- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (1/7: The One With The Dragon)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (2/7: The One With The Time Travel)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (3/7: The One With The Wings… in Pylea)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (4/7: The One With The Books)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (5/7: The One With The Discworld Crossover)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (6/7: The One With The Post-Apocalyptic Schmoop)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (7/7: The One With The Porn)
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Pick Your Own Adventure 5/7: The One With The Crossover
Rating and warnings PG
Word count 515
Setting Post-series, Ankh-Morpork, a sequel to Attraction of Opposites by me at AO3, about six months later from Buffy’s POV, though Spike doesn’t know it here
The trouble with switching dimensions is always learning the new rules, before they jump up and bite. Spike emerged from the portal, coat over his head, ready to leap back or for cover the second he smelt singeing. But there was none.
All right, then. Nice non-fatal sunshine. His favourite kind.
Generally speaking, emerging from a portal was best done unobserved, but all of Willow’s sensors suggested the Slayer had ended up in the centre of a massive city, and there was barely an inch that wasn’t teeming with lifeforms. So it had to be this way, and sod the confused onlookers.
Spike’s nose was now confirming, emphatically, that Willow had been spot on. Teeming with lifeforms, and the by-products of lifeforms. Lovely. Something squished under his boot when he moved, and again under his second boot as he took a first cautious step.
Hmm. Slayer wouldn’t be too thrilled with that. She’d not had a suitcase when she portaled over; must be relying on preserving her one decent pair of shoes (unless this place had some decent cobblers – which, to meet the Slayer’s standards, would be some pretty special leatherworkers). Buffy and cowshit went together about as well as any other well-dressed woman and a noxious substance underfoot, and Spike’s way with words was just epically poor today, wasn’t it?
(It was possible he was missing her. Three weeks was a long time to go without.)
Introspection was interrupted when the nearest wall started talking.
“What goin’ on here den?” it said. Thick-voiced, sure, but unmistakeably policemanly all the same.
Spike contemplated the options for a vampire in a city of a million souls (heh, yeah). Run and hide, sure, but finding the Slayer… nope. He looked up at the rock. “Say, I’m looking for a girl. Yea high, blonde, awesome fighter – you seen anyone like that?”
The wall shifted, perhaps uneasily. “Maybe. Who wants her?”
“An old friend from home.” Spike could speak non-committal-villain all day.
“Yeah? She bin missing some old friends.” The wall looked bulky. Also protective. Right, Slayer was here, and the police knew it. Fine. Spike could work with that. He noted that she’d got herself in with the law too; typical righteous type.
“Gonna take me to see her, then?” Spike struck a match on the unyielding, unhelpful chest of the officer of the law, and lit a soothing cigarette. He hated portals, and policemen.
A vast rocky hand reached out, and gently tapped Spike’s fag-holding-hand, causing spasms of pain to shoot clear up to his shoulder and the burning cylinder to drop to the floor, where it squished sadly into a pile of teeming-multitude-by-product. “It are not legal to smoke in public spaces,” said the wall. “Such to include all places where Watchmen are about their lawful business.” It coughed, and shuffled a little, adding a mumbled, “Except for His Grace’s personal quarters and immediate vicinity which are a man’s private kingdom, dammit Vetinari, and are hereby exempted from the decree”.
Spike snorted, hard. “Fair enough. Take me to him, then.”
The wall looked blank. (Not a stretch.)
“Him,” said Spike, impatiently. “His Grace. Sounds like a bloke I can do business with. Plus, I can get a smoke.” And, if he knew his wife, she’d be somewhere near the sensible man in charge.
God, he’d missed her.
Pffft. I don’t want crossovers. I want apocalypses. And schmoop. Your lucky day, gentle reader!
Originally posted at https://seasonal-spuffy.dreamwidth.org/791656.html