If I Only Had A Brain
AN: We all know I don’t own BtVS or the Batman characters.
AN2: The plot bunny for this was inspired by TTrunks’ story ‘At least she didn’t eat me’. So all credit must go there.
AN3: Gee, Illyria, I hope it makes you laugh at least once.
Xander had gotten used to the fact that most of his dates ended up in one of three places: the hospital, the morgue, or some n-th dimension of hell. It had been a long running joke among the Scoobies that if Xander was attracted to something, it had to be evil. Some days, like today, that fact seemed more sad than funny.
‘Just another day in the blood and demon slime covered boots of Xander Harris. Please check your sanity at the door.’
He had to be stupid. He really, really did. There was no other way to explain it. Every time it happened he seemed to be struck with a case of temporary insanity brought on by utter foolishness and a stubborn ability to ignore well-proven reality. But really, all that meant was that Xander was stupid.
“I’ll have a large caramel latte with extra whip cream, two white cinnamon mocha frappachinos, a chai tea with nutmeg, three lemon Snapple chocolate drizzle cookies, and a coffee with no funny flavors in it.”
The serving girl behind the counter stared at him in disbelief for a half second before rapidly parroting his order back at him in at a tone and pace he couldn’t hear. So Xander nodded vacuously while moving away from the grumbling line behind him. He knew he hadn’t worked the food industry in years, but, damn, when did they start feeding their employees crack?
“Someone’s got you well trained.”
An amused and overly feminine voice echoed from behind his left ear. (That should have been the tip-off, really, but he was stupid. What else could he say?) With all the grace and stealth that had served him so well atop the Hellmouth – which is to say none at all – Xander jerked around with a manly squeak to face the speaker. She was tall, almost his height actually, had some very generous curves, and almost pinkish red hair.
Her bright green eyes and glittery make up twinkled in time with the mysterious woman’s laugher. While his chuckling stalker was preoccupied Xander took a moment to use his still nonexistent grace and nonexistent stealth to check her out. The redhead was decked out in a dark silk green top and - way more importantly – short skirt. Her stage name could have been Ms. Executive.
Finally breaking his stare down with her voluptuous body (had he said that already?), the White Knight responded.
“Well, it wasn’t an easy task, I tell ya. There were chains and whips and decapitations all around, but eventually I saw the light. Women know everything.”
The solemnity with which he delivered his statement set her off again. And slightly mortified blush that followed when his brain caught up to his mouth? Priceless.
“You know, most women don’t respond this well to my humor.”
Reaching out and touching Xander shoulder, the woman smirked. “Lucky for you, I’m not most women.”
As if that wasn’t another big frickin’ clue that something was sinister in Whoville, Xander just stood and nodded frantically when the woman, Pamela, asked him to meet her for drinks later on that night. Apparently, not even closing a Hellmouth and witnessing multiple apocalypses was enough to cure simple stupidity.
Hearing the coffee girl call out his order, the oblivious man walked over and looked at the multitude of delicate and awkward cups filled with hot liquid. The teenager snorted.
“Don’t look at me. You asked for it. Idiot.”
Somehow, it didn't occur to him that she wasn't wrong.
It was almost midnight, and the darkened streets of Gotham were nearly deserted. Except for one particular corner on one particular street under a particularly dim streetlight where a youngish man waited his destiny… or his date, whichever came first.
“This is where she said to meet. I know I’m a little bit early for our 12 o’clock rendezvous, but you only get opportunities like this once very few years when you’re constantly surrounded by super-powered teenage girls who seem to think it's their duty to keep women away from me.”
Peering up at the street signs in with the un-illuminating help of the light, Xander wondered aloud. “Does that say the corner of Horny and Desperation?”
He was too busy pondering this philosophical question to notice one of the shadows detach itself from the shadow. He did, however, notice when a fuzzy cord wrapped itself around his neck and wrists and dragged him backwards.
“Now what’s a sweet thing like you doing in a place like this?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, and the words were definitely something he’d heard before. While gasping to draw air into his lungs, Xander rolled his eye. Why did this always happen to him?
He was suddenly pressed or flung, if you wanted to be literary, into one of the buildings that lined the street. The fuzzy cords turned out to be fuzzy vines that led back to a rather stunning pinkish redhead with green eyes.
At least his date had dressed up for their meeting. The silks were gone, replaced by green leather top, pants, and thigh-high boots in varying verdent shades. It was a really confidence boost for his ego.
“My name is Poison Ivy. You can call me Mistress! Congratulations, you’re going to be my new minion!”
Before Xander could protest, which he really couldn’t because his ‘mistress’ was cutting off his air supply, Poison Ivy continued droning.
“I’ve got a few powders up my sleeve that will take care of any objections and free will you have. I promise your days in my service will be blissful! All day, everyday is the motto. You’re just the kind of man I’m looking for: a little rough and dangerous looking while possessing a low IQ. We can play dress-up and pick out a costume for you when we get home!”
So busy was Xander trying to dissuade himself from voluntarily joining his mistress, he almost missed the dark bat-like shadow coming up behind her. Sadly, lack of oxygen became on issue instead and he passed out, missing all the fun, action-y parts.
The growled mutterings were what woke him. In the distance, Xander could see the white sign with red letters spelling ‘Emergency Room’. His body was squashed in the front seat of an oddly shaped car, while his rescuer, who apparently like to role play as a furried mammal with wings and fangs, grumbled about stupid kids who met up with serial killers/ psychotic plant lovers in the middle of the night.
“Hey! At least she didn’t try to eat me!”
Like that was something to be proud of.
Yup, it was a day like any other.