Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Laugh-In characters are the property of their original owners.
The eyeballs of the foul creature of the night presently standing there in the alley now shook, wobbled, vibrated, spun, wavered, and bounced in whatever direction needed to mirror exactly what this enthralled demon was fixedly watching. Specifically, the exquisitely taut pair of female buttocks flexing in their skin-tight white bikini bottom. As this supremely sexy part of a very fit young woman continued gyrating while she vigorously demonstrated the Watusi, the Frug, the Twist, and the Mashed Potatoes, it was absently reflected by Spike the vampire that he was having a hell of a lot more fun on this Halloween than he’d expected earlier tonight.
Just a few hours ago in the crypt they shared, his insane consort known as Drusilla had seemed then even more incoherent than usual, when that female vampire forlornly beseeched Spike to stay with her, babbling such nonsense as, “The black-clad woman of grim mien! The deadly bag! Oh, darling William, avoid the doom that is Gladys!”
Frankly, the undead Englishman could recall just once in his entire lifetime -- make that his existence -- when he’d encountered a lady bearing that
given name. Moreover, this had been back in Victorian times, when he’d been a wee nipper and his father had still been alive. This former resident of London who’d once been called William by his parents had long ago forgotten her surname (if he’d ever bothered to learn it), but his family actually on one occasion had a tweeny working for them bearing this same absurd first name. It was true that particular woman had dressed in black, but really, every maidservant had done this a century before in the past. Black clothing effectively hid the dirt, soot, and grime from their unceasing labors.
Plus, while the female employed in their upper-middle-class home had the presupposed cognomen of misfortune for the blond vampire, this same demon a hundred years later recalled she’d been built like a barrel, smelled of sweat and harsh soap, and possessed a walleye that truly fascinated an eight-year-old lad. Spike found it rather unbelievable that on this All-Hallows-Eve in Sunnydale that he would be in the slightest danger from somebody, anybody,
So, he’d taken his annoyed leave of the other vampire, going off to find some vicious amusement in the California city during tonight’s holiday, while Drusilla had fallen to the floor and beaten her head against the flagstones, loudly lamenting during all this, “Sweet, sweet Billy shall ne’er return! Lackaday! The fair maiden in her island raiment hath a guardian to make a dragon cower!”
She’d kept up with this and other codswallop until Spike had finally escaped out of hearing distance. Really, if she hadn’t eaten the last psychiatrist the British demon had kidnapped and presented to her a few months ago in a desperate attempt for some peace and quiet, maybe he would’ve actually bothered to listen to her warnings. They both could’ve stayed inside the crypt tonight for the vampires to pleasantly pass the time together by playing a few Halloween games such as bobbing for spleens, using his favorite whip to hold a tic-tac-toe contest on her naked back, and finishing off with a few rounds of Trivial Pursuit (Demon Version).