Title: Tales From Beyond the Crypt
Author: Team Socket
Rating: PG13… ish, for the season
Main characters: The dead people! So far, Jonathan, Anya, Cordelia, Lindsey, Lilah, Ethan, Doyle, Lee Mercer (remember? The lawyer who went splat on Lindsey late season one?), and Amanda.
Ships: None yet. Any that y’all would like to see? It’ll have to be amongst the dead people, or dead people/people of other fandoms, but I’ll try it.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, for this chapter they belong to Joss Whedon. He’s like the Old Testament God, I swear it.
Distribution: FFN, TTH, anywhere else that wants it (just hit the review button and tell me, por favour).
Notes: Set in canon (gasp!), post “Chosen”, post Angel 5.12 “You’re Welcome”. Not all of the assorted dead people will appear, because I don’t know enough about them to write them.
“This sucks. I mean, we were there from day one, and then we’re just disposed of! This sucks!” the short twenty-two year old ranted in annoyance, arms flailing.
“I know!” said an indignant dyed-blonde.
“Oh, shut up Blondie. You didn’t come in until third season, and you know it,” snapped the brunette.
“What gets me, I mean REALLY gets me, is the fact that he killed two characters, fan favorites at that!, in one episode! One episode! And it wasn’t even a finale of any sort!” ranted a shaggy haired guy in the background, pacing back and forth and occasionally spitting out mouthfuls of blood.
“At least you got like five episodes this season before you died! I got like three mentions, then killed the same episode I reappeared in! And _I_ was on the original show, unlike you!” the brunette snapped at him.
“Yeah, but people _liked_ me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“At least you didn’t have your head cut off,” sulked another person from a corner of the featureless room.
“No, _I_ got stabbed in the gut!” snapped the original speaker.
“At least the fans know you’re dead,” the older British man said. “I was shoved off into “jail”, never to be heard from again.”
“Shut up, Chaos-boy. This discussion is for those who were there _at the beginning_,” snarked the brunette.
“Of which show?” a lilting Irish voice asked.
“Either. It doesn’t really matter.”
“Well then, I just wanted to say that at least all of you got more than, what, ten episodes? And you weren’t replaced by some annoying uppity British guy, either.”
“Oh just wait.”
“So, who’s gonna die next?”
Most of the room groaned. “This again?”
“Why not? We’re DEAD, morons, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
A voice, normally quiet, piped up in the back. “I say Fred.”
Everyone rounded on him. “What are _you_ doing here?”
“Do you know how long it took to wash your blood out of my shirt?” Everyone turned to stare at the Texan. “Uh, that is, what’re you doing here?”
“Same thing as the rest of you.” He sniffed. “I had fans too, you know.”
“Right. So there was what, three people who knew your name?”
“You have to admit, my being shot was shocking!”
“Only because it wasn’t me being shot.”
“Well, yes. But you HAVE to admit, I was better liked than that annoying Asian guy, Gavin whomever, was!"
“Yeah, because you were only there for one season.”
“I think Wesley is going to die next.”
“Any, you know, _reason_ why, or just a random thought?”
“Well, I mean, no one likes him –“ she ignored the cries claiming he was the third favourite on the show, right after Angel and Spike, “- and his assistant guy, Circus-“
“Whatever. Anyway, his assistant was evil-“
“That was good work, if I don’t say so myself.”
“Don’t. But ANYWAY.” She glared around the now-silent room. “He’s gonna be visiting us soon, because he’s got-“
“HAD! An evil assistant, and doesn’t have that good of a track record anyway.”
“Actually, he does. I mean, that many close calls, no deaths?” Thanks to a certain blonde Slayer, they now used the plural of death when referring to one person. “That’s pretty damn good in my book.”
“I have come to the conclusion that death sucks.”
“No, really. Please, shrimp, do astound us with more of your shocking intellect.”
“Sarcasm really isn’t very befitting of you.”
“And English isn’t really benefiting you in anyway,” she snapped.
“Why does death suck? I mean, it does, but why do you think it sucks?”
“Mainly because I’m stuck in this boring white room with you psychopaths, but also the death part.”
“Sooo, where do you think we are?”
The answer was immediate. “Purgatory.”
“Right. So Mr. I-Sold-My-Soul-to-the-Evil-Lawyers, and Mr. I-Also-Sold-My-Soul-to-Evil-Lawyers-But-Also-Tried-to-Double-Cross-Them-With-Other-Evil-People are here… why?”
A long pause. “Alright, I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“Well, plenty of time to think on it.”
From the corner, a girl’s bored voice sounded. “Trogdor… Trogdor…”
“Sad thing is, Trogdor girl there is probably the most sane of us all.”
“First of all, I’m not completely sure if that was correct English, and secondly, my name is NOT ‘Trogdor girl’.
“That’s nice. No one cares.
In another portion of the room:
“I can’t believe you died saving that jerk. He killed me, y’know!”
“Oh, get over it. We all die every now and then.”
“What, has it not gotten to you that we are DEAD? As in, NOT LIVING?”
“Not really. I mean, how could I, what with the fact that we’re sitting here talking. Generally, death means nothingness.”
“Yeah. You’ve got a point there.”
And then, yea, there was a flash of light. And yea, all the dead people were no longer dead. Well, okay, they were still dead in _that_ dimension, but who really cares about stinky dimensions in which you’re dead? They certainly didn’t!