Rulesverse ficlet: Working Compromise
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Working Compromise
Characters Buffy/Spike, Illyria
Rating PG13
Words 300
Prompt quinara wanted Buffy, Illyria and shopping. It’s not quite that, but it is a short silly tale of everyday life in the Rulesverse, set shortly after Of Gods and Heroes
The Problem:
“Buffy... love.. stop a minute. There’s no bloody way in hell I’m going to take Illyria clothes shopping.”
“Were you not listening? You know her way better than me. And we have to do something! The tight, tight leather pants... it’s distracting and inappropriate. Plus, you were looking at her ass yesterday.”
“Well, yeah..." No one said a soul was a remedy for good old fashioned lust. "But, she’s like three million years old, or something. I don’t think she even gets modern fashion. Also, not actually sure she’s a woman. God King sounds pretty much like a bloke to me.”
“And yet you stare at her leather-clad ass, like every other guy here and half the Slayers too.”
Spike sighed. It was true. Some alternative approach was needed. He did not shop.
“Look. We’re busting the masculine dominated paradigm here, right? Slayers on top, no blokes telling you what to do? Can’t go about telling women what to wear, goes against the spirit. And besides, you sometimes wear-”
He stopped. Buffy’s brows were already coming together ominously. Change the tack, smartish.
“Well, some of the others - Faith, f’rinstance. Those things she had on yesterday-”
He stopped again, and sighed. The frown was acquiring a matching pout. But a bloke had his pride.
“Look. You want her Godliness to look different, you talk to her.”
*
The Discussion:
ILLYRIA: I am no mere mortal, driven by mortal concerns.
BUFFY: No, sure, I get that... But the tight, tight pants...
ILLYRIA: I had hoped that my guise within the shell was sufficient to blend in unremarkably with humanity. If you prefer, I can assume my previous incarnation.
NOISE: a squelching, crackling, growing sound. With tentacles.
*
The Resolution:
ILLYRIA: Glarmbleg’frrrk?
BUFFY: Uh. No. No, you’re right. The shell is good. The pants... perfect. As you were.
***
Title Working Compromise
Characters Buffy/Spike, Illyria
Rating PG13
Words 300
Prompt quinara wanted Buffy, Illyria and shopping. It’s not quite that, but it is a short silly tale of everyday life in the Rulesverse, set shortly after Of Gods and Heroes
The Problem:
“Buffy... love.. stop a minute. There’s no bloody way in hell I’m going to take Illyria clothes shopping.”
“Were you not listening? You know her way better than me. And we have to do something! The tight, tight leather pants... it’s distracting and inappropriate. Plus, you were looking at her ass yesterday.”
“Well, yeah..." No one said a soul was a remedy for good old fashioned lust. "But, she’s like three million years old, or something. I don’t think she even gets modern fashion. Also, not actually sure she’s a woman. God King sounds pretty much like a bloke to me.”
“And yet you stare at her leather-clad ass, like every other guy here and half the Slayers too.”
Spike sighed. It was true. Some alternative approach was needed. He did not shop.
“Look. We’re busting the masculine dominated paradigm here, right? Slayers on top, no blokes telling you what to do? Can’t go about telling women what to wear, goes against the spirit. And besides, you sometimes wear-”
He stopped. Buffy’s brows were already coming together ominously. Change the tack, smartish.
“Well, some of the others - Faith, f’rinstance. Those things she had on yesterday-”
He stopped again, and sighed. The frown was acquiring a matching pout. But a bloke had his pride.
“Look. You want her Godliness to look different, you talk to her.”
*
The Discussion:
ILLYRIA: I am no mere mortal, driven by mortal concerns.
BUFFY: No, sure, I get that... But the tight, tight pants...
ILLYRIA: I had hoped that my guise within the shell was sufficient to blend in unremarkably with humanity. If you prefer, I can assume my previous incarnation.
NOISE: a squelching, crackling, growing sound. With tentacles.
*
The Resolution:
ILLYRIA: Glarmbleg’frrrk?
BUFFY: Uh. No. No, you’re right. The shell is good. The pants... perfect. As you were.
***