Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to Buffy or Stargate, and I do not derive financial profit from writing fanfiction using these series.
Pairing: The “Oh no, not them!” factor is part of the fun, and if you don't know by the end of the second paragraph, my characterization is seriously flawed. Names appear in the second chapter.
Content Warning: Oblique references to swearing and adult situations
Quality Warning: Got this idea the night before last. Instead of mentally pounding it to death, I decided to just write it. I revised a little before posting, so here it is in all it's gory-second-draft-glory. Feel free to swoon . . . in delight or horror. Corrections and suggestions are welcome and will be duly considered.
“At first, I thought, 'Finally! A prophecy that's about me, not B.' 'Cause, hey! I'm the Slayer too, ya know?” The dark-haired woman gulped her drink, grace lost to inebriation. “Trained, Called, part of the line, the whole deal. But then the witch and those worthless new Watchers tell me, 'Sorry, we can't figure out where you're actually supposed to go to fulfill this prophecy because the darned place is mythical'!”
The man, his face a pale blob to her bleary eyes in the strobe-filled club, spoke slowly, over-enunciating with the patience of the carefully drunk, “I don't think you should base your value on a prophecy. In my experience—which is, admittedly, limited but more than adequate—they are so vague that you could fulfill them any number of ways by taking entirely different actions. I've always assumed that was the point of the vagueness—so they were most likely to be fulfilled and then interpreted in hindsight based on what actually occurred without the prophecies needing any authenticity.”
The woman groaned. “Just what I need. A skeptic.” She slammed her fist on the bar. “I believe in Fate, buddy. My life's too screwed up not to have a purpose.” She slumped, her head thumping against the counter. “I just need to figure out where 'Atlantis' is, since evidently it's not sunk somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean,” she muttered.
The bartender began walking towards them, evidently intending to inform them that their drinking was done for the night.
“I know where Atlantis is.” The slurred surprise in the man's voice caused Faith to hope that this wasn't a lame pick-up.
She sat up fairly straight and stared intently at him, half-ignoring the apologetic bartender as he told them there'd be no more alcohol for them tonight but invited them to stay—for food, other drinks, or just for the company. She shook her head at him. “It's okay. We should be finding somewhere else to talk anyway.”
“We should?” Her drinking companion repeated in confusion as the bartender simultaneously asked, “Can I call you a cab, then?”
“Nah, I walked.” She stood, dragging the man up with her. He staggered slightly, but her own sway in the opposite direction balanced them.
They weaved through the tables and across the dance floor. As they exited, a giggling trio of women intercepted them. Their high-pitched words were drowned in the louder music near the dance floor, but the man accepted the slick paper they shoved into his hands. Outside in the light of the neon signs, he blinked at the paper for several moments before the woman reached over and turned it right-side up.
Frowning, he said, “It's a wedding brochure for a chapel down the street.”
The woman at his side laughed.
“Why would they think we need this?” He found a nearby trashcan and attempted to toss the colorful advertisement, but his companion snatched the floating paper out of the air.
“Well,” she drawled, “I wouldn't have bothered, but it's something I haven't tried before. And I'll try anything once,” she declared solemnly. “Even things that are bad for you.”
“This,” the man tugged at the paper. “Is definitely bad.”
“In my experience,” the woman waved a hand to the world at large even as she played on her companion's earlier words, “which is the opposite of limited, the bad things are the most fun.”
He considered this seriously. “I wouldn't know,” he said, frowning.
“Trust me,” she tugged him closer. “We'll be the baddest, and then you can tell me all about Atlantis.”