Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and DC Comics characters are the property of their original owners.
Buffy Summers looked down at where her foot was nailed to the floor.
Performing a graceful display of feminine suppleness, the blonde girl bent double at the waist, keeping her legs straight and leaving her butt held high in the air in her best leather pants. In this position, Buffy intently examined the object an inch from her face that was protruding from the top of her right shoe.
This shoe was one of an hideously expensive pair, which got put on sale by mistake last week so that Buffy had to fight off two other women in the shoe store who’d also spotted at the same time the splendiferous prize displayed on the counter, which turned out to fit perfectly and absolutely comfortably the little tootsies of Mrs. Summers’ only daughter.
That shoe was now totally ruined.
Delicately gripping with her thumb and forefinger the slender object which had effortlessly penetrated both her shoe and three inches of the concrete floor below, Buffy slowly yanked this out, and the Slayer felt the ultra-sharp object she was removing brush against the inner sides of her first two toes. Pulling free the weapon making a lucky, one-in-a-million hit a few seconds ago on her foot in such a way to leave her completely unharmed, Buffy straightened up, and she felt her vision slowly blur into red mists of pure fury as she glared at Xander Harris.
The guy who’d done this to her shoe.
Holding up the stiff barb she was still gripping to point it directly at the paling Scooby Gang member, Buffy glided forward, the enraged thundering of her heartbeat easily drowning out the anxious gabble from Xander. About someone called Porcupine Pete, how he didn’t really get around to improving his aim until much later in the comics, and listen, Buffster, there’s no way I could’ve avoided being changed by Chaos magic in this exact situation!
As he rattled off his latest justification, Xander also frantically waved an arm in the general direction of the enormously obese body of Balthazar the demon dissolving in his water-filled tank, trying to direct Buffy’s attention back to their latest victory. There, that unholy creature resembling a diseased beachball the size of a car had just been punctured with a hundred or so spikes fired off by Xander in the short time he’d been Porcupine Pete. Continuing to retreat from the slowly advancing girl, Xander wondered if he could get away with asking Buffy if she hadn’t ever been tempted to jab a needle into an inflated balloon, just to see what would happen.
Looking right into the homicidal expression now displayed upon the Slayer’s face, the young man sensibly decided it was a lost cause, so he spun around and Xander proceeded to run like hell. The only thing slowing him down was the need to dodge when necessary around the rest of the thousand or so other
spikes peppering the entire factory. All due to an appalling lack of accuracy from a member of the Legion of Substitute Heroes, alas.
During his terrified flight, Xander groused under his breath, “Dammit, now I’m turning into those
guys? What, did my Chaos magic decide the other superheroes weren’t providing enough fun and started branching out? Gee, what are the odds?”
Patiently tracking down her doomed prey, Buffy continued her composed stroll after him, knowing sooner or later she’d catch the vile shoe-destroyer known as Xander, and then she’d use the prickly quill in her hand to sufficiently express her displeasure by poking him with this many times.
Many, many, many times.