Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters. Not their wardrobe. Not even the genesis of the idea. Buffy belongs to ME and Rodney and his walkie talkie belong to MGM and the sparkly shirt is lifted from Chosenfire who'll have another disclaimer.
I felt bad about not updating for a while, and while that’s sorting out, I present this. I’m still kinda ambivalent about it, but it’s something, right?
Inspired by image two of chapter three in Slayer Seduction
. This ficlet meant to expand the image outward slightly, but is more like a snapshot than a story, in that it doesn't really have any plot.
Merry Christmas! (And other assorted holidays)
The girl in the sparkly shirt made Rodney nervous. Even across the dance floor. He watched her covertly over the rim of his glass: she was stunning, coordinated and showing more skin than he'd seen in the last three months he'd been confined to base.
A tall guy, probably her boyfriend, was dancing with her, and looked like a pathetic monkey next to her as the beat flowed through her. Rodney hated to think how he would look next to her. Not that she was the kind of girl he could get anywhere closer than ten feet to, baring life or death situation.
But of course, that's what this was.
The man dancing with her was part of a parasitic race that took over the unknowing host body, stopped all it's functions and wore the dead persons skin around. He was one of three in the area, and the only one inside the bar based on the fact that he was the only void on the heat sensing monitor.
The man leaned down, whispering in the little blonde’s ear, and she nodded, tossing a breezy smile up at her dead date and started to lead the way out of the bar.
Rodney stood to follow, completely forgetting to radio the others, who were out combing the area around the bar for the other two. And that forgetting he had been assigned to keep watch, nothing more.
He hurried out, slapping a few coins on the counter to pay for his drink, and caught up to them just outside. They had moved deeper into the alley away from the door, and if it hadn't been for the sequins on her shirt, Rodney wouldn't have seen them at all.
The man was leaning forward, the woman looking down. Rodney had seen enough of the creature to know that it was about to strike, either killing, or more likely, infecting her. He pulled a stun gun from his hip, wincing as the tearing of Velcro announced his presence. The two occupants of the alley looked up at him.
The girl rolled her eyes.
The man, his eyes red, and teeth elongated, growled.
Rodney scrabbled frantically for his radio.
"It's never easy.” The girl muttered, and stuck out; hand catching her would-be-killer's solar plexus, and doubling him over. Her fingers threaded harshly through the man’s hair, and pulled his face down to meet her knee as she raised it, and the man fell to the ground. She pulled a slim wooden rod from her hair, shaking it loose around her shoulder, and bent over, plunging it into the creature’s chest.
Rodney gaped, as the man groaned, and then... exploded, disappeared...becoming nothing more than dust falling across the pavement.
She cocked her hand on her hip, shooting him a slightly annoyed, slightly bemused expression that had him shutting up, and then turned, sashaying away to the beat still pounding out from the club walls, disappearing into the darkness of the dead end alley.
Rodney finally brought his walkie-talky to his mouth, and pressed the talk button. "John?"
"Yes?" John fired back, annoyed. Obviously he had had no luck finding anything, although as Rodney watched a second dot disappeared from his screen.
"Something weird." Rodney replied lamely, looking up to where the girl had been. "You might want to come back to the bar."
Waiting nervously for the others to arrive, Rodney mused that encounters with girls in sparkly shirts never ended well.