Disclaimers: I don't own BtVS, or Terry Pratchett's Discworld. Wish I did though.
Books are dangerous. Perhaps the most dangerous objects in the world. After all, has it not been said that knowledge is power? Of course, that isn't always true. In the hands of most people, knowing the quadratic equation or pi to fifteen decimal points wouldn't do a heck of a lot of good. And no one ever got more powerful from knowing all the state capitols. Knowledge only equals power if the right information is in the right hands. But when the wrong information is in the wrong hands...chaos is the only possible result. A little knowledge can be dangerous. Especially if that knowledge is a bit of ancient Sumerian in the hands of a California guy with little patience and a terrible accent.
“Let me see now,” Xander muttered, “Xepno trowke kale? Kala? Some kind of cookbook maybe, or brewing guide? Jikkna, jikkna, talla un? Natta ua kauln to. Uh, that means... take..to beer..home? Hainto, ritanra pui ki? Transport...now....OH CRAP!” With a bright flash of light, the young man vanished, leaving behind, oddly enough, the faint smell of burnt hops.
The Mended Drum was having a slow night. Only three fights had broken out, with only minor flesh wounds and a severed ear to show for it. Of course, it was still early, and many of the regulars had yet to put in an appearance. A trio of wizards occupied a corner table, a few dwarfs were working their way up to the singing portion of intoxication, and assorted riffraff, vandals, hooligans and scum were eying each other speculatively, judging whether or not their current levels of inebriation justified a brawl, a riot, or simply another round. The uneasy peace was soon broken, however, by a bright flash of light, which faded, leaving behind a young, dark-haired man.
“Oi! You bloody wizards!” shouted one of the ruffians, “Is this your doing? Can't a bloke have a drink without bloody bright lights shining in our eyes? That hurt, it did!” Other, less intoxicated scoundrels at the table quickly edged away from the idiot.
The wizards, who were far less drunk than they had hoped to be, were not exactly pleased. With a wave of his hand, and a quick chant, one of them sent a bolt of green light at the ruffian, turning him into a frog.
“A frog, Archchancellor? Isn't that a bit...cliched?” asked another wizard.
“Be that as it may, Dean,” replied Ridcully, “the stupid git had it coming and I wasn't going to waste the effort of a really imaginative curse on the likes of him.” He looked with interest at the young man the light had deposited in the pub. “I say, young man, we didn't conjure you, did we? And you wouldn't be from the Dungeon Dimensions, would you? Because if you are, you can jolly well piss off; we don't want any fuss here.”
Xander was taken aback, to say the least. When the spell had taken him, he was expecting to end up in some kind of hell dimension, not this somewhat primitive bar, strangely reminiscent of a British pub. “Um,” he started, “I think I kind of conjured myself. Never actually heard of the Dungeon Dimensions, that some kind of hell-place? Sunnydale's bad, but not quite on that level yet. I was just translating some old text and wound up here. Speaking of which, where is here, wizard-looking dude?” He was very careful not to mention the dresses the wizards were wearing, never could be too careful with the magic-types.
“Well that is a new one on me, self-conjuring demon, huh? Could be a bother. You are in the Mended Drum, in Ank-Morpork, lad. The greatest, or at least biggest, city on the Disc. Stay out of the Shades, don't walk alone at night, and you might just live. I am Archchancellor Ridcully; care to join us for a drink?” The big wizard smiled at him.
Sensing no evil intent from the wizard, and having no particular place to be in any case, Xander accepted. A spell to take him to a bar in another dimension, that was a new one. Of course, there was always the problem of finding work, and supporting himself until Willow realized he was missing. With so many supernatural beings around like wizards, dwarfs, and trolls, there should be plenty of work for an amateur monster hunter. Who knows, with the supernatural being so open, maybe he could even get a job with the local police, or maybe the neighborhood watch? As he drank his watered-down beer, Xander smiled at the possibilities.