All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners, Joss Whedon and Rovio. No money is being made from this work.Summary:
Just a little Crack Fic really.
Spike were slowly coming to, wondering what the hell kind of sorcery that crazy red headed bint had thrown at him this time. He had no intention of asking why, Scoobies and vamps didn't make the best of bed fellows after all. At least most of the time they didn't.
Still, he felt ... odd was probably the best way to describe it.
A what was that weird noise next to him?
You didn't get to live, or is that un-live, a few centuries without having at least a few functioning braincells, and Spike just knew that things were not looking well for him, and had so far refused to open his eyes to see just how bad a situation he was in. At least he weren't dust, he was reasonably sure of that, because there is no way dust could hurt as badly as his head was at this moment. The bright sun light weren't doing him any favours either. Neither was the weird honking noises next to him, and what was he doing in a pig st...SUN!
Spike opened his eyes, part of him immediately regretted it of course, but right now his vampire instincts were screaming at him full bore. He was in the sun light. He could feel it's warmth on his skin, yet as much as he wanted and tried to run, he weren't moving. At all.
Slowly it came to him that he weren't burning anyway, wondering what kind of sorcery were at play. That had to wait, first he had to relax, and try to take stock of his situation. Not as easy a task as his head was still pounding, the bright sunlight didn't help either. Neither were the aggressively chirping birds in the distance.
Looking around he could only see part of a grass plain, with some wooden and glass structures around him on either side and a crate just below him, with the letters TNT written on it. The crate of TNT did worry him though, but with no obvious timers on it it might be a non issue. Yep, still in denial, knowing his luck it probably was going to be, but there was not a lot he could do about it, being unable to run as it were.
And why couldn't he? He wasn't restrained from what he could tell, just sitting on his stomach, with his four feet dangling in the air.
Four green feet, on a round green body...with a snout!
The gravity of the situation was starting to dawn on him. The absurdity of it was quite frankly indescribable. What the hell had that stupid homeless guy he drank last night been on??
Yet try as he might to convince himself that he were indeed just on some crazy trip, it felt real. And desperation was starting to set in. If he were right, he was in a world of trouble. He and the other green pigs around him. Pigs who looked just about as terrified as he felt.
Of course that realization didn't do him any good either, nor did it help relieve that heavy sensation of dread and imminent doom he was starting to feel.
He looked to his left as far as he could. He probably should have done that a bit sooner he thought. Then again, ignorance is bliss they say, he certainly would have given a lot to have stayed in that state of bliss, just a little longer. The view did not fill him with any confidence towards his immediate future well being. While he could barely see the slingshot, the ... birds were visible enough, though he had to wonder why they were resembling the cursed Scooby gang. The two that stood out was the little black one, with a crocked, almost manic grin on it's face, which somehow reminded him of Xander. Then there was the yellow one, twirling a stake of all things. The black one waved at him, chirping angrily, and started to jump up the stairs towards the slingshot.
There are just days where you wish you had stayed in bed, Spike thought, hoping the bloody shooter had bad aim...