The Oldest F#*%ing Slayer, EverAuthor:
This one is teen.Spoilers:
Through BtVS, Season 7, and the first few Seasons of Golden Girls. However, the show has been moved up approximately 17 years, meaning that that this story, which takes place roughly around season 3 (which aired in 1987), occurs a year after the end of BtVS. For reference, in this story, Dorothy, Rose, Blanche and Sophia are 58, 57, 55, and 82, respectively.Disclaimer:
I so totally own these shows. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.*Author's Notes:
This was an idea I've had for a while, sort of lingering and developing. But after the recent death of Bea Arthur on Saturday, 4/25/09, I decided to move this up. We love you, Bea. Rest in Peace.
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It was two o'clock in the morning when Rose turned on the kitchen light, dressed in a soft flannel nightgown. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled to the coffee machine. As she started a pot of decaf, Blanche walked in, her sleep mask pulled up onto her forehead.
"No Dorothy yet?" she ask, suppressing a yawn.
"Not yet," Rose replied. She moved to the fridge and opened the freezer, pulling out a carton of cookie dough ice cream. Blanche took it from her hand without prompting and set it on the table. In a few moments, Rose and Blanche sat at a table set for four, holding ice cream, syrup, cheesecake, coffee, and milk.
Dorothy walked into the kitchen through the garage door, dressed in black and carrying a messenger bag.
"Hey, girls," Dorothy said, smiling. "You do know you don't have to get up every time I get back. I can take care of myself, you know."
"Oh we know that, honey," Blanche said, "But we just like making sure you're okay, for our own peace of mind."
Dorothy eyed the table pointedly. "Oh, of course. And it has nothing to do with cheesecake."
"I wish is didn't," Rose mourned. "I've gained fifteen pounds in six months."
"Me too," Blanche sighed, sitting at the table.
"Well so have I," Dorothy said.
"It doesn't count. My underwear started cutting of my circulation; you just gained a bunch of muscle," Rose pointed out.
"Believe me when I say it isn't exactly my fault."
"Although that did help when we cleaned out the garage," Blanche mused.
"Did Ma get up?" Dorothy asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a protein shake. She opened it and drank it down quickly.
"Oh, I heard her in the bathroom," Blanche said, slicing the cheesecake and serving it.
Dorothy dropped her bag on the kitchen desk next to the the phone, then sat down and began eating.
Sophia walked in and smiled. "There you are, Pussycat. How was patrol?" she asked, dropping a kiss on her forehead before moving to sit down by her daughter.
"It was pretty good, Ma. We got about 10 vampires, and the girls are getting really good. Worked together very well, which is the point of having them patrol in a group."
"It still makes me so sad, all those poor girls having so much responsibility," Rose lamented.
"Well, you're always welcome to visit the house, take one of your St. Olaf flinger-flugen-friendship cakes. Besides, you worked that counseling helpline for a long time, and the girls always need someone to talk to," Dorothy said.
"Oh, I guess I could. Thanks, Dorothy."
"So, any chance of Mr. Giles coming back to Miami?" Blanche asked. "I hardly got to see him when he came down for the dedication of the house for the girls."
Dorothy threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. "I think you scared him off of Florida the first time he visited. Didn't you notice the fact that every time you tried to talk to him, Andrew jumped in front of you? The gossip is that Giles threatened to destroy Andrew's toys if he didn't keep you away. Besides, I think you're a bit old for him."
"Dorothy, we have been over this; I'm only 40 years old," Blanche huffed.
"Right, right; you're 40 and I'm Buffy Summers," Dorothy said, rolling her eyes.
Blanche paused. "She that cute, tiny blond one?"
Blanche crossed her arms and pouted.
"You know Blanche, maybe you should date Xander. His fiance was 1,000 years old," Dorothy said.
"Xander's the one eyed boy?" Blanche looked up at the ceiling, unseeing, as a smile spread across her face. "The one with the dark hair, rakish grin, tight buns and broad shoulders? Hmm...."
"You know, back in St. Olaf, we have a story about Xander's fiance. As it turns out, she was Anyaka, the Patron Saint of Scorned Women, who was also the Patron Saint of our village in Norway. We ended up naming St. Olaf after her!"
"So her name was really Olaf?" Blanche asked.
"No, her name was Saint Anyaka, Destroyer of Rabbits and Vanquisher of the Demon Troll Olaf."
Dorothy winced. "Rabbits, Rose?"
"Yes, rabbits. So, anyways, it just ended up that Saint Anyaka, Destroyer of Rabbits and Vanquisher of Olaf was too long, and it got shortened to St. Olaf. You see-."
"Nice one, Pussycat. You just had to encourage her," Sophia said, throwing her hands in the air.
"Anyways, most of us originally came from a village called Sjornjost. 1,000 years ago, Olaf, a terrible Viking, betrayed Aud, his betrothed. Well, Aud was so upset, she didn't pay any attention to her rabbits. Pretty soon, they overran the whole village! They ate everything in sight, including our winter stores! Then, Olaf was turned into a troll! He terrorized the village, eating babies and burning down our buildings. Winter was approaching and the village thought all was lost. But then Anyaka appeared in a ring of flames! She sent Olaf away, and fried all the rabbits."
"That's horrible, Rose," Blanche said.
"Well, not really. There ended up being enough dried meat to get us through the winter."
"What happened to Aud?" Blanche asked, grimacing.
"Well, when the rabbits when crazy, Aud vanished, but there was blood. We think the rabbits ate her."
"Oh Lord, I did not need to know that," Blanche muttered. She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Dorothy, do you have Xander's telephone number?"
"It's in my address book in my room."
"Well I'll just go get that before I forget," Blanche said as she left the kitchen, eyes focused.
"Do you think we should warn Xander?" Rose asked.
"No, just Willow," Dorothy said.
"The lesbian?" Sophia asked. "Pussycat, maybe we should have had a talk about this. You do know what a lesbian is, don't you?"
"Yes, Ma, I do. But I though she might want to take a picture of his face when Blanche pounces."
"Good point. You know, sometimes I wonder if Blanche is a succubus."
"What? It makes sense! Come to think of it, I think the nurses at Shady Pines were demons."
"Ma, not everyone is a demon. And I don't think Blanche is a succubus."
"Maybe, Pussycat. Maybe. Just be glad all the Slayers are girls. Otherwise, you'd have 'em coming in day and night, going through her bed like a parade! I swear, sometimes I think a part of her anatomy is a Hellmouth!"