Author's Note: The following story is for now my last adaptation of shaggy dog stories taking place in Sunnydale and involving the cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I may or may not write more of these, but in any case, here's a final offering!
Several weeks after arriving at Sunnydale to take up the mantle of a full Watcher, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was warily walking well past midnight through one of that California city’s many graveyards. Adding to the usual extreme danger of this, the young man was at the moment completely on his own without any bit of backup from Miss Lehane, Miss Summers, or anyone else from the small group nicknamed the Scooby Gang who knew about and fought against their hometown's vampires and other supernatural monsters.
There was an actual reason for Wesley’s reckless actions tonight, all due to his discomfited awareness that he was indeed far too inexperienced and unproven for the vast responsibility of being in charge of a Slayer. However, there was no possible way he was about to come right out and admit this to the same people for which Wesley had already earlier managed to set speed records at thoroughly pissing them off by all his recent fussy, pompous, and high-handed behavior.
Floundering around for some way to prove to these offended associates that he was in fact a proper Watcher, Wesley eventually came up with a quite clever plan to impress Mr. Giles and the others by performing a Sunnydale patrol all by himself late one night. Afterwards, he'd let slip this daring accomplishment during one of the group's meetings at the high school library, and then make a modest acknowledgement on how well his fellow defenders of humanity had carried out the same perilous tasks. This would hopefully send a signal to them that Wesley was offering everyone a discreet apology without diminishing too much his dignity and authority. Perhaps it would then lead to a desired outcome in which Wesley’s status was no longer viewed as lower than a leper by the rest of the Scoobies. That specific snubbing definitely included Miss Chase...
Pausing in the dark, silent, and seemingly deserted graveyard still managing to give off a truly menacing air all too common to the Hellmouth's environs, Wesley began to wonder if this was really such a good idea. Mind you, there hadn't been a single confrontation here yet with any form of bellicose demon (or even a disinterested much less a friendly one), but that didn't mean things couldn't become most unpleasant for him at any time--
From behind, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his right shoulder.
With his terrified heart now in his mouth, Wesley abruptly spun around on both feet in a half-circle to see where that unexpected touch had just come from without any prior warning. He ended up staring nearly nose-to-nose with a nearby vampire in game face.
A midget vampire in game face who was standing atop an adjacent tombstone in order to match the much-taller Watcher’s eye level.
midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt.
A Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt who then swung with blurring speed a diminutive fist right into Wesley’s face.
A few moments later while lying flat on his back onto the grass, a dazed Wesley with a throbbing jaw felt a weight land lightly upon his chest. The young Englishman blearily opened his eyes to observe the Scots midget vampire now perched with bare feet at that specific portion of Wesley’s body after hopping from the tombstone. The bizarre little creature of the night was looking down at him with an expression of thorough disgust borne on his own misshapen demonic features, all while keeping his hands exasperatedly resting on his hips.
In a thick Caledonian accent, this vampire irritably told Wesley, “Och, laddie, that were awfu’ pathetic! Be awa’ wi’ yeh, I’m no’ in the mood for takin’ the life of such a glaikit Sassenach sumph.”
With that last contemptuous insult, the kilted vampire leapt off Wesley and scampered away into the night without another word, leaving behind the bewildered human dismissively gifted with his survival. Wesley eventually got up, staggered out of the graveyard, and reached his new apartment elsewhere in town without any further trouble. There, however, he glanced at the bathroom mirror to wince at the substantial, colorful bruise already forming onto and taking up most of his lower visage. Dry-swallowing a few aspirins straight out of the bottle, the neophyte Watcher gloomily wondered how the Scoobies were going to react tomorrow at school to that souvenir of yet another ludicrous blunder by him.
Nobody said anything. Not Mr. Giles, his Slayer, Wesley’s
Slayer, Xander, Willow, Cordelia, et al. Instead, everyone in the Sunnydale High Library the next morning acted around the newcomer from England as if he wasn’t actually there, much less appearing to have lost a match with a pro boxer in just one punch. Even if he hadn't wanted to talk about it in the first place, all of this unconcerned behavior by the others throughout the rest of the day still slowly ignited a sense of honest outrage within Wesley’s mind at this complete indifference directed towards him. Well, he’d show them!
The subsequent night, Wesley stalked through the same graveyard as before where there'd been such a preposterous chance meeting with a little monster who was going to pay for it, see if he wouldn't! His gripped crossbow was cocked, loaded, and ready to send its wooden bolt through that blasted Scots titch's unbeating heart. Except, in all the ensuing and methodical search, Wesley found no trace whatsoever of his quarry. At length coming back to the same spot in the center of the cemetery where he'd already investigated this three times already without any success, the Watcher stopped to glance around in the darkness--
From behind, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his left shoulder.
In the course of seemingly a single second, Mr. Wyndam-Pyice levitated straight up a good yard, let out a little-girl shriek of fright, gave a panicked squeeze of the crossbow trigger which uselessly sent off with a Twang!
sound the arrow disappearing into the distance ahead, and spun around in mid-air. He landed on his feet just in time to receive an identical potent clout in his right eye from the tiny fist of the Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt and standing atop yet another tombstone.
A few moments later while again lying flat on his back onto the ground, a dazed Wesley with an aching head once more felt a weight land lightly upon his chest. The young Englishman blearily opened his sole working eye to observe the Scots midget vampire now perched at that portion of Wesley’s body for a second time. Though, in this case, the pint-sized vampire in his lower, knee-length, wraparound tartan garment was sadly regarding Wesley while slowly shaking his head.
The graveyard then heard a doleful announcement delivered by a former inhabitant of the region north of Hadrian's Wall, "Laddie, that time were even wuuuurse! Have yeh no' heard of at least tryin'?
The following morning, Buffy, Giles, Faith, and the other three Sunnydale natives totally ignored how Wesley sat in the shadows of the far corner of the school library, thoroughly sulking in the chair there with his magnificent black eye.
Right after sunset, Wesley stormed into a certain graveyard all tooled up for anything this side of the Normandy invasion. He had a crossbow in both hands, holstered canteens filled with holy water attached onto a belt around his hips, another belt with a half-dozen sheathed stakes carved to a needle point running diagonally along his chest, and dangling from a necklace was a gaudy crucifix which the pop star Madonna would've considered positively excessive.
This time a furious human kept his weapons aimed directly at the top of each and every tombstone until these slabs of granite were scrupulously checked for his adversary. All to no avail; there didn't seem to be the slightest trace of that hated foe--
From ahead, a finger briskly tapped Wesley on his right kneecap.
The startled Watcher looked down at a Scots midget vampire in game face dressed solely in a kilt, just before the miniature demon standing in front of Wesley then inflicted upon this young human an expert headbutt. Though, given the disparity in their sizes, the vampire’s Glasgow Kiss delivered with tremendous force didn't finish with the collision together of two skulls but rather ended in a vigorous impact precisely onto Wesley's unprotected groin.
Eventually, the Watcher's total agony lessened sufficiently for him to weakly peer out from where he was lying curled up in a ball upon the graveyard grass. Tears still dripping down his face, Wesley just barely noticed how that vampire was waiting a few feet away, all while thoughtfully regarding the defeated human.
However, the young Englishman's absolute attention was then immediately captured by that Scots fiend's next satisfied declaration about solving a minor bothersome mystery regarding not just tonight’s meeting but also their two previous encounters. This cheerful statement made to a horrified Wesley was likewise accompanied by the height-challenged vampire reaching for the waistband of the kilt it was wearing while amiably saying, "Laddie, yer no' here for the fightin', are yeh?"