Close Encounters Of The Demonic Kind
Damn, I knew I should have taken Jack up on his offer to go fishing with him, Daniel thought fleetingly.
Facing down a – what was it, a vampire? – was not the way he wanted to realize that, though.
Catalogue the facts, Dr. Jackson, Daniel berated himself, wincing as the grip on his shoulder tightened. The thing that has me backed up against this alley wall has fangs, a ridged face – which moments ago looked as human as could be – set into a cocky smirk, and he said I'd make a nice snack… That last bit while he was eyeing my neck.
Vampire's a good bet.
When I get back – if I get back – to Cheyenne Mountain, if Jack says 'I told you so' with that arrogant, smug, self-satisfied little smile of his, I am so going to kick his ass.
That decided, Daniel palmed his ever-present pencil out of his jacket pocket, set his jaw, and lunged.
Five minutes, a bit of a scuffle, one ripped jacket and knocked off glasses on his part later, the vampire was dust.
Pushing himself up on his knees, Daniel fumbled around until his hands came into contact with thankfully unbent plastic in a titanium casing. He slipped on his glasses and blinked, readjusting his sight. Picking himself up off the ground and dusting demonic powder off his person, Daniel sighed. "No matter how cool the ancient Egypt exhibit at the local museum is purported to be, I am never coming to Sunnydale, California again," he stated firmly, before walking calmly out of the alley.