Braidless and donut hair loopies

[myth_taken]

Buffy had faced plenty of vampires claiming to be famous ones, from Dracula (the real one, that one time....), Lestat, Damon-- take your pick of bombshells that end up being no...shells. Just dorks.

(it isn't true, what Spike, of all peop- things said-- she isn't looking for that one good day. This isn't that, this isn't--)

This is about a vampire, and The slayer, and tacky shoulderpads and and and-- crotch pads? Buffy is so tired of this, these fashion disasters, the mullets.

(She can almost hear Giles cluck his tongue and point out how the laser beam eye effect is more to worry about than his wardrobe, but--)

Either way, that's it. Her and a sea of headstones and silent whispers of the grass in a cemetery. The ever present weight of a stake between her palms doesn't sooth her so much as just prove to be a loyal companion.

Like Fido.

Lucky for her, the wayward thoughts are broken by a head of blonde, a familiar head of blonde that she barrels towards, stake raised--

"It's one o'clock-- do you know which end your stupid shoulder pads are going to be stuffed when I'm done?"