Title: A Beautiful Friendship (or How Doyle Got Better)
Summary: What Xander was really doing in Africa
Spoilers: Everything in both BtVS and AtS
Disclaimer: What? You think I actually came up
with most of this stuff?
Warning: This is a work containing strictly the cheapest,
cheesiest, tongue-in-cheek unoriginal humor. If you can't take
a bad joke (or an even worse pun) then continue no further.
Warning 2: Oh yeah, almost forgot. Mild Buffy-bashing
ahead ('cause somebody's got to be the bad guy).
Prologue
After The First was defeated in The Battle at Sunnydale's Hole inna' Ground (The First BaSHinG) and the minions of the Senior Partners trounced at the Battle Where Atrocious Hordes Attacked Angel and His Associates at Hyperion's Alleyway (BWAHAAHAHA) all was good in the world, badness and all things generally considered evil and vile seemingly vanquished on all fronts.
But, alas, it was not to last (because then this story would be really boring).
Buffy had gotten seriously miffed when she was dumped by the Immortal after he got tired of all her incessant and pompous speechifying, always prattling on an on about how she had defeated The First and dusted that vamp and slayed this demon and died twice and punched out a Goddess with bad hair and blew up a giant snake, and on and on ad nauseam. It never ended!
Indignant and full of herself, she infected her Slayer Army with the Power Lust. They wanted to run things Their Way (tm), for it was the Right Way (tm), not the right-of-way nor the wrong way. She decreed that demons would be vanquished once and for all, even the nice fluffy ones and the not quite as nice (but still cute) purple scaly ones. The sympathetic humans who helped them would suffer as well.
Leaving Rome, Buffy took her army to England, establishing headquarters in London. She started her campaign in Europe, the slayers slashing and burning and slaying their way through the continent, taking demon and human prisoners alike wherever they went. Many eyes and other sensory tentacles in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, desperately toward the freedom of the Pylean dimension now that Groo had gotten his shit together and established it as a beacon of peaceful demon and human freedom and coexistence throughout the multi-dimensional univer--err--multiverse.
As Cleveland's international sister city, Lisbon became the great embarkation point and therefore had magical association with that far-away American metropolis on the Hellmouth. That link provided the magical energy to transport demons and people to Cleveland and from there it was just a hop, skip and a slither onto the Pylean dimension.
But not everybody could get to Lisbon directly, and so a tortuous roundabout refugee trail sprang up. Paris to Marseilles, across the Med., then by foot, claw, or pseudopod across Africa to Casablanca.
Here the fortunate ones, through money, or influence, or luck, or ravening butchery, might obtain exit talismans and take a magic carpet to Lisbon, and from Lisbon to Cleveland and on to Pylea.
But the others wait in Casablanca.
And wait. And wait. And wait . . .
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Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
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