SNIPPET: Pan(An 'Omake' of Terminus)

[Mad Hamlet <Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx>]

Disclaimer: All this belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy
Inc.(Grrr..arrgghh)


Drain Brameged Inc. Nervously Presents
A Mad-Hamlet Production




With Pan Chortling In the Background


Unware of the visitation of that which watched The Road, Buffy
Summers lay the long black feather in her lap and reached over the table for
her beloved. 

Smiling at her partner, Willow took the Slayer's hands in her own
and pulled the blonde to her feet. They said nothing, not need the words to
convey their feelings, the sensual heat of the warm autumn sun, slanting
through the blinds, warmed them. Their love for each other was palatable. A
living, breathing, existing quatified entity of its own right and its light
made the universe a better, brighter pla-

"I want you to fuck me crosseyed baby!" Buffy practically shouted to
the redhead in front of her.




The author blinked a few times his hands frozen of the keyboard.
He read the last line a few times. 

"That wasn't in the script." He thought to himself.




"Oh yes, my bestial warrior of feral fangs and fearsome feelings,"
Willow sang back. "Shred my clothing with your tooth and claw, mark me my
hunter! Mark me!" She flung her head back exposing her neck to the now
drooling slayer.



        

"Ooooookkkaaayyy.." Mad-Hamlet's keen instincts swung into action,
decades of experience and thought rose to the challenge at hand, to analyse
the goings on, find the weakness therin and come up with a plan of action to
correct it in a cool, precise, proffesional manner.

"This is done fucked up here!" Mad-Hamlet decided.






Xander Harris picked up the phone. It had been a while since he had
seen his college bound chums and was feeling lonely. Well, not lonely exactly.
More like deseperate for rescue. 

"Xaaaaannnndderrr," the sultry voice called from underneath the
bedcovers, "I nnneeeeeddd yooouuuu..."

"Pick up the phone." He changed repeatedly through gritted teeth.
"Pick up the phone, c'mon..Willow, Buffy, the Prime Poohbah of the BrotherHood
of Elk, I don't care. Someone pick up the phone."


"Hello?"

"Oh thank God!" Xander blurted.

"What?" The voice on the other end asked. "Xander is that you?"

"Er..uh..hi Buffy!" Listen I was just wondering-"

He was cut off as another voice could be heard from the phone. 

"Buffy! I waited a fucking eternity by the side of that damn Road,
now put that damn phone down, get your naked ass over here and stake me
already!!"

"Uh.." Xander finished.

"Sorry Xandman, gotta go!" Buffy chirruped and the connection was
cut off with a quiet, bottomless, click.

"Xaaaannnndddeeeeerrr." Anya purred again.

With a sigh, Xander Harris walked over to a small bottle, carefully
removed five pills and set them on the table. Than upending the bottle he
swallowed the entire contents. 

He turned to the bed where Anya was...waiting. 

"Thank God for viverin." He thought to himself.




         
"No! NO! NO! NO!" Mad-Hamlet beat his head on the keyboard. "What
the hell is going on? This isn't my style! I'm angsty and depressing. I make
the world a dark, cold, lonely, bitter place. Kafka is my guide, Nitche my
muse, The Crow my Avatar..." 

He continued this long litany of the darker characterisitcs of
manjor works of literature wrapping it up with the statement about how he
really couldn't blame Odepius for not figuring out the problem earlier. 

"...It's not like he was expected to go around to every woman he took
a fancy for 'Pardon me Madam, I'd like to get to know you better and then
possibly wrap your ankles around my neck, but before we get to that I have
make sure you're not my mother.' Right. I can see that. Fer Sure."

Ending his little rant to himself Mad-Hamlet felt much better.




Tara was sitting at the campus bar. She had lost something, an ache
deep inside told her so. An oppurtunity that had been promised her by the
Creator had been stolen. Ripped from her before coming to bloom, died
stillborn and lots of other really angsty metaphors. So now she walked, and
sought, and sought, and sought and sought and sought for something, anything
to ease the ache of her violated heart. 

Her fifteenth Tequila Walleyed FannyBanger was doing great at ache
easing.

Oz sighed into his beer. He'd spent the evening watching some blone
get smashed out of her mind. He'd planned to hook up with Willow that night
but when he'd arrived at her dorm, he had..heard things through the door.

"it..it..it's the prophecy..."
       
"Yea..yeah..preordain me baby, preordain me..do it! do it!"

       
He'd left of course. Suprisingly Oz didn't feel to bad to discover
that his girlfriend was now engeged in elicit, and possibly illigal, acts of a
carnal nature with her roomate. 

'I'm not surprised to find my girlfriend is now engaged in elicit, and
possibly illigal, acts of a carnal nature with her roomate.' He thought to
himself.


Isn't he great folks? Let's give him a big hand!

       
Taking another sip of his beer he shrugged mentally. 'Ah well, the
universe feels better this way, like Willow an' myself were not really meant
to be. The two of them deserve to be together. It's like..destiny somehow.'



        
Mad-Hamlet was grinning like an idiot. 'Take _that_ Seth Green!' He
thought.





Figuring 'What the hell.' after his third beer, Oz worked his way
across the rapidly crowding bar and sat down next to Tara. The blonde was
eyeing the drink in front of her the way a rabid badger might examine a small
cuddley puppy.

"Look like you could use a friend." Oz said. Not the best opening line
but he never cared overlymuch. "Names Oz." 

He offered the blonde his hand in greetings.

"Geshphaellarrgga." Tara burbled happily and tried to shake Oz's hand,
missed and nearly shoved her fingers up the bass player's nose. 

Yanking his head back just in time Oz continued the conversation.
"Hurt?" He asked gently.

Tara's eyes rolled wildly, actuall thoughts began skittering across her
mind as the young man in front of her swam before her vision.
'Talking...talking..talking' her mind changed. 'He's..talking. What do to,
what to do. Oh right, talk back.'

"Frushal!" Tara exclaimed with a nod. 

Oz had had just enough beer to put him into what, many college men
lable as 'What the Fuck' mode. As in, 'What the Fuck, One more Drink'. Ego
becomes invinvible in 'WTF' mode, common sense goes 'bye bye' and hormones
have a front row seat. 

'I'm single now.' Was the his only thought of justification as his arm
slooowwlly rose up and he eased closer to slide it over the shoulders of the
imbided wiccan-

SMASH!

VrrrrrooooOOOOOMM!! 

Crunch.


In longer terms, the large Harley Davidson smashing through the wall
came as a complete surprise to the young Daniel Ozbourne. So much so in fact
that he did not have time to react to the decending front wheel of said
vehicular plotline and therefore his head was caught between the tire, the one
thousand pound frame for the moterbike and the concrete floor. 

For about zero point zero zero zero three seconds. After that the
bones of his skull gave way and his grey matter when squirting across the
ground, tumbling and bouncing like very old, discolored white play-doh mixed
with cherry sherbert. 

No one really noticed.

"Ugologllloooo." Tara tried to whistle, but wound up gurgling. 

The girl on the bike wore ultra sexy leather pants, that clung to the
skin like..well.. Careful scientific investigation would have revealed it was
not actually a vacume and there was a slight amount of air between the inside
of the pants, and the womans skin, but only just.

A loose fitting olive green tanktop allowed ample cleavege to be
freely visable, the open collor or her studded leather jacket directed any
causal observers eye in that direction. Tara was no exception. 

Sobrietly glittered along her mind like ice water.

"Oooooo." She purred.

The blonde girl, staddling the bike tossed her head, her short blonde
hair whipping about. 

"I'm Veruca, a she-werewolf who would have been intrested in wolf boy
here," She gave Oz's corpse a swift kick. "But I find the idea of a drunken,
newly nihlistic blonde far more of a turn on."

"Yay." Tara replied. While she was sobering up fast, anything more
than monosybilic responses were still beyond her.

"Gonna make you my bitch." Veruca crooned, sliding one rough, palm
along Tara's hip, sliding her fingers under the wiccans shirt her nails dug
into the soft flesh beneath and began sliding higher, and higher, "Gonna give
you the good stuff."

Tara couldn't help it. This girl stood for everything she was oppsoed
to. Violence and power, taking and keeping, giving nothing and relishing in
the damage she did around her. 



"Wait a sec." Mad-Hamlet thought. "That's not right. Better fix it."




The second, larger even louder, Harley Davidson surprised no one asit
too, came barreling through the wall of the pub. Only this time airborn. The
rider gave the handlebars a massive yank, twisting the bike sideways in mid
air so the side of the bike smashed into the upper part of Veruca's body
lifting her off the ground and crushing her between the side of the bike and
the far wall. The total effect was...


Take a sponge. A person sized sponge. Dip it in spaggetti sauce, with
extra ground beef. Now, fling that sponge at a wall with around two thousand
pounds of force behind it and don't forget to add in the physics of the two
thousand pound object moving at roughly seventy miles per hour.

See?


The remains of Veruca slid down the wall. The mark would never be
cleaned as many regular goers to the college bar thought it lent the place a
sense of 'Avant Guard'.

The brunnette stradling the second Harley also was decked in leather.
The only real difference was her tank top was white, and had a lot more
trouble holding back the packages. This meant there was a lot more cleavegeto
be drawn to.

Tara gravitated toward the brunnette like she was an electromagnet. 

"Wanna go for a ride?" Faith smiled. 

"Uh-huh." Tara nodded.

Faith's hand snapped out, encircled the blondes waist and pulled her
over the bike's seat. She examined Tara carefully, well, her backside at
least.

"Mmm.. Not Buffy's but.." She gave the wiccan's upturned ass a light
swat. "Should make for a fun evening..or week...or month."

Tara just sighed happily.

Faith gunned the engine, pulled a tight donut with the rear tire
screeching, this spread Veruca around even more, even into some of the other
patrons drinks(They didn't notice and drank them anyway.) and barreled out of
the bar, making a third whole in the wall.



Mad-Hamlet leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Okay." He said to
himself. "Never really liked Faith that much, but...better than Veruca. Psycho
bitch."



With a luxerating sigh Buffy Summers relaxed. Next to her, equally
without apparal Willow giggled and buried her head in the crux of the slayer's
strong shoulder.

"That..that was incredible." Willow murmered. "I can't believe you
could move like that."

"It's a gift" Buffy shrugged dismissing her performance. "You didn't
do to badly yourself you know." She chucked her lover gently under the chin.

"I could tell." Willow smiled, her eyes lazily burning with
contenment.

"Oh?" Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "How could tell?"

"Weeeeelll.." Willow squirmed delisciously, pushing her body against
Buffy's, curve matching to curve, skin to skin, br-



Mad-Hamlet froze...took a cold shower, sat back down, got back to
work. 




"One." Willow counted, "There was the yummy goodness. Two," She held
up two fingers, "There was the gasping and moaning. Three," She held up a
third finger, "The constant mantra of 'red's betters than dead' was nice, but
most telling part was that rising shriek of ecstacy of yours that blew out the
window and the television screen."

Buffy had the decency to blush. "Sorry about that." she muttered.

"Hey," Willow began kissing her lover's neckline. "That's what a
security deposit is for."

Luxerianting in the tender carresses of her Willow Buffy couldn't
help but sigh. "Just think," she mused aloud. "It'll be like this for ever and
ever, no more angst, or pain, or darkness! Just love and warmth and pleasure
and happy things."

An enchoing silence reverberated throughout the dorm room.

With a snarled curse Buffy reached offscreen, yanked Mad-Hamlet into
the room and shouted in his face, "I SAID, IT'LL BE LIKE FOREVER AND EVER! NO
MORE ANST, OR PAIN, OR DARKNESS! JUST LOVE AND WARMTH AND PLEASURE AND HAPPY
THINGS!"

Mad-Hamlet was triple boggled. First, being yanked into a fiction,
second, being faced with a very pissed off slayer, third and last, being in
the same room with a _Naked_ Buffy and Willow.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." He said hysterically. "Happys, fuzzies, waffies, you
got it."

"Good." Buffy growled shoving the author back out of that reality.
"Now get back to work."


Willow took the whole thing in stride. "Mmm..Buffy, you're so
..authortarian." she purred. Her hands were easing over her own body, which
was rapidly growing in heat and need.

"Ah, ah, ah." Buffy clucked halting Willow's self exploration by
grabbing the redhead's hands. "Thats my job."




Mad-Hamlet was feeling grouchy. 'It's not supposed to go this way.'
He grouched mentally. 'I'm the god here, not them. Subject to my will and
whims and piques and moods and..and..other stuff.'

He crossed his arms with a pout. 'Then she goes and gets all
interfering, telling me what I can and cannot do. Who does she think she is?'
An unasked for voice popped up in his head. 'A hell of a lot
stronger than you.' It said.

Mad-Hamlet conceded the point with a nod. He set his mind to the
task at hand, mainly, keeping his skin on by giving the Slayer what she wanted
without comprimising his repuation of being an utter bastard.

"Hmmmm.." He said aloud scratching his beard. "_There's_ an idea."



      

The knock on the door was entirly unwelcome. Willow had just
confessed to Buffy that she not only could research hellishly evil subjectsby
demonstrating, vividly, her collected recolections of what parts of the Karma
Sutra she had memorised.

With a muffled curse Buffy disentangled herself from the...whatever
kind of embrace they were in. Mad-Hamlet didn't know, he was carefully
averting his eyes the entire time. Really. Flinging on a conviently placed
robe over her strong..supple..flexible..hot..bronze...



Mad-Hamlet took ANOTHER cold shower.



Putting on a robe Buffy yanked the door open, a snarling question
dying on her lips. The hallway was packed..PACKED..with ..with...THINGS!

At the forefront of this great mass stood an eerily recognisable
character. Kind of short, fuzzy, with big, innocent eyes and a cute button
nose. It was purple. Carried a small red purse and had some wierd antena on
it's head shaped like an upside down triange on it's head. 

"Too too choo." It said waving hapily. 

Another figure spoke up. This one looked a LITTLE better, shorter
than the purple thing, blue skin, red hat, red pants, no shirt, big feet.
"He's inviting you to go on a picnic with us." It said gesturing at the purple
thing with it's thumb. 

Buffy backed away slowly, shaking her head in denial. "No." She
whispered. "No, no, no!" 

Willow, completly ignoring her own lack of clothing, looked through
the doorway with a growing look of horror on her face.

"What's their problem?" The blue thing asked the purple teletubby."I
mean, it's not why we don't got enough food. The Huggabunch brought enough for
everybody." 

Turning back to the stunned slayer Papa Smurf addressed her again.
"Come on, it'll be fun. The Cabbage Patch Kids brought there croquet set and
the Carebears play a wicked game of Tetherball."



Buffy screamed.

Willow screamed.

Mad-Hamlet grinned. 


"Warm and fuzzies?" He chortled through clenched teeth. "I got yer
warm and fuzzies RIGHT HERE!"



END



Authors Notes: An 'Omake' is sort of taking a fic apart and poking fun at it.
Or making small, small, continuance of any flavor that add...mm..dimensionsto
a story though are in no way actually connect to it. Some have just one scene,
others have many various ones.(Mad-Hamlet shudders, remembering that Ranma 1/2
Omake with scenes from C.H.U.D.)
Basicly, it's me taking a break from the dark stuff.
Man, I need a beer.





         

        


       

       




There is only one thing that can damn me.
That can send me down in a swirling maelstrom of fire and pain.
And it is not the word of Man.
And it is not the lessons and rules of the Church, hypocrites every one.
And it is not the words of God, nor the judgements of Angels.
And it not a fair tribunal of my 'peers' that can find me guilty of crimes
immortal.
No. 
I can only be accused, judged and damned by my own Soul.
And I would never be so betrayed.

Mad-Hamlet