Nope. Don't own anything here. Seriously. Buffy The Vampire Slayer
is the lovely, lovely creation of Joss Whedon and his group. Rumiko Takahashi and her gang own Ranma 1/2
. Anything else you may recognize in this story is NOT MINE, and belongs to someone else. Got it?
Halloween fic?! Oh, maaaan
--What else can be said? Oh, yeah . . .This . . .
Originally, I was going to make this a Xander story. But after his run in with Larry, I don't believe Xander would have been too thrilled to wear a costume where the character turns into a girl
with a splash of water.
But I did think someone else obsessing over her femininity (Hair, clothing, shoes
) might look good as Ranma. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A case of foot-in-mouth by Xander goads Buffy into another costume choice. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The Mustang And The Slayer Ethan Rayne's Costume Shop, 1997:
Xander's open laugh sent two sets of piercing glares in his direction.
"Now what is wrong
with the dress, Xander?" Buffy icily demanded. Her grip on the eighteen-century dress a steel vise--Willow, bracketing the coveted dress, shot Xander an irritated look.
Xander coughed down another laugh. "Nothing's
wrong with the dress, Buffster--Although, I think you'll like to know that the gel junkie you're dressing up for hates the useless 'lady' types swishing around in dresses like that."
Willow's eyes widened in sudden memory. "Oh! Hey! He's right, Buffy . . .Angel once commented how he hated those dresses, and, and the women who dressed in them. He--he called them 'vapid', or something like that."
Xander smirked as Buffy suddenly released her grip, and dropped her hands to her side scowling. "Yeah . . .apparently he likes fighters--And he likes them young." He said the last part softly, but Buffy heard him and gave him another glare. Xander noticed and chuckled. "Now, I personally think Spandex is the way to go. All superheroes wear Spandex. Super girls in Spandex? Buff
super girls in Spandex? Curvy, top heavy, round and soft in the right places . . .?" Xander developed a far away look in his eyes, and disconcertingly enough began drooling.
Exasperated, Willow knew just what to do when her oldest, and bestest, friend got that way. She darted forward and smacked Xander upside his head. He came to with a start, looked confused for a bare moment, then grinned mischievously and wiped the drool off with the back of his hand. "So, Buffy . . .Want to start with something blue?"
Buffy's eyes narrowed, a harsh, odd light glinting in them, and she nearly snarled. "No
Xander grinned again and shrugged. "Okay, but your loss. Anyway, there got to be something here that's gonna do the job." Ugh! Xander's good thoughts were suddenly smashed into none existence by the idea of 'turning on' a two hundred plus year old, cannibalistic, pedophilic, animated corpse! Icy cold gripped his body, and Xander shuddered in earnest, trying to shake off those awful thoughts.
Not that the girls were in a position to notice Xander's antics--They had turned away and were busy rummaging through the racks again.
"Silk!" Buffy cried out in delight. She pulled out of the racks, a red Chinese shirt and black pants. In a couple of attached, separate plastic bags sat a red pigtail wig, a pair of leather bracers, and soft black slippers. Buffy sized the costume up against her body, and came up with a good enough rough fit.
Xander stared at the costume, and felt like giggling. His previous disturbing thoughts replaced by the tickling amused glow of recognition.
"Yeah, Buffy . . .?" She looked up. "Yeah, um, I really don't think that's a good look for you. That's Ranma. And, um, heh, heh, she was stacked!" Xander motion with both hands at his chest, pantomiming a large bosom. "At minimum, Ranma was a D cup. And, lets face facts, all kidding aside here, you'll have to do a lot of padding to pull that costume off."
The stony looks from both girls should have warned Xander to shut up and run with his tail between his legs--Thus protecting those, oh, so, vital manly body parts. But Xander was a sixteen-year-old teenage boy, afflicted with a foot-in-mouth condition, very similar to another male pigtailed teenager . . .Of course, that explained why he had to go and dig himself in even deeper. "Okay, Ranma is smart, funny, an ass kicking martial artist; beat up a dragon prince and killed a god. But maybe you ought to find something a little less ambitious?"
Ethan Rayne, a shadow in the back of the racks behind the trio, about to step forward and push for the dress, winced, and took a silent, unnoticed step backwards instead.
"Ah, you know, Buff? Maybe you ought to find something a little better proportioned to your frame?" Xander said helpfully. Ignoring blatant hints of danger. The rush of freezing air raising Goosebumps on his arms, Xander attributed to the airconditioner.
A bubble of cold silence inexplicable grew around the three friends, in spite of the loud, mad rush around them. Unexpected, internal, screaming alarms hit Xander under the unblinking stares of his female friends. Puzzled, he noticed their actual expressions for the first time and quickly reviewed the last few minutes. Uh-oh
. . .A sudden jolting splash of cold knowledge caused his internal, and external, self to contract and freeze in blind panic.
"Ah, on second thought . . .never mind me. Keeping silent here. Shutting up now." Xander mimed zipping up his mouth and throwing away the key. He quickly, franticly, dove into the racks on his own quest and escape.
Ethan Rayne, who safe in his discrete stalking, shuddered, slipped gracefully and silently away through the racks and narrow aisles, avoiding the notice of his enthusiastic victims, thankful for the fact that he
was not an obnoxious, sixteen year old little prat. Ethan mulled over recent events . . .Ethan Rayne's strongly developed sense of self-preservation had to bow in reluctant respect to the Human female's hidden weapon: Irrational--and extremely
violent--rage. Under no circumstance was he going to become an alternative target for that
, Ethan vowed to himself. He considered going back and suggesting another fun
alternative, but, given the mood back there, Ethan decided to find someone in a calmer state to 'help'.
A jolt of irritation flared up in him. Ripper's little slayer just had to be put aside as a project for another time, Ethan considered, annoyed. A small, but insistent thought rudely pushed itself to the forefront of his mind: Perhaps, having a Chaos magnet dressing up as another type of Chaos magnet might salvage, or (could he hope?) even help amplify his work? Ethan's eyes glittered with gleeful malice. Just maybe, Ethan considered, just maybe the girl's own costume choice could work out better then the original costume he had prepared for her. Hmmm . . .Feeling his good spirits once more returning to their original levels, Ethan decided to double dose the costume, once he got his hands on it at the check out.
Ethan's eyes and attention settled on another customer. Ethan actually smiled. And in a lighter mood, Ethan hurried away--Chaos after all had to be carefully nurtured.
Willow stared in the direction Xander disappeared to, and sighed. "You know Xander didn't really mean anything by that. Right?"
Buffy nodded and smoothed the costume over her arm. "Yeah, I know--But I'm still so
wearing this . . .Smart and funny? Killed a god? It me you know . . .especially the smart and funny part. Yep, I'm wearing it! What did Xander say it was . . .?"
"Cool!" And Buffy face lit up with a brilliant smile. Halloween Night:
"Hey! What's going on here! Where am I?" Ranma demanded loudly, confused. "This ain't Nerima!
" Her head frantically darting back and forth, staring at the bizarre, dangerous events around her. The street, the houses all looked odd, foreign. And why were there little mini monsters on the rampage? Last thing she remembered was plowing into the ground after being sent off on one of Air Akane's package deals, courtesy of Mallet-sama. She looked down and absently noted she was in female form--Ranma's eyes narrowed; there was something subtly different about her body. Wha--?
"Hey!" Ranma ducked as a furry, clawed paw swiped the air where her head had been! "Hey!" She bounced up, and with a Ki assisted kick to the chest, she sent her attacker flying out into the dark somewhere. What was it? Ranma had caught a glimpse of a large, wide full mouth of fangs and teeth, fur, red mad eyes and claws. Beyond that . . .identification escaped her.
Screaming groups and individuals ran pass a stationary Ranma. She looked wildly around her, and decided it was past time to seek safer ground--Or in her case, altitude. Ranma leaped up onto a tree next to her, and from its branches, jump out and over the heads of the panic stricken, terrified mass of people below on the street, to the nearest rooftop. It was the roof of a two-storey house. She paused and glanced around her; Ranma noted the moving figures of other roof hoppers in the distance, as well as the flying figures of people and-And things? Fireballs, bursts of intense eye searing energies, or energy lances erupted from the figures, countered with equally withering firepower by unseen opponents somewhere below them. Fires, explosions, car and house alarms of all sorts joined Human screams and cries for help or salvation. Ranma cocked her head in puzzlement--The language most of the people were using was--English? She was fairly certain of it; even if she did sleep (Did having her Ki drained by an age shifting Ki vampire count as 'sleep'?) through too many of Miss Hinako's lessons, Ranma still recognized the language. The language was English, all right. So, what happened? Did she unknowingly pull a Hibiki?
Ranma instantly dismissed the idea she was experiencing a dream or hallucinating--Too real for that safe explanation: she had suffered through too many frightening mind twisting experiences (most due to Akane's toxic cooking) to be deceived outright by mental constructs.
The shock wave of a nearby explosion blew in windows, shook the house she was standing on, set off more alarms, and raised more desperate, terrified screams. Ranma gritted her teeth and decided she needed more information--Fast! She opened her mind and threw out her senses . . .And immediately reeled from the assault on her mind and soul generated by the foul energy surrounding her!
"Kami!" Ranma whispered, frightened and wide eyed. "Where am I?" A sneaking suspicion emerged . . .Was she dead? Was she in hell? If that was the case, then why did everyone speak English? A brief thought fluttered by--ma-maybe, that was part of the local hellish condition? Allowing her to be the only Japanese speaker in an English only environment? No, no . . .Ranma firmly and decisively dismissed that idea--She was not hallucinating, nor was she in Hell. The life she was currently condemned to, by her idiot Panda father, was worse then having a communications problem with the natives! The young martial artist was not at all certain what exactly was going on, or even how she got to wherever she was, but she did know one thing without question--There were innocent people being hurt and killed around her. And a martial artist's duty was to protect those--"Weaker then themselves," Ranma said outloud, grimly resolved.
She swallowed in a futile attempt to bring back some moisture to her dry mouth, and then she sent out her senses--Prepared, Ranma withstood the oily, slimy, clinging feel of the dark energy and cautiously began probing and sampling the dark waves. Parting them, strand by strand, until . . .Ah, Ranma grinned in satisfaction. The energy clinging to the bodies had to come from somewhere--And there it was! Long, solid energy lines connecting everyone (including herself) back to . . .Ranma channeled Ki down to her legs and leaped towards the origins of the chaotic energy--Abruptly, Ranma twisted and pivoted her body up in midair and narrowly avoided a short ribbon of yellow energy!
"Nyaaaah Nyaaaah! Missed meeee!" She stuck out her tongue and blew out a raspberry--"Thiiiippppphhhtt--!" BONG!
And smashed into the hull of the one of the dozen or more battling aircraft darting through the air! Figures,
Ranma thought exasperated, prying her face out of the indented, gray, metal, just figures . . .
Inside the small flying craft Ranma collided with-- BONG!
"Aiyah! Kitchen Destroyer hit something!"
"Are you complaining about my driving, Shampoo?!" Akane snarled, wrestling with the ship's controls, madly dodging obstacles, evading weapons fire, and savagely retaliating with the ship's own weapons. There was no real reason or explanation why the controls for an alien aircraft looked and responded like a familiar earthly video game console--Truthfully, Akane neither knew, or cared. Akane was a here and now kind of gal.
She was also Nerima born and bred. And one of Nerima's Rules Of Survival (8th edition. Published by Nabiki Press) stated simply--Just accept It. Whatever It happens to be. Even if It
is a gendershifting boy--Unless, It
happened to be a Pervert, Akane amended. And a strange foreigner grabbing her arm and spouting a foreign language at her certainly had to be a pervert!
Although . . .Akane admitted sheepishly to herself, feeling a little bit guilty, maybe she should have waited a little, and made certain he was a pervert like Nabiki suggested, before sending him flying with Mallet-sama.
"What Shampoo means, little sister, is that something hit us
," said Nabiki soothingly, her head down, examining the small collection of paper and plastic in her hands. "With all the stuff flying around here that's not surprising." Nabiki contemplated the American currency in her hands, credit cards, a crumbled flyer from a business apologizing to its customers ('Dear loyal Party Town Customers--We are sorry for the inconvenience, but we are temporarily close due to PCP gang activity. Thank you. For refunds and inquires--
'), and the two plastic ID cards--One of them, a driver's license, with a birth date placing the owner as a twenty-one year old, the other, a student ID, given the age at sixteen. Amused, Nabiki admired the realistic looking driver's license--High quality phony ID cards were one of the many products Nabiki Tendo dispensed as part of her services to the student population of Furinkan High.
Setting aside her admiration for a professionally well done forgery, Nabiki focused on what they meant: She and her sisters, and two . . .hmm . . .associates
, had gone to bed and awoke in the bodies of strangers. American teenagers, sixteen years old each one of them, in a town named Sunnydale, in the state of California. A town being attacked by aliens--Nabiki glanced at the unconscious figure hog-tied and gagged by Shampoo's feet. Ridged forehead, glowing yellow eyes (when open and conscious) and a mouth (gagged with a torn off, bunched up, strip off its own shirt, and expertly tied into place by one of Kodachi Kono's ribbons) of sharp pointy teeth.
It had approached them while they where still staring at the disappearing dot of Air Akane's latest passenger. Grinned, showing off a mouthful of dangerous teeth, and made a comment--"Mmmm, what a yummy selection of buns and muffins!" Nabiki knew enough English to translate what it was talking about. But Akane just understood the tone and the hungry stare--Akane's battle aura flared up, Mallet-sama appeared in her hand (For the second time!), and the next moment saw a battered and unconscious, twitching alien, with Xs for eyes, on the slightly indented ground.
Now that, Nabiki thought coldly, the creature had earned!
Nabiki suggested they board and appropriate the alien's aircraft. She pointed out that that way they would have some shelter from the insanity they had been transported to, and possibly a ride back home to Japan. Akane immediately appropriated the pilot seat for herself and sent the aircraft lurching upward before anyone else could protest. What Nabiki kept silent about was her gleeful anticipation of all the money she was going to make when she sold the alien and it's aircraft.
"Ha! I see you, Pervert! Take this!" Akane shouted suddenly.
Nabiki jerked her head up, and saw through the front windshield, a bolt of green energy striking a white haired, leather coat wearing man, making his flesh go transparent. His bones lit up like a bright neon sign.
"Yes! Got him!" Akane grinned in satisfaction.
"Uh . . .little sister? Why did you fire on that man?"
"Because he was a pervert!" Akane answered in a 'Duh!' voice.
"Oh, and you know this because . . .?"
Akane snorted. "He was hiding in the bushes!"
"Ah." Nabiki decided to leave it at that. Arguing with her baby sister, when she was in a 'Smash Pervert' mood, never worked out.
"Oh, my!" A gentle voice exclaimed. "Does this look like a face to you?"
Nabiki turned to the oldest Tendo sister, Kasumi, and the indentation she was pointing to.
Huh, curiously, it did, sort of, look like a face--Caught sticking out its tongue, in fact . . .Nabiki cocked her head, puzzled; she narrowed her eyes . . .Now, why would that indentation remind her of Ranma?
A smoking, bloody, torn figure dropped on the roof of Ethane's costume shop.
The red headed girl straightened up from the partial stoop she had landed in, with an audible 'crack!' sound. Ranma's girl form grimaced in pain as she massaged the lower portion of her back with her fingers and palm. Ranma eyes darted to the roof ground before and around her, noted what was there, and was glad she had caught sight of the odd energies coming off the roof in time to divert her landing, and land beside the traps instead of on them. She then raised her eyes up to stare at the black painted, roof entry door leading down into the building. Absently, she patted at the small tongues of flame, dancing on her left hip, until only smoke tendrils remained. Gracefully and with great skill, Ranma wove her way through the traps laid out on the roof floor, until she stood to the side of the roof door.
Ranma considered the electronic deadbolt lock securing the roof door, and ran through her head what she knew of the lock. Surprisingly, there had been a few times Ranma had been grudgingly grateful for her father's teachings of the Anything Goes Lockpicking technique. Genma was better at teaching thievery then martial arts. She reached out with tools made out of Ki and Ironcloth technique--Working quickly and silently, Ranma reflected on the mage seemingly comfortable enough with modern technology to incorporate it with magic. Mostly to curse the mage to the deepest level of Hell available, but also to consider how that trait could cause trouble for her.
With a sudden wince, she stopped what she was doing; Ranma reached up, and into, the raggedy, scorched remains of her left sleeve, and pulled out a large, pulsating, greasy gray worm. The mouth end greedily devouring a bloody strip of her flesh. Ranma sent a pulse of Ki through the fingers holding the worm, and absently flicked away any ashy residue still clinging to her fingertips. She returned to concentrate on the door and it's protections--Both mundane and mystical.
On her way down, into the store, she disabled or avoided a dozen traps; on ominous quiet feet, Ranma stealthily glided behind a gray haired foreigner. Not that he likely would have noticed her, not with all the giggling and laughing he was doing--His eyes and attention was focused on the large, square hand mirror he was holding. Looking over his shoulder, Ranma could see the images of the ongoing mayhem and savage horror taking place in the town. Rage sprouted up in Ranma's belly and chest, as the sorcerer laughed outright at a small, possessed child clawing and biting a screaming, struggling woman held down by three other possessed children. She had no doubts about the lethal potential of the sorcerer she was stalking--Cologne, and other mages, Ranma had faced, had installed a healthy respect in the young martial artist for their Powers.
The energy threads Ranma had been following came from a weird looking white bust. Years previous to her encounter with Jusenkyo she would have just smashed the bust. But the cursed springs, and other magical experiences, had taught Ranma to deal with those things with strict caution.
She needed information--And there was only one person who could provide it.
Ethan never sensed the fist that laid him down on the floor. He raised up his pain tearing eyes at the tiny, red headed girl in the red Chinese shirt and black pants. He felt himself wither under her cold, uncompromising stare.
"Now, Magician-san," she said softly, in Japanese. "We'll have a talk."
That night, Ethan Raynes, life long dedicated troublemaker, was given one of the most professional beatings he would ever experienced in his life, by the fists and feet of one Ranma Saotome, currently in the body of Buffy Anne Summers, Slayer.
Somewhere, someplace the Greater Spirit of The Slayer looked on in approval--And was pleased.
Ranma Saotome picked up Janus's bust, oblivious to the small, bleeding cuts on her hands, and the smeared blood from the unconscious Chaos mage, Ethan Rayne, mixing with her own. Unnoticed, upon contact with the bust, the blood vanished. Ranma raised the bust up to ear level and flung it up against a wall, shattering it and releasing a flood of white energy!
Bedlam! It was utter bedlam
, in what was suppose to be the quietest night of the year!
That was the first thought that Angel was struck with as he stood on the street, jerking his head from side to side, staring at the impossible sight of fictional and mythological characters rushing by, or engage in combat with someone or something equally impossible!
His sensitive ears picked up on the terror and pain and confusion in the screams, and moans, and the abruptly ended shrieks stabbing the air in every direction. Angelus stirred inside him and chuckled in dark appreciation at the scent of Human blood and all the things spilled out of a Human body upon injury or death. With clenched teeth, Angel quickly shoved down on the amused demon until it was a mere dark pinprick on the peripheral of his conscious. In retaliation, it sent up a small wave of hate and rage--Like a fast slap to the face. Angel barely acknowledged it.
Obviously dark magic was at work . . .Angel ducked as a spear flew where his head at been. The Slayer! Where was the Slayer? Where was Buffy?
Buffy! He had to find Buffy! She needed him! But where could she be? He remembered she had Halloween escort duty . . .Could she have returned to her house? Angel rushed away in the direction of Buffy's house, fending off the possessed and panic stricken Humans. Five blocks away Angel spotted Cordelia Chase and The Cordettes.
Cordelia had her long hair hidden under a pageboy cut blue tinted wig; she was dressed as a little girl, with a jumper style blue dress, over a white blouse with short puff-sleeves, wearing maryjane shoes with white socks. Harmony was wearing a black, rose embroidered leotard, expertly twirling a red gymnastic ribbon around her body--Incongruously, there were small piles of black rose petals at her feet. Aura was wearing a long, purple wig; she had on a close fitting Chinese pantsuit, and was holding a pair of bonboris like she knew how to use them. Aphrodesia was dressed as an Earth Mother figure, wearing a calf length dress, an apron over it, clutching a medical book, and projecting the calmest, gentlest aura Angel had ever seen. Gwen was dressed in a yellow kimono--The sharp, calculating look on her face caused chills to run up and down his spine.
Angel was about to pass them by, but he hesitated . . .He had a wild idea, coming in from some dark, insane space in his mind (he later suspected Angelus), to ask Cordelia if she had seen Buffy? Better get this over quick, then, he growled to himself, coming to a decision. Angel dashed forward, grabbed Cordelia's arm, and managed to say--"Cordelia! Have you seen Bu--?"
"Pervert!" Cordelia screamed in Japanese. Angel watched in frozen fascination as a huge
wooden mallet suddenly appeared in Cordelia's hand! It came up in an underhand swing, and the next thing Angel could consciously remember from that point were pretty white stars and colorful flares taking over his vision.
Whistling wind and cold air pressed in on his returning senses. Wha-? What? Where am I? What's happening?
Angel opened his eyes and-and-and . . .Is that the ground coming up?
Angel later told himself (after returning back to consciousness for the second time) the trench he had made, upon impact with the desert ground, was really not that long or that deep at all. He kept telling himself that after climbing out of the trench. The Vampire With A Soul staggered around in a wobbly confused circle, before catching the glow of Sunnydale's lights against the horizon. Colorful flares burst briefly into life within its corona. Angel peered confused and dazed at the glow before his faced cleared up, and he executed a slight resolved nod. He tugged the ripped and tattered edges of his leather jacket against the scorched strips of his silk shirt, raising a small cloud of dust. With a lurching staggered walk, Angel headed back to Sunnydale.
A Vampire constitution was a wonderful thing. Angel had no complain about it; as some point during his trek back to Sunnydale, his lurching, zombish gait turned into a graceful speedy run.
He hit the edge of the town, and plowed straight towards Buffy's house. Determined not to be stopped by anything! CRASH!
Unless it was a brick wall collapsing on top of him.
"Where the HELL am I now!"
In stunned disbelief, Angel felt feet march across his brick buried back, with his one unburied eye saw a dark haired teenage boy, wearing a yellow and black striped bandana, supporting a huge backpack with a red umbrella strapped to the top of it.
Angel heard the boy angrily mutter, "This is all Ranma's fault!" as he walked away.
For a long moment Angel remained buried under the rubble. "What the hell was that?" He murmured, stunned. A sudden 'click' sounded in his brain, and Angel remembered--"Buffy!"
With a tremendous heave, Angel exploded out of the rubble! He was covered in gray dust, and his clothing hung from him in tatters. But he was determined and--Angel's danger sense suddenly caused him to jerk his head up!
Cordelia's maniacally grinning face stared down at him from behind the windshield of an incoming gray, boxy aircraft.
"Erp!" He croaked before his world exploded into green light, then darkness--Again.
With a howling roar, an explosion of white energy burst through Ethan's Costume Shop! It swept up into the sky with a hurricane's howling force, and out throughout the town. Feathers, fur, skin and armor turned back into ordinary costumes as the explosive white light smashed through the afflicted town.
At that moment, shadowing the road, a boxy gray aircraft flew after its elusive prey. The small, purple Gi clad figure running full out in front of the aircraft cackling madly, while a huge cloth sack, carried over a shoulder, bounced with every dodging step as green beams of destructive light barely missed the small man.
The White Light caught the aircraft and a gray, bakery delivery truck suddenly slammed down five hard feet into the asphalt! Wheels popped off and bounced away, the body and undercarriage of the vehicle came into contact with the blacktop, creating gigantic flaming sparks as it skidded down the road, swerving, and coming to a crashing stop after hitting a light post; the driver and passengers within screaming throughout it all!
As Cordelia and the Cordettes abandoned their stolen ride in a fast run, they were each glad they had left the vampire they had confiscated the truck from, tied to the top of a flagpole.
No one took note of the plastic bag tucked under the seat, with the name 'Ethan's Costume Shop' on it. Or the partially used sheets of decals in it--Or the large, colorful decals attached to the dashboard creating a spaceship control console. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
And they all lived happily ever after. The End--NOT!
I plan on writing just two chapters before stamping a "Complete" on this story. I'll try
to get the second, and last, chapter out before Halloween, but no promises!
Okay, a few things . . .
I decided to leave Xander as a Soldier. They're going to need his mystically gained knowledge and skills to deal with The Judge and The Mayor.
Willow still chooses to go as a ghost, finds Xander, but unable to find Buffy, they both end up running straight to the library, and Giles, instead of detouring to Buffy's house. And without Cordelia to provide the final clue that leads them to Ethan, Giles and the transformed Scoobies spend the time, until Janus's bust is broken, trying to find a solution in the books.
I did make Akane a bit more pervert obsessed then she ought to be--To her fans, sorry about that.
The little guy in the purple Gi? Happosai, of course! Ryoga Hibiki smashed through the wall that collapsed on Angel.
Anyway, I thank you for reading this story, this chapter. Bye-bye!