Chandler Ames shifted uncomfortably in her airplane seat and wished she was someplace you could get a nice cup of tea. She always hated the red eye from New York to Los Angeles, doubly so when she had to deal with some snippy little flight attendant who could not understand her request for a cup of hot water. But hey, if she had learned one thing flying around the world for the past fifteen years it was that alcohol was her friend. Especially at 3am in the morning, which their editor claimed was the only flight he could get them on. Chandler had grumbled, Kennedy had whined, but in the end they didn't really have a choice. They couldn't miss the out on good shopping and the American Shoe Conference was always THE place to go when one wanted to see what would be hot in footwear in the coming year. This year it was being held in some backwater hell called Sunnydale. Still, any hole was bearable if there was decent shopping involved. Of course, she'd had to make up a story to tell her editor in order to get him to pay. She'd kept it intentionally vague, sure that something, even if it was some dumb cheerleader thing, would turn up. For some reason cheerleader stories always sold well, must be the titties or something.

Kennedy Paris looked over at her writing partner. The happy smile, the glazed look and the drool that was forming in the corner of her mouth told Kennedy exactly what Chandler was thinking. Why on earth her partner needed more shoes was beyond her but at least it was a chance to get out of New York. Even if it meant flying, which Kennedy hated. It threw her internals into an uproar and frankly airline food wasn't fit to bait hooks for catching werefish. Buy hey, airline food was only one of the many perils she faced daily in the pursuit of her chosen profession, that of an award-winning reporter. Oh sure, the award had been a "Weirdo", it had been for a story entitled "Gay Vampire Cop Fathers Alien Love Child" and it had been published in the Weekly News of the Warped, but not everyone could work for the New York Times. She ground her teeth as she remembered a time she and Chandler HAD worked for the New York Times, up until the incident with the Yukon werecows. Right now she'd be happy just to see a werecow. She hadn't had any inspiration in weeks. She was in the worst writing slump of her career. Hopefully something would turn up in Sunnyvale even if it was some dumb cheerleader thing. For some reason cheerleader stories always sold well, must be the titties or something.

The Captain of the plane came on the intercom and told everybody to prepare for landing. The two reporters leaned their seats forward and peered out the window, looking at the lights of LA. Even at 3am the glare reflected off the ever-present smog layer, almost totally obliterating the blood-red brightness of the full moon.

* * *

"This town is a hole filled with polyester," grumbled Kennedy. She'd never realized that California was filled with cute, bouncy people dressed in retro seventies gear and the ugliest shoes she'd ever seen. Sure, it looked that way on the TV, but she'd thought that was a Hollywood thing. "I guess that Warped report was right," she added, remembering a recent story about some damn Parisian witch who had cast a spell that had revived polyester and convinced people that lime green actually looked attractive on anybody. Too bad the witch had gotten burned at the stake before she had retracted the spell. Hopefully somebody would cast an "all cotton" spell before it became impossible to find a shirt in a natural fiber. Her skin itched at the thought and the healthy bounciness of the populace was making her even more depressed. She wondered if there would be any decent bars to hang out at or if there was nothing but juice bars and Starbucks in this State.

"Paris, hey, earth to Paris," Ames yelled. Kennedy finally took notice of her. "I'm going over to the conference, why don't you scope out the town. See if you can find some kind of story so our boss doesn't think we're just flying around the country on an expense account so I can buy clothing."

"We are flying around the country so you can buy clothes."

"That's not the point, we've got to come up with a story."

"Guess we could always do a cheerleading thing."

"Well, judging by the girls we've passed on the street all I can say is that there's silicone in them there hills," sighed Chandler, "Look, Kennedy, I know you're in a slump. Take a deep breath, scope out the scene and see if there's anything at all out of the ordinary."

"Okay, have fun buying shoes. Let me know if Timberland has anything new out." She looked up and down the street. "Hey, you don't know where the Mega-Mall is, do you?"

"What?" Chandler looked puzzled. "I don't think there's much going on here other than the shoe convention."

"But I read that there's supposed to be some great huge mall in Sunnyvale," protested Kennedy. "Why else do you think I came?"

"Ah, Kennedy," Chandler checked her shoelaces were done up in case she had to run for it, "we're in SunnyDALE. With a D. What you see is what you get."

"Oh BUGGER!"

***

After a day walking around Sunnydale in search of a story, Kennedy had come to the conclusion that this had to be the dullest place on the entire planet. It was going to take some major caffeine to work up a story about this place. She stared at her feet as she began walking back to the hotel. Behind her a shadow appeared on the sun, it grew bigger and darker, transforming into a long, clawed hand that cut a bloody path across the bright yellow face. The blood from the sun ran towards the earth, carving a passage that evil could traverse. Kennedy kept her eyes on the ground and wondered why they always ended up in the dullest places.

Chandler was already back in the room, idly flicking channels. Kennedy looked around in amazement. "Hey, where are all the shoe bags? You usually come back with at least a half dozen new pairs the first day out!"

"Oh, that damn witch must've extended the spell to include all types of apparel. The place was full of plastic and platform soles, not a leather boot in sight. Well, nothing tasteful," Chandler shuddered at the thought. "I am NOT going back tomorrow and right now I really need a drink!"

"Yeah, I could do with a Yukon Jack," agreed Kennedy. "This town is dull, dull, dull. I only saw one place on my way back here; it's called the Bronze or something. Looked like a seedy part of town too."

"Sounds like your style and maybe we'll come up with a story." Chandler rolled off the bed she was lounging on and reached for her jacket. "I hope there's something going down there, because otherwise we're gonna need a lot of caffeine and sugar to inspire us."

***

"Hey, Chandler," yelled Kennedy, indicating a couple of young things in the corner, "I think the only thing going down here is -"

"Do NOT go there!" Chandler cut her partner off before their evening out totally degenerated past the low it had already reached. From their seats at the bar the two thirty-something reporters surveyed the young perky things that populated the Bronze with disgust and not a little envy. Chandler swung around on her stool and swiped the entire bottle of Yukon Jack as the bartender passed by.

"Hey, leave the beer too," yelled Kennedy over the music. She intended to get good and drunk tonight. She poured herself another and took a swig. "You know, we are NOT going to find a story in this place,' she informed her partner.

"I know." Chandler stared morosely into her glass. Behind them something large and furry crashed through the door and rampaged across the room, scattering the crowd before it. Stopping only to grab a hamburger off a plate, it went charging through the rear exit, pursued by a small redhead yelling "Bad Oz!" at the top of her lungs.

"I can't believe they let a dog in here," Kennedy wrinkled her nose in disgust and sneezed.

"We could say it was a werewolf," Chandler said hopefully.

"Been there, done that. Vampires?"

"No-one is gonna believe vampires in California. All that sunlight? And in a place like this they'd be pretty obvious. Unless everyone is blind. Ooh, baby, look at that!"

Kennedy turned to see what her partner was staring at. A handsome young man in a leather jacket, obviously older than the high schoolers around him, was making his way through the crowd. "Oh please," she said, "he's still jailbait next to you."

"Hey, I'm not that old!" The reporters watched as the man was hailed by a young blond girl.

"You are compared to that," Kennedy pointed out, wondering if the girl just called him that or if it really was his name.

"Just 'cause she has big tits," grumbled Chandler.

"And firm thighs and a tight butt and very little on and -"

"Oh shut up," Chandler downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp. "Guess we do the cheerleader story. Should we write him in as a pimp?"

"With a name like that? Of course! 'Angel Pimps for the Devil in Sunnydale'."

"A good start but it's been done before too. We need a more supernatural angle." Chandler looked around the room. "Hey, there's nothing here but teenagers. Children of the Corn?"

"Demon-possessed? Good, good. Uh oh, look. An aged person." Kennedy pointed towards the door where an older man had just entered. "Is that tweed?" He looked even more out of place than the two reporters.

"Geez, what planet is he from?" wondered Chandler.

"Not this one, that's for sure. Demon-possessed alien? Alien Demon? Or just Bad Taste?" Kennedy watched as the man suddenly spotted someone and waved. It was the blond girl again. "She's popular, isn't she?"

"So's he," remarked Chandler as a couple of other young girls joined the group. "Hmm, gotta be the man in charge." The reporters watched for a while until they lost interest. Unseen by them the group at the back table broke up, the blonde girl and the older man leaving together through the back door.

"Hotel?" asked Kennedy after she finished yet another shot of whiskey with a beer chaser. It was getting late and she'd been drinking steadily for far too long.

"Yup." Chandler stood unsteadily and threw a few bills on the bar. Trying to hold each other up the two reporters staggered out of the Bronze into an alley where a fight was in progress.

"Teenagers."

"Yup, can't hold their alcohol."

The current holders of the coveted Weirdo Best Story Award giggled drunkenly as they made their way back to the main road. Behind them a vampire hit the ground with a stake through its heart and exploded. The young blond girl leapt to her feet and dusted herself off.

***

"Very good, Buffy," said Giles as he came out of the shadows and handed the Slayer her knapsack. "Did you see any more?"

"Nah, just the one. Probably hanging around hoping for a quick bite."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Well it's a nice evening and there's a lot of people out. So you'd better get on patrol."

"I know, I know. All these snackies walking around are sure to tempt the hungry vamps. Kinda like Willow in a Godiva shop." Buffy licked her lips, neglecting to add that she too lost all control when confronted with chocolate.

"Hey, what about me?" asked Willow as she ran up to Giles.

"You like chocolate," explained Buffy.

"Well, yeah. It is one of the good things in life."

"Did you find Oz?" Giles enquired.

"No, he got away. Can you help me find him?" Willow pleaded. "He's real good about not eating people but he still likes to chase cars and he doesn't have much traffic sense. I wouldn't want to see him squished."

"Yeah, bummer," Buffy grimaced. "I'm off to the graveyard to look for vampires, so I'll keep an eye out. Cordelia's got her car so maybe she and Xander can cruise around and look for him."

"Huh, Oz wouldn't chase her," said Willow. "But he might be at the graveyard. All those bones."

"Quite," said Giles. Buffy just made an "eeewww" face as the trio headed for the cemetery.

***

"Hey, look." Chandler pointed across the road at the iron gate bearing the word 'Cemetery'. Somewhere they'd taken a wrong turn and the ten-minute walk to the hotel had become a scenic hike around Sunnydale. Luckily they were still too drunk to notice.

"Ooo, scary. Let's go in and cavort with the undead!"

"Okay!" The two staggered across the road into the graveyard. It was very dark and very quiet under the trees.

"For a small town they sure have a big graveyard," Kennedy observed after a while.

"Hey, think there's any cheerleaders in here?" asked Chandler.

"I bet there are. Making out in the graveyard would be a thrill for the young bimbos," said Kennedy. "Here, titty, titty, titty," she called.

Something appeared out of the darkness in front of them. "The only cheerleaders around here are dead ones, doll," commented a tall man with white hair, dressed all in black.

"Eeek!" shrieked both Chandler and Kennedy as they clutched one another, convinced that they were about to pay for their "Gay Vampire" story. Then Kennedy took a closer look and relaxed.

"You can let go Chandler, it isn't that LaCroix guy," she said as she detached her friend. "It's just some punk rocker."

"Oh god," Chandler peered at their assailant, "first the seventies - don't tell me we're about to get started on an eighties revival?! I think I'm moving to Iceland."

"Too cold in Iceland, isn't it, Miss Edith?" A woman came up behind the man and slid her arms round his chest.

"It is indeed, pet," said the punk rocker. "But a nice long drink would warm you up. And I think the ladies here can oblige us."

"Sorry. The only Yukon Jack I've got is what's in my bladder," Kennedy just realized she needed a bathroom and now. Chandler was looking at the woman in disbelief.

"What are you wearing?" She stared at the long red and black gown that looked like a leftover from 'Phantom of the Opera'. "Bit Goth, aren't we?"

The woman started shaking like she was on a bad acid trip. "Spike," she wailed in distress.

"Oh great," Kennedy grabbed for her partner, "punk rockers doing LSD. Or just another couple of Deadheads. Been there, done that too. I like the cheerleader story better."

"Me too. Better titties!" yelled Chandler as the two reporters staggered away in search of a bathroom.

***

"Spike!" Drusilla wailed in distress and hugged herself. "The nasty mortals laughed at me."

"Don't worry, love. Calm yourself down and then we'll go get ourselves a little drink. Laced with a nice shot of Yukon Jack, I think. That will make you feel better."

"Goody!" Drusilla spun around and fell back into Spike's arms. "I feel a little thirsty after that big meal." She yawned and showed her fangs.

"Haven't I warned you two before about the dangers of drinking?" a voice spoke from behind.

"Oh god," sighed Spike, "not you again." He turned to face the Slayer. "Can't we just for once have a nice quiet dinner without you continually interrupting us?"

"Sorry," said Buffy, and leapt at him. Drusilla shrieked in anger. The resulting melee could be heard for miles.

***

"Finally!" said Chandler as Kennedy tripped over the fence that signaled the other side of the graveyard. She blinked and looked fuzzily around as a demonic shriek rent the night air.

"What?" Kennedy asked irritably as she managed to get back on her feet.

"Uh, thought I heard something. Probably just a cat."

"Whatever. Look, there's the hotel."

"Dibs on the bathroom!" The two reporters started smacking one another as they staggered across the road, narrowly missing a car that was being chased by a werewolf trying to bite the tires.

***

"I have such a massive hangover," Chandler said to Kennedy, as the two reporters sat in an office in Sunnydale High School the next morning, waiting to speak to the principal.

"Ooo, stop yelling," snapped Kennedy. "Why did you make me get up today anyhow?"

"Because we need to find ourselves a story, the only thing I can think of right now is cheerleaders, cheerleaders hang out at the high school, and today is supposed to be school sports day or something which gives us the perfect opportunity to take photos of them shaking their pom-poms."

"Oh, okay." It made perfect sense to Kennedy which started her thinking that perhaps she'd been away from serious reporting for too long. She was about to suggest to Chandler that they take off for a nice war in Nicaragua when the principal walked in.

Kennedy looked at Chandler, Chandler looked back and mouthed "alien". Her partner nodded slightly.

"Good morning, ladies. Sorry to keep you waiting but I had to finish up some business with a student. One of the troublemakers, you know how it is. Now how can I help you?" Principal Snyder beamed at the two women in front of him and tried to look perfectly normal.

The two reporters beamed back and tried to look perfectly normal. "My name is Chandler Ames, and this is my partner Kennedy Paris," Chandler held out her hand and tried not to wince when she came into contact with the principal's slimy appendage. Definitely an alien. "We're reporters for Teen Vogue and we'd like to spend the day at your school talking to some of your students."

"Particularly the cheerleaders and the football team," added Kennedy. "School spirit and all that."

"Well, I'm not -"

"Here are our credentials," Kennedy held the forged ID cards out for inspection. "You know, Teen Vogue is a national publication, and as a fashion magazine of note it's read not only by teenagers but also their parents. Free publicity for both Sunnydale and you." She held up her camera. "May I?"

Principal Snyder preened. "Of course," he said, straightening his tie. For a moment he'd been worried that the women were from one of those occult magazines, or a trashy paper like the 'Weekly News of the Warped', but if they wanted cheerleaders and the football team they were obviously just doing a story on hometown America. "I'll have one of the teachers show you around. This afternoon there's a game on so you should be able to catch the cheerleading squad practicing during the lunch hour."

***

High School was even more disgusting than Kennedy remembered. Walking the halls it was easy to spot the sport cliques, the very popular people, the losers, the druggies. Their talk with the football coach had nearly made her vomit. His rendition of the charge of the light brigade modified to include the words offense, defense and team players was the dumbest thing she'd heard since the words "low fat Twinkies". Fortunately his speech had numbed her mind enough that time passed quickly. The coach took them into the gym where they sat on the bleachers waiting for the cheerleading practice to begin. There were twenty or thirty students seated around them.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Chandler said in a quavering voice.

"Youthful enthusiasm does tend to have that effect on one," Kennedy commiserated. "But we can leave after this."

"I may not make it through this little demonstration of school spirit," Ames grumbled as the cheerleading squad literally bounced into the gymnasium. How on earth they could work up all that energy was beyond her. She watched for several minutes before commenting again, "You see that dark haired girl, the tall one that's shaking her pom-poms?"

"You mean the one whose breasts don't shake in time with the rest of her body?"

"That's the one, silicone?"

"Hmm, we'll have to wait until she puts down the pom-poms. We need to see what happens when she does that split thing and then jumps up." Several minutes passed while the cheerleaders did complex gymnastics and shouted inane comments that supposedly would incite a crowd of teenagers to the great heights of school spirit. "Ah, there she goes," Kennedy leaned forward a little to get a better look. "Yeah, definitely silicone. You can tell because normal tits are just modified sweat glands covered in fat. The fat spreads out if you lay down. If the boobs keep sticking straight up like that they're fake." The reporter's gaze fell onto another cheerleader who was shakily climbing to the top of a human pyramid. She leaned forward to tap a dark haired boy that was sitting in front of her. "Hey, what's the name of the cheerleader on top of the pyramid."

The boy glanced back at the two women, "Uh, that's Cordelia."

"Thanks," Kennedy leaned back in her seat, "Where do they get the names for these kids now a days?"

"I've no idea. I wonder if they're using the new saline filled implants."

"Well, this being California I'm sure they go with the more natural saline filled ones.""

"I dunno," Chandler replied as she scanned the rest of the squad. "Look at that blonde girl in back, the one doing those backflips."

"You mean the really skinny one that looks like she's thrown up everything she's ever eaten in her life?"

"Yeah, she's lucky those tits aren't any bigger or they'd knock her unconscious when she's flipping backwards. Those can't be real, she's too thin to have anything left up top."

"I concur with your assessment," Kennedy pulled out a camera and quickly shot off a roll of film. "We may not even have to digitally enhance the photos."

"Make sure you get that one," the reporter pointed to one girl, "The way she's bouncing those things around they'll be hanging down to her waist by college."

"Man, does that look painful," Kennedy concurred. "I think we've got enough footage."

"Okay then, let's go find our villain for the piece and get out of here before all this youthful energy makes me throw up." The two reporters stood up and began carefully making their way out of the gym.

"You sure we shouldn't use the principal? I mean aliens are still hot after all."

"Nah, they're getting over exposure lately. We need to come up with something a bit different."

***

Xander leaned forward to stare at the cheerleading squad. The conversation he had overheard was completely fascinating. He'd never gotten a woman's opinion of breasts before. It had never occurred to him that some of the cheerleaders had gotten boob jobs. He'd thought that all skinny women developed huge chests as a matter of course. At least they tended to around Sunnydale. Maybe it had something to do with the Hellmouth. He'd have to talk with Giles to find out. Sometime when there were no girls around. Like now perhaps.

On his way out of the gym he took another look at Cordelia, or (to be totally honest) Cordelia's chest. Sure it was magnificent, he thought, but now he wondered, was it real?

Since it was lunchtime, Xander's hunch that the library would be empty of students proved accurate. As usual, Giles had his head stuck in a book, the ever-present glasses sliding down his nose. Willow had suggested he switch to contacts, but the stricken look on the librarian's face had made her quickly retract her words.

"Hey Giles," Xander dropped his books on the table and sat down. Giles winced as the books hit with a thud and fervently hoped none of his precious volumes were in the pile. Xander saw the look. "Textbooks only," he said reassuringly.

"Oh good," said Giles. "Were we supposed to meet here today? I haven't spoken to Buffy all morning."

"Ah, no. I wanted to talk to you. Man to man."

"Oh. Uh." Giles turned bright red and stared apprehensibly at Xander. "Me?" he squeaked intelligently.

"Not that sort of stuff. Hellmouth stuff." Xander had never seen anyone so stricken with relief.

"Oh good."

"Okay, I was wondering if there's any connection between the Hellmouth and breast size."

Giles stared open-mouthed at the boy in front of him. Before he could even begin to formulate a thought Buffy and Willow walked in. "Thank you lord," he muttered as the two teenagers dropped their bags on the table and rescued him from what would probably have been the most embarrassing moment of his life.

"I swear, they're setting the whole women's movement back," Buffy pulled a stake out of her backpack and smacked it on the desk. "Every night I'm a superhero saving the world from destruction and by day instead of a mild-mannered reporter I seem to be disguised as a bimbo."

"Yeah, just cause you're blonde," added Willow.

"Pardon?" inquired Giles. This conversation was almost as bad as the last one.

"Oh, there's some reporters doing a story about the cheerleaders and the football team. Ugh. Principal Snyder suggested I ask them to take a photo of me so I'd have one that wasn't a mug shot."

"Nice guy," commented Xander. "Did they?"

"Funny," Buffy snarled at him. "No, but they did take one of Cordelia. You know,

I'm sure those two were in the Bronze last night, and I'm pretty sure they're also the same ones that Spike and Drusilla were after."

"They were in the graveyard?" Giles was suddenly interested. "Do you know what paper they're from?"

"Teen Vogue," Xander supplied the information, wondering if he could ask them for a photo of Cordy and at the same time solve the question now burning in his brain. "Chandler Ames and Kennedy Paris. I spoke to them in the gym."

"Aha." Willow and Buffy nodded knowingly. "Cheerleader practice again?"

"Ames, Paris," Giles muttered thoughtfully. Suddenly he leapt up and went to his office. The rattle of filing cabinet drawers could be heard. A couple of minutes later there was a loud "Aha!" and the librarian re-emerged. He was obviously excited about something. "I knew it! Werecows! Look!"

"Weekly News of the Warped?" Buffy read the title of the magazine. "Giles, this is crap!"

"No, no, if they're here then we must be extra careful." He looked around as if expecting to be discovered at any moment. "Xander, go warn Cordelia to stay away from those women."

"Huh? Okay." Xander was still wondering if they were real or not. Hey, give the guy a break. He's seventeen, okay?

Willow was checking out the 'Weekly News'. "You mean all this stuff is real?" She showed Buffy a picture of a werecow.

"Of course," Giles opened another issue. Like all Watchers he had a lifetime subscription to the 'Weekly News of the Warped'. It was clearly the best source of news of occult happenings in the world. They never would have found out about the Toronto vampire occurrences as quickly if it hadn't been for the paper. He found the article and showed the two girls the names at the top. Ames and Paris. If these two were here then the entire group was in danger of being exposed to the world.

***

"Seen any likely villains yet?" inquired Chandler as she met up with Kennedy outside the cafeteria.

"No. We may have to go with that Angel guy." Kennedy looked around. "Let's check this building, we didn't go through here earlier."

Passing a classroom the two reporters glanced in. A student, probably a senior by the look of her, was staring intently at a flask bubbling over the flame of a Bunsen burner.

"Chemistry," said Chandler dismissively, and went on down the corridor. Seconds later a bright light filled the room, and the girl smiled as the spirits of the undead started swirling around her.

"Oh look," Kennedy pointed down the corridor, "there's that boy that was at the cheerleading practice. Let's see what he was up to." They peered in the door of what was obviously the library.

"After you," said Chandler, pushing the door open.

The two reporters wandered into the library and glanced around. It was certainly a very large library for a high school. Glancing around for the librarian they spotted him deep in conversation with two girls, one a blonde, the other a red head. Their heads were close together and voices too low for anyone to hear. They looked at each and shook their heads. Really, they both thought, a man his age should know better than that. The blonde girl glanced at them and she then grabbed the other girl's arm and they made their speedy exit from the library.

"Uh, may I help you?" A cultured English voice called out to them.

"Hello," Chandler said cheerfully, she remembered him from that idiotic bar they'd gone to the night before. The tweed dressed man. Hanging around with teenagers at night as well as during the day. He was definitely up to something no good. It was an angle they could use in the story. "We're here from Teen Vogue to do a story on school spirit at Sunnydale High. I'm Chandler Ames," she put her hand out, "and this is my partner Kennedy Paris,"

Giles shook the women's hands, trying not to betray his nervousness. It was definitely the Werecow reporters - he recognized Paris although she looked a little different from the photo. Of course, there was no werecow chasing her now. But if the Warped's top vampire reporters were in Sunnydale their clandestine activities were definitely in danger of exposure. Chandler's voice interrupted his reverie, "Sorry," he apologized, "what was that you said?"

"I was just asking if you found that there was a lot of school spirit?"

"Well," he pushed his glasses up his nose, "yes, yes, I'd have to say that there was. Yes, definitely a lot of school spirits."

"Uh, huh," Kennedy shook her head, this was going to be an utterly miserable article to write.

* * *

The two reporters emerged some time later from a Denny's restaurant. A hearty dinner of pancakes with lots of syrup on them had already started sending their blood sugar levels to astronomical heights. They dragged their sugar-laden bodies to the rental car and started pulling away from the restaurant. As they got to the end of the driveway the Denny's shimmered a moment and disappeared. With absolutely no sound a huge monolith with blood colored runes on it grew out of the place the Denny's had stood. Demonic chanting rent the air. An army of darkness was about to born.

Chandler shook her head as she drove away; she just didn't understand the music that kids played nowadays.

* * *

"Okay, here goes," Chandler took a big bite of the double chocolate cheesecake and slugged it back with English Breakfast tea. She waited before she spoke for Kennedy to wolf down a diet coke and some cheesecake. The caffeine and sugar hit the woman's brains simultaneously.

"Siliconed Titties take over the world!" screamed Kennedy, her hands starting to tremble.

"Nah, been done," Chandler said as she took another bite.

"Cheerleaders killed in fire, only their implants remained!"

"No, not quite, we need to work something supernatural in with the titties, kind of a new angle."

"Cheerleaders sell souls for bigger boobies!"

"Not quite, how about "Bimbo Cheerleaders Sell Souls for Bigger Boobies. The dark arts are credited with enlarging the chests of Sunnyvale cheerleaders. Girls don't care that their immortal souls are damned for all time just for more bounce and jiggle." Chandler suggested taking an exceptionally big bite of cake. The story was playing itself out in her mind, they'd need photos of course, boobs even more artificially enlarged by computer manipulation.

"Good, good," quavered Kennedy, "but we should tell the story of one poor girl who is now repentant and is going to get a breast reduction and become a nun serving the lepers of Borneo or Toronto or something. The public loves it when you have somebody that wants to reform. We can say that she went from size 34A to 36DDD in one week and it caused her to become wanton."

"Wanton? Nobody says wanton anymore, how about ho?"

"Ho is a bit harsh, how about slut?"

"Tart?"

"Nah, too proper."

"Bimbo?"

"Bimbo is good, it's alliterative with boobs too. But does it really capture what we're trying to portray."

"Then go with ho," grumbled Chandler, "big tittied ho is very descriptive."

"Yeah, we could come up with one of cheers too, how about "Sunnydale, Sunnydale, All Hail to Satan, big tits, big tits, rah, rah, rah."

"Oh, and that British librarian, we could say he's a conduit to the underworld. Some kind of boob-selling demon, that'd be cool."

"Yeah, he'll make a good villain, cause all of the villains in movies have English accents. Make people think that no good American demon would sell boobs. We can doctor a photo of him, add some horns or something. Demons would wear tweed in California."

"Yeah, that's true. Man, is this town dull if we have to stoop this low to write a story about it. A place this normal usually has a Hellmouth or something lurking around."

"True," mumbled Kennedy as she downed the rest of her quart of diet coke. "You'd think there'd be something interesting here. But no, we're like stuck in the uvula of the Hellmouth or something."

"Think I've got a title, Demon Possessed, Big Tittied Devil Ho Cheerleaders Terrorize Small California Town. High school librarian pushing damnation and boobs along with books."

"The things we have to do to write a story."

* * *

Giles finished reading the article about Sunnydale in the 'Weekly News of the Warped'. He couldn't believe that the two top reporters of the occult had missed the Slayer's activities. Then again, maybe they had too many ethics to expose the Slayer since the work she did was so invaluable. That was probably it. A knock on the door of the library interrupted his musings. A woman pushed open the door.

"You've got to help me, Rupert," the blonde woman pleaded. "Please, just one more time!"

"Pamela, I told you last time that I couldn't give you any more spells. There are limits to what even witchcraft can do."

"No, please, just try Rupert. Just a little bigger. That's all they need to be, just a little bigger," the woman pouted her red lipstick shining lips.

"Oh, all right," Giles could never bear to see a woman upset and besides, what with the decrease in world coffee prices, he needed the extra money. His librarian salary wouldn't cover even one of his tweed jackets. "Oh biggus tittus.." He began to chant.

* * *

"I don't believe it!" shrieked Cordelia as she stared in horror at the latest issue of 'Weekly News of the Warped'.

Xander struggled hard not to laugh. "But Cordy, you *are* on the cover." he pointed out. "I thought that was one of your life goals!"

"The cover of Glamour or Vogue, you idiot, not 'News of the Warped'!" the girl was distraught. "I am so not ever going to live this down!"

"Hey, I'll give you a cuddle in the closet if it will make you feel better," offered Xander.

"Oh gross, is that all you think of?" Cordelia said in disgust. Xander shrugged. Cordy looked at the door. "Alright then, come on." The two teenagers disappeared into the broom closet.

A few minutes later Willow was walking down the hallway, flipping through her latest copy of Dog Fancy, when an outraged shriek rent the air. "Xander!" Cordelia burst out the door in front of her and took off down the corridor.

Willow stuck her head in and looked around. Xander was leaning against the brooms, a dreamy smile on his face. He saw Willow's questioning look, and grinned happily. "Who cares if they're real? They're MAGNIFICENT!"

* * *

Principal Snyder unlocked his office door. Glancing furtively around he entered the room. He went unerringly through the darkened office to a small panel and depressed a well-hidden button on it. A glowing panel appeared on the wall. He mumbled a few coded phrases to the panel and its glow softened. Clearing his throat he began, "To the Grand Nagus, greetings. I've good news. Much profit has been made by my cornering the polyester market here on Earth. Your idea of going back in time and influencing Earth's history so that our profit margins would increase was truly inspired. There was some difficulty when the psi-powered woman wished to reverse her mental directive to make people wear polyester. But that problem has been," he paused for a moment to find exactly the right word, "burned away."

* * *

Much later that night...

Buffy tossed restlessly in her bed. Then she settled down as she began to dream. She was in a place where no vampires existed, no werewolves, no demons. A place where she could let her guard down and be a normal girl. A wonderful, magical place named Pine Valley.

THE END

Back to SunS Fanfic.