Title: Cheese: An Experiment in Fate

Author: Lyle Brown (LyleMHD)

Summary: You look liiiiiiike, you could use these. You're a girl/guy in neeeeeeed, of the pus cows sneeze. But can you…..Say-e-ave Cheese? C'mon and Say-e-ave Cheese. If you could Say-e-ave Cheese, from the flanks, of the mice, we suspect, they would eat all that we have. Hey! I wanted it to be a perfect ending at ten pages and it turned out to be seventeen. I'm sure there's a metaphor for life somewhere in this mess. Anyway, you're at the finish line; I can't believe it. You've grown so much since we began; I can see it in you. Gosh, if I don't swell with pride. Enjoy! Note that while no one is a main character, some do have bigger parts than others. Sorry, especially to all those Darla fans. I'm sure there are bunches of you. Somewhere. In small groups. Holding candles and plotting my death.

Time Period: Alternate Universe, few spoilers (all seasons)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. What I'm doing with these characters is very, very wrong; I know. Sorry again.
Rating: Hard R. Sex, murder, drugs, language, lotsa violence. It's a story for the whole family!

Feedback- I love it. If you want to give me a happy, just write to me at [email protected], or review it here once you've read it.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, well. We're all here. You, me, Lilly…Uncle Biff. Yes, yes sit down Biff, the end is nigh. And that goes for you too. Here it is, without further ado, the epilogue to Cheese: An Experiment in Fate.

Cheese: An Experiment in Fate
by Lyle Brown
Part 4: Epilogue

Here we go, one last time...

June 20th

"Miss, excuse me."

The stewardess, who had managed to calm down since they'd left the airport in one piece, rolled her empty cart to a stop.

"Yes, we'll be serving food shortly-"

The blond young man shook his head, pointing towards his dark-haired companion who appeared to have fallen fast asleep. "No, that isn't what I wanted. My lady friend here has been shivering a little, but our compartment doesn't seem to have any blankets. I was wondering…"

She smiled sweetly. "No problem, I'll get her one now. Would you like one as well?"

He shook his head again, waving a hand. "Oh no, sleeping and flying don't mix well with me."

She nodded and walked off to get a blanket. Benton looked back at Faith, smiling as he did. They had talked non-stop until she had fallen asleep. He didn't know if he could trust her, but he certainly liked her. The main problem was that she seemed to be a bit timid, like a wild animal afraid of breaking free. He had been surprised to get the feeling that she was trying to stray from trouble and violence instead of trying to find it. He hoped that none of his enemies had made it onto the plane. He didn't want her to get tied up in any of his problems; especially ones that could get her killed.

He heard footsteps approaching, breaking off his train of thought. "Here you go, a nice warm-"

Faith started humming, loud enough to surprise the woman into silence.

"W-what's she doing?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "I have know idea…" He took the blanket from her, wrapping it around the sleeping form of Faith. But her humming continued to grow in volume. It was a tune he'd never heard. Before they could think of what to do, her mouth opened, and she began to sing. He grinned. This girl was a mystery he wouldn't mind taking the time to uncover…

"Umm, sir. We really can't have that-"

He waved his dismissively. "Leave her, she's not harming anything."

Huffing, the woman stalked away. She'd probably spit in his coffee if they ever got around to serving it. For now though, he settled down next to the sleeping beauty and listened to the relaxing tone of her sultry voice as she sang in her sleep.

* * * * *

"Planes are flying, everywhere
Raining tales but no one cares
Easy coming, easy gone"

Cordelia awoke with the absence of sound, picking herself up off the ground. Dusting her clothes and face off, she felt dazed and confused. She couldn't quite remember much of what had happened to her over the last couple of hours. She wasn't even sure what time it was, and a check to her sooty wrist didn't help as her Rolex was cracked. Slowly walking in the debris-filled intersection, Cordelia searched for a way out between the maze of broken and destroyed automobiles. She vaguely remembered being frightened of something or other.

She jumped a little as her cell phone rang.

"H-hello", she murmured.

"Hi, Cordy?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Cordelia, you don't sound to good, are you alright?"

"I…think so. Who-who is this?"

"It's Bethany, Bethany Roberts… from the agency."

Cordelia groaned. "Oh god, please don't tell me you've called to rub it in…"

"Actually, I didn't. Our lead has fallen with the flu, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like another chance."

She stopped walking, stunned. "You can't be serious."

"I am. She just called- oh, yes? Oh, all right, I'll be right there. Listen Cordelia; I'm giving you three days to get your cute butt back in Los An. After that I'm calling our next fill-in, and trust me, you don't want her there instead of you. I wish I could stay and chat but I'm needed in a meeting."

"O…okay."

"Uh-huh, ASAP Cordy." /click/

"Right."

If she weren't so tired, Cordelia would have been elated. But now she had three days with no car and very little money to get back to Los Angeles. How she was going to do that, she didn't know. In any case, she started walking a little faster. Then she smiled. Cute butt?

* * * * *

"Timid girls, hopeful boys
Earnest lies, all this noise
Not quite done, I'll move on"

"Shh, listen! I think the storm has stopped."

"Oh what does it matter, we're still locked in here."

"No, no. I have an idea. C'mon, put your skirt back on."

...........

"Alright, now what?"

"See if you can turn around a bit."

"You mean like you are? Ethan, that looks more than a little uncomfortable."

"I'll bet it does, just do it anyway."

The patrol car shook slightly as Olivia turned, placing her feet against herself and the hood of trunk.

"Okay, now on the count of three, I want you to kick with me, okay?"

"Oh, you have got to be joking-"

"Hey, it's better than rotting away in here. C'mon. 1…2…3!"

They shot their feet up at the same time, connecting with the hood and making a very large noise, if not opening it altogether.

"Okay, again."

"This is ridiculous…"

"Shut it. 1…2…3!"

Again they kicked, and again it did not open. But this time they did hear an audible cracking sound.

"Oh my god, Ethan I think it's working!"

"Once more now."

This time she didn't complain.

"1…2…Now!" They lunged forward with renewed vigor, slamming into the trunk and being rewarded as it swung deftly open. Olivia laughed with joy and hugged Ethan before beginning to slip out. Something was obstructing the hood from moving very far, but it could open just enough for them to escape.

Once out, Ethan surveyed their surroundings. It was incredible. Buildings, trees, other cars, even signs and mailboxes. Nothing looked as though it had survived.

"What happened here?"

"Oh god, Ethan look!" He turned and tried not to show the shock as he saw what had kept the hood from opening all the way. A smaller car had fallen directly on top of the one they had been trapped inside of. Had the cop been inside?

Turning again, pulling at Olivia's hand to walk (or limp rather, as the bullet wound in his leg was getting worse) away with him, his question was answered. Olivia saw it as well, pressing her face into his shoulder in disgust.

Not three feet from them, a car stood straight up, it's trunk in the air and its nose smashed into the ground. What remained of the cop was splattered around them. Ethan thought it might've been a Buick. Curiosity taking over, he dropped to his knees next to the body, leaving Olivia to wander and look at the destruction of what used to be Sunnydale.

He picked up the gun the cop had used on him. For some reason the safety was on. He pocketed it, his own guns lost.

"Olivia, let's get going."

"Where are we headed?"

"I have some business in India. I was thinking you might want to come along."

She smiled and walked up to him, a fresh wind smelling of burnt rubber and flesh blowing her hair around. "I'd love to."

He smiled back before limping along the rest of the distance between them. She put out an arm to support him. "Let's you and me find some unsuspecting driver and strip him of his ride, yes?"

She giggled, holding him to her as they walk down the road. "Yes."

Behind their retreating forms, a gust of wind swept inside of the half-opened trunk, carrying out with it the petals of the rose, blowing them off into every direction.

* * * * *

"Tired that this life won't stop
I have seen our blemished crop
Only mine, frittered lawn"

Willow rested her head against Tara's shoulder, listening to the bus rumbling along with them safely inside. Sighing, she wrapped her arm tighter around the other girl's waist and slid closer to her.

Tara smiled as she played with Willow's hair, staring out the window at what remained of Sunnydale quickly fading in the distance.

"So where do you want to go?"

Tara shrugged, enjoying the friction of Willow's body against her own.

"Where do you want to go?"

The redhead giggled. "I asked you first."

Tara giggled back, turning from the window to look into Willow's eyes. The truth was that she didn't care where they went, as long as she was with her. But if she had to give an answer...

"I hear Venice is nice this time of year."

Willow grinned and touched foreheads with her. "I hear it's nice any time of year."

"They have beautiful sunrises."

"I hear that too."

Tara closed her eyes, feeling the breath from Willow's mouth. "We…we could ride the gondolas."

Willow nodded. "I think that's a good plan. Yea plan."

"Yea."

She breathed a little harder and caressed Tara's lips with her own. "Kiss me."

Running her hand through Willow's hair Tara pressed her mouth against the other's, and kissed her.

* * * * *

"Unexplained, the world plays wrong
Seems to me it takes too long
Please stop, my life I'll pawn"

Spike had finished looking around. He knew this was the one he wanted.

"I'll take it."

The young geek selling it grinned, pushing his glasses a bit farther up his nose.

"That's great, man. Trust me, you will love this baby. Only four hundred."

Spike smiled at him. "For this piece of junk? That's illegal, I'm sure of it."

The young man frowned. "What?"

Before he could move, Spike advanced on him. "How about this. I take it off your hands for free."

"H-hey man, what're you doing? I thought-"

"And while I'm at it, how about I take some of the weight off your shoulders."

The kid's eyes widened. "Jesus, just take the fuckin' thing!"

He tried to move for the door of his garage (where he was selling it; Spike and Anya had seen it after getting off the bus) but tripped on a box full of old junk. Spike reached down and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him to his feet and sinking his teeth into the geek's neck.

"Aw, sh-shit!"

The kid gasped and struggled for a few more seconds before giving up the fight, sinking down into Spike's arms. Once he was dry Spike let him go, his body falling to the floor as Spike took hold of the motorcycle and wheeled it outside where Anya was waiting.

"Anything on him?"

"Nah, his pockets were clean. Little dipshit didn't even have a wallet with him."

He took the keys off the handle bar and stuck one in the ignition, turning it to hear the satisfying noise of the engine starting up between his legs.

"Get on."

"He didn't have any helmets?"

"This is a temporary thing An'. We'll upgrade soon, but until then get on."

She nodded, climbing on behind him, grinding her hips against him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "How long before we 'upgrade'?"

He sighed. "Well, it can't be to long, seeing as how the sun'll be up in a few hours."

"Oh, right."

She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes as he picked up speed, the wind blowing through her hair. Spike smiled, enjoying the ride and the comfortable warmth Anya was providing. The only thing missing was a radio. Ah well, he ought not get used to it anyway. Damn things were dangerous, especially to those who needed shade in the light.

Considering what he might do to Drusilla and what he'd find next while heading west, Spike rode off into the night with Anya falling fast asleep behind him.

* * * * *

"Ridding us of all our pain
Elemental problems gain
Tension what? Question those"

"You okay back there?"

He nodded, giving a thumbs-up to the co-pilot.

Turning back around, Parker sighed as he stared at the form beneath him. He could barely hear anything over the roar of the blades, but he was just satisfied with hearing her breath. Her arm was in a cast, as was her leg, and there were bandages covering her head and wrist. She'd need a bit of time to recuperate from all that had happened to her. He'd need a bit of time himself, with his shoulder bandaged and his back burned slightly from the explosion.

After the chopper had landed he'd held them up for a few extra minutes so that he could search for the other survivors, but they had all disappeared. Even the kid who had been helping the woman was nowhere to be found. He'd regretted the decision, but he knew that the sooner they left, the better it was for her, so that's what they'd done. She'd woken up a bit once, right after they'd taken off, asking about Buffy. That had more than startled him, wondering how she knew her. But then she'd thanked him dazedly and gone back into a slumber.

He wouldn't forget that. He felt an odd bond with her, like they had both survived the night together. He realized that this sort of one-sided relationship wasn't exactly wise to start out with, but she looked lonely. And he was lonely. The least they could do would be to spend time being lonely together. He smiled, brushing at a lock of hair on her forehead. He'd help her get back on her feet, help her to work things out. And maybe one day, she'd have the relationship go further. He could only hope.

No matter what happened, Parker was just happy not to be alone. His days of thrill seeking weren't exactly over, be he didn't mind slowing down for awhile. Especially after the night he'd just had.

* * * * *

"Ergo, the horrors we stage
Nears us to the burning rage
This is where I think it grows"

Darla hated this. She didn't understand what had brought her back to life, and now she didn't even know if she wanted what she had. It was all so down heartening. She'd thought that Angel still had something in him for her, but he'd attacked her, nearly killed her! All she'd wanted was for him to understand what was going on, that she loved him, but he was so caught up in Buffy that he couldn't see anything else. She might've been harsh to him, but-

Wait wait! Someone was actually stopping. She stood on the highway; her skirt torn and her face scratched up a bit since Angel had pushed her to the ground. She'd been walking slowly west with her thumb out for a good while now, but someone was finally stopping.

As it pulled to a stop beside her she looked inside the window of the pickup. An obese, butch-looking woman stared back at her, a toothy grin on her face. Well, it was better than walking. She opened the door and hopped inside.

"Where you headed, girlie?"

Darla shrugged. "Wherever you're going, just as long as I get as far away from here as possible."

The big woman laughed as she picked up speed again, billboards and trees passing by in a whir. Deep in thought, Darla wondered whether or not it would ever work out for Angel. He'd been hit hard all his life, and this seemed to have been the last straw. She could have been more understanding in her first approach...

"You hear about what happened to Sunnydale?"

"Yeah, I was there when it happened."

"Really, good God! What was it like?"

Her gaze still locked outside, Darla was pondering where she'd go from here. "A real eye-opener…"

The fat woman laughed. "Ha, Red mink, spinning the jack!"

Darla frowned, looking over at her in confusion.

Her body was never found, though a few prisoners picking up trash for the state did find the blood-smeared ring she'd kept on her finger for so long…

*

Angel entered the deserted building, glancing at the destruction around him. About four or five bodies could be spotted straight off, but that wasn't what he was looking for. The cars had stopped falling for a while now, but this looked to be one of the last places it hit. The bodies of two vehicles were on either side of him, and a third had actually crashed through the building above down onto the bar.

He could hear a steady drip coming from somewhere to his left. Following the noise, he hunkered down and slunk around the mangled bodies of customers, broken tables and burnt walls. His search ended when he accidentally bumped into a chair, knocking it backward onto one of the remaining four-legged tables, causing the bottle of alcohol that had been dripping to roll off the side, crashing below.

"Oops." Angel was about to turn around when he spotted something he found much more enticing. The tap. Getting off his feet, he grabbed an empty, slightly chipped glass off of the table, walking towards the barrel and small plastic tap attached to it. Flicking it upwards, Angel poured out the foamy liquid, watching it fill and overflow as he waited.

Once he was satisfied with the mess he'd made, Angel examined the glass. Alcohol, beer, booze. His ultimate nemesis, it was the entire reason his life had gone to shit in the first place, all those hundreds of years ago. He held his destruction before him in a small crack-lined glass. It was the reason he had been bitten, killed and cursed. So, in essence, if he had never picked up drinking, and if he led a good life, Angel would never have met Buffy. He simply would have died. But he was a somebody. Historians knew his name (well, those who studied the arcane did), people feared him.

No, they feared Angelus. Angel, he was a nobody; some poor schmuck who'd paid his debt to society and had wound up with nothing. So the way he figured it, all he needed to revert to Angelus was one drink. Then something evil would find him, he'd get turned and Angelus would return once again. Then someone would curse him with a soul and he'd wind up with Buffy. Only this time he wouldn't give her up.

So he drank. But the only thing he'd forgotten was that the hellmouth was closed. It didn't exist anymore. And the few vampires that did inhabit the earth were no longer in Sunnydale, or Los Angeles. They had been all but cleared out.

* * * * *

"It takes us all, to see ourselves
Oldest right where evil dwells
Untold secrets no one knows"

"Hello?"

"Rupert, thank God. Where are you now?"

"Hello Carl. I'm on my way to the airport."

"Hey man, don't be so down. You survived. I tried calling earlier but my cell phone didn't work. Guess it was all that falling metal, ha!"

"Right, what did you do while it was going on?"

"Me, heh I was chitin' here at the 'port man. Strange they was just falling inside of Sunnydale. As it is the airport is flooded with people man, but I got your luggage loaded up real nice. Planes are leaving man, better make sure you're here in like, fifteen minutes."

As the bus crested a hill, Giles caught sight of the large building, lights glowing sharply. Sure enough, a mass of people could be seen within the Plexiglas windows, looking out.

"I'm practically there."

"Cool man. I'll be waiting. At least until they call out my row."

"Right. Oh, and Carl?"

"Yeah?"

"...Never mind. Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon."

/beep/

Giles had been considering telling Carl to inform Marco that he'd changed his minds about the "entertainment" during the night, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Not this soon. He was sure he'd eventually get over Buffy, but for now he would still feel wrong sleeping with someone else.

Giles rested his head on the window and watched the airport loom closer, mentally building himself up for the insanity and chaos he was sure would be resident within.

*

Buffy ran. She didn't know how fast or how long she'd been going for, she only knew that over two or three more hills stood her destination. Upon reaching the bus stop she'd found the place deserted, with Giles nowhere to be seen. The bus must've already come…

So she'd started running.

She had been a slayer once. In her body she still felt like she was. But she'd closed the Hellmouth; she'd saved the world, no new slayers were on their way. Didn't that mean that technically she was no longer a slayer? Didn't that mean that she no longer held any superhuman powers or strengths?

He breath faltered for a moment and she almost stumbled, her bag swinging crazily on her arm. Regaining her balance, she tried to stop asking herself such questions. She'd make it. She wouldn't, couldn't stop. Her happiness depended on it. She hated herself for hoping to think that Giles' happiness depended on it.

And at certain points in a being's existence, even a normal human's, stress and traumatic experiences can cause extraordinary things to happen within. Such as lifting a car off a loved one, or surviving a brutal attack...or running, very, very fast.

Buffy's feet blurred as she ran, picking up speed and finally breaking the boundary Sunnydale had set upon her.

She couldn't see the bus. She didn't know what time it was. All she knew was the brisk air whipping at her, and the weightlessness she felt. She didn't know if she'd make it on time. But she'd be damned if she left it up to fate, to the toss of a coin.

If hope was all she had left, hope was what she'd use.

And so it goes… Buffy hoped.

"Scream this from your heart, it goes…"

2 days later… June 22nd

* * * * *

Wesley awoke to a sharp feeling of pain throughout his body. His cell phone was ringing in the pitch darkness of wherever he was. Twisting and striving to ignore the screaming muscles in his back, Wesley picked out the small square block from his coat and opened the flap, not noticing that he was spreading blood over the Talk button as he pressed it.

"H-hello?"

"Wes? Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm not sure..."

"What?"

"It's nothing to worry about. Darien, what day is it?"

"You okay? You don't sound to good. Did you run into some of Brohiemer's men already?"

"No. Wait, why would Brohiemer send men to-"

"C'mon Pryce, don't fuck with me, man. You didn't take the car they put a bomb in-"

"How did you know about that?!"

"Relax, that ain't my style. Besides, I'm not gonna do you in unless I got a damn good reason, and as of now I don't. I heard from Brohiemer that you didn't take the car with the bomb he'd had his men put in. He knew that if you were any good you'd get to the plaza outside Mahjal and finish Lewis off, so he figured that by getting you to leave you're car at the hotel near the bodies of the men you took out he'd set you up for the police. And apparently you made a scene in a bar the night before that didn't help much either."

"Yes, what about the taxi?"

"…Sorry man, Bo didn't tell me about sending any taxis after you."

"How do you know all of that Darien?"

"…When Brohiemer heard that Lewis had disappeared and you weren't in contact he offered me the job of seeing to it you kept silent, one way or another."

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't. Some Israeli special forces broke into the place and I lost my connection with him. I'm on my way out of the country right now. I was thinking I might run into ya', thought maybe if you'd had the smarts to leave Lewis alive for now you'd have the same sense to get the fuck out."

"Right, well did I ever mention I wasn't that smart, just incredibly lucky?"

"Heh-heh. Tell me about it. Listen, word has it Lewis is tied up right now with some Witness Protection Agency and trying to wait until this shit dies down. Thing is man, he's got a son that's also on the lam. Kid's name is Brendan or Benson; some shit like that. It'd be good money to get the kid, eh?"

Wesley's eyes widened as he huffed and pulled himself from a busted hole in his trashed Volks. Small shafts of light spilled through under and around slats in a large door about twenty feet to his left. But that wasn't enough to tell him anything about where he was, or to give him any bearings of his surroundings other than that the floor was made of cement, which he could easily feel.

"So what do you say, you wanna go after the kid?"

"Y…yeah, I think we can work that out. I'll...I'll need some time to see my way out of this situation I'm in, but how's about getting together in a week."

"Right. You positive you got that under control man, you sound pretty bad."

"I'll be alright. Where can I find you?"

"I can't say yet. I'm thinking of Chelsea, I've got some safeties there but I don't know what we're up against Israeli-wise."

"I understand." Wesley was about to thank Darien for the call when something moved in the darkness near the big metal door. He heard the creak of a door desperately seeking oil and the shifting of what might have been leather. At closer inspection, Wesley could see two pairs of feet now partially obstructing the light from the big door.

"...Listen Darien."

This sound of a whip cracking made him jump and nearly drop his cell phone.

"I-I'll have to call you back!"

A slight whooshing sound started up as he heard the beep of his phone disconnecting, his eyes locked on the two sets of feet.

Suddenly a click resounded throughout the room and a dim red light flooded down. Almost as though his vision had just been washed in blood. He identified the whooshing sound as a large fan nearby. But what truly captured his attention were the two menacing people staring back at him.

Decked up in full dominatrix gear, a pretty black woman and an equally handsome white man both held torture devices in their hands. The woman held the whip and the man wielded a ball and chain. The uniforms they wore had holes cut out for their genitals and the woman's breasts. He was betting that if they'd turned their backs on him they'd have holes in the bottom as well. But they did not turn. Without a word they advanced on him.

"Oh dear lord…"

Wesley began planning his escape, and though one did not immediately seem evident, his luck had never run black for long.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

And that, my pupils, is the end of what you need to know. I believe I've proven that the slices of cheese are thought of as individual when peeked at in shredded tones, but together they can be truly be viewed as the intertwining tales of fate they are, such as the Dark Slayer being saved by a young man who wound up with the mother of the girl he had a one night stand with years ago. The girl whose friend killed two previous loves in order to save her last, hiring a man who would one day soon begin hunting the son of a very powerful businessman. The businessman whose son was now in cahoots with the Dark Slayer herself. Eventually, all will learn that the slices of cheese can be seen as the outcome of life itself. Does the cheese not grow mold even if one runs fast holding it up in the air? In short, these cheddar slices each portray a different story, no matter how alike they may seem at first. One's end is another's beginning; one's Blue is another's Swiss. But at the end, you simply must remember that there is no running from it, there is no changing the outcome and there is no stopping time. The cheese cannot protect you, for your decisions have already been decided, your steps have already been mapped, and your life is on strings that are cut at a pre-determined destination. It's the absence of coincidence, the truth of fate. That is the true power... the true power of Cheese.

THE END

"Mr. Harris… Mr. Harris?"

Xander groaned, a very strong pain boring into the back of his skull.

"Mr. Harris!"

Yes, that's my name, please use it as much as possible in the next-

"Yes Mr. Harris that's all fine and dandy but we have much more pressing issues at hand that if you'll follow me I'm sure we can attend a meeting on time so you can be presented with them."

Xander, confused, opened his eyes. Nothing but whiteness surrounded him.

Could you run that by me one more time?

"Unfortunately not as I'm afraid we really are pressed for-"

Dude, slow down. I've had orgasms that lasted longer… And I can't believe I just said that.

"You didn't."

What? Then how-

"You aren't speaking, you're thinking. I can hear your thoughts."

Nice. That's neat, really. Where am I?

"Yes that will all become apparent if you would simply follow me-"

Xander stood up, feeling another presence. He stumbled a bit. How had this happened?

"Ah, very good. Now we're making progress."

Right, just give me a moment would ya?

"No, I can't. A lot of people have died and you must-"

Xander examined the tall dark man next to him.

Do I know you?

The man shook his head in frustration. "You know, it took your friend a lot less time to catch on. I'm not sure how we're supposed to put our faith in you-"

Xander straightened his back, cringing in pain but the insult taking precedence. Fine, let's get going. Where to chief?

The man smiled. "All right."

Xander frowned. Wait, my friend? What friend?

Around the frustrated sigh Xander heard a familiar name.

Oz?!
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

AFTERWORD

Well, unless I'm mistaken that's all she wrote. Or rather, all he wrote. All I wrote. Whatever.

This story came about when I was listening (as I am now) to my sister's Soundtrack of Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia. You may or may not have guessed that as I have put cheese-related parodies of four of Aimee Mann's songs in each intro. One for each intro I mean. Anyway, I was listening to the CD as I was sitting at my computer and thinking about some different ideas I had for BTVS fan-fiction. Then my mind drifted to Magnolia, as I had only seen the film about a week previously for the first time. While Magnolia (I'm going to stop putting it in italics now cause it's a bitch to remember) is an extremely entertaining film, and is produced and filmed to beautiful standards, it's directed as though it's a sweeping epic, and it's written to be one of the most pretentious films I have ever seen.

I mean, c'mon. What the fuck was up with the frogs falling from the sky. It was actually raining frogs at one point. In the words of my mother, "look at us, we're artsy. We've got raining frogs." And that's basically what it was trying to be. Artsy. Not to say that I didn't almost cry when I was watching William H. Macey's character proclaim "I have all of this love to give!" But he didn't know who to give it to. And of course the cop, the best character in the movie. This guy was the only really religious one in the film, which is odd that I liked him so much cause I usually don't take to overly-religious people that well. But yeah, he was a great character. Then their was Tom Cruise as a sex-oriented motivational speaker yelling, "Respect the cock!" See? Pretentious.

So I started to think; hey, why don't I use Buffy to make fun of Magnolia. I could make a parody and have all sorts of stupid stuff happen. I originally started it as an all-out parody with Buffy in Cruise's role yelling such things as "Respect the bitchy, whiny, slutty cunt!" and "Riley, you bastard! Can't you see that I've loved Giles before I even saw him?" And I had Willow constantly taking care of Oz and Tara in the pill-driving gold-digging second wife(with a guilty conscience)'s role.

But shortly thereafter I realized I'd have a lot more fun writing a satire, which would still allow me to keep some of the more outrageous plot twists (such as Willow hiring someone to kill Oz so she could get over him, Buffy and Giles getting together, Joyce and the Anointed finding relief in each other and Wesley's becoming a hit-man). This way I could torture and maim characters to the fullest extent and get away with it because I'll say I'm doing something poignant and touching. But it would also help me to set rules for myself, so as to keep me from falling to the temptation of having Jennifer Love show up and cut out Buffy's hair in the night, or having Dan Akroyd and Kim Basinger guest star as Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg.

So I started forming a serious if out-there plot, featuring as many characters from the series as I could fit in. Then, once I had twenty of them, I put them in various stages of their lives, giving some of them large stories (Tara/Willow, Riley, Giles and Buffy) and some of them short stories (Darla, Anya/Spike and The Anointed One). I figured that as long as I changed or showed a difference in each of them, I'd have accomplished my goal of making it utterly ostentatious. The one character I really kept from the parody was Riley as a cop. I'd originally intended to have Buffy dump him for losing his gun when getting in the fight with Tara, but once it turned serious I had to lose the gun concept.

Speaking of Riley, I'm not exactly sure why I took out such harsh endings for the two Buffy-men. I had known from the beginning that neither of them would wind up with Buffy, but I hadn't figured that I'd be so hard on them. It's almost as if they were innocent bystanders that I went out of my way to gun down. But once I had decided their fates I thought it would be easy, since they're both standing in they way of The Watcher and his Slayer. Once again that isn't the way it happened. After I killed Riley I immediately had to go back to Willow and revel in knowing that every word I typed would pull her closer to bringing Tara back to life. And after I gave Angel the ending I did I stopped writing for a while. I got the same feeling in the pit of my stomach that you do when you shoot the baby wolves in Metal Gear Solid. There's a sick fascination with it until you actually do it, and then the fascination leaves and you just feel sick.

But that's the way it had to be. The only ending I was really unsure of when I was writing the overview was Cordelia's. How would I end her's since she had all of these conflicting emotions? I eventually decided to give her back her job, but to put her in a precarious position as to how she'd get there. I wanted to piss people off with all the confusing and open-ended story lines, just like Magnolia did. I wanted to show the characters in the peaks of happiness and the lowest depths of depravity. And most of all I wanted to make it horribly pompous and egotistic. If you'll look a bit closer at the poem you might see what I mean. That reminds me. You may have asked while reading this part, "Why is Faith singing?" There was a scene in Magnolia that I actually liked despite it's arrogance in which every character sang a bit of Aimee Mann's "Wise Up". That's why I had Faith singing a poem I wrote to end each story line. The title itself just oozes haughtiness, doesn't it? Using a food as a sign of life. A story contained in each slice. But the double meaning is that it is what it says it is. Cheesy. It also allowed me to give reference and perhaps create a better understanding of who that guy with the cheese really was. And I think you already know why I had the cars falling. I've always wanted to do that…

Finally, there's the case of what I'm going to do next. I can't really say. I might move on to a slasher/time-traveling Roswell fic I've been musing over for a few months. Or I might finish the two other BTVS stories I started awhile back, 9/10 and Five by Eighteen. But right now I'm seriously pissed at Joss and his crew. Remember the Dracula from that awful season premiere? He has his own movie that premieres tonight on USA. Dracula: The True Story or some trash like that. In other words, the season premiere of Buffy was basically one big advertisement for that movie. I've been a faithful fan for five friggin' seasons, since the very beginning. I just can't believe they sold out like that. In any case, if they pull that shit again they can count themselves one fan down. But to end this afterward on a happy note, I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much. Maybe I'll write about Charlie Brown next… Or maybe I'll write a story about what happens to Wesley and Darien once they try to capture Benton and the strange girl he travels with. Perhaps you'll find out what happened to Xander and if he succeeded in defeating the Red Mink. Only time and how much schoolwork I have will tell…

Lyle Brown
October 31, 2000 Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
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November 09, 2000
A special note and thanks goes to Saint at Fanfiction.net who has reviewed the first two parts (giving me probably the nicest review I've ever recieved) and as a result spurred me on to finish the rest faster than I might have without his praise. He also made me aware of an error in my writing. As this is satire, many of the characters do things they normally wouldn't, but I do admit that I forgot to put into the story when I was planning it out that Willow (as Mandy) told Wesley (as Darien) to use a silver bullet when taking out Oz. Thanks again Saint.