A Spelled Thanksgiving
tth100 Prompt: #035. Turkeys
Crossover: Stargate SG-1 Not season specific, but somewhere pre- season 5.
Note: Buffy set after Chosen. Written for the TtH100 community on Livejournal.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon, is property of 20th Century Fox Television, while Stargate SG-1 is the property of MGM and others. I'm fully aware that neither party belong to me.
The last thing Anya remembers is being dead.
It was quite unfair: Andrew was the one who was supposed to die. Not that she really wanted him to die, well, more than any of the others, except for Xander who she had had a very pleasant time with the previous night, but that didn't mean she wanted to be the one to die. She finds it unfair, and possibly discriminating against ex-demons. Andrew was supposed to be her shield.
That’s the last thing she remembers from this plane of existence. The feeling of unfairness, and pain, and blood and pain and sweat and pain... but anyway - none of that explains why she is in her current position.
She sees turkeys, and yams, and peas. She sees Xander, Andrew (alive, the little death-cheating monkey), Dawn, Buffy, Giles, Faith, Wood, Willow, and her lesbian Slayer girlfriend. As her gaze moves around the table, she sees Buffy’s married ex-boyfriend and four people she knows she has never seen before. Her brain may be all muddy from dying, and the subsequent death, but seeing as she recognizes Willow’s lesbian Slayer girlfriend, and the death-cheating monkey, she feels pretty confident that she hasn’t lost her memory. She also feels pretty confident that she has been resurrected somehow, the table feels too solid under her ass for her to be a ghost, or an astral projection. Or The First.
“Who are you?” The female, the one Anya doesn't know, asks curiously. Anya ignores her, and files the three men she also doesn’t know, away for future reference as possible sexual partners, they seem very capable and she needs a tune-up, then explores a bit more of her surroundings. Not Sunnydale. Probably not California. Probably not England, it looks too modern and doesn't have enough books for Giles.
“Why is she so silent?” Dawn whispers to Xander.
“Anya?” Buffy sounds disbelieving. “But you died in Sunnydale.”
Anya sighs and rolls her eyes. “What? You have a monopoly on returning from the dead, now?”
“There were circumstances,” Buffy mutters, when catching her married ex-boyfriend’s curious look.
Faith scratches her nose. “Ah, Ahn, I totally don’t want to rain on your resurrectional parade, or whatever it is you’re doing here, But you are aware that you’re naked, right?”
A quick peek down her torso, proves Faith right, for once. Anya is indeed naked, sitting on what she assumes to be Buffy’s (none of the others really seem to be as enthusiastic about the American holiday involving dead birds) Thanksgiving celebration. You’d think if they were to do a spell to resurrect her, that they at least manage to put some clothes on her. Not that she minds being naked, but she has been informed that one is traditionally not naked in polite company. Not that Anya considers this polite company, but she refrains from saying so. At least this once.
She purses her lips, takes a deep breath... clearly, this is a situation which can only be summed up by certain words: “Oh. Penis.”