story title: Van Morrison Was Wrong
pairing: buffy/veronica mars
setting: season three, post-"the prom" (BtVS), season two, "look who's stalking" (VM)
Disclaimer: joss, fox, darkhorse. BtVS is theirs. rob, warner bros. VM is theirs. I profit not at all. I write just for my own, personal enjoyment.
"Um...'You know, Cassandra, from this height, you could really hawk-a-lugie on someone,'" Buffy quoted as they stood outside on the balcony of Logan's penthouse suite.
"Damn it. I knew you'd go there," complained Veronica, looking out at the town of Neptune on "Alterna-Prom Night." "That was mine."
"Hey, I didn't make you pick 'Evita' last turn."
They were out here--Veronica in a strapless, backless, black dress; Buffy in red satin, borrowed from Veronica--passing the time by trying to quote famous, balcony movie scenes. An activity inspired by their current location, away from the predominantly 09er crowd that partied their rich hearts out back inside.
"You think you didn't, but you did. Madonna/'Mo'/Esther, post-1992? We've never seen eye-to-eye. This isn't news...and yet," Veronica pointed at her vocal chords, "forced to sing. Hope you hate yourself."
Her fingers drummed on the balcony wall.
"There's always the obvious," Buffy reluctantly pointed out.
Veronica's palm plugged up her girlfriend's mouth. "I'd rather drag a lip plate through the halls of Neptune High the rest of senior year, posing proudly for snapshots. While involuntarily drooling."
She freed up Buffy's word hole. "I thought it was an unspoken rule...why didn't *you* break it?"
"Because when we had to watch in English class so we'd hopefully relate better, it just made hating Shakespeare feel allowed," answered Buffy.
Veronica's hand turned in an encouraging, "go on" motion.
Well, after, "A hate equaled only by that which you direct inwards, I'm sure."
"Shut up," Buffy smiled playfully, and hooked her arm around Veronica's. "Anyway, at the end, she gets all chest-stabby over him dying. Everybody else cried, but, why? She was dumb. For loving him in the first place, even. How's it sensical? Who would...? He was so--"
"--DiCaprio?" Veronica nodded agreeably. "Got several, other bones I'd love to pick with Baz Luhrmann. Quoting *that* means he wins; I refuse to buckle under pressure."
"Means *I* win."
"Hold your horses, Horatio. Finding a towel this fluffy doesn't happen everyday--ain't throwin' it in," Veronica exhaled.
Never let it be said she didn't go down swinging.
She quoted, "'Mind if I bum a fag?' 'What do I care? You can bum whoever you...Oh.'" Her scowl then met a slayer's grin. "Don't hold back on my account."
"Not a movie," Buffy stated the obvious.
"Yep, she came up empty. Unbelievable but true. Thank god the next blue moon is years away."
"So. Win. Me." Buffy couldn't bask very long, because she shivered. "Dressing up leads to chilly."
"Remember the temperature inside?” Veronica asked. “Why, you could almost see frost."
To say they didn't get a warm reception from their peers...would be underselling. Silent contempt, leering and low jeering drove them out here. Didn't help that Mac wanted Veronica water-tortured, and that Jackie and Wallace had abandoned them to get their freak on.
"It's Neptune," shrugged Buffy, taking Veronica's usual line. "And we're putting the 'alterna' in 'Alterna-Prom.' And they're not Marsipan-fans. M'not shocked."
She pulled Veronica away from the balcony and drew her close. "For body heat."
"So you're using me," Veronica deduced, all the while snaking her arms around her girlfriend's back. "Guess I'm not shocked, either. But that's otay, 'cause I'm turning us down a two-way street, and getting something outta this--it's a marvelous night for a moondance. Chop, chop, Dumbers."
Buffy frowned. "These shoes don't dance."
"If somebody wants to bop horizontally later, they better learn." Veronica smiled as feet began to slow dance, and shut her eyes, feeling peaceful despite the enemy territory. "Scrappy Doos from Hell notwithstanding? Your prom was actually more traditional. Dunno what that says."
"Huh? I'm thinking about bopping."
There was banging on the sliding, glass door to their right. Dick Casablancas stood on the other side, the straw to his "Party Pig" in mouth. He was exclaiming something. Something less than classy, no doubt.
"You aren't alone." Veronica blanched at the sight of him. "Grabbed a sheet like I suggested, we could be escaping over the side right now."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "This is my fault?"
"No," Veronica replied, “it's your fault you drew the short stick when it came to superpowers. Because if you hadn't, we'd be flying, and you'd be redeemed."
"Then you'd be Lois. 'Margot-Lois,'" the slayer verbally slayed.
The detective had a sudden attack of acid reflux. "Cease-fire. We're even, Steven." Upset, she groaned. "Only way out's over hot, drunken coals, isn't it?"
"I seriously wish I wasn't wearing these shoes."