the bunny warren v. Faith

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Slayer White

Author: Meltha
Rating: PG for, what else, fairy tale violence
Feedback: Yes, thank you kindly.
Distribution: Um, here. If you want it somewhere, I’d really appreciate it if you would let me know, please.
Spoilers: Not a blessed one.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose charcters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Dedication: This one goes to Ali, the person who has been reading my fic the longest. Stay as sweet as you are!
Author’s Note: A complete and total alternate reality. This is on the edge of Drusilla level insanity. You have been warned.

Once upon a time, not very long ago, in a kingdom named Sunnydale, there lived a very beautiful but very wicked vampire queen. Every day she would gaze into her magic mirror and repeat the same words in a sultry voice that sounded rather like a female Jack Nicholson.

“Dang, I still can’t see myself?”

No, the other set of words.

“Right. So tell me, baby, I’m still the hottest blonde chick in California, aren’t I?”

Are you sure that’s the right incantation?

“Subtlety is over-rated. Think I proved that when I was trying to seduce you-know-who.”

Far be it from me to question the characters. Anyway, back to our story. Every day the queen would ask the same question, and every day she heard the ex-demon in the mirror say the same words in response.

“I would have to agree that you are attractive, although you are very preoccupied with issues of appearance. There, now that proves I’m a useful member of society, doesn’t it?”

And every time the queen would throw a shoe at the mirror, but since it was magic, it didn’t break.

“So why do I keep throwing shoes?”

Probably because you’re a little psychotic. That, and it’s an excuse to buy more shoes.

“I can live with that answer.”

Returning to our plotline, one day the answer the queen got was different.

“Sorry, queen, but you are no longer the fairest blonde in California. That title goes to your stepdaughter, the Slayer. After all, you are over four hundred years old and the centuries are starting to affect you a little. As this is not my fault, I don’t think you should throw more shoes at me. They’re starting to leave scuff marks.”

Actually, the blonde vampiress had almost completely forgotten about her stepdaughter. She’d only married Hank, the girl’s father, so she could have a big party and wear a gorgeous dress and make everyone give her blenders and toasters and silverware. After the reception, she’d drained him dry. The girl went to work in the rat-infested kitchens of her enormous palace, without pay, which meant the queen was breaking many union rules. She decided to have the girl killed. Right after she tossed a very large leather boot at the mirror.

“Minions, send in the royal huntsman-slash-commando guy.”

Immediately a strapping yet wholesome looking young man entered the room.

“Ten-four, I copy that squadron leader. What’s the assignment?”

“I want you to kill the Slayer. Lead her out into the woods and cut out her heart with this ax. Then bring it back to me.”

“The ax or the heart?”

“Both, honey. Not too bright, are you?”

“Not particularly, ma’m.”

“You’re cute, though. Remind me why I haven’t turned you again.”

“Because I’m from Iowa and you think my blood might taste like potatoes.”

“Oh yeah. Anyway, go and kill her.”

“I’ll rendezvous back here after the objective has been accomplished.”

With that, the strapping yet wholesome man left, taking the ax with him. His heart was heavy because he didn’t want to kill the Slayer. He liked her, even though he knew she didn’t love him. Which was sad, since he was a pretty nice guy.

“Aw, golly, thanks.”

No problem. So, the huntsman-slash-commando guy went down to the kitchen and found the Slayer busily washing the dishes… which was odd since the queen was a vampire and didn’t need plates… in fact, now that I think of it, technically she didn’t need a kitchen. Or all those toasters and blenders and silverware from her wedding. Hmmm. Well, anyway, in spite of the teensy continuity problem, the Slayer was scouring a frying pan when he found her.

“Slayer, why don’t you take a walk with me out in the woods? The pans can wait a little while.”

“Okey-dokey,” she said, happily throwing the steel wool into the fireplace. “What’s with the ax?”

“I’m supposed to cut your heart out with it. Oh, wait, I shouldn’t have told you that, should I?”

“I’m guessing a big not to that.”

“But I’m not gonna do it.”

“That’s nice, not that I was planning on letting you. Why?”

“Because I’m a decent, all-American, mom and apple pie boy.”

“You’re sweet.”

Huntsman-slash-commando guy blushed red. But he still knew she didn’t love him. Poor guy. We feel for ya, buddy.

“Aw, golly, thanks again.”

You’re welcome. He took her into the deepest part of the forest and told her to run far away.

“But I’m the Slayer. I could just go back to the castle and stake her. No big.”

Yeah, but then there’d be no story.

“Oh. Alright.”

With that plot point explained, the Slayer tripped lightly over the forest path, singing tra-la-la and being followed by a parade of cute, big-eyed bunnies that would have terrified the mirror into hysterics.

The huntsman-slash-commando guy used the ax to kill a dear and cut out its heart, thereby losing most of the pity he had gotten for the unrequited love bit.

“But I had to bring back something!”

You just axed Bambi’s mom. Your sympathy level has dwindled to zip. Sorry, but that’s the way it goes. He brought the heart back to the castle and the evil queen was happy for two reasons. One, the Slayer was dead. Two, the heart was a very tasty snack. Then she made the huntsman-slash-commando guy dance around with his shirt off for a few hours.

“But I’m wholesome!”

“Yeah, but I’m not. Now boogie down.”

Meanwhile, the Slayer had traveled very far from the queen’s castle and found herself outside an almost unbelievably adorable cottage that had all its windows blacked out. Being curious, she knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she pulled out a stake and crept quietly inside.

“Isn’t this breaking and entering?”

Technically yes, but you’re the Slayer. It’s okay. And even if it weren’t, it never stops the females in any other fairy tales from just barging in uninvited.

“You’ve got a point.”

As I was saying, the Slayer silently made her way around the house, which was a complete mess. There was nobody there. Since she was very tired, she decided to take a nap in one of the seven beds she found. She collapsed onto the big, feathery mattress and began to snore loudly.

“I did not!”

Yes, you did. Just like a buzz saw. It even frightened away all the cute bunnies. Anyway, hours passed and, after the sun set, the seven owners of the house came back. They were very surprised to find the petite blonde girl sleeping in one of their beds.

“Cor, I didn’t have any problem with it. My bed, after all.”

Wait until you are properly introduced before you start talking to the nice people, okay?

“Right. Carry on then.”

Thank you. The Slayer woke up with a major wiggins because she knew there were vampires in the room. She grabbed her stake and jumped up, staring wildly around.

“Please, calm down. We have no intention of-of harming you,” said one of the people in the room

“Who are you?” she asked in alarm.

“I’m thinkin’ that should be our question to you,” answered someone else.

“Sorry. I’m the Slayer.”

Three of the room’s occupants suddenly became quite nervous since they happened to be vampires.

“Well, there’s a no-slaying policy in this house, so we’d appreciate it if you’d put the stake away.”

She considered this request for a moment, then lowered her stake. “Who are you?”

“I suppose we should introduce ourselves. My name is Smarty,” said the first man who had spoken to her. He had a charming English accent and was dressed entirely in tweed. He nervously cleaned his glasses as he spoke.

“I’m Dorky,” said the man next to him. He certainly looked it, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and striped pants. He was obviously ogling her.

“You can call me Wolfy,” was the response of the next man. This guy looked fairly normal. He had a guitar slung over his shoulder and an expression that seemed never to change no matter what happened.

“I’m Witchy,” said the petite, reheaded girl standing next to Wolfy. She gave the Slayer a friendly smile and waved happily in a slightly spastic way.

“My name is the Dark Princess of the Night, but the others all call me Loony,” pouted the brunette next to Witchy in an oddly dreamy Cockney accent. Her eyes were half-closed, and her trailing crimson satin dress swept around her as she swayed back and forth in place. Witchy gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Name’s Bloody. Last name Hell,” said a rather dangerous looking blond man who had his arm draped over Loony’s shoulders. He also had an English accent, as well as an incredibly sexy grin on his face. “By the way, that’s my bed you’re in.”

She blushed scarlet.


There was still one occupant of the room who hadn’t spoken up yet because he was too busy being guilt-ridden. Come on, it’s time for you to say something.

“But I’m lurking.”

De-lurk and open your yap. Now, before I write you out of this story.

“Okay, okay. I’m Broody,” said the very shy man who had come forward from the shadows. He was extremely handsome, with dark brown eyes and hair that seemed to be chiseled into place. Oddly, even though he was Irish, he didn’t speak in a brogue. Guess the Powers that Be thought that it would be one accent above the legal limit. The Slayer couldn’t help thinking he was cute. Since she was already bright red, she started to blush an interesting grape-juice like shade.

“Oh, come on! Purple? How am I supposed to blush purple? Has anyone ever seen anybody who has blushed purple?”

Happens in fan fictions over and over again. Must be a Slayer thing. Now turn lilac and get on with the scene.

“May I ask what you’re doing here,” Smarty inquired delicately.

“Oh, I know,” Loony crowed excitedly. “The stars say she’s running away from Grandmummy! Also, they say that the White Sox will win in the ninth.”

Everybody stared at her.

“Um, actually she’s my stepmummy, er, mother,” the Slayer answered in confusion.

“Well, she got half of it right! I’m going to call my bookie and place a bet. Dang, Loonsville, that’s the most coherent thing you’ve ever said! Thanks for the tip!” Dorky said as he slapped her on the back, making the tiny brunette teeter violently, and darted out the door to use the phone.

“That was coherent?” the Slayer said disbelievingly.

“For her, yes,” Witchy replied with an apologetic grin. “So, who’s your stepmother?”

“The queen.”

“Princess, you were right on that one too! If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bet to place with Dorky’s bookie,” said Bloody as he dashed out the door.

“So, why’d you skip town?” asked Wolfy as he calmly sat down on the bed and started to play a few chords.

“She wanted to cut out my heart with an ax.”

“An ax? That’s harsh,” the guitarist replied in a nonplussed voice.

“Vampires are an evil lot. They don’t have any ability to feel guilt at all. Except for me,” said Broody as he re-emerged from the shadows with a pained look on his face. At least they thought it was a pained look. It was actually the way he always looked, so it could be that he just had chronic heartburn. “I think we should let her stay. Maybe it’ll reverse some of my karma.”

“If you care to stay, we will be perfectly happy to-to afford you the opportunity,” said the pleasantly attractive, tweed-covered man kindly.

“That’s sweet of you. Thanks. Maybe I can clean up around here for you.”

So began a lovely set of living arrangements. The Slayer, using her enhanced strength, was able to successfully battle the legions of dust bunnies that had taken up residence under the furniture in the last several centuries.

“Take that, you undead fiends!” she squealed as she staked dust bunnies left and right. Don’t tell her you don’t need to stake them. It’ll ruin all her fun. Besides, the mirror would still be frightened of them.

Every day, the seven other occupants went off to work in a diamond mine before sun up. The vampires liked this quite a lot, since there was absolutely no chance of them getting offed by a stray beam of sunlight several hundred feet below ground. Still, the group had their problems. For example, Loony would occasionally become confused and think the others’ eyes were diamonds glittering in the dark and attempt to take her pickaxe to them. Dorky seemed to be smuggling armloads of gems out of the mine and shipping all of them off to somebody everyone referred to as “the brain-dead cheerleader.” Witchy would sometimes attempt to speed up the mining process using magic, which unfortunately usually resulted in massive cave-ins requiring Broody and Bloody, who couldn’t stand each other, to work together to remove the tons of fallen debris. Smarty would simply stand and sigh in a very dramatic, yet somehow soulfully soothing, way.

Even after the Slayer found out that Wolfy earned his name every full moon by becoming a big old bloodthirsty carnivore, she was pretty well content with her new life. And of course, as you kind people know, that is just when trouble pops back up. Cue the evil vampiress queen.

“Right where you left me, watchin’ wholesome boy shake his money maker.”

“Your royal highness, I’m really tired. Could I stop for a while? Please?

“Let me think…. No!”

With that huntsman-slash-commando guy passed out cold on the floor.

“Now what am I supposed to do to pass the time?”

How about your good old mirror?

“Hey, not a bad idea. Mirror, now that the Slayer’s past tense, why don’t you tell me how gorgeous I am?”

The ex-demon in the mirror, who was still quite annoyed from having that boot thrown at her, answered the queen bluntly.

“She isn’t dead. You’re still not the fairest. Get over it already.”

After the queen succeeded in dragging a baby grand piano up to her chambers and launching it at the mirror at full tilt, she decided on a very weird, warped, twisted plan. She wrapped herself up in a dark cloak to protect herself from the sunlight and cast a spell to make her look like a helpless little old lady. With that, she launched herself out the front door of the castle, bent on revenge.

“Can I get up now?”

Yes, huntsman-slash-commando boy. Go get a glass of water and fly off to Brazil or something. We won’t be needing you again.

“Golly, thanks!”

Meanwhile, the wicked queen had arrived outside the adorable cottage. She gently knocked on the door and waited for the perky blonde to answer.

“Hi. Who’re you?”

“I am a poor little old woman who has become lost in the forest. Will you let me inside?”

With that, the Slayer willingly invited the old lady into the cottage, sealing her doom.

“Hey! I’m not that stupid! I don’t just go around inviting in strangers! I mean, hello, grew up in Sunnydale, the land of no welcome mats! Besides, shouldn’t she have made me have a wiggins since she’s a vampire?”

Um, you were having an off day?

“Not buying it!”

Uh, she hypnotized you into inviting her in, and she cast a spell that prevented you from gettin’ wiggy with it?

“Well, I’ll let that one pass, even though that’s more like Loony’s MO. But I still say it’s a weak point in your plotline.”

I’m not Shakespeare; so sue me. Anyway, as the Slayer turned to get the poor old lady a glass of water, the wicked queen sank her fangs into the girl’s neck and drained her almost dry before the front door opened.

“Hey! Get your fangs off of her, you foul old hag!” yelled Bloody, bashing her over the head with a footstool. This startled her into breaking the aging spell and appearing in her true form.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the blonde bimbo who sired Broody! Tryin’ to kill the Slayer, are ya? Hands off! I’ve taken a fancy to her!”

Loony looked at him in surprise and made a bizarre quivering noise in her throat; however, nobody paid any attention to her since she did that all the time for no reason at all. She quietly left the room, dragging Dorky with her.

The queen let the girl drop to the ground and proceeded to get into a major donnybrook with her great-grandchilde. After reducing most of the furniture to tinder, he finally managed to stake her with a rolling pin the Slayer had been using to make elderberry pies.

“A rolling pin? Couldn’t you have picked something more manly?”

It’s wooden, it’s pointy, and it would logically be in an adorable cottage. Don’t get snappy with me or I’ll make your roots show.

“Rolling pin. Got ya.”

Running to where the Slayer lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Bloody rapidly figured out that she was done for unless somebody sired her. He quickly bit his wrist and was about to make her drink when Broody grabbed him by the collar of his leather duster and flung him into the spinning wheel.

“We have a spinning wheel?”

Yes, Broody. It came with the adorable cottage. They all have them, just like everybody in suburbia has those cement geese. Now kindly rescue the love of your unlife.


Sire her, you nitwit!

“Oh! Right!”

With that, Broody bit into his massive bicep and coaxed the Slayer into drinking deeply.

“Did you just say I have massive biceps?”

I was feeling a little bad about the nitwit comment. Anyway, the Slayer slowly opened her hazel eyes, even though it normally takes several hours to become a vampire, and looked around.

“Broody! You saved me!”

“Hey, that was me!” Bloody yelled in fury. “I did all the hard work, and he still gets the girl?”

As Broody kissed the Slayer deeply, paying absolutely no attention to his grandchilde, just about everybody in the room let out a loud “Awww!”

“Wait!” Witchy suddenly shrieked. “What about the soul thing? For both of them!”

Broody and the Slayer abruptly broke apart, Bloody got an evil grin on his face, and Wolfy looked unpreturbed, as usual. But Smarty smiled broadly.

“Since the Slayer is now a vampire,” he explained, “Broody no longer has to worry about losing his soul. That can only happen with a human. And, happily, since she has been sired by a vampire with a soul, the Slayer has not lost hers.”

And there was much rejoicing. Broody swept the Slayer up into his arms, carried her out the front door, and the two of them rode away on a gallant white horse into the night and lived happily ever after.

That left our six other friends without a housekeeper or a brooder, but don’t think things ended unhappily for them, either. Loony suddenly reappeared with Dorky, who had a huge grin plastered across his face.

“We’re to be married!” Loony cried rapturously to the remaining housemates.

“Huh?” said Bloody in shock.

“It’s like this, blondie,” Dorky said in a patronizing tone. “Loony and I have been crazy about each other for months, but she didn’t want to break your heart. However, since you just threw her over in front of everybody, she decided that wasn’t exactly her top priority anymore. Don’t worry, you’re invited.”

With that, Loony and Dorky fell into a passionate embrace.

“Lampshades and kitty cats are running through my noggin,” cooed Loony.

“Umm, I love you too, Loony?” Dorky replied uncertainly.

Then they rode off into the night after Broody and the Slayer, riding Dorky’s 10-speed with Loony sitting in the flowered wicker basket.

“What about the poor brain-dead cheerleader?” asked Witchy in concern. “She’ll be disappointed when Dorky stops sending her diamonds.”

“Don’t think so,” replied Wolfy. “Had a thing for her for a while. Seeing as the full moon is about to rise, I think I’ll mosey over to see her. No offense, Witchy.”

“None taken,” she replied sadly, looking lost and alone. Once the front door slammed shut, she added “She’s a major bitca anyway. He’ll be completely miserable with her. Serves him right, the dog!”

“Witchy! I’ve never seen you so vengeful before,” said Bloody in awe as he ambled towards her. “You’re cute when you’re nasty. Say, do you think…”

“Heck yeah!” she said roughly as she grabbed him by his black t-shirt and kissed him dang near senseless.

“Now that’s what I call an improvement! Instead of a lunatic I get a pretty little witch to play with. Thank you, narrator!”

My pleasure. Witchy pulled Bloody out the front door and the two of them rode off into the night in his black De Soto, going completely the opposite way of the other two couples since it would be impossible for Broody and Bloody to both live happily ever after within a fifty mile radius of each other.

“That leaves just little old me,” sighed Smarty as he took off his glasses and slowly massaged the bridge of his nose. “Alone again, as usual. The writers never give me anyone to live happily ever after with.” He heaved a heavy sigh.

Tap, tap.

“I suppose I shall live the rest of my life alone with my books.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Nobody seems to want to be with a silly old librarian.”


“Who keeps tapping me on the shoulder? There’s no one left here.”


“I don’t understand.”

You seem to be forgetting about your lovable old narrator.

“Wait a moment… Are you suggesting…?”

With that, the narrator slammed her lips against Smarty’s incredibly attractive, sweet little English mouth to get him to shut up.

“Good heavens!” he said when I finally let him up for air.

Trust me, we lived very, very happily ever after.

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