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Title: Tin Dogs
Description: A conversation that occurs after season 7 of Buffy and Season 4 of Doctor Who. some small spoilers for the latter.
Warning: A little bad language in this but nothing too severe. Never am sure of the ratings thing.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money.
British pubs still felt strange to Xander. They hung on to their history so hard, with their exposed beams and weathered stonework and their bizarre names. It made him automatically think of words like ‘quaint’ and ‘olde worlde’ although he certainly wouldn’t be airing those views in public again.
This particular example was called ‘The Pig and Whistle’ and Xander couldn’t even begin to work out where that had originated. Of course at the moment he was finding it difficult to work out lots of things; like for instance, why he was here, what his name was and how exactly he’d got talking to the man who was just now ordering the next round.
“Thing is” said his companion, setting down a pint glass in front of him and spilling a healthy proportion of it’s contents on the bars polished surface “thing is… you can face the lot of 'em, Daleks, Cybermen, weird gargoyle-y things with wings that can turn into teachers…” he looked at Xander blearily “But it don’t matter, not in the end ‘cos in the end she just ends up running back to him, you know?”
Xander didn’t, but he nodded in what he hoped was a wise and understanding manner. It sounded like this young mans life (Mickey was it? Ricky?) was nearly as complicated as his own.
“And he’s older than her.” His drinking buddy continued “He’s like eight hundred and something years older than her. Now that mate is what you call an age gap.”
Here Xander could definitely agree. It had always seemed unfair to him that the age gap between Buffy and a certain pair of vampires hadn’t really ever seemed like a big thing to anyone but him. He took a sip from the beer and raised an unsteady finger.
“And I bet he was all ‘look at me I’m all weighed down by centuries of guilt so please give me love’ with his leather jacket and his mysterious air of mystery.”
“Yeah, yeah! And the suits even worse; all that geek-chic poseriness, swanning around like he owns the bleeding place and sweeping my girl off her feet, taking her god knows where and when and then trapping her in with me, making me watch while she spends all that time trying to get back to him. S’not fair you know.”
“Yeah, and even when they're not around she never looks at you, not like that. Oh you can put your life on the line for her, stick close to her through thick and thin but if you’re not some ancient broody pants with stupid hair or an ancient crazy English dude;” he broke off “No offence..”
“None taken.”
“…Then you’re basically wasting your time, 'cos it’s always the bad boys they want. It’s never the decent, stand up, faithful ones. You can be just as nice as you want but if a certain someone waltzes in and whisks them off to mortal danger then you can just kiss it all goodbye.”
“Your spot on mate, Spot. Bleeding. On... You an’ me, right, we’re just too nice for our own good; not enough edge for'em. I even tried heading up my own band of dangerous rebels in an alternate reality, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Get out!”
“No I did. We had our own van and everything. Course the Doctor only comes swanning back and saves the entire universe again, don’t he: Totally upstaged me and my van.”
“’S a shame.” Xander said sympathetically. “Buffy’s last boyfriend sacrificed himself to stop an army of demons escaping from hell and destroying humankind as we know it.”
“Bastard.”
“Tell me about it.”
Silence reigned for a few seconds as both men took to staring into their drinks
“I like your eye-patch though” said the man “Very Snake Pliskin: very dangerous.”
“Thanks” Said Xander, he raised his glass. “Tell you what...To the Bastards.”
The other man smiled and raised his own glass “Yeah. To Timelords.”
“To Vampires.”
“...What!?!?”
__
Description: A conversation that occurs after season 7 of Buffy and Season 4 of Doctor Who. some small spoilers for the latter.
Warning: A little bad language in this but nothing too severe. Never am sure of the ratings thing.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money.
Tin Dogs
British pubs still felt strange to Xander. They hung on to their history so hard, with their exposed beams and weathered stonework and their bizarre names. It made him automatically think of words like ‘quaint’ and ‘olde worlde’ although he certainly wouldn’t be airing those views in public again.
This particular example was called ‘The Pig and Whistle’ and Xander couldn’t even begin to work out where that had originated. Of course at the moment he was finding it difficult to work out lots of things; like for instance, why he was here, what his name was and how exactly he’d got talking to the man who was just now ordering the next round.
“Thing is” said his companion, setting down a pint glass in front of him and spilling a healthy proportion of it’s contents on the bars polished surface “thing is… you can face the lot of 'em, Daleks, Cybermen, weird gargoyle-y things with wings that can turn into teachers…” he looked at Xander blearily “But it don’t matter, not in the end ‘cos in the end she just ends up running back to him, you know?”
Xander didn’t, but he nodded in what he hoped was a wise and understanding manner. It sounded like this young mans life (Mickey was it? Ricky?) was nearly as complicated as his own.
“And he’s older than her.” His drinking buddy continued “He’s like eight hundred and something years older than her. Now that mate is what you call an age gap.”
Here Xander could definitely agree. It had always seemed unfair to him that the age gap between Buffy and a certain pair of vampires hadn’t really ever seemed like a big thing to anyone but him. He took a sip from the beer and raised an unsteady finger.
“And I bet he was all ‘look at me I’m all weighed down by centuries of guilt so please give me love’ with his leather jacket and his mysterious air of mystery.”
“Yeah, yeah! And the suits even worse; all that geek-chic poseriness, swanning around like he owns the bleeding place and sweeping my girl off her feet, taking her god knows where and when and then trapping her in with me, making me watch while she spends all that time trying to get back to him. S’not fair you know.”
“Yeah, and even when they're not around she never looks at you, not like that. Oh you can put your life on the line for her, stick close to her through thick and thin but if you’re not some ancient broody pants with stupid hair or an ancient crazy English dude;” he broke off “No offence..”
“None taken.”
“…Then you’re basically wasting your time, 'cos it’s always the bad boys they want. It’s never the decent, stand up, faithful ones. You can be just as nice as you want but if a certain someone waltzes in and whisks them off to mortal danger then you can just kiss it all goodbye.”
“Your spot on mate, Spot. Bleeding. On... You an’ me, right, we’re just too nice for our own good; not enough edge for'em. I even tried heading up my own band of dangerous rebels in an alternate reality, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Get out!”
“No I did. We had our own van and everything. Course the Doctor only comes swanning back and saves the entire universe again, don’t he: Totally upstaged me and my van.”
“’S a shame.” Xander said sympathetically. “Buffy’s last boyfriend sacrificed himself to stop an army of demons escaping from hell and destroying humankind as we know it.”
“Bastard.”
“Tell me about it.”
Silence reigned for a few seconds as both men took to staring into their drinks
“I like your eye-patch though” said the man “Very Snake Pliskin: very dangerous.”
“Thanks” Said Xander, he raised his glass. “Tell you what...To the Bastards.”
The other man smiled and raised his own glass “Yeah. To Timelords.”
“To Vampires.”
“...What!?!?”
__