#rpbuffy

I have a ton of drafts I need to get to, but this week is hectic. Bare with me, beautiful babes. I’m not ignoring you — I’m just paying attention to my real life.

And I miss writing with you... oh, so terribly.

Love and letters,

I have a ton of new RP lurkers, yet none of them approach me for storylines. Am I terrifying or something? Oh, right. I’m the thing monsters have nightmares about.

If you wanna talk shop today, you can find me on Skype by looking up “rpbuffy.” If you’re nervous, you can bring weapons to the chat... 

"Hmmm, wha?"

Buffy awoke from sleep and opened her eyes, pressing her hand to her forehead. She had an excruciating headache. Her whole head actually felt kind of swollen, like she'd be hanging upside down all night... because she had been... and still was.

The Slayer looked around her bedroom in Scotland and saw that everything that was once on the floor was above her. She also noticed that her hands were crossed over her chest all Nosferatu-like, and she was wearing... a cape? With red velvet lining? And it seemed to be defying gravity, because it wasn't hanging down over her head, but rather, hanging upward toward the ceiling. She looked toward her feet to see what was she was hanging from — and lo and behold: her feet were just sticking to the ceiling, Spiderman-style. Someone was using magic to fuck with her, and they had a bizarre sense of humor. What was with the Dracula schtick? 

"What the fuck —"

THWUMP. Gravity took hold and the Slayer hit the floor in a heap, covered entirely by the comedically massive cape. She peeked out from underneath it, whined a little and stood up. She untied the cape from her neck and dropped it to the floor, rubbing her sore behind as she schlumped to the window.

"What time is it?" she thought as she peered out in to the moonlight. Had she slept the day away? Why hadn't anyone woken her? Was Dawn all right? Panic set in. 

She took a few steps toward the bedroom door and stopped after glancing down at her attire: red, lace lingerie with garters and black fishnets. Her first thought was: "Spike would love this." Her second thought was: "Spike would do this!" 

She grabbed a pair of black leather pants that were draped over a nearby chair and slipped on a dark red tank top. Just as she was about to bolt out into the hallway to alert the Scoobies about the weirdness (and possibly rip Spike a new one), she ran right in to Satsu — the slayer she'd be getting naughty with over the last few months.

"Oh. Hey," Buffy's expression softened for a moment. "What's going on — "

THWACK.

Satsu decked Buffy in the jaw and sent her flying backward into the hallway wall. Buffy got her bearings and lunged at Satsu, tackling her to the ground. 

"I didn't know you were into this kind of thing, honey," Buffy said, punching Satsu in the nose. "But if I had, I might have lezzed out with you much sooner.” 

Satsu shoved her off and backed away from Buffy with tears running down her cheeks. Buffy felt a twinge of sympathy followed by an odd, animal urge to chide her for being so sensitive. She also couldn't tell if she was hungry or horny. It felt like both. 

"Buffy, I'm so sorry," Satsu said. "How did this happen?" 

"How did what — Satsu, what's wrong?" Buffy said.

"You know what. And I guess the how doesn't matter."

Satsu pulled a stake out from her back pocket and held it at her side, ready to strike.

"Oh! God... is that? Ugh!" Buffy said, tossing the phone into Dawn's hands and turning to look out the window of the tower. For miles, it was nothing but deep green grass, trees and Hungarian hills. Dawn peered at the screen. "Yep, that's a nude." "Oh goody!" Xander said, getting up from his seat on the dungeon floor to look over Dawn's shoulder. "No goody! No goody!" He covered his good eye and stumbled backward. "Why?! Why?!" "We need to do something about this," Buffy said. "The appendage has appendages!" Xander said, still traumatized. 

"Do something about demon dick pics? I don't think there's any way to slay this trend," Dawn said. "At least, not as long as Andrew is working in the autopsy room at home base. I wonder if that dick was still attached to a body..."

"What? No," Buffy turned to her sister with a look of disgust, then started looking around the dungeon. "There has to be a way out of here. And we need to find Faith.” Buffy had left the slayer army in Scotland to visit Hungary — with the intention of slaying Elizabeth Bathory, also known as the “Blood Countess.” She was the first known female mass murderer. Humans didn't think she was supernatural, just vain, and rumor had it that she would bathe in the blood of her servants because it kept her young and beautiful. Buffy knew better, though. 

Elizabeth may have bathed in their blood, but it wasn't to stay gorgeous. She was a mother fucking vampire, damn it. And Buffy was gonna dust that ass. When the Slayer heard that hundreds of girls were going missing, Willow and the Scoobies looked into it and found that Elizabeth was up to her old tricks. Since Buffy didn’t know exactly what she’d find when she arrived in Hungary, Willow teleported her, Xander, Faith and Dawn so she’d have backup. Only, it didn't work perfectly... on account of the fact that only three of them ended up in what appeared to be Bathory's dungeon. And even though Willow said she had the spell under control (despite several glasses of wine) and would safely teleport Faith from Cleveland... Faith apparently ended up, well — elsewhere. Buffy wasn’t even sure if Faith was teleported to the same country at this point.  Buffy scanned the grey stone walls, looking for anything that might give. The dungeon was circular and there were no doors — just the one rectangular window. Why did this room even exist if there was no way in or out? SCREECH. Buffy, Xander and Dawn whipped their heads toward the window. Something very loud and very demony just wailed at them. The Slayer ran over and looked out to see a deep purple, pterodactyl-esque creature swooping up and down in the air very close to the tower. It must have been 30 feet wide and 80 feet long, and the color of its scales shined brilliantly in the sun. Its tail was long and had red goo dripping from it.

“Buffy! To your left!” comes a feminine voice from beyond. 

The Slayer looks left to see a demon child with yellow snakes for hair getting launched out the door of a nearby building and into the crowded London street where she stands. Buffy lunges forward, knocking in to people before holding out her arms to catch the child. The demon thwumps into her grasp and Buffy gets a closer look. 

She, or at least, Buffy thinks she's a she, opens her mouth and speaks frantically — but her language is foreign to the Slayer, and sounds like a series of clock ticks and seatbelt clicks. When the demon girl sees that Buffy will be no help, the snakes in her hair start to bite at Buffy's neck. The Slayer drops her and the demon runs off down the street, disappearing into the crowd. 

Only one passerby seems to have caught the quick exchange, and her mouth hangs open. Buffy shrugs (consoling humans is not her problem right now) and purses her lips in disdain as the creature flees. She narrows her eyes at the door in which the child was expelled and speaks to her witchy friend Willow through telekinesis. 

“Will, is this the place?” Buffy thinks.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Willow thinks back. “You have the Magia Marmore to make the trade?”

The Slayer reaches into her pocket and feels the small iron ball that the Scoobie Gang had searched to the ends of the Earth for (literally, they nearly fell off). She pulls it out and turns it over in her fingers while she walks to the entrance. It has small etchings of what appear to be Latin. Buffy can’t believe she recognizes the language; she never pays attention when the gang researches stuff. 

“Yeah, I've got it,” Buffy thinks.

“Get the helmet. It’s really valuable so he’ll probably try to con you and give you a fake. Make sure it has the gold cross etched in the inside,” Willow thinks. “It’s the only way; we need it to save the world. There’s no room for error. Oh! And no pressure, Buffy. Have fun.”

Buffy looks at the sign above the door that reads, “Smith Black’s Blacksmithery,” and sees the sign hanging on the door below it that says, “GO AWAY, WERE CLOSED.” A modern day blacksmith? Buffy shakes her head. This demon really doesn’t know how to blend in. 

She opens the door and walks into what appears to be a room from the 1700s. The place is dark save for the gray light from outside trickling in from the small front windows, and the hot coals in the furnace cast an orange glow. She slips the iron ball back into her pocket and puts her hands on her hips, looking around.

“Hello?” Buffy says. “Anybody home? I’ve got your magic ball.” 

No answer. 

“Look, I caught your demon launching show,” Buffy said, running her fingers over the wall of pokers and tools. “Literally, I caught her. So let’s cut this hide and seek crap and play tag instead.”

No answer.

And then...

“Poke,” an elderly voice whispers from behind her. “You’re it.”

Buffy feels a sudden stinging sensation followed by the feeling of being scorched in the small of her back. She cries out and whips around to see a short, old man with an iron ball for one eye and an empty socket for the other. He turns a hot poker over in his hands and clucks his tongue.

“We’re closed,” he says. “Why don’t you little girls ever mind the signs?”