“The principle that what can go wrong, will go wrong, usually with some observed degree of irony”
Definition of Sod's Law from wiktionary
My unlife couldn’t get any worse. Karma, a right bitch she was, must’ve been keeping a running tab on my past misdeeds. I knew exactly where and when she started doling out the punishments, right here in good ol’ Sunnydale— the Hellmouth -- Diablo de Boca—the main witness to my many downfalls. From the moment I’d set foot in this town, my unlife became complete and utter shite!
Then why the bleedin’ ‘ell did I come back here, you ask? Don’t rightly know. Wait, I do. Came back for that bloody bitch who’d already burnt through her nine lives—the Slayer, and to make her throat my chalice, finally claiming my third Slayer.
This shite storm, or my so-called unlife, started soon after Dru became weak from that soddin’ mob in Prague. When she was finally strong enough to travel, we went across the pond, searchin’ for a cure that led us here. Sunny-d was the place where the main ingredient needed, her sire, lurked. I should’ve known any dealings with that bastard were goin’ to turn out badly.
Initially, my stay here in Sunnyhell didn’t start out too badly. Got me and Dru some decent digs and a gaggle of ready-made, disposable minions after I took care of the big noise in these parts, the Annoying One.
Things got even better when I got my first eyeful of the Slayer. I couldn’t help poppin’ a cockstand almost instantly as I watched that young, tasty morsel dancing. No, it wasn’t at the club, but when she took out a piss-poor excuse for a vamp. Bloody brilliant she was! With Dru cured, she became my new obsession.
Yeah, well, after that night, it all went to hell and not the good kind. In a few short weeks, I earned a stint in a wheelchair, was dethroned as king of the mountain, and my ripe wicked plum ran into the arms of her now non-soul having daddy.
Oh, the wheelchair? Well, I remained chair bound for several weeks, courtesy of the Slayer and a church organ. Once I finally got the feelin’ back below my waist, especially in my dangly bits, I decided to destroy the poofter and take back what was rightfully mine.
The odds were stacked against me, and there was only one way to get my dark princess back—teaming up with the Slayer. Yeah, well, you’re not the only one that thought that was a bad idea. That bloody daft move sealed my fate with the love of my undead life.
While the Slayer and Peaches were battling it out, I took Dru, who was none too happy about leaving and got out of Dodge. We headed to South America, and let’s just say I don’t bloody well want to tell you all those slime-covered details.
For the following year, I don’t remember much. There are only flashes of me wandering aimlessly throughout Southern California, endless bottles of booze, and me acting like a pathetic wanker missin’ Dru. Getting her back became my raison d’etre. I even went so far as to come back to this hellhole, even though I knew she wasn’t here, looking for a way to win her back.
After returning to Sunny-d with flare, I headed over to the place of my greatest defeat—the mansion. That was where Mr. Get-Out-Of-Hell-Free was still lurking about. I decided right then and there to get off my lily-white arse and do something. The Ponce was goin’ down.
Yeah, well, my threats were as far as I got. After waking up slightly on fire in the poofter’s garden, the rest of my time here was a bit of a blur. I remembered a red-haired witch, a whelp, the Slayer, and Peaches.
I vaguely recall me clumsily kidnapping the witch and whelp. Then threatin’ the witch with a broken bottle and forcing her to do a love spell.
Then there was me ranting ‘bout Dru to the Slayer’s mum over a cuppa. Somewhere in there, I started sobering up—bloody painful that was.
The only bright patch was a decent scuffle with a couple of vamps that just got their fangs.
The last thing I remember was tellin’ the Slayer and Captain Forehead they would never be friends,that I was love’s bitch, then my declaring I was goin’ to get Dru back.
The whole bleedin’ trip felt dream-like. I felt kinda like I was in the Wizard of Oz. Well, without the spinning house. No, wait—does a spinnin’ car count? ‘Cause it spun a whole bunch when the booze started to wear off.
I wager I was Dorothy. Peaches was the scarecrow since of course—no brain. Red was the good witch. The whelp was the cowardly lion, and the Slayer the tin man, since she lost her heart to the scarecrow along the way. Damn, all I needed was a yellow brick road to see the great and knowing Oz, and my day would’ve been complete!
Now, don’t look at me like that, I meant I was Dorothy, figuratively. Don’t fancy myself in a gingham dress, toting a basket full of goodies and a mangy dog.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, despite my claim, I never did get Dru back. She was too busy shaggin’ all sorts of revolting demons and refused to see me. After that pathetic scene, the rest of the time was a blur.
At one point, I started to sober up. It was then I made a disturbing discovery. While I was completely arse over tit, my little head had made some major decisions. One bein’ I had a new companion—a fledgling named Harmony.
Sure, she made my willy happy, but when it came to the big head—not so much. See, Harm wasn’t bad on the eyes and not too bad on the cock either—well, anything’s better than a visit by Rosie Palm and her five sisters. Why do you look confused? Ya know wankin’? Friggin’ the love muscle? Waxing your willy? Never mind, you’re bloody clueless.
Anyway, it was her constant verbal diarrhea with a side of stupidity that made me want to ram a railroad spike into my own head.
From there, I filled my days with drinking myself into oblivion and finding new and inventive ways to keep Harmony’s mouth occupied, so I didn’t have to listen to her constant yammerin’.
Then, one of the few times her mouth wasn’t full, Harm brought up she was from Sunny-d and went to school with Buffy—oh, that’s the Slayer’s name.
No, I’m not joking.
Anyhow, after she brought up the Slayer, I stopped listening, since the rest of what she had to say was utter nonsense. Harmony never said anything of worth, but after that night, I knew I needed to make a change. Killin’ the Slayer was the way to start.
When I finally got my head completely out from the bottom of a bottle, I came here searchin’ for the Vamps’ Holy Grail, the Gem of Amarra. And what did I end up with? Besides a headache from Harmony’s incessant prattling on about soddin’ France, I had my arse handed to me courtesy of the Slayer.
On the bright side, even though I didn’t kill the Slayer, I did have some fun while I was wearin’ the ring.
While I was topside searching for her and enjoying Mr. Sun not scorching me a new one, I sported instant wood when I saw her on campus all weepy ‘bout some sod who used her shamelessly and gave her the ol’ heave-ho.
Then, when she least expected it, I clocked her in her annoying, upturned nose. Since I don’t like my fights one-sided, I let her get up, and we fought. She was off her game, and I was bloody brilliant, landing every punch to her smug little face and every kick to her tiny, warrior’s body.
Then it happened. I opened my big gob and ruined it. See, this has been my problem since I traded for the dark side: I don’t know when to stop my yammerin,’ This time when I opened my big trap, out came the one thing that sent her from miserable to down-right pissed in one second flat—her one-time, almost fatal shag with my grandsire.
It all went downhill from there. Following our short-lived battle, she ripped the ring from my finger. Now, from the way she tugged it off, ‘m bloody lucky the digit didn’t come with it. If she always used that much force when yankin’ on a bloke’s vital parts, no wonder she hadn’t been able to keep a man.
With the ring gone, I instantly started to smoke and sizzle. Luckily, the sewers were close by.
Soon after the Slayer nabbed my ring, I heard that she’d decided to give it to Peaches. Bloody fan-fuckin-tastic! That’s like having tits on a bull, completely useless! What a waste! I can picture it now, planes falling out of the sky when he’d blinded the pilots from the sun reflecting off his gigantic forehead.
With no other choice, and I wanted my ring back, it was time for a road trip. Gratefully, when I came back to my lair, Harmony had already gone. She was lucky she’d high-tailed it out of there, ‘cause I was planning on staking her, so I could live or un-live in peace.
Some have all the luck. Well, not that I believe in it. I mainly rely on myself for making my own way, but any way to have a leg up on someone is somethin’, yeah?
For Harmony, the mere fact that she’d lived as long as she had, it had to be some sort of luck. Nah, luck doesn’t come to those that stupid, or does it? Maybe it’s stupid luck, which in her case it should be called stupid’s luck.
Well, after two hours in the ol’ Desoto, I entered into LA’s city limits. Even with the well-lit streets, the veil of night was heavy, and the smell of death bloody intoxicating. A brilliant paradise for vamps.
All those fresh, young Happy Meals with Legs with their wide innocent eyes as they come off the in-bound buses nightly. It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet for those that go bump in the night—vamps, pimps, and drug dealers alike, eagerly waiting to devour each meal completely. LA’s the devil’s playground. So I tell from the smile splitting your gob, you’ve been there. Great place, huh?
That’s why the grand poofter went there with his shiny soul and fresh guilt on tap -- to help the helpless. That was what he’d been doin’ when I spied him from the rooftops. He was tryin’ to be all mysterious when he leapt from the shadows. After he’d knocked out some crack head who had been poundin’ on his girl, with flourish sweep of his arm, they pranced off to his Angel mobile and left.
My witty commentary was the only thing making the whole heave-worthy scene tolerable. Oh, and let’s not forget a plan brewin’ in my noggin.
The first thing on the agenda—locating Peaches’ bat cave. Get this! He calls himself a vamp detective. What a joke!
When I found his place, I surprised him, and while we played our reindeer games, Angel’s sidekicks came rushing in, thinkin’ they were helping him. Bloody priceless the way the cheerleader with a nice rack and her mick demon tried to add to the menace of Mr. I-always-look-constipated. After my customary threat and a snarl, I took off. Phase one of my plan completed.
I had a grand ol’ time laying a trail of breadcrumbs for Angel to follow. ‘pecially when he thought he was so bloody smart findin’ me feedin’ from some blond in an alley.
To coin a Sunnyhell phrase, “Duh!” If I made it any easier for the prat, flashing neon signs and loud speakers would’ve been involved.
And the Academy Award goes to…should had been announced while I jogged in slow-motion down the street to a—oh, no, gasp—a blocked alleyway. To add to the show, I raised my hands up in the air and told him he caught me fair and square.
The stupid lunkhead should’ve known right then and there was somethin’ going on. I would’ve never given up that easily. I guess all that nancy boy hair gel had finally saturated and polluted his brain.
The sod didn’t even sense another vamp nearby until, like a cowboy at a rodeo, Marcus lassoed the poofter with a length of chain! You should’ve seen it! It was bloody brilliant!
Earlier that night when Marcus and I discussed how he should incapacitate Angel, I told him “somethin’ with flare.” Guess I chose the right bloke. I couldn’t wait for the bout of torture to start!
It was absolutely delicious when we dragged Peaches down the street by his neck. I don’t normally use that word, but this one seemed to sum it all up.
When we arrived at the warehouse, Marcus and I trussed Angel up with some heavy chains hangin’ from the ceiling’s steel beams.
Earlier, while I was leadin’ Angel around LA, Marcus had set up a brilliant spread of all sorts of torturous delights. Even Angelus never had a set up like this. There were knives, pliers, hot pokers, and the like.
I don’t have the same jonesing for torture as my grandsire. That was always his gig. And believe me, from the years I was a fledgling, I owed him big time. However, I had a ring to find.
But let me say this, while I was there I had a grand ol’ time watchin’ Marcus make shish-ka-bob of the bastard. His screaming was music to my ears and was far better than that bleedin’ Brahms, Marcus had played non-stop.
After an hour and many holes in my grandsire later, I headed off to Fortress of Brood-a-tude looking for my ring.
The whole searchin’ got old pretty quick. There was only so long, the sound of breaking glass can placate a fella.
Plus, the stench of the great poofter filled my nose, making me want to heave. Unfortunately the stench triggered my memories of the mansion in Sunnyhell and Drusilla.
No, you soddin’ pillock, I didn’t cry, damn it! I’d moved on and was no longer the big pile of worthlessness I was last year. My plan was simple. When I got the ring back, I was headin’ to Sunnyhell to kill the Slayer and bring my princess the Slayer’s still beating heart. That was goin’ to show Dru that the Slayer was not “floating all around me” and all the other nonsense she spouted off.
When I became completely brassed off, which didn’t take too long, I decided to abandon the search. I needed a new plan.
Then it came to me, the brood-ettes probably knew where he’d hidden the ring. So, I decided to give them a jingle, but …well, well, well, there was no need to ring them. They were already at there.
The busty cheerleader greeted me with a crossbow aimed at my chest and the mick demon playin’ spectator.
The bloke smelled familiar, like one of those pincushion demons. Huh, I wondered if Miss Tasty-tits knew his fashion sense wasn’t the only thing he was hiding.
After a few moments of mutual glaring, I told them they had until sundown to produce the ring. If not, Angel would be fittin’ in an ashtray.
Now, back at the Inquisition, Marcus was still askin’ the poofter what he wanted. My bastard of a grandsire was bein’ right difficult, but when wasn’t he?
Back in the day, all this torture would’ve been foreplay for him and Darla. Who’s Darla? Oh, she was his sire, the Masters’ pet, and a bloody self-righteous bitch. Anyway, I’m not one for being patient—yeah, yeah, keep your comments to yourself— and gratefully it was time to meet the brood squad behind the fishery. Good thing they showed up quickly. The stench comin’ downwind was worse than a nineteen-century brothel and speaking of Darla…
Cautiously, I led the brood-ettes to their still strung up, holey leader. The girl cried a big boo-hoo for her poor hero, as she and the mick tried rushin’ to his aid.
Now, if they knew the real Angelus, they would had picked up a weapon or two and joined in the festivities. How quickly they had forgotten all the nasty things he did to the Watcher’s gypsy and their little Scooby gang two years back.
Sorry, mate, don’t have time to go into all that. Just let’s say the Slayer unleashed one sadist bastard from a hundred year prison sentence. The lot of them must’ve had selective memory, especially the Slayer, who welcomed him back from hell with open arms. She couldn’t welcome him with anything else, or Angelus would’ve been prancing around LA, not his broody counterpart.
Then when I thought I had the gem in my grasp, the mick tossed it away into a bleedin’ sunbeam. When I went for it, a loud crash from dog-boy’s van plowing through the warehouse’s wall stopped me right quick. What’s a dog boy? No, dog-boy wasn’t a PT Barnum’s sideshow freak. It seemed, which I didn’t know at time, the Slayer added a werewolf to her Scooby gang.
Yeah, I know. Someone who’d sworn to battle evil seemed to have lots of supernaturals on staff—a witch, a werewolf, a soul-having once bad-arse vamp. It doesn’t really matter though. In the end, the Slayer always stood alone.
Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, before I could react, Scrappy-doo brandishing two crossbows, aimed right at yours truly, left me with no choice but to let the mick and cheerleader pull Angel down. I could only watch with seething hatred as they loaded his not nearly tortured enough, pansy arse into the back of the van.
When they left, I hunted for the ring. Yup, you guessed it: it was gone! Damn it! Soddin’, bloody pillock! I knew hirin’ a vamp, ‘pecially one that claimed he didn’t give a damn about the ring, was too easy. Should’ve known the bastard would double-cross me.
So, with my tail between my legs and a slightly burnt scalp—yeah, don’t ask—I headed back to good ol’ Sunny-d. Even without the Gem of Amarra, I was still hankerin’ to kill my third Slayer.
She’s a feisty one, that little girl. She’s full of fire and spirit that you can see in her eyes when fighting her. I loved dancing with that one. Could do it all night.
I thought, maybe things were lookin’ up. Master vampire here, yeah? I had my just due comin’ to me. With the Master and Darla dust, Angel all soul-having, and Dru, well Dru couldn’t run a town on her own, so that made Sunnyhell rightfully mine. Yeah, things were definitely lookin’ up, or so I thought
I was headed toward my town, happy as you please, singing along with Sid ‘bout doin’ it my way, until karma wearing steel-toed boots kicked me straight in the bollocks!
Bloody ‘ell! Soddin bastard! I should’ve known somethin’ was off with Sid’s voice when he sounded strangely more garbled and incoherent! I’d had that bloody tape almost as long as my leather! It wasn’t until he started soundin’ like Alvin from the bleedin’ chipmunks that I knew the deck was eatin’ my soddin’ tape! What a bloody shame. Sid’s brilliant song reduced to miles of chewed black ribbon!
At that moment, I knew, I knew I hadda fight back, and the death of the Slayer was my first step.
Well, that’s my tale. I’ve been fillin’ my gullet with enough Jack. Time for the good stuff. By the looks of you, you must’ve had a tasty co-ed or two yourself. Oh, before I ‘ead off, just wanna make sure you don’t air the Big Bad’s dirty laundry—crack—Ah, a decapitation is a brilliant way to start the night off. Willy, cleanup on stool three. Ta!
Author's Chapter Notes:
Hello all! Well, my muse had been itching to write canon. Yes, I know I still have to finish PF, and I will, I promise! However, in the interim, I decided to post this one-shot. As always, big thanks to Sanityfair and Diebirchen!
Chapter End Notes:
So...whatcha think? Let me know. Reviews are loved and cherished. Also, if you want something totally different, check out my AH story Catharsis. Yeah, I'm shameless to self promote!!!