The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.Summary:
B:tVS, Fear Factor. Reality television will never be the same. 450 words.Spoilers:
B:tVS post-"Chosen"; nothing in particular for "Fear Factor"Notes:
Twentieth entry for the August Fic-A-Day challenge. My brain is starting to hurt from the unrelenting effort to be witty, plotty, and grammatically correct for several hundred words every day; something had to give. Hence, crackfic. (Posted before the rule about reality TV = non-crossover came into being.)
Buffy clicked the TV on for her Monday "of course I don't watch that, don't be ridiculous!" guilty entertainment, and nearly did a spit-take when she saw the lineup of participants for the night's episode.
Carefully, she set the cup of hot Darjeeling tea (not her idea, either, really; she blamed Giles-training for its habitual presence in her comfort hour) on the coffee table and gaped at the screen. When she'd heard Andrew joking the week before that fear was evidently not a factor for Faith, she'd thought he was just catch-phrasing again, and not very cleverly either. Where had she been when casting had been going on for this?
There Faith stood, side-by-side with Kennedy-- wait, where was Willow? Wasn't she worried about what it would look like, loaning her girlfriend out for a-- no, nevermind, this was a sibling event, not a couple one. "FAITH AND KENNEDY LEHANE, MARTIAL ARTS COACHES" flashed in white letters beneath the girls' images in the introduction sequence. Buffy curled further back into the couch and pulled her knees up beneath her chin, slightly dizzied by the surreality of it. Faith, she could see doing this in a heartbeat; who had put Kennedy up to it?
The show's host, Joe Rogan, began explaining the first stunt-- something involving a spinning disc hanging from a helicopter, the siblings being chained together, and how long it would take for them to unlock each other and dive into the water beneath. The first couple, a brother and sister who looked vaguely American Indian in heritage, stripped down to swimsuits and put on the life vests and safety harnesses; Buffy watched them trying to psych each other up for the event, and couldn't help but compare their nervous behavior to the calm, dark-haired Slayers who stood smugly awaiting their turn.
She gasped suddenly as that comparison sank in. Slayers. Slayers on a reality show filled with normal human beings, being asked to do dangerous and daring things. She'd been thinking about this all the wrong way, being jealous of her friends going on a show she'd have given up Mr. Pointy to enter; she hadn't even considered the strategic aspect of it.
They were so
going to kick ass.
Buffy's clubbed-fish impression shifted into a predatory smirk, one that most intelligent creatures of the night knew meant to flee as fast as they could. This was going to be good. And not just because she was so going to claim the prize money they'd obviously won for the Slayer operations fund, which was running low until Giles could get his hands on the old Council's offshore accounts.
This was going to give her quip material for decades