RATING PG
CONTENT Some violence, a few dirty words
SPOILER WARNINGS Nome as far as I can see
SUMMARY A parody of Melinda Dawney's "Friendship" and "Counterpoint"
DISCLAIMER Joss Whedon owns 'em, I don't. The original story here is Melinda Dawney's. I thank her for letting me do this.


COUNTERPLOT

by:Mediancat

This is the absolute truth. While I am not a writer, I am still capable of an amazing kind of agonized poetry of the soul, so I make no apologies for my writing skill. This is for Willow, who I could have dragged through hell -- and instead chose to send there early.

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Tuesday, Sept. 2, 1997, 8:00PM

I was shocked as I watched the scene in the Bronze. Amazing. They'd finally found a good band. Worse, Buffy and Xander were dancing very closely. How could she do this to me? Dancing, hell! They were practically SCREWING!

My disbelief became anger, my anger, rage, like a violent thunderstorm. I wanted to go rain on their parade . . . I suddenly realized that I needed to urinate, badly. Teach me to come up with better metaphors.

When I was done, I walked outside. I couldn't bear to watch any longer. I hadn't done anything to deserve this but love her. Well, I'd kept my secret from her for over a year, hidden my true feelings, and I was going to keep her imminent death a secret, but other than that? What had I done?

I needed to get out, now. I could no longer stand being in their presence. Besides, the band had stopped playing.

She was the Slayer. I was a vampire. You do the math. I should have KNOWN better. Cryptic boys don't have to deliver their messages in person; there's always UPS. In other words, it was unfair to blame her. She was lashing out in anger, clinging to the first solid ground she came to in the storm, trying to hold out against the rain . . .

Damn. I needed to pee again.

It wasn't her fault. The moment had to come when she would move on to a mortal lover. HIM, though? Dear god, I'd thought she had better taste. And better manners. I guess I never gave her my copy of Miss Manners' Guide to the Undead. So I guess it was my fault there, too.

It was raining. I did what I always do in times of intense rage. Unfortunately, the Bronze's MK3 game was already in use. So I settled for slamming my fist into the wall.

It crashed through and everyone in the Bronze turned to look at me. Note to self: Next time do this outside. I focused on the pain. It provided me with an anchor to hold onto while I grappled with my anger, made sure it didn't sink me.

Damn. What is it with me and the water metaphors today?

And so I walked back outside, broken hand and broken heart, though fortunately I kept my nifty gift of parallelism.

I mused for a time. What had I done wrong? Well, pretty much everything, starting with the way I introduced myself to her, ending with the fact that I didn't kill Xander over the summer when I had the chance.

You may call this jealousy. You'd be absolutely right. So? I'm a vampire, I can hurt you. Don't complain. The Bronze's back door opened and a young woman moved into the rain. It was Willow. She ambled towards the street with her head hunched down and and arms folded across her chest. Obviously she wasn't as fond of the band as I'd been.

Or, just possibly, she was upset from the sight ot Buffy and Xander dancing. Why, beat me. She had loved Xander in a pure and innocent way, as one loves butterflies, little children, or grilled cheese sandwiches. He was undeserving of her love. He was undeserving of the love of the praying mantis woman, honestly. And he certainly didn't deserve a grilled cheese sandwich.

She must have been heartbroken. Also blind and deaf. As she stepped out from between two parked cars she completely missed the dump truck barreling down on her. I could have let her end her misery like that, but I thought, hey, why should I be the only one who suffers?

I dove towards her and pulled her from the path of the truck. Just in time. The driver didn't even slow down to see if Willow was alright, although the fact that she'd been saved by a large ugly man with a face that needed plastic surgery might have had something to do with their speed.

She clung limply to me. "Are you okay?" I asked. She seemed to be in shock. She started to hyperventilate, gazing upwards . . .

Towards a billboard with a hunky man in bikini briefs. I blocked her view and her breathing returned to normal. "Willow?" I asked again, calmly, gently. "It's an illusion," she murmured. "Eyes don't really stare into the soul."

I smiled. Where'd she been living? This was the Hellmouth. There were invisible women, vampires, witches, and who knows what else living here. But none of the Sunnydale residents saw it. Where else could eyes stare BUT the soul? There wasn't anywhere else to look.

She asked me to release her and I did. Two hundred years ago, a lady would never have declined the support of a male. It would, in fact, have been unthinkable. Of course, 200 years ago Willow would have been married five years ago, so perhaps not all things traditional are good.

She stood there shakily and asked a question about my clothes. Like I ever bought any clothes. Why, when it was simpler to threaten the owner of the clothing store down the block unless he coughed up four suits a week in "protection?" Then she asked to go home.

I wasn't going to let her go alone, in her condition. "Let me escort you. I promise, I won't bite."

She burst out laughing at the old, OLD joke, but graciously allowed me to keep her safe.

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A car was trailing us. Inside, two men and a woman. Vampires. They followed us for blocks, in a ludicrous attempt at stealth. Of course, thar the car was a lavender and green Volkswagen Beetle didn't exactly help their cause. Idiots!

I told Willow that we were being followed and had to grab her around her small but luscious chest -- purely by accident, let me assure you! -- to keep her from bolting. "I don't know who it is. Except that that are vampires."

Abruptly the Bug accelerated past us -- neat trick for a car with such a pathetic engine -- and spun onto the sidewalk.

The three vampires got out -- and the car immediately sped forward on its own and crashed into the house. The three vamps started salpping and poking each other in a neat little imitation of the antics of the Three Stooges.

I sighed. They were Clan, or Kindred, all right. And very young, as they failed to recognize me. Consequences of missing the last half century's worth of family reunions, I supposed.

A sidebar about my people. We call ourselves Kindred; outsiders call us vampires, or bloodsuckers, or occasionally Raisians. I didn't like that term. I preferred Raisian-American.

We are secretive and self-made. Our founder used his own magics to rise from his grave, thus becoming immortal. Does this mean I've been lying about a Rom curse? You got it, Jack. So?

100 years ago they would have backed off upon recognizing me and run for their lives. Of course, 100 years ago a loaf of bread cost a nickel.

Instead of running, they dusted themselves off. They REALLY had a death wish. Willow looked at them disbelievingly and recovered her keen sense of humor. "Oh my goodness. They're -- they're --"

I awaited the conclusion to her sentence. She did not disappoint. "They're YUPPIES!" They looked like Larry, Moe, and a female Curly. Willow's wit was in fine shape. Her eyesight left something to be desired. I echoed her words disbeliveingly.

Also, her timing. Perhaps Buffy can be witty in the face of imminent danger, but for lesser mortals it is a questionable tack at best. She suddenly noticed the danger we were in. I assessed the situation. Briefly I considered throwing Willow into the line of fire and running. I am reluctant to put my own skin on the line, even now. Had my grip not slipped, I would never have killed Darla. I discarded that line of thought as unproductive, and took off running, dragging Willow behind me.

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Tuesday, Sept. 2, 1997, 8:30PM

Has it been only half an hour since we started? It seems a lot longer. Of course, how I know the time at all is a mystery, as I am fleeing for Willow's and my life and thus have little time to stare at a watch. We went to the closest sanctuary I could find, but the damn phone booth was occupied.

The speed and distance we traveled almost certainly caused Willow extreme pain. Of course, my muscles ached too, so I didn't feel much sympathy. Then she collapsed to the ground and gasped up at me, "Go! I'll hold them off."

The very idea! That I would even consider abandoning a woman with witnesses around! I'd sooner have kissed Xander! Well, actually, no. Some things are just TOO hideous a fate to contemplate. I picked her up, grabbing her posterior -- again, purely by accident, I swear -- and we made for a nearby sewer entrance.

Spellcasting -- a natural talent of all Raisian-Americans -- is not my strong suit. Darla taught me everything I knew. This made me a demon in bed, of course, but magickally I would have had difficulty holding my own against Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I concentrated hard and the flashlight appeared in my hand. I flicked it on -- and nothing happened. Damn. Next time, I shall have to make certain to include the FRIGGING batteries.

No time for repercussions. We dove down into the sewers and took off running. My memories were my only guide through the darkened tunnels. Consequently, several times we smashed into the sewer walls. Memory, indeed, has never been my strong suit.

Moments later, I could hear the younger Clan members following us. Fortunately, they were possessed of as poor a memory as I, so they also wasted precious time slamming facefirst into the sides of the tunnels. I gently placed Willow onto dry stone and prepared for their charge. Hunger, from slamming my fist into the wall, from the energy expended in making that flashlight, and from my desire for a good grilled cheese sandwich, was ticking me off.

The three stupidly charged one at a time. I was secretly glad that they appeared to have spent as much time watching cheesy martial arts flicks as I. Don't they know it's better to attack all at once?

A torch lit, unbidden, on the wall, and Willow got her first good look at the temple of Lilith. She screamed. I hurried to find her and left the Three Stooges tripping over their own feet.

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Lilith's temple is rather large and filled with all manner of antique torture devices. Nonmotorized treadmills, free weights, a medicine ball, and various precursors to the Thighmaster. It was, in short, a home gym.

You may claim this is not torture. If you have ever tried one of these devices, you will understand. I told her, "We don't have long," as I made my way to a hidden weapons closet.

"This is disgusting," Willow said. I agreed with her. Give me a good old Nordictrack anyday. She had an odd look on her face. "What?" I demanded.

"Nothing," she said, wearing a cherubic expression on her face. Maybe she thought I brought my dates here. Why she would think THAT, though . . . I had the foldaway bed and supply of Trojans well and truly concealed. I tossed her a stake and told her to take off running as the three other Raisian-Americans entered the chamber. She did so -- and bounced off the wall and fell into a heap on the floor. Note to self: Next time, OPEN the concealed door first. I took my staff and faced the three fools.

The quarterstaff is the best weapon for fighting vampires, save any but the crossbow. And a good old AK-47, of course, but that is neither here nor there. They charged and one of said, "Brother, why do you fight your own?"

"I'm not like you!" I said. For one thing, I was older, and had my brooding good looks. No, they are not like me at all . . .

He charged and I swung at him, accidentally staking him in the process. DAMN! I'd been relying on him for my next meal. There were still the other two, though. I swung back -- and caught the other male in the heart in the process. What kind of fools were being raised by the Clan these days? Furious at their incompetence, I dropped the staff and tossed the woman into the nearest wall. I slammed her in the face and she dropped like a rock. Then I went for my meal.

Curses! The MAN must have had the McDonald's coupons. Settling for second best, I ripped open her neck and drank deeply of her blood. I felt no guilt about the pleasure I incurred in the process. They deserved the pain, and had I ever begun to question the morality of Slaying another vampire in this way, I would certainly have gone crazy. Er. It was an almost sensual experience -- though still, eventually, somehow unstasifying as compared with the joys of eating a grilled cheese sandwich.

Her struggles eventually ceased and she turned to dust. I ceased draining her then naturally, having no desire to choke on her ashes. I turned to Willow . . . who had been watching me. She had seen the whole process. She knew that I drained vampires. My secret, such as it was, was out.

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My immediate impulse was to kill her and leave the body to rot. I went with it. A dark, horrific urge, true. And sometimes you have to go with those impulses, repulsive though they are. Otherwise, who knew how long this could drag on? My desire to preserve Willow's life warred with my desire to bring this tale to a swift conclusion. I could see us eventually encountering more of my people, and falling in love. Of going back and meeting my brother, and my elder. Of plots, and counterplots, and unhappy endings.

Helping her avoid that torture, far more painful and drawn out than anything to be found here in the chamber of Lilith, was a blessing.

I left her body down there in the torture chamber. One day, perhaps, I would bring Buffy here and we would "discover" Willow's poor, abandoned, rotting body. A perfect counterpoint to Xander's, which would be next . . .

Tell Mediancat what you think

These parodies are great....gimme more.