Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are the property of their owners.
For the New Council, it was just another day at the office close to five years on since Sunnydale. Or, as Faith liked to call it no matter what part of the week this actually happened, “the Friday Night Fights.”
This evening, though, tonight’s current apocalypse was lasting longer than usual. Part of this was due to where Buffy and company consisting of about twenty Slayers, Watchers, and Mages plus Faith along with Willow for backup were battling yet another bunch of demon fanatics determined to bring about the end of everything. Rather than the usual decaying warehouses, hidden unholy temples, and other clichéd places of doom fondly regarded by those robed schmucks, the New Council forces were presently scattered throughout a few overgrown acres of what had once been a very isolated Michigan farm with its now-deteriorated house, barn, stables, and several outbuildings all in the same state of rack and ruin.
From what the Scotland-based organization dedicated to protecting the world from those who lurked in the dark had earlier learned, this same farm over the last century had a supremely evil reputation which would’ve caused such real and fictional human monsters as Ed Gein, the bloody Benders, and the entire kill-crazy cast of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
to speedily depart for safer pastures instead of sticking around that vile place and its equally malevolent inhabitants. For decades, the entire population of the rural county where the farm was located had been caught in the grip of absolute dread, so much that nobody dared to even talk about it among themselves much less the authorities. This same terrified silence also applied towards the occasional unaware tourist or other visitor who then went near by the farm, and never came back.
want to taste the pork products from there.
Anyway, sometime in the last decade an unknown disaster or calamity of some sort occurred precisely at the farm’s position with this resulting in those inbred denizens wholly vanishing from existence. Drawn to the spot by sensing how the overwhelming impression of horror which previously cloaked the entire place had dissipated just as quickly, several wary farming neighbors went to check this out. Still not daring to come anywhere too close, these observers scrupulously stayed far beyond the property line and watched the farm until they became completely sure the former residents which had been living there were no longer around, for whatever reason.
Heading back to their own homes, the relieved farmers willingly spread the glad information as to what they’d seen as low-key as possible to their friends and further neighbors, mostly out of sheer habit and a still-strong sense of reluctance to even think about that appalling farm. Yet, even though this place remained utterly deserted, its awful reputation made sure it remained undisturbed from the local vandals and curiosity-seekers.
Mind you, that didn’t stop quite peculiar rumors and gossip from eventually filtering out from the county to wider reception. At length, these stories came to the ears of a number of gruesome beings who were looking for just the right place to carry out a ceremony of such sacrilege and bloodthirstiness that it needed to be performed at a site where equivalent ghastly events had already happened there. In fact, the only problem facing the demons wanting to bring the day of reckoning far too soon was that they’d better hurry up and claim this prize or some other fiendish gang set on the earth’s destruction was going to beat them to that desired perfect spot. Rushing to the deserted farm, it turned out much to the demons’ delight to be exactly what they wanted, down to the bone-chilling miasma of atrocity even now hanging heavily inside the buildings.
Humming cheerfully while they set up the ceremony, accompanied by the tied-up sacrifices’ gagged whimpers, the demons were soon interrupted in their wrongdoing just after sunset by those pesky spoilsports known as the New Council. These same warrior women led by Buffy and Faith successfully carried out their main mission of rescuing the hostages, but after that, things didn’t quite go the way those young ladies expected in the normal course of events.
First, everyone on both sides of the conflict then got lost while busily sneaking through the farm and the thick woods surrounding this pitch-dark, unkempt area filled with additional concealing bushes and high grass. Over the next couple of hours, this fully dispersed all the combatants throughout the battlefield, with usually no more than two or three people together at once and trying to look in all directions at the same time to guard themselves from attack. Trying to find each other without revealing their presence to the enemy, plus the occasional cautious ambush upon their opponents after first making sure they weren’t going to kill anybody on their own side meant that long after the potential victims had been spirited away to safety by the Watchers given this important task, the Slayers and Mages were still spending the rest of the night at the farm hunting down and defending against the angry demons out for blood.
Those same fanged morons had somebody on their side tonight with serious mojo which must be the only reason they were still eager to fight on instead of running away, thought Buffy to herself while she ghosted alone through the woods. So far, Willow and her coven were still hopefully dealing with that same witch or wizard or some other freakin’ description of a person with magic powers also running around here, judging from the occasional loud explosion or sparkling fireworks coming from where Buffy had the farm at her right side. It was just as well, considering the last time Buffy personally went up against that hostile mage a couple of minutes ago, she’d barely held her own against the necromancy spell which had gone blasting over her ducking head to then hit a decrepit henhouse.
Zombie chickens were not
something Buffy was used to, and it’d resulted in a dozen painful pecks to her ankles until she turned every one of those squawking undead things into expanding clouds of nothing but feathers for once and all with the Scythe. The short but preposterous brawl between a human and the lurching fowl had ended up with Buffy driven deeper into the woods.
Giving a few irritated swings of the mystical weapon the blonde female was gripping with her right hand, Buffy peered around in the darkness without seeing anyone there, either friend or foe. Just lots of trees. This was getting ridiculous! The other girls must be around here somewhere, but so far in the confusion of the whole night, Buffy never had the chance to gather her forces without these being immediately broken up by other small groups of demons charging from out of the underbrush and getting into one-on-one fights with her sister Slayers. Not to mention her too, grumpily considered Buffy.
Just before the last skirmish which separated Buffy from Vanessa and Christine, two of the New Council Slayers brought over from Scotland, Vanessa suggested they do the most sensible thing and head towards the farmhouse. Unfortunately, Buffy had to tell these two young women that Willow and the other witches were doing their own big fight there against the demons’ enchanter, so it wasn’t a good idea to bother them without risking being turned by either side (accidentally or otherwise) into something green squatting on a lily pad and going “Ribbit!”
She’d just proven that, what with handily dealing with her own demon adversary while losing track of Vanessa and Christine doing the same and then deciding to try the former’s suggestion anyway regarding the farmhouse. That ended up with Buffy now fervently vowing to give up for the next several months any visits to El Pollo Loco, a Mexican-themed chicken restaurant chain. No matter how delicious she’d previously found the food there, it was going to take quite a while for Buffy to forget the crazed expressions in those birds’ beady eyes and how disturbing it was to have pairs of unfurled wings hungrily reaching for her feet…
Giving a quick shudder, Buffy glanced around at her surroundings again. Well, she didn’t think anyone else had seen that latest absurd incident, which was just fine with her. Now all Buffy had to do was to start all over again in finding the other Slayers and finish the job--
A very familiar pressure from her lower abdomen then announced itself to Buffy, who promptly groaned under her breath, “Oh, come on! Not now!”
Just like the rest of humanity throughout its history, Buffy’s protest was pointless. Particularly when her bladder gave another urgent demand that it wanted to be emptied right this minute.
Crossing her legs, Buffy desperately looked around at her location again. Alas, there were still nothing but an entire forest of woody trunks to be seen, with no sign whatsoever of a nice, clean bathroom. Wincing at both the growing ache under her panties and how this reminded her of some really awkward cemetery patrols back in her early Sunnydale days before she’d memorized all the locations of various gas stations, all-night diners and 24-hour convenience stores with their open restrooms, Buffy became resigned to her fate and began to shuffle towards the nearest clump of bushes. At every painful step, the Slayer bitterly regretted not bringing along some toilet paper--
Her eyes opening wide, Buffy stopped dead in her tracks to shift the Scythe over to her left hand. She then send the now-free right hand down and under the front collar of her blouse to bring out from there the necklace she was wearing. Peering at this fine gold chain hung with various small charms, Buffy found what she was looking for, a certain ornament shaped exactly like an old-fashioned outhouse, down to the tiny half-moon symbol carved at the top of the rectangular charm.
Grinning with utter delight, Buffy firmly squeezed between her thumb and forefinger the latest piece of magic given to her by Willow at the Slayer’s birthday party several months earlier. Looking ahead with eager expectation at something she’d never had a chance to use for real since then, Buffy saw glowing lines materialize in front of herself. These magical markings outlined a full-size outhouse, down to the latch at the side of the door. Dropping the necklace to have it dangle there against her blouse, Buffy reached out to the latch. It was completely solid at her touch, and Buffy wasted no time pulling on it to open the outhouse door which swung ajar with equal tangibility.
Stepping inside while holding onto the interior doorknob, Buffy closed this portal behind herself at the same instant that the room she’d just entered glowed with soft illumination from overhead panel lights. Staying there while her full bladder stopped hurting less in realizing that relief was now near, Buffy gratefully said out loud during her placement of the Scythe onto a handy wall shelf, “Willow, I love you! You do great work!”
The Slayer beamed at the luxuriously furnished pocket universe she now inhabited, all created by the Red Witch’s magic. It was a top-of-the-line women's bathroom, down to marble sinks with running water, thick carpet, oversized mirrors, the couch at one end, paneled cupboards filled with whatever she might need, and best of all, a double arrangement of side-by-side bidet and toilet had a never-ending paper roll set into the wall next to this latter plumbing item.
Striding over there while unbuttoning and unzipping her pants, Buffy turned around in the middle of lowering these plus her underwear to next sit down with a blissful sigh onto the toilet seat. As she began peeing, this woman was perfectly sure she wouldn’t be disturbed what with Willow’s magic both cloaking from sight the entry to this pocket universe from any hostile search and slowing time inside it so that no matter how long Buffy might stay there, she’d leave her friend’s mystical gift only a second afterwards in the outside universe.
That, and other things pertaining to such a thoughtful present had back then during the birthday party made Buffy hug Willow so hard the pleased witch’s face eventually turned the color of her hair. From where they were alone together for now at the celebration, a enthusiastic Buffy then told Willow good-naturedly catching her breath, “This is absolutely wonderful, Wils! Now, how long would it take you to make one of those for everyone else in the New Council?”
Going from an instant to smug glee at Buffy’s overjoyed delight at her gift into gaping astonishment over what this friend had just asked of her, Willow eventually sputtered, “Buffy, that’s thousands
of people! There’s no way I can do this for them all!”
Seeing Willow’s point, Buffy then optimistically proposed, “How about just for us Slayers? I’m telling you, they’ll elect you Queen of the world if all the girls get their own bathroom while they’re out in the field! No more ducking into alleys, finding a private spot somewhere among the gravestones, and… Well, you were there too, when both of us got caught short once in a while during our patrols. Xander never knew how lucky he was, not getting punched out by me whenever he announced he was going to see a man about a horse. It just isn’t fair, how guys only need to find the nearest wall to do their business.”
Willow in turn had to admit the truth of this and other embarrassing details of their past lives at the Sunnydale Hellmouth. She frowned thoughtfully, before suggesting, “Well, if it’s for the Slayers, I think I can handle that. It’s going to take a pretty long time, though, for each of them. I don’t see it being done with in less than a couple of years.”
Giving Willow another but a slightly less firm hug which still held matching gratitude, Buffy finished off this when the witch got back her breath again by thanking her, “That’s just fine, Wils. I figure we can distribute your presents in a fair way in some combination of a lottery and reward. Anyone can enter, but the Slayers who do a great job will have a better chance of winning. We’ll work out the details more after the party, all right?”
Several months later on her ceramic throne, Buffy Summers smirked to herself. Both she and Willow had become truly popular throughout the New Council due to how they controlled access to any member of this organization having their own magical bathroom. It’d been made a bit easier by Willow discovering the other witches of the New Council covens could perform the same spell once the Red Witch had taught them how to do this. Still, the backlog of requests for these comfort stations was still years in length since an uproar of protests from the male contingent of Watchers and castle support staff had them eventually being awarded a few of what was now referred to as ‘Slayer-loos.’
Only for those Watchers and the rest who actually went out with the Slayers in their hunts at night, though. It soon became the custom that the senior Watcher to carry the charm which created the bathroom, and for him and the other men to share this WC together during all patrols and potential apocalypses. When the grumbles over this disliked sharing reached Buffy’s amused attention, she sardonically informed them at dinner in the castle, “Suck it up, guys. You’re not getting any more bathrooms, and you know why?”
When the unfortunate men seated further down the cafeteria table squirmed under the Prime Slayer’s mocking gaze, she further had her revenge loudly announced throughout the entire fascinated room, “Because of something you must’ve seen before, going to sporting events, band concerts, and the movies! Well, if I have anything to say about it, this
time there’ll never be any long lines outside the ladies’ for us Slayers!”
Author’s Note: This little bit of crackfic came from the TV Tropes website having to do with how superheroes go to the bathroom. A subject which has naturally preoccupied a good many people over the years, including the Sergio Aragones MAD Magazine cartoon of Batman getting his cape caught in a flushing toilet… Well, the Buffyverse has finally come up with a quite elegant solution as presented here.