Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors Discuss Their Favorite Television Show (Smart Pop series) (6 page)

Anyway. So very not my fault that the Red Witch turned into Glenda from Glitter Gulch and saved the day by outnumbering me with Slayers. And yes, Xander Harris was the putz who saved her to pull that off. And without Stick (Tree? Shrub? Whatever.), no spell would have been cast, therefore no Slayer Overload to harsh my good vibe.

An argument could be made that the miserable Xander loafed through the rest of his career with the Slayer—but hell, who wouldn’t, after pulling off a coup like that? What’s he got to prove? That he’s EVEN MORE vital than indispensable? Sheesh. Even I don’t have that kind of performance rating system. (But you there, in the blue shirt, don’t get too comfortable.)

So I’ll concede the Xander-linchpin-of-goodness theory. I meant to Evil Dead him, but I got busy. There was the Slayer to torment, live people to taunt, corpses to impersonate . . . he was on the list, but you can’t expect me to be everywhere and do everybody. And hey, he lost an eye, which is one hell of a lot better than any of the rest of the Big
Boasty Evils have come up with. (Buffy’s mother died of NATURAL CAUSES? You don’t think this is going to come up in annual reviews, people? Talk about falling down on the job! I’d like to stress that I was not, in fact, the Big Bad at the time. ‘Cause that was just, well, embarrassing.)

And lest you think Xander got off lightly, my evil continues to work its magic in subtle yet effective ways. I mean, his love life is screwed. If you really think the chicks will dig the rakish pirate look, you are pathetically mistaken. Petty revenge is so totally mine.

Enough of that, I’m kicking the Xander problem to the curb. Now, about this student who wrote the essay . . . Narn? Norn. Clearly, he pegged something none of us fully understood at the time. If Xander Harris WAS the most important force for good in Sunnydale, well, our focus groups were way off the mark. We were blinded by the glamour of Red’s magic, the glitter of the Slayer’s so-not-naturally blonde beauty. This kind of screw-up cannot happen again, if I want to maintain my position as First Evil, and believe me, I am NOT having these embossed business cards reprinted.

What I need is a marketing campaign, something to convince people that whole Sunnydale debacle was a strategic retreat and that I’m just biding my time before emerging more powerful than ever. I’m thinking web site, with a nice Quicktime video. Fluffy, with lots of golden tones and cute puppies dying horribly. Possibly to a Barry Manilow soundtrack.

Get Mr. Norn back, decapitate him, and park him in a conference room with a bottled water and fruit plate. He’s my new head of PR.

Get it? Head? . . . oh, never mind. Sulking now.

— T.F.E.

______________________

*
Points deducted for nearly destroying Sunnydale with that whole love spell thing. Which so nearly worked for us. I would’ve paid good kittens to have seen him torn limb from limb by scorned, panting women.

¹
I crawl before you, o enormous godlike manifestation of evil. May you reign forever and crush the forces of good like tiny little crushable things. Etc.

²
Cursed be her name, in every dimension! Hail Vardath!

³
Good being a somewhat fluid term, even in the Realm of Sunnydale. See, for instance, our fallen brother Angelus, the once-formidable Spike, or the occasionally (and deliciously) evil Willow Rosenberg.

⁴
Ibid (2).

⁵
Ibid (2).

⁶
Ibid (2). Oh, whatever! Just assume an Ibid, already.

⁷
In his own words: “Ah, no. You’re not the only one with powers, you know. You may be a hoppedup uber-witch, but . . . this carpenter can dry-wall you into the next century.” (“Grave,” 6-22)

⁸
Through which we will erupt and consume all life on Earth. Real soon.

⁹
As we all know, even in a hell dimension, plaids with stripes is Not Done.

¹⁰
I speak for us all when I say that as Harvests went, that one was a crashing disappointment. There was almost no munching of innocents at all.

¹¹
Frankly, I was disappointed in the Master. I expected him to show a little more initiative when faced with a bunch of teenagers who couldn’t even be troubled to show up for class more than twice a day. I think I speak for us all when I say I was glad his bones were ground to dust. Yay.

¹²
We believe this refers to a top-secret holy society, but so far, we have only been able to determine that it apparently involves worship of a large canine. Possibly this could refer to the werewolf. He is very laconic.

¹³
Aka Angelus. He is a lot more amusing when he is Angelus. Blood, maiming, torture. Leather pants. I live in hope that he will once again experience eternal bliss. In fact, I respectfully recommend that the most evil and glorious Vardath commission a project to study how best to provide Angelus with this escape. It could prove most useful in upcoming years. My sister is particularly eager to participate.

¹⁴
“You take the princess and secure the kitchen. Catwoman, you’re with me.” Give him credit . . . for a White Hat, he knows how to bark orders like a Mal-toth.

¹⁵
Personally, I think he was kind of a cheesy blue putz, and cried no acidic evil tears over his demise. But still.

¹⁶
Not that I am in any way implying, great Vardath, that YOU PERSONALLY muffed it. Ever. Have I mentioned I was thinking of endowing a new pentagram in your honor on the Walk of Evil outside of Hell Hall?

¹⁷
That babe had real evil potential. She’s the kind of Slayer we need more of—willing to kick ass, have sex, get drunk, and ally herself with the Forces of Evil. Granted, she’s got some annoyingly good qualities, but I’m willing to work with her.

¹⁸
Cursed be her name, et al

¹⁹
“No studying? Damn! Next thing they’ll tell me is I’ll have to eat jelly doughnuts or sleep with a supermodel to get things done around here. I ask you, how much can one man give?” (“The Initiative,” 4-7)

²⁰
Which I would anyway. Of course. Gladly.

²¹
Now, THERE was a Force for Evil I’d follow anywhere. Quippy, lithe, stronger than most Hellgods, and with a fashion sense second only to Anna Nicole Smith. I’m thinking of applying to her staff after graduation. Her last Evil Minions were hardly management material.

²²
“You made the decision to stop for a reason. You promised us. And can I just ask, what’s with the make-over of the damned? I mean, the hair . . .!” (Villains, 6-20)

²³
I would inscribe lyrics here, but I feel that even Evil University shouldn’t require that much sacrifice for a lousy Prerequisite to Possession class. Suffice to say, they are evil.

THE MATING GAME

B
UFFY
B
UFFY
B
UFFY
! Honestly, girlfriend, for a while there, those of us in cableland thought you’d never get laid! Oh, admit it: it took you forever to hit the sheets! Of course, with you being a kind of virgin huntress a la that ancient Roman deity Diana, seasons were bound to come and go before a good-enough guy flew into your sights.

Now, season one everybody felt hopeful. I mean, here’s a snapshot: you and Angel lip-locked. Kissing is normal for a teenager, and obviously being normal is
the
driving force in a girl hardwired to slay. But as the entire world is no doubt aware, Angel is, alas, a vampire. The undead. The unclean. You knew it, we knew it, and while vampires surely don’t fall into the truly “normal” realm—I mean, fantasies aside, did you ever really believe you two would end up in the ’burbs with 2.5 of anything?—still, there’s something about those preternatural guys who live out their
dark side that make them simply irresistible. And all things said, a kiss is still a kiss, right? Who knew where this kiss could go? Well, we all did! And hope springs eternal, the perfect time frame for vamping the vamp. A nosferatu returning to a mortal state isn’t unheard of, which means anything was possible. Mutual attraction built and I think we all experienced a sense of relief that at least
something
erotic was happening for our modern-day Artemis, she of strong limbs, she who cuts up, queen of transformation, and all that.

In retrospect, the relationship with Angel seemed to be going well. What a perfect boyfriend! Sexy, honest, true blue. Just that little glitchy thing, him being a bloodsucking killer and all. Of course, somewhere in there you had fleeting thoughts about that Billy “Ford” Fordham—yes, your continuous-loop longing to be normal. But he had his own nasty agenda, and certainly became a good example of what-you-see-is-
not
-necessarily-what-you-get. And, of course, Xander has always (more or less) been waiting in the wings, the proverbial nice guy who finishes last. Solid. Dependable. In his case, a little klutzy. In short, boring. Not in the running. Face it, a girl in your line of work needs a guy who can keep up with her, and Xander, endearing as he is, could never compete with Angel, either in the realm of the flesh, or by engaging the imagination. Sad but true, a Slayer wants a little fire in the belly of her demon lovers.

So, it had to happen. All of us sat out here week by week, eating low-fat potato chips, peering intently at the great two-dimensional window of imagination, wondering along with you just what it would be like to have sex with a prince of darkness. Angel so handsome! Not to mention charming. Mysterious . . . You more than get my drift. That night at his apartment, well, it was inevitable, and when the lights faded to black, we voyeurs let our fantasies run rampant. We died (so to speak) and went to heaven!