The Circus is Coming!

Nominated at Bedtime Story Awards: Best Pajama Party, Fuzzy Bunny Slipper, and Cold Shower

Silliness for my friend dovil, who had requested:

There needs to be an AU circus fic, where Xander is a mime and Spike a candy floss seller with Angel the studly lion tamer, and Buffy can inexplicably be a cheerleader and Willow can read palms, and Giles can be the Ringmaster and Oz can be a strongman, a really teeny strongman, and it would be exactly the same as the TV programme, except nothing like it. Maybe Spike could sneak out at night and suck the candy floss dry of artificial colouring, that would make it work.

So, for dovil, here is:

The Circus is Coming! (And so are Spike and Angel)

Xander sighed inaudibly, as he climbed into his black leotard and tights. He exited the battered, old trailer and locked the door behind him before he pulled on his pristine white gloves. It was so hard to keep his gloves snowy white, but a mime with dirty gloves was as bad as . . . as bad as . . . a really bad thing! It was bad, anyway.

He carefully stepped over a large pile of elephant poo, as he made his way to the fortune teller's tent. He mimed knocking at the tent flap, but of course she didn't hear him. He waited a few minutes and then mimed knocking again. He was about to turn away, the very picture of dejection, with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down, when the candy floss seller came to his rescue.

“Oi, witch!” he yelled. “The whelp's outside pretendin' to knock again!”

Xander hated Spike calling him 'whelp', but there wasn't much else he could do about it. He'd already tried throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation, putting his hands on his hips, and shaking his finger at Spike—none of which had the slightest effect.

Xander quickly jumped out of the way, as Oz hurried down the path, balancing a 100 pound bag of sugar on each shoulder for Spike's stand.

“Oi, whelp! Ta for the help!”

The strongman's lips curled back and he growled. Oz hated Spike calling him 'whelp'. Spike cast a quick glance at the sky, to check the status of the moon. Xander grasped his middle and mimed hysterical laughter. Spike gave him a two-fingered salute.

Willow opened the tent flap and motioned Xander in. He mimed stepping over the door jamb, which was kind of silly, 'cause—tent!

Willow's long skirts swished and her plastic bracelets clunked, as she led the way to her fortune teller's table at the back of the tent.

“And how would you like me to tell your fortune today, young whelp?”

Xander gave her 'puppy dog eyes'. He hated Willow calling him 'whelp'.

Willow indicated the tarot cards, I Ching and Orb of Thesulah as possible fortune telling options. Xander held out his hand for a palm reading. Willow sighed. Not again!

“You'll have to take off your glove,” she told him, for what seemed like the 632nd time.

Xander mimed removing his glove, rolling it down from his wrist and then slo-o-o-o-wly pretending to grasp each finger, wiggling the glove off inch by inch. When he had completed the entire shtick, he held out his gloved hand, palm up. Willow took his hand in both of hers and stared intently at his gloved palm.

“I see . . . white,” she intoned. “Your future holds white. Lots and lots of white. It may include a snow storm, a flock of sheep, or something else entirely, but it's definitely white.”

Xander mimed shivering.

“Okay, snow storm it is. Dress warmly, and don't forget your boots.”

Xander made a sweeping bow over her hand and mimed placing a coin in it. Then he made arm motions as if he were putting on a heavy coat, buttoned the coat, pulled a pretend hat over his head, threw a scarf around his neck and put on snow boots. He pulled back the tent flap and trudged off through the pretend snow drifts. Willow sighed and closed the flap.

Xander heard yelling in the field behind the candy floss stand.

“Gimme a C, gimme an I, gimme an R . . .”

Xander decided to wander over to watch cheerleading practice. Buffy the Cheerleader was contorting her slim, lithe, well-toned body into shapes approximating the letters as she spelled out “C-I-R-C-U-S”. Xander liked the 'S' best, so he hurried so he wouldn't miss the part where she stuck out her boobs and ass and arched her back to make the 'S'. He mimed enthusiastic clapping when she had finished.

She tossed back her shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and smiled delightedly at him. He mimed pouring her a glass of water, because he thought she'd be thirsty after her strenuous workout.

Before he could pretend to hand the glass to her, he realized she was no longer paying attention to him, so he gripped the glass carefully so the water wouldn't spill. Buffy's eyes were riveted on Angel, the studly lion tamer, who was walking in her direction, stroking his huge, manly whip. Buffy tossed her hair again and started toward the studly lion tamer, forgetting all about the lonely mime.

She stopped dead when Angel veered off, and she realized he hadn't been coming toward her after all. His goal had been the candy floss stand all along. Buffy threw her pom poms on the ground, pushed past Xander, and ran to the fortune teller's tent, leaving Xander still holding out his imaginary glass of water, and feeling pretty stupid. He carefully placed the glass on the ground and looked around. Where did everybody go?

He shrugged and decided he'd go find the Ringmaster, to see if Giles would let him try on his top hat.

As he passed the candy floss stand, he heard noises coming from behind the counter. They sounded like slurping noises, and Xander figured Spike was sucking the artificial coloring out of the candy floss again.

But now, he heard grunts and moans in addition to the sucking noises, and the occasional crack of a whip. Xander peeked over the counter to see Spike and Angel, totally naked, rolling around on a bed of pure white candy floss, from which Spike had sucked all the artificial color. Xander tried to see what they were doing, because they both seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, but his vision was obscured by fluffy white clouds of floss.

Xander put his chin in his hand and scratched his head, as he mimed deep thought. Willow had said his future was 'white'. Maybe she had misinterpreted it as a snow storm or a flock of sheep? Maybe the white future she saw for him involved candy floss instead?

Spike yelled, “Oh, yeah, Angel! Give it to me good!” and then looked up to see Xander peering at them intently.

“Oi, whelp—come and join us!”

“Do we really need him?” Angel muttered.

Spike nodded sagely. “A mime is a terrible thing to waste.”

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