fact you’re suffering like this in my dream.”
“No, this is my dream, by golly.” Fred interrupted him. This explained why she was outfitted all sloppy at a wedding for strangers, if it was a dream. “And Cordy, I’m real sorry too.”
My name is Bond, James Bond. I’m an English spy, I’m fifty. I’m a playboy, and I say that with my tongue firmly in cheek.
Currently I am engaged in trying to break up a fight between two teenage girls at a wedding. They both are fully dressed instead of wearing bikinis. What a substandard dream this is turning out to be. One of them has just kicked me in the stomach, and has sent me hurtling across the room. She must be on Angel Dust. They both must be.
There are other fights going on around me. A young blond woman in a red cocktail dress, has just killed another blond woman wearing jeans. Snapped her neck, that can’t be good for her.
God has picked up the woman wearing the red dress and is shaking her. The woman in the red dress has fallen on the ground. God is screaming and running out of the room with her hand bleeding.
I can’t see the woman in the red dress anymore. But a young injured doctor, has just had his head chopped off by a middle aged man in a suede jacket, carrying a sword.
Good show, I have just spotted a pile of weapons in the corner. I’m retrieving my Walther PPK this minute.
Faith didn’t know what the fuck she was doing here. One minute she had been leaning against lockers, sharing a pre-death cigarette with Giles, holding the scythe for Kennedy while she took a bathroom break in Sunnydale High School. The next minute Faith was at Anya’s wedding to some hot stranger.
Now everyone was fighting, including three younger versions of herself at present. Faith had got the scythe back and so had other people. What the fuck again? Kennedy had a scythe. This black chick, Faith had never seen before, had one, and so did B. One of the B.s.
And they needed them, because two giant dogs had just burst into the room and were eating everyone.
“Get them out, Faith!” Buffy yelled at her. Buffy slashed at a dog’s enormous paw with her sword.
Oh Jesus, the dog had just swallowed B. whole! Why that canine son of a bitch!
“Move!” Faith screamed urgently, pushing a teenage Oz out of the killing field, the pink plastic church they were in, had become. “Go! Go! Go!”
The church was a crap location to hold a wedding in anyway. Pink plastic? What was Anya thinking?
My name is James Bond. I’m thirty five. At present I am pulling by her wrist, my bride, out of the church we just got married in and into the car-parking lot. Which has thick shag pile.
This dream is bloody appalling. I’m sure Freud would have a field day with it. I’m coming to terms with my grief over Vesper dying etc. etc.
Thank god, my Aston Martin has its car keys in it.
Seventeen year old Faith ducked behind the altar. What a cracked altar, it was an enormous Rubik's cube covered with a white handkerchief.
The two witches, one with white hair and one with dark hair, had just made the dogs explode from the inside out. Wicked gross.
Blood, bone and flesh were spattering in all directions. The witches were dead meat. So were about ten other people.
An older version of herself grabbed her by the arm.
“Come on!” Faith grabbed Faith and sprinted with her outside the church.
People were screaming and piling into cars. Faith noticed that most of the cars were Euro and expensive. BMWs, Aston Martins, and Rolls Royces.
The two Faiths came up to two doubled men. One unshaven man wearing a suede jacket, was supporting a younger version of himself wearing motorcycle leathers.
“Here, Faith!” The older man yelled at the older Faith.
“Saved your own skin too, huh, Wes?” Older Faith dimpled, she dragged her younger self with her over to him.
“Is this wise?” The man with the bleeding leg asked nervously.
The younger Faith didn’t know what the hell that was meant to mean.
“The Faith in denim’s reformed, the younger one is able to be reformed, I hope.” The older man opened the door of a red, nineteen seventies, Mustang.
“Yeah. She’s me, the day I arrived in Sunnydale.” The older Faith assured the older man. “Totally a white hat back in the day.”
The younger man looked dubious still, but allowed himself to be assisted into the car by the older Faith.
Faith slid easily into the back seat over the front passenger seat. This car was roomy. She didn’t know how that family over there was going to all squash into the Union Jack painted, Mini.
“Giles, what’s going on?” Joyce clutched a sobbing Dawn to her, as Giles opened the car door. Giles let his breath out in relief. The car keys were in the ignition.
For a start, Joyce didn’t understand why she was tiny in an enormous room. Why Anya had been getting married to that stranger. She thought Anya was dating Xander. Why was Dawn clutching onto her and sobbing ‘Mommy, Mommy.’ repeatedly? Why was Buffy saying to Dawn she wasn’t her sister? And why had Giles never seemed so pleased to see her.
“Will we all fit?” This was an immediate concern of Joyce’s. She noticed Willow standing hesitantly by the cars, too shy to pile in with strangers. Why Willow only looked sixteen, wearing that plaid mini-dress over a white long-sleeved top.
Giles grabbed Willow and shoved her into the back seat of the Mini.
Joyce was sure that the Dawn and Buffy standing beside her in church had been wearing different clothes. But she’d felt quite sleepy and disorientated for the first twenty minutes of the ceremony, she still did.
“I don’t know, in answer to your first question.” Giles pushed a complaining Buffy, roughly into the back seat. “Get in, Buffy.”
He started the engine. “But I learned from all the pub crawls I used to go on in Oxford, you can cram up to eight people into a Mini. And they’re built like Sherman tanks.”
“That’s of the good.” Buffy peered out the back window, observing a new massacre of her fellow wedding attendees who were in an open Rolls Royce. “Because the priest and a fat Chinese guy, just got eaten by a giant cat.”
“Oh, is it Siamese?” Joyce inquired dreamily. “Because I adore Siamese cats.”
Giles hoped Joyce would snap out of her foggy mindset soon, because this didn’t feel like a dream anymore to him. Obviously the First Evil had managed to transport them into a giant hell dimension.
Giles drove down an enormous passageway, bigger than an aeroplane hanger, following the other cars.
He checked the rear-view mirror. He saw to his consternation the cat chasing everyone unfortunate enough to survive being impaled by exploded terrier body parts and not able to reach a car in time.
Oh dear God, that was poor Xander being disemboweled just then. And Xander had thought losing his eye had been bad.
Giles swerved the Mini into a gigantic room. The blue and white painted room seemed to be a kitchen, judging from the monstrosity of a white fridge humming loudly in the corner.
The dark haired man driving a green Jaguar, raised two rocket launchers from the side of his car and blasted off the hinges of a cat flap on the enormous door.
Giles observed Tara was sitting beside the man in the Jaguar. How nice to see her alive and well again also.
He waved but she didn’t wave back.
The cat flap door fell forwards, creating a ramp.
The cars revved up and drove off into the night, one by one.
My name is Bond. I’m a trained killer for Her Majesty’s Secret Service, in my late forties, I'm getting too old for this deadly game, although I'll never admit to it. At present I am introducing myself to my car passenger. Tara McLay, a nineteen year old, American University student from California. Like me, she has no idea how she came to be here.
My first thought was that I was back as a prisoner in North Korea, being subjected to brainwashing torture. But I’m switching to survival mode, and her theory that this is a spell gone wrong is sounding more plausible all the time.
I’m turning my car into a hole in the wall, underneath of a gigantic building. Seeking shelter and then working out what the hell has happened, seems top priority.
There were over thirty of them. Most came from a small town in California called Sunnydale, the rest were from the United Kingdom or various parts of the United States. Except Kendra, she was from the Caribbean.
After much argument, tears and screaming, names were decided upon, for there were many dopplegangers or clones or something, in the gathering of wedding survivors.
There was the Summers family. Joyce Summers and her five daughters: Dawn, a fifteen year old in a pale blue, summer evening dress, Buffy a sixteen year old, wearing a long white dress and a leather jacket.
And Buffy again, who wanted to be known as Anne. The eighteen year old, was wearing a pink prom dress.
The oldest Buffy was nicknamed Joan, at Giles suggestion and she approved. Joan-Buffy was very easy going. She seemed to be the only person left treating the situation they were all in, as a dream. She wore a red top and black leather pants.
There was the other Buffy…
There were the un-doubled people: Tara McLay, who had been on her way to her first Wiccan meeting on Sunnydale Campus. She did not recognize anyone apart from sixteen year old Willow, another un-doubled person. Willow did not recognize Tara, or Oz.
Oz claimed to be a senior at Sunnydale High School and that Willow was his girlfriend.
Anya the bride, wept in hysteria over the fact her real fiancé did not know her.
First Class Private, Alexander Harris, claimed to be a nineteen year old National Guardsman. People could call him ‘Xander’ if they wanted. He normally got nicknamed Alex, but 'Xander' was cool.
Winifred Burkle hailed from Texas. She was upset there was no one called Charles Gunn in the room. Her friends seemed puzzled by it too.
Kendra and Kennedy were both teenage slayers. The 'chosen' concept was hastily explained to the James Bonds. By this stage the James Bonds were prepared to believe anything. Particularly seeing how there were several souled vampires and two un-souled vampires who were among their party.
All the James Bonds were un-doubled. Scottish Bond. English Bond. Irish Bond and Blond Bond.
Miss Moneypenny, a blond secretary in her mid-thirties and Q a middle aged inventor, both worked for MI6 and knew Scottish Bond.
So did a woman in her late thirties called Pussy Galore. But Scottish Bond claimed never to have met her.
English Bond knew Miss Moneypenny as well. Miss Moneypenny had never set eyes on him before.
Different time periods accounted for it. People had come from nineteen sixty-two up to two-thousand and six.
Rupert Giles was doubled. His younger self acted as if he was seventeen and insisted upon being called Ripper.
Cordelia and Angel were tripled. There was High School Queen C. in her last year at Sunnydale. She’d just made a wish to a younger Anya (not present) and wondered if this could account for the bizzaro world she found herself in.
Queen C. was a major bitch.
Princess of Pylea-Cordelia, who was wearing the purple coat of the deceased driver of the Edwardian Bridal car, (Kendra had staked the female vampire, attacking the tall driver.) was snarky but nice. No one knew who the dead driver had been.
Cordy, a twenty three year old, was saintly. She said the ‘powers that be’ had blessed her more than she could have dreamed, and smiled significantly at Dad Angel, nursing his baby son, Connor, when she said this.
Tuxedo-Angel, who was accompanying Buffy-Anne to her senior prom before he ended up at the wedding, shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, Cordy and Dad Angel, were in love.
Hawaiian-shirt Angel thought it made sense. He had left Sunnydale to stop Buffy-Anne going dark.
Buffy-Anne was screaming for Faith and her younger version, Faithie, to be restrained. Faith didn't bring out Buffy-Anne's best side.
Faithie was pissed off that she got to be called Faithie. She hated being called that.
Giles pointed out it should be Hawaiian-shirt Spike and amnesiac vampire Randy who should be restrained.
“They’re vampires?” Kendra staked Spike before anyone could stop her.
“They have a micro chip in their brains that stopped them from killing humans.” Joan-Buffy explained, lethargically looking downwards at the pile of dust that was previously Hawaiian Shirt Spike.
“Randy will try and rape you in the future, Buffy.” Giles predicted sternly.
“And he’ll get a soul, voluntarily, Giles.” Faith argued back half-heartedly. Hell, she didn't care that much if that obnoxious, peroxided, sex toy, vamp of B.'s got staked.
“God, I’m noble.” Randy crowed, pleased.
“Not at the current time you’re not.” Giles narrowed his eyes. “And I don’t see how the hell you’ll make it to Africa from here.”
“Where is here?” Vampire Buffy asked tentatively. “Apart from it being freezing and big much?”
“Here?” Darla shrugged, trying not to let the wind blow her off the window box the six vampires had hidden in. “I haven’t a freaking clue, Xander.”
Darla looked at her fellow vampire in bafflement.
Darla and Angelus, her darling boy, were reunited. Angelus the day after he had arisen from his grave. His Irish brogue made her want to tear off his eighteenth century clothes and ravish him on the barren dirt.
Drusilla and William the Bloody were all over each other as per usual.
As were leather clad Xander and Willow.
“I say, we find cover, have an orgy and then find the bloody humans and eat them.” Spike suggested, running his hands through his bleached hair. Sid Vicious had copied Spike's hair style last month, in 1977, Punk London.
“Ooh, I like that idea.” Drusilla clapped her hands in glee.
“I wanna recapture the puppy, so I can play with him.” Vamp-Willow snapped the dried stalk of a flower in half. “I have a low boredom threshold.”