miscellany n 1: a collection containing a variety of sorts of things.

"There."

"Where?"

"Over there--the bench."

"Oz, there isn't anyone on the bench. You been toking with Derek before you came on patrol?"

"Under the bench, Xander, and no, I haven't. This patrol business seriously cuts into my stoned time."

The two Slayerettes approached the bus stop bench cautiously. "Fuck," Xander muttered. "Why do the damn streetlamps always have to go out right in the places we need to look?"

"Probably because we always need to look in dark places. You see any movement?"

"Shit, you're the one with the preternatural night vision, you look."

Oz squinted. "Mmmm. Well, the chest is rising and falling--that's a good sign."

"Could be. It could also be a minion with enough working brain cells to remember to pretend to breathe while he's playing possum. One way to find out." Xander took aim with his super soaker and landed a spray of holy water on the prone figure's face. The man sputtered, wiping at his face, muttering something about neutering a damn dog if he got peed on again. "No sizzling or smoking. Guess it's just a wino."

They continued on. "So, Blair found you all right last night?"

"Actually, if I'm not being vain, I'd say that Blair found me excellent."

Xander smirked. "How'd you find him?"

"Please, Xander. I have another couple of nights before I have to start howling."

The smirk turned into a smile. "Yeah, he do have that effect, don't he?"

"And how'd you make out with Officer Friendly?" There was a pause. "Fuck, Xander, are you blushing? Details, details!"

"Let's just say that I've looked at life from both sides now, from top and bottom, and still somehow... The rest of the song is too bittersweet, man. I walked bowlegged for a little while, but it was worth it."

"Told ya." He shifted his supply bag to his other shoulder, then used his free hand to stroke Xander's ass. "So, when will you be ready for your sophomore effort?"

"Horny bastard."

"Xander, I'm part wolf, and that's pretty damn close to a dog. I'm just being true to my nature. Somethin' hot in the neighborhood..." he bumped his shoulder against Xander, "I gravitate."

Xander was looking off to the left, "Cool your jets, Houston. We have a problem." He pointed. "Shambler at ten-o'clock."

Oz was instantly alert, zeroing in on the slumping figure that was... Well, Xander had it right--shambling was the only word. His nostrils flared. "Kee-rist!"

Xanger flinched as the funk reached him. "Shit, and I mean that literally! Zombie?"

"I think it's just a minion with really, really, really bad hygiene. I hope. Cause ya know, Xander, Giles never got around to covering zombies, and I'm not entirely sure we can rely on George Romero canon for killing techniques."

"Fuck, he's heading for the bum." Xander took off, with Oz in close pursuit. A small, but concentrated beam struck the creature as it began to squat down beside the bench. Xander, still running, saw that Oz had pulled a powerful flashlight from his bag and trained it on the creature. "Now you use that?"

"So I like having you in the dark. Make a federal case out of it." The light had gotten the thing's attention away from its intended victim--it turned toward the approaching Slayerettes, and they got their first good look at it.

Or rather 'him'. Even though the head seemed to be a lump of charcoal, it had to be a guy, from what they were wearing--a singed prom suit in powder blue. "Back away from the snack, dude!" Xander called.

Xander would have compared the thing to an old fashioned minstral man except for two things--the eyes rolling toward them in the blackened face were yellow instead of white, and the smile wasn't ringed in white, and included a set of wicked fangs. Oz and Xander, slowing a little now that the thing was no longer fixated on the bum, exchanged glances and chorused, "Minion."

"Am not." The creature's voice was a rasp. "I'm an independent, you bogus geeks."

Oz blinked, and looked at Xander, "From the polyester playsuit I would have said seventies, but the speak sounds more eighties."

"Whatever. He hasn't had an honest pulse for some time."

The minion (never mind what he claimed) pointed a finger that looked like a charred chicken bone at Xander. "You! You're the one who burned down my crash pad! It's been over a month, and I still haven't grown my hair back, you skeazer! Do you know how long it took me to get it down to my shoulders?"

Oz shrugged. "Maybe it is seventies. That would have been that lair you found last month, right Xan?"

"Yup. I thought I took out at least five--I guess it was only four. Hey, Crispy Critter, does it hurt?"

It snarled, blackened lips and gums splitting to give an unpleasant glimpse of raw meat below. "What the fuck do you think?"

"Right. Well, it's gonna hurt worse, but then it won't hurt at all." He blasted it in the face with the holy water.

This time there was sizzling and smoking. Oz wouldn't have thought that charcoaled flesh could have burned any more, but he managed it. The minion screamed, scrabbling at his bubbling face, tearing off hefty chunks in the process. Bone gleamed white in the moonlight.

"Urg! Squick! Oz, man, stake the sucker."

Oz was already reaching into his bag. He dropped in the flashlight and came up with a two foot ash wood stake, honed to a needle point at one end. He sprang forward and, with the skill of practise, slammed it deftly up under the creature's ribcage. It would have worked perfectly--if the minion hadn't chosen that moment to shift. As it was, the stake did not slam cleanly thorugh the thing's unbeating heart. It severed the aorta, but since there wasn't any blood pumping that didn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference. It did piss the creature off, though.

The creature backhanded Oz, knocking him off his feet. It grabbed the butt of the stake, snarling, and jerked it out. It made a nasty, pulply, sucking sound as it came out, and it was smeared with... Well, you didn't really want to think too closely about the ichor clinging to the wood.

It threw the stake at Oz like a spear. The young muscician's wolfish reflexes served him well, and he managed to roll out of its way. A good thing, too, as it buried itself deep into the none-too-soft ground. Before Oz could scramble away, the thing landed on his back.

It clutched at the young man's hair, trying to drag his head back and stretch his neck enough for him to be able to sink his fangs in. "Xander!" Oz yelled, hunching his shoulders in a combined effort to shift the vampire and protect his neck. "Come on, man! A little help, here!"

Xander wrenched the stake out of the ground and fell to his knees beside the struggling couple, raised it high, then hesitated. It wasn't easy to hit a vamp's heart from behind--fucking rib cage acted like a fence. Anyway, an immage from a couple of Friday the 13th movies came to mind--a copulating couple skewered together by some long, pointy object.

Cursing, he tossed down the stake and tried to peel the vampire off Oz. No luck. He managed to lift them both a couple of inches, but the vampire was clinging like a (apt comparison) leech.

"Shit! Hurry, Xan! He's drooling on me."

"Hang on!" Xander reached up his pant's leg and popped the strap on his calf sheath, pulling out the heavy hunting knife he'd taken to wearing on patrol. He grabbed the prom-date-from-Hell's right arm and brought it down on its wrist--hard. There was a crisp sound, followed by a meaty chunk as the blade chopped halfway through the wrist on the first thing. Xander tried to jerk it loose, but it was stuck, and the thrashing, shrieking vampire wasn't making the removal any easier, so he started to saw. The blade had a serrated edge, and in no time there was the set-your-teeth-on-edge squeal of metal against bone.

The knife came free when he cut all the way through the wrist, and Xander quickly repeated the process on the second wrist. This time it didn't get stuck, and he got the hand severed in three chops. Deprived of his anchor, the vampire's fierce tugging motion threw him back--off Oz. Xander dropped the knife and snatched up the super soaker again. He threw himself on the vampire, kneeling on its chest.

The minion waved its stumps, snarling and spitting. Xander shoved the muzzle of the water canon into its mouth and triggered a burst of holy water down its throat. Then he jumped away.

The creature went into convulsions, shrieking, its arms and legs drumming the ground. Smoke, or possibly steam, started to trickle from every orifice. Then there was a bang, and Xander and Oz ducked flying demonbits.

Xander knee-walked back over to where Oz was just sitting up. The smaller boy groaned, "Fuck! I almost became a skinhead involuntarily. Man, am I gonna have a headache."

"I don't doubt it. Hold still, bud." Xander gently pried loose the two disembodied, charred hands that were still tangled in Oz'z spiky red hair. Then he stamped on them. The result was a pile of greyish dust. "Shit, Oz, he must've been even older than we thought."

Oz got up and went to examine what remained of the creature's body. It, too, was quickly being reduced to something that looked like what you could sweep out of your fireplace. "What do you think? Couple of centuries old, but he went native during the disco era?"

"Who cares? One less to worry about." Xander retrieved Oz's supply bag.

Oz got the stake (waste not, want not) and Xander's knife. He exchanged the knife for the bag, slinging it over his shoulder again. "So, you've done the deed with both Blair the Bear and Jim the Giant?" He rummaged in the bag and pulled out a plastic, cinch tie garbage bag, shaking it open.

Xander sighed. "And I was going to be such a gentleman." He accepted the scoop from Oz as the werewolf took one of his own. They squatted and began emptying vampire-grit out of the limp prom suit. "I fucking HATE clean-up."

"Yeah, it wasn't in the job description when I signed on," Oz agreed, beginning to shovel the remains into the garbage bag. "I haven't dusted my place in..." He frowned thoughtfully. "I haven't dusted my place, so why should I clean up this shit?"

"Because dust kitties under your bed do not attract the attention of the law, demons, and other unsavory entities. Keep shoveling and we'll have this done in no time." For a moment there was only the crunch of their scoops biting into the pile of ashes and the rattle as they dumped them into the bag. "They're really cool together, you know?"

"Xander, you dog!" Oz grinned.

"No, not like that, Oz!" He thought, and his eyes grew distant. "Though they probably would be. No, I mean together as a couple. They fit, you know? And there's, like, absolutely no jealousy. They're so sure of what they have together that it doesn't bother them if one or the other has a little physical fun on the side."

"Very rare," Oz commented, "but a humongous break for everyone else in the world." He started stuffing gritty pastel blue clothes into the sack. "Anyway, I'm glad I don't have to worry about Blair's significant other coming after my ass in anything but a friendly way." He paused. "Oh, man. Xander, we did the world a favor, killing this one." He held up a pair of the most butt ugly baggy boxers Xander had ever seen.

Xander shuddered. "The only way something like that can be forgiven is if the contents are fine enough, and I doubt if ol' Barbeque Bob would have qualified, even at his freshest."

"Isn't that enough? Can't we just sorta kick the rest of him around in the grass? Maybe it'll act as fertilizer."

"We could identify where we've made kills by the green patches. Just a couple more scoops, then we can try that." He scooped. "Oz? I'd rather you didn't tell Spike that I've... you know. He's been kind of pushy, and I'm not sure the chip's violence aversion would keep him from molesting me."

"Um, kinda too late for that, Xandman. Blair mentioned that you were staying over with Jim, and we both know Spike, being a full-fledged childe, is smarter than your average minion. I'm pretty sure he's figured out that someone's been into your picnic basket."

"Shit."

"I don't know what the problem is. He's mellowed out some, with the chip. I mean, he doesn't go ripping throats out or eviscerating people for minor irritations anymore. And he's fine, Xander. You could have a pretty good time with..."

"I'm not into antagonistic sex, Oz. Hopefully it'll be a few years before I need to spice things up to that extent." He poked a finger at the thin layer of grit still on the ground. "That should do it. You can close up the bag now."

As Oz cinched up the yellow plastic loops threaded through the plastic, closing the bag, and started to tie them in a knot. He and Xander looked up quickly as a truck turned the corner, less than a half block away. "Company."

"Damn! Let's book." Both boys jumped up and started for the park, about a hundred yards away.

"Motherfucker!" Xander (who had learned a long time ago how dangerous it was to try to run backwards) paused and turned to look back at Oz. The other boy ran up to him. Instead of a bag he was carrying a loop of yellow plastic, with a couple of dark plastic shreds clinging to it. "Sucker ripped! They swear it won't do that! I'm gonna write a letter to the fucking CEO. I'll have the Better Business Bureau down on their ass. Consumer Reports. Channel Twelve Action."

Xander grabbed the outraged young man's shoulder. "Shut up and RUN!" The truck had sped up and was now screeching to a stop right before the scene of their latest triumph. Xander and Oz melted into the shadows.

Jim slammed the truck into park and leaped out while Blair scrambled out the passenger side. Ellison would have gone in pursuit of the two fleeing figures, but he'd spotted the man lying under the bench, and his first duty was to be sure he was safe.

By the time he reached the victim, Blair had reached under the bench, gotten his hands under the man's arms, and dragged him out onto the grass. Jim dropped down on his knees beside the man and trained his senses on him. While he did this, Blair made a quick visual check of the man, searching for wounds or any other indications of trauma. "I don't see any blood, Jim, unless they got him in the back."

"I don't think so, Chief. Steady heartbeat, strong pulse, good breathing." *sniff* "Phew. Even if it is a little ripe."

"You're telling me. He smells like he drank garlic-wine vinegar."

"I think maybe that half a sausage and empty MD 20/20 bottle under the bench might explain that, Chief. I think he's just drunk."

"Pretty damn drunk if he hasn't woke up yet." Blair slapped his face lightly. "Hey. Hey, old timer, wake up. It isn't safe to sleep out on the streets."

The bum mumbled, swatting at the Guide. "Gedda fuckaway. Keep yer dam dog 'way, too. He pee on me one more time, I tie a knot in his weiner."

"Oo, ouch. C'mon, get up."

The wino opened rheumy eyes and struggled into a sitting position. "Wha?"

"Are you all right?" Jim asked.

"Why shou'dn I be?"

"Well, we thought we saw a couple of men messing with you," Blair volunteered. "Were you robbed? Better check your valuables."

The man cursed, and began to dig through his pockets. He came up with sixty cents, a half-roll of lint covered breathmints, two cigarette butts (one with lipstick), a week old lottery ticked, and a wrapped condom. "Nope. All here."

"Great." Jim helped him to his feet. "Is there somewhere we can take you? You shouldn't be out in this state."

The bum blinked in confusion. "California?"

Blair looked at Jim. "Maybe we should take him in for public intoxication."

"Don' do that," the bum protested. "Look, there's a shelter jus' a few blocks away. I"ll go there, huh? I don' like it 'cause they won't let me smoke, but I'll go there if ya won't run me in."

They ran him over to the shelter and watched till the attendent led the sullen man back into the building, then drove back to the place they had found him. Again Jim parked, more sedately this time, and they got out.

"I thought it was just a robbery," Blair said as they began to examine the area. "Do you suppose he had something, and they stole it, and he just forgot?"

"It's possible. Then again, they might have just been going to bash him, or worse. You remember that rash of murders we had among the vagrants in Cascade a year ago."

"The ones that turned out to be gang initiations? Yeah. Bad business. I think I see something over there." Blair started toward what looked like a shiny lump about the size of a pillow.

Jim began to sift through the scents in the area, looking for clues. First he filtered out the smell of garlic, wine, and sour BO. *sniff* "Sandburg, do they have a picnic area closeby in that park?"

"Dunno, Big Guy. I haven't explored it yet."

"Well, it smells like someone's been barbequeing spoiled meat."

"Ugh, yeah, now that you mentioned it. Hey, there's a garbage sack here." He stooped to pick it up, then carried it back to his partner. "What is it?"

Jim was frowning. He looked like he'd found out something that he really didn't want to know. "Blair, one of those men was Xander Harris."

"Shit, Jim! Are you sure?"

Jim gave him a look. "As close as I got to him? Yeah, I'm sure."

"Maybe he was waiting for a bus earlier."

"I don't think so--it's too fresh."

"Xander wouldn't be doing anything malicious."

"I don't want to think so, either, but let's face it--we've slept with him, but we don't really know him."

"Are you going to question him about this?"

"I don't know. Nothing really seems to have happened. Maybe we'll just keep close tabs on him for awhile." He drew in a lungful of air, closing his eyes in concentration. "We might not have seen much, but something went down here, Chief. The place reeks of adrenaline. What's in the bag."

Blair spread it open. "They dropped this. I know the short one was carrying it when they ran." They both peered inside, then looked at each other. "I haven't a clue. What's your guess?"

Jim poked in the bag carefully. "I get the same bad barbeque smell from this." He pulled up a dusty, singed blue satin cummberbun. "Shit, that looks like what Stephen wore to his senior prom." He dropped it back, then fished again. This time he came up with a tiny, shriveled object on the end of a short, brittle stick

Blair examined it. "What is that?"

Jim sniffed it, and his eyebrows rose. "Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, it was a flower." He sniffed again. "A carnation, I think."

"This just gets weirder and weirder. Have you noticed that we seem to be standing in more of what's in the sack?" They both stepped back quickly.

Jim stooped and rubbed a little of the material through his fingers. "Odd. It feels both dry, and a little greasy." He wiped his hand on the grass. "Very unpleasant."

"Well, what do we do? What do we report?"

"I'm not sure there IS anything to report, Chief."

"Crap. I'm not easy with that, Jim, and you KNOW how I feel about paperwork." He held up the bag. "I at least want to know what this is."

"Me, too, but we can't very well ask the lab to process it if it isn't connected to some case or other."

"Yeah, I haven't had time to charm anyone to the point where they'd do us a few off-the-record favors." He thought. "Bloomfield would do it for us."

"Yes, but he's back in Cascade, Darwin."

"Ever hear of Federal Express, Jim? Marvelous invention--much more efficient than the pony express of your youth."

Jim cuffed him lightly on the side of the head, but he was smiling. "You're going up for Coniver of the Year, as soon as I get funding for the award. C'mon."

They went back to the truck. Blair climbed in, carefully storing the back in the space behind the front seat. He noticed that Jim was standing at the driver's side, hand on the open door, with a puzzled look on his face. "What?"

"Xander doesn't own a dog, does he?"

"You know the apartments are no pets. Well, yeah, like that stops people. But you would have heard or smelt one by now if he had one at his place. Why do you ask?"

Jim got into the truck and started the engine. "I got that doggy smell again."