1:The Wombles; a warning from history.
By Dave Turner.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Buffyverse, The Wombles or anything else for that matter, sad ain’t it?
Crossover: The Buffyverse with the Wombles.
Spelling, Punctuation and Grammar: Written in glorious English-English! English idioms are used throughout this Fic.
Timeline: Set in late spring 2009 several weeks after ‘Old Dogs’
Words: 13 Chapters each of 2000+ words
Warnings: Humorous in the first chapters, becoming darker towards the end.
Summary: Giles and the London Slayers face their toughest challenge yet…the Wombles make a bid for world domination, MAW-HA-HA!
Authors Note; some people may recognise the first chapter and a half as this was taken from an older deleted fic. Those of you who don’t know what a womble looks like might like to take a look at the videos linked below or Google the word ‘Womble’.
Cute aren’t they? HA! Nothing can be that cute without hiding some pretty serious evil!
All Womble songs were written by Mike Batt if I remember correctly.
The introduction below is based on H G Wells’ introduction to his classic novel ‘War of the Worlds’.
1: “The Chances of anything coming from Wimbledon Common are a Million to One!”
No one would have believed, in the first years of the twenty-first century, that the affairs of Londoners were being watched keenly and closely by intelligences other than human, and yet as mortal as our own; that as people busied themselves about their affairs they were being scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as closely as a scientist with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency humankind went to and fro across this city, about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. No one gave a thought to the parks and commons as sources of danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea as impossible or improbable. Yet, across the gulf of the A219, intellects furry, cool and unsympathetic regarded Central London with envious eyes, and slowly and surely they drew their plans against us.
The Wombles; a warning from history.
It was a dark and stormy night in Putney Vale Cemetery and Trisha was telling Alice a story. The two girls huddled together on top of an old tomb, and waited for the expected vampire to rise.
“…well if she was that good,” explained Trisha earnestly as she swung her legs back and forth as she sat next to her friend, “how come they buried her in un-consecrated ground on an island in the middle of a lake?”
Alice made a noncommittal noise and let her friend rant on.
“Mark my words,” warned the English girl wagging her finger, “give it a few more years an’ some poor slayer-girl is goin’ to have go up there and deal with her!”
Putney Vale Cemetery was bounded on two sides by Wimbledon Common, a third side held back a housing estate and a large supermarket, and the forth was fronted by a busy main road. Mrs Fitzsimons, chief slayer and landlady of the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern, had sent two of her most experienced girls to slay a newly ‘turned’ vampire as it rose from its grave that night.
Both girls were there that night because there had been several burials that day, and Trisha and Alice had to split their time between a number of grave sites. Alice jumped down from the tomb and adjusted her woolly hat, pulling up the collar of her jacket as a cold drizzle blew in from the North-East she turned to her friend.
“Come on,” wearily Alice began to trudge across the grass, “we better check out the other graves.”
Although it was officially Spring, Alice found these cold damp nights sitting in grave yards uncomfortable; she’d much rather have been tucked up in bed with her girlfriend Tina. Trisha on the other hand didn’t seem bothered by the weather, claiming this was because ‘she’d had it tough’ being from ‘up’t north’. Alice, being from Chicago, originally just found it cold, wet and miserable; it was the sort of cold that got right into the bones.
“…and that’s the real reason the Government is so uptight about the Code 5’s!” Trisha ranted later as the slayers walked between the headstones, keeping a watch for any wayward vamps.
“So it’s nothing to do with them biting people on the neck then?” Alice asked with just a hint of sarcasm.
Since she had come to Britain from Seattle, Alice had found that the British authorities had classified at least five different species of vampire.
“That’s not important to the Code 5’s,” Trish went on as she dodged between the headstones, “they’re after power.”
“Oh.” Alice loved Trisha like a sister but sometimes she did go on a bit.
“So the ‘authorities’ won’t allow that to happen,” continued Trisha conspiratorially, “what do they care if…”
“What’s that?” Alice came to a sudden stop and listened.
Trish shut up and cocked her head to one side, “Sounds like a vamp digging itself out of a grave to me.”
The girls stared off into the darkness of the night. Straining their senses, they could just hear the sound of something scrabbling from the earth.
“OVER THERE!” they shouted, pointing to different corners of the graveyard; the girls looked at each other and shrugged before running off in opposite directions.
Alice sprinted through the cemetery between the headstones and jumping over graves. Just ahead she could see vague movement as something stirred amongst the tombstones. She ran towards the shape only to have it turn into a stone angel that stood over an old monument. Coming to a halt she scanned her surroundings…there…movement!
Yes, there was definite movement under a tree about twenty yards away. Taking her stake from under her jacket she crept towards the figure. As she approached, her senses started to tingle: this was indeed a vampire. With a mindless shout she jumped out of the darkness to confront this loathsome creature of the night.
The vampire froze when it saw Alice appear in front of it. It had just crawled from its grave and was brushing the grave dirt from its suit. It adjusted its tie and faced the young slayer.
“Oh I say!” it exclaimed as Alice plunged her stake into the vampire’s evil heart; “Bugger!” it added as it turned to dust.
“Got mine!” Alice grinned happily as she met up with Trisha over by the main gates to the cemetery.
“Me too.” Trisha cheerfully spun her stake between her fingers, “hold on, wasn’t there only supposed to be one vamp?”
“Yeah, just as well there were two of us. Let’s go home now,” Alice pleaded as she huddled down inside her jacket; she wasn’t interested in how many vampires there might be, she just wanted to get back to the hot girl she shared a bed with.
As the girls walked over to the cemetery gate and started to climb, a loud crash came from out of the darkness behind them. Looking over their shoulders as they hung from the gate, they saw a figure trying to disentangle itself from a rubbish bin. The figure looked up at the girls and sprinted off into the darkness leaving a trail of litter behind it as the bin bounced along still attached to the fiend’s trousers.
“AFTER HIM!” cried Trish - the girls jumped down from the gate and gave chase.
This vampire was more experienced than their previous prey; it was probably the vamp that had sired the first two. It led the girls on a merry chase through the graves and tombs; it doubled back on itself and led the girls down blind alleys, only to pop out behind them and run back the way they had come. Eventually, having long ago lost the litter bin, it jumped over the high stone wall that surrounded the cemetery and ran off into Wimbledon Common.
The girls followed the vamp over the wall and found themselves standing on a gravel foot path that led away to their left and right; in front of them was a wood that stretched off into the darkness. Not hearing any sound of footsteps on the path the two Slayers plunged into the trees.
It was even darker under the trees as the girls stumbled on. Branches seemed to claw at their clothes as if trying to hold them back, but eventually they burst out into the open again. There, on the banks of a small lake, stood the vamp. He turned, and seeing the girls set off again running around the lake.
Pointing at the vamp, Alice indicated that Trish should follow the bloodsucker while she ran around the lake in the opposite direction, and hopefully cut the leech off on the other side. Alice ran as fast as she could along the lake shore, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground when she heard the sounds of a struggle up ahead.
Putting on an extra burst of speed, she arrived at the scene of the fight only to find Trisha standing over a pile of dust with a big smile on her face.
“Got ‘im!” She tossed her stake up into the air and caught it behind her back, Alice frowned.
“If I’d known,” she gasped sitting down on a handy park bench, “I wouldn’t have rushed so.”
Trish walked over to her friend as she brushed vampire dust from her damp jeans before it became vampire mud in the drizzle; she sat down next to Alice.
“Now maybe we can go home?” Alice asked looking around. “Where are we?”
“Wimbledon Common,” Trish rested her back against the bench.
“Looks nice here,” Alice climbed tiredly to her feet, “looks like a nice place to have a picnic…when it’s daylight…very…tidy.”
“It’s great when it’s not raining,” Trisha wiped a rain drop from the end of her nose.
Putting her hand into her jacket pocket Alice pulled out a chocolate bar; breaking it in two, she passed half to Trisha. She took off the wrapping and placed the chocolate in her mouth. Then without thinking she screwed up the paper and dropped it on the ground; almost immediately, she felt something tap her on the shoulder, and her ‘spider sense’ went haywire.
Whipping out her stake and turning in her tracks she thrust the stake into the heart of the creature that had come up behind her.
“Uuugh!” The beast stared in surprise at the stake that protruded from its chest, and, letting out a small sigh, the creature collapsed to the ground and lay still.
“OHMYGOD!” Trish screamed, and looked down in horror at the adorable furry demon at her feet: “You’ve killed a Womble!!!”
“A whatle?” Alice stared down at the admittedly cute (and now very dead) creature that lay bleeding on the ground.
Had the Womble been standing up, and not lying dead on the ground with a stake through its heart, it would have stood about four feet tall. It was covered in shaggy grey fur, with a roundish body and stumpy arms and legs; its hands had three fingers and a thumb. The creature’s face had a long snout covered in short, tan velvety fur, with a black nose and large staring eyes that gazed lifelessly up at the rain clouds. Most unusually for a demon, it wore a long red scarf around its neck and a matching wide brimmed felt hat.
“A Womble,” Trisha turned a worried face to Alice, “they’re sort of an eco-demon, they clean up rubbish around the common, that’s why it’s so clean. They’re harmless…”
“I didn’t know!” wailed Alice stepping away from the body, “I’ve never heard of them before.”
“Don’t you have them in the States?” Trish demanded.
“No.” Alice bent down to get a better look at the dead womble. “Maybe we should hide the body?” she looked up at her friend.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Trish explained gloomily, “wherever we hide it the other wombles will find it an’ normal people can’t see them.”
“ ‘People don’t notice us, they never see. Under their noses a womble may be…’,” sang Trisha.
“You feeling alright?” Alice got up and stepped closer to her friend, a worried look on her face.
“Yeah…yeah,” mumbled Trish absently, “there’s a song about them. I learnt it when I was a little girl… ‘Underground, overground, wombling free. The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we. Making good use of the things that we find. Things that the everyday folks leave behind…’”
Alice looked at her friend in shock and awe, “I never knew you could sing! Maybe we should start a band?”
“Yeah right,” mused Trish, confused by the sudden change of subject. “We’ll leave the body here,” she continued, hoping to refocus her friend’s mind, “and with luck the other wombles won’t track us down an’ ‘tidy us away’.”
“You think they’ll do that?” Alice studied the bushes for any heavily armed wombles who might be lurking there.
“I don’t know.”
Trisha joined her friend in looking for deadly womble assassins, “I can’t remember anyone killing a womble before.”
“Well,” whined Alice defensively, “it shouldn’t have crept up behind me like that. Surely it knew we were Slayers?”
“Maybe it wasn’t that bright,” suggested Trisha as she picked up the womble’s hat and brushed the dirt from it.
“We better go.” She placed the hat over the dead womble’s face.
The girls made their way through the wood and climbed over the wall back into the cemetery. The rain started to come down harder as the wind got stronger, and the two slayers huddled together, putting their arms around each others waists as they walked into the teeth of the storm.
“When you walk through the storm,” announced Trish in a sing-song voice, “Hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark.” Alice added her voice to that of Trisha’s, “At the end of the storm there’s a golden sky.”
The girls threw their free arms out to encompass the sky.
“And the sweet silver song of the lark,” They turned to face each other as they sang (each in their own particular key). “Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown.”
They built up for a big finish.
“WALK ON, WALK ON,” they yelled swaying from side to side holding up imaginary football scarves, “WITH HOPE IN YOUR HEART, AND YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE!”
Then much quieter they sang and at last trying to harmonise, “You’ll n…ever walk…alone.” They laughed and gave each other a hug before walking to the gate and climbing over.
“KEEP THE BLEEDIN’ NOISE DOWN!” something shouted from out of the cemetery, “Some of us are trying to sleep!” it added, “Bloody slayers! No respect for the dead.”
The next morning after breakfast, Alice and Trisha stood in the newly rebuilt bar of the Slaughtered Lamb Tavern, the pub having been recently wrecked by a tentacle monster. Mrs Silvia Fitzsimons, the landlady and senior slayer, was busy behind the bar checking the till receipts.
“You sure it was dead?” she glanced up at the girls over the top of the till.
“Stake went straight through the heart Mrs F,” Alice confirmed, adding a quiet “sorry” for good measure.
“An’ it didn’t make any noise; it just came up behind you?” Silvia started to count the notes in the till.
“No, not a sound,” Alice and Trish shook their heads sadly.
Mrs F sighed and looked at the girls giving each a hard stare. Nether girl looked as if she was going to add anything more to this sad tale.
“Oh-well,” she sighed heavily, “can’t be helped. Silly womble shouldn’t go round sneaking up behind slayers.”
“Well it won’t,” Alice pointed out helpfully, “not now…seeing as its dead an’ all.”
“Indeed,” agreed Mrs F eyeing the girls suspiciously.
Sometimes she worried about Alice; she’d had a hard life for one so young. Maybe that explained her sometimes bellicose way of dealing with the world. However, she was useful to Silvia for those ‘special’ little jobs that required an elastic sense of morality. Plus, she really did like the girl and her girlfriend, so she would make any consequences from the previous night’s little accident just ‘go away’.
“If you’d brought the body home, we could have raised it from the dead.” This was from Annetta, the eldest of the three Lithuanian witch sisters that worked in the pub’s kitchen.
“You can do that?” Mrs F turned in surprise to look at the girl.
“Weeell…” Annetta shrugged her shoulders and tilted her hand from side to side in a ‘maybe’ gesture. “We could try,” she added brightly; if the truth was told, Annetta and her two sisters weren’t the most proficient of witches.
“I don’t think having zombie wombles roaming the streets of London is such a good idea,” Mrs F gave the young witch a kindly smile, “but thanks for offering dear.”
Wimbledon Common, London.
Deep under Wimbledon Common in a candle lit chamber, grim-faced wombles stood around the corpse of Orinoco Womble. Great Uncle Bulgaria shifted uncomfortably and looked across the corpse to where Tobermory stood; he knew what had to be done but could not bring himself to say the words. Tobermory saw the old womble’s hesitation, and coughed to clear his throat; he would have to say what they were all thinking.
“This cannot go unanswered,” the bowler hatted womble looked down at the corpse and then up at Madam Cholet who stood at his side.
“Madam Cholet,” Tobermory’s voice quivered with emotion, “prepare the Reanimation Elixir…”
“You don’t mean…?” squeaked Wellington, a young womble, shocked at the thought of what they were about to do.
“YES!” cried Tobermory as high above him thunder and lightening boomed and flickered, “Yes! Tonight Orinoco will rise and seek his revenge! MAW-HA-HA!”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, an unearthly counterpoint to the womble’s insane laughter.