For A Nap

By Wee-Me

DISCLAIMER: Amongst the things I do not own are the characters and locations from the Buffy-verse, those belong to the great and powerful Joss Whedon. I simply play with them and plan to get them back in near mint condition. I also do not own the Sci Fi channel, Full House, the E! Network, No Doz, Yoda, eBay, or the Olsen twins.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is for my dear friend Boyzen because I miss him when he is away . . . really. It's supposed to be humorous, I simply have an odd outlook on humor and so does the man I'm writing about. This is my first fanfiction and is one of those self-insert fics, it is in no way serious, if you don't like it don't read any further. Please review if you'd like to.


My evening begins as any other, pulling a red wagon with a crate on it the size of a refrigerator through a graveyard, and inside the crate is one of my dearest friends. Okay, so my average evening isn't exactly normal, but tonight I have a purpose and that purpose is to pawn off my friend Boyzen (you know, the guy in the crate) onto someone else, anyone else. Let me explain, Boyzen is a twenty-something 5-foot three-inch male of the pervy persuasion who I have somehow befriended and has decided that pestering me is his higher calling unless bosoms or something shiny have distracted him. Though I care deeply for him, if he twitches just one more time or sings one more golden oldie I may be forced to beat him to death with his own arms. I've come to Sunnydale, home of the Hellmouth, to leave him with someone he likes so that I can get rid of him without the need for a wood-chipper.

My task is clear, and now I see my target. I don't doubt that she will attempt to rip my throat out, especially after I have left my twitching, giggling crate marked "DOLLIES" with her. However, the law (and sleep deprivation) is on my side, I think. I must prevail or I won't be able to work in a nap before the Sci Fi monster movie marathon comes on in all of its B movie glory. I set my shoulders and pull my little red wagon into the crypt and as she dances with a corpse to some sort of '80s music. I'm horribly disturbed . . . I hate '80s music. I clear my throat and switch off the stereo, sweet silence.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She yelps and drops the corpse. I'm a little more unnerved now that I see her headband and leg warmers, but press on, especially when I see that her doll is wearing them too.

"I hate to bother you, but I'm here to deliver these dollies to a Drusilla at this address. Could you tell me where I might find her? Ooohh, I'm good, she doesn't suspect a thing."

"Umm, you said that out loud."

" Consarnit! Err, I didn't say anything . . . "

"You aren't a very good liar, so you're lucky I'm loony."

"Anywho, you want the dolls or not?"

"Why does your shirt say Big Ed? And it seems too big, perhaps the size for a larger person, most likely male. And the tag says repairman, not delivery person. Why is the box shaking and giggling? And since when do dollies need air holes in their boxes? Why am I even playing with dolls? I'm a grown woman, to do real damage to the world I need to become a lawyer and then go into politics. Bwaha-Oww!"

I slap her, hard and across the face.

"Blast your brief periods of lucidity! I want you crazy and gullible! Now go along with my scheme right this instant!"

I stamp my foot like a petulant child and don't care, this is not going as I planned. Drusilla looks meek, as meek as a 200-year-old crazy vampiress can, and nods her assent. I smile and clap my hands like a camp counselor, oh the shame.

"Okie dokie. Let's . . . "

A mocking, giggling male voice comes from the crate, of course Boyzen would have to pipe in sometime.

"Did you just say okie dokie? Haha, you nerd . . . "

He says no more, as I plug an air hole with a foot I find on the floor. It soon disappears to the inside, and I don't want to think about what's going on in there.

"As I was saying, do you want the dollies or not? If you don't want them, I could always give them to needy children."

I can hear a faint voice from the crate talking about corrupting small children as Dru gasps.


"I already mentioned that."

"Oh, sorry. Egad, How could you do something good with my dollies? That's just cruel."

"Well it doesn't have to happen. All you have to do is sign the delivery papers."

I grin maniacally as I pull out a clipboard with a sheaf of papers an inch thick with four hundred and thirteen of those little signature marking arrows. This must be how it feels to sell used cars. I have the urge to mention mileage, kick tires, and say "no money down, little lady" in a patronizing tone.

"All right, I'll sign. Then I'll rip your throat out. No one must know about my secret '80s fetish."

"Umm, what say we just get the signing done and then see how we feel, hmm? So sign here, here, here, initial here, here . . . " An hour passes. ". . . sign here, here, lock of hair for eBay here, sign this T-shirt, hokey pokey left arm in, no your other left, and sign this last page and we are done. Great doing business with you. I'll just pop open your crate and you'll be good to go."

I have done it! Now all I need to do is open the crate and she'll be too distracted to try to kill me and I can go watch Sci Fi. Life is good! As I open the crate I see Boyzen in the dim light cuddling the severed foot.

"Wake up you lousy son of a . . . dollie."

I prod him gently with my crowbar. Okay, not that gently, but it wakes him up so what do I care? I mean, he stays awake bothering me all day and just when I'm about to give him over to his dream girl HE GOES TO SLEEP! And on No Doz no less. Gah!

"Drusilla, why don't you come see your dollies?"

She comes over, but stops before getting directly in front of the crate.

"Are you certain these are good dollies?"

"Oh, yes. The best dollies."

She walks directly in front of the crate and BOOM! Out pounces Boyzen and they slide back across the floor. Now if I can just sneak out with my little red wagon (I'll be darned if I'm leaving it behind) I can leave this whole mess behind.

"Nooo! This is not a dollie. This is an . . . I don't know what this is, but get it off me NOW!"

"Oh sorry, can't and won't. You signed a contract to keep him as long as he wants you in perpetuity forever throughout the galaxy. (Mmm, nerd speak.) Besides, look at how happy he is."

In a disturbing way it is quite cute, Boyzen lying on the floor with his arms and legs wrapped around Drusilla, nuzzling her neck while she flails about desperately like an animal in a trap. I'm just trying to knock the crate off my wagon and get out of dodge.

"Oh, and you can't just kill him, that's also in there. It's a good thing that notary wandered by. Bwaha, convenient plot devices."

"But I can still kill you!"

She lunges, awkwardly because Boyzen still clings, but a lunge none-the-less. Thankfully a demonic cloud appears (like I said, my life isn't normal) and a man in a suit steps out. Gasp, a lawyer with a smiley-face tie (and an oddly familiar striped suit). I'm excited now that I see he's the same demon I spoke to in L.A. at the main offices of Wolfram & Hart when I had the papers drawn up. If it wasn't before the law is on my side now, my attorney just has to prove it to the other party involved.

"Pardon me Ms. Crazy-vampire-lady, but you are in danger of violating your agreement with my client."

"Who, the girl in the jumpsuit or the thing on my back? Eww, it's licking."

"The girl. You signed a contract to keep that . . . err, man? And to not harm my client. It's in the fine, fine print, that blurry part at the bottom that says have a nice day. If you violate this contract you will be forced to watch Full House episodes into eternity, including any commentary, interviews, or E! Specials."

"That's monstrous!"

"Yes, my client came up with it. I think she could go far in our organization."

I blush. I'm trying to get into their internship program. Think of all the damage I could do, sigh, but that's another day.

"So Ms. Crazy-vamp what will it be? Honor your agreement and un-live a semi-normal life or break it and still have to care for that thing and suffer through the Olsen twins?"

"Wait. I have to keep it either way?"

The thing pipes in, "Boyzen likes the pretty, Boyzen keep. Teehee."

"Erm, yes, you must keep it and I can't say I envy you. Is that err, Boyzen? Able to speak in full sentences? Or is it, err, challenged?"

Challenged? He's a challenge, but I don't know what he means by . . . Ohhh, I get it.

"Oh no, no, no, no. He can be quite brilliant when he feels like it, but he ate a bottle of No Doz on the way over so he's a bit more out of his mind than normal. He'll fondle her a bit then he'll go to sleep, though he may need feeding in there somewhere. It's almost like an oversized pervert baby."

The lawyer and the vamp look at me like I'm crazy, but hey, who doesn't anymore? (Don't you start.) And they aren't perfect either, what with him being a soulless demon of the lawyer variety and her with the '80s music fetish. I can handle a lot of things: psychotic friends, vampires, demons, but not people who love '80s music. I just won't stand for that sort of sick behavior. Before I can work myself up to a hissy fit they look away to stare at Boyzen who has climbed down from Drusilla's back to curl around her legs like a cat.

"Can't escape the Boyzen, nope, nope. Trapped you are. Leave me you cannot. Speak like Yoda I do. Bwaha."

Drusilla shoots me a pleading look.

"Please tell me he won't always be like this."

"Oh. I shouldn't expect so, some days he sleeps right through and other days he's much, much worse, it's a toss up. Trust me, you get used to him. Hmm, that wasn't as comforting as I had intended."

She begins to slam her head against a wall. I feel a twinge of sympathy, for her and the poor wall that's being dented. My attorney is staring impassively at the scene before him, I wonder if his other cases are this odd. Maybe I should take another stab at that comforting thing.

" There's no need for that. Eventually he'll get bored and start to wander off so you won't see him for months at a time, he does it to me all the time."

"You know that if I ever find a way I will kill you."

"Yeah, but that's a risk I'm willing to take if only I can have a nap. I've been dealing with his brand of madness for around three years. He was the lesser of several evils, my favorite evil it turns out. Even so, there's only so much a person can take and stay sane. I figure you have a good chance seeing as you weren't sane to start with."

The vamp and the lawyer have both visibly paled which is some feat as the undead don't really have any circulation. Boyzen sleeps on, preventing her escape by resting his head on her feet and clutching at her ankles. It's so adorable when it isn't me.

"Lesser? Oh dolly what evil place must this girl come from?"

"I must make my exit here ma'am, I'll be checking in with the Senior Partners to see if they know of this place. If that is the lesser of the evils, then we may have a new Hellmouth on our hands. Good evening ladies."

My dear lawyer exits in a dramatic cloud, though I distinctly see him walk out the door. Sigh. Today's evil is not the cool theatrical evil of yesteryear, too many cut backs in their expense accounts I suppose. When I leave my musings for the real world I notice that Drusilla still looks stricken. In response to my confused expression she begins to speak.

"You poor dearie. You go ahead to your nap. If I had known what you suffer . . . "

She trails of and then clucks sympathetically. I am so confused it is almost comical, I'm certain that the "confused dog expression" is on my face. I mean, it's not so bad, I'm used to Boyzen and his antics, and seek out his company sometimes. I even love him and the things he does. I like having him around and join in the act when felonies aren't involved. I'll even miss him when I leave and I don't see him for a while. However, I am not one to pass up a nap. Ever. Ask anyone.

"Thank you. And to pay you back for your kindness I'll repay you by trying to occupy his time when I can." I pause. "Come to think of it Drusie . . . "

"Never call me that again or I'll kill you with a spork, Olsen twins or no."

Boyzen giggles drowsily and adds his two cents from his place on the floor where I get the distinct impression he's looking up her skirts. I'm just not going to think about that one too hard.

"Yay! Spork is a fun word. Another funny one is sexual harassment, I hear that one a lot. Hehehe."

There is just something so wrong with that. He's still giggling, and now twitching, but I press on.

"Disturbing, oh so very disturbing. Okay, moving on. Where was I? Oh yes, thinking. I've been thinking that his son should occupy a lot of his time as well. I'm sure you'll get to meet him, he's a cute kid. Oh, look at the time. I'd better get going if I want that nap. Farewell Drusilla. Bye, Boyzen, come see me sometime . . . just not too soon, okay?"

Dru stands stunned as I gather my wagon and hug Boyzen goodbye. I am almost out of the cemetery when I hear her cry.

"Wait, you mean it's been breeding? NOOO! Come back!"

Oh well, I'm sure she'll be okay. Or not. I simply walk on smiling, my mood as bright as my little red wagon.


AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: So now I hope that Boyzen has read this and enjoyed. I miss him now that he has moved. (And he never calls hint, hint.) And he really is one of my closest friends, the Short Persons' Movement would not be the same without him. Also, I'm sure he could teach WR&H a few things about evil. And yes, I do have issues with Full House, why is it ALWAYS on? It's evil, I tell you, evil and not even the fun kind.