A/N: I'm running with Buffy was called when she was 15, not when she TURNED 15…so this is before she got called. She's still 15, though. And the language Anya's speaking in Norwegian; I just ran it through a language translator, so it's probably not grammatically correct (in case any of you speak that language…).


The Scoobies were having their first official slumber party in what seemed like forever. After the Council had shown up and put everyone through their paces, it was unanimously decided that they deserved a night off. And with Riley up and disappearing on her, Buffy deserved a night devoid of anything that had to do with slaying. Which was why they'd all assembled at her house for a relaxing night of junk food, television, and silliness. Well, television up until the point where the movie became far too scary for one of their number to bear.

"Xander!" Anya screeched, pointing fearfully at the television. Bowls of chips went flying in every direction. "You said this movie was funny! You said it would make me laugh! KILLER BUNNIES ARE NOT FUNNY! Make it go away!"

"Ahn! It's OK, we'll turn it off…" Dawn was the first to react, quickly grabbing the remote and snapping the TV off. Anya was breathing heard, her eye wide and fearful.

"How can they think that's funny? Killer bunnies? They're scary enough! Why would anyone add those teeth?" Buffy was trying very hard not to laugh at the ex-vengeance demon. For a woman who had been the scourge of men for over a thousand years, she sure was scared of some weird things.

"How about we watch—"

"NO!" Anya protested vehemently. "No, I am not watching any more television! There might be more of those…things."

"Anya, I swear there are no bunnies in this movie." The blonde woman just shook her head in vehement denial.

"You put that in and I'm going home! And Xander had better come with me if he wants any orgasms for the next…day and a half." Xander shrugged apologetically at the group.

"Ooooooooook," Buffy drawled out, looking around the house. Her mom was upstairs, probably asleep. She was still a little weak from the surgery. And none of them wanted to break up their party; days of peaceful relaxation were few and fare between these days. "So, what are we going to do?"

"W-w-we could play cards," Tara suggested hesitantly. She was still a little unsure of her place in the Scooby Gang, but it was getting easier; she felt more like a part of the group these days.

"Or," Dawn said, walking over to the shelf, "we could play spin the bottle." She held up one of their mother's random artifacts, a sturdy-looking bottle made out of some very pretty glass with random, archaic markings—a sure sign that if their mother found out, they'd all be in heaps of trouble.

"You have got to be kidding," Buffy said, completely unimpressed. "That's one of mom's arty things. And I'm not playing spin the bottle with my little sister."

"Eeeeeewwwww," Dawn said with disgust, her nose wrinkling with distaste. "We could always make up our own rules."

"Oh! That's a great idea!" Willow exclaimed excitedly, bouncing excitedly up and down. "It can be like Turth or Dare with a bottle! Only…less dare and more truth! Or-or-or something like that!"

"Truth or dare spin the bottle?" Buffy asked the group. Giggling like the school children they no longer were, they arranged themselves in a circle.

"Who's gonna go first?" Xander asked.

Before any of them could answer, the doorbell rang.

"Someone order pizza?" Xander asked excitedly.

"Nnnnoooo," Buffy said slowly, wondering who could be at the door at this hour. None of her options boded well. She cautiously opened the door, her annoyance rising when she saw who was standing on her porch. "Giles."

"Ah, Buffy, good!" the watcher said, inviting himself in, oblivious to the annoyed look his slayer was throwing him. "I found these books—"

"Giles!" He gave her a startled look. "This is officially a no-Slay night! You're not allowed to talk a-a-about keys and hellgods and vampires and anything!"

"Buffy!" a sharp voice admonished from the stairs. The slayer heaved a sigh and faced her mother, guilt warring with frustrated anger. "Mr. Giles was just trying to help. He didn't know about tonight. Hello, Rupert," Joyce greeted with a warm smile. Giles took of his glasses and began cleaning them vigorously.

"H-h-hello, Joyce. Quite nice to see you."

"And you as well. Since you're here, why don't you join me for a cup of tea? You can leave the books for Buffy to look over tomorrow," Joyce suggested with another small smile. Giles fumblingly accepted the offer and followed Joyce into the kitchen. Buffy glared at their retreating backs. If she didn't know better, she'd think her mother was flirting with her watcher. With a huff, she flounced back to the group.

"Alright, let's play—" her words were cut off when the door was flung open, heavy boots stomping on the floor.

"Slayer!" an annoyingly familiar British voice called out. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. She ssssoooo did not need this right now. "Slayer, I—well. Didn't know we were having a party." If Buffy didn't know Spike, she'd have thought there was a hint of hurt in his voice.

"Spike," she growled, her voice hard.

"We're about to play spin the bottle truth-or-dare, wanna join?" Dawn said with andeceptively innocent smile. Her sister may be a super-bitch to Spike, but that didn't mean she had to be.

"I'd love to." He fluidly settled himself next to the slayer, and sent the bottle in the middle spinning.

A blinding flash swept through the house, and from the outside it looked like 1630 Revello had been lit from the inside by the sun.


Joyce slowly came to, her head pounding something awful. Must have been one hell of a wild night, because she didn't remember any of it! She hadn't even made it to bed; in fact, looking around, she hadn't even made it home. A groan across from her caught her attention.

A devilishly handsome man with eyes of steel looked back at her. She checked him out, taking points off for the outfit, but not even tweed could take much away from his hotness. Memories of another time, fuzzy and blurred, came slowly back to her. A slow, sultry smile made its way onto her face.

"Well well well. If it isn't…what did you call yourself? Ripper?" Joyce said with a saucy grin. "Why is that, again?"

The delicious man in front of her fixed her with most devilish look she'd ever seen, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Do I need to remind you?" he asked, his voice pitch low and husky. He was bad and dangerous and oh-so-hot.

"Yeah. I really think you do," she said. She was more than ready for him when he launched himself over the table.


Buffy groaned and rolled over on her…floor? Her eyes popped open at the same moment her massive headache hit. Why was she one the floor? She sat up, and realized she wasn't in her room. She wasn't even in her house! Where was she? She needed to get home, the big game was tonight!

"Pardon me, Miss? Do you happen to know where we are?" a confused voice asked from beside her. Buffy turned and found herself face-to-face with the most gorgeous boy she'd ever laid eyes on.

He had startling blue eyes, bleach-blonde hair, and was encased in leather from head to toe. He screamed bad boy, and the naughty part of Buffy was telling her that no one on her squad would ever believe her if she made out with this hunk of manly goodness.

"Miss?" She frowned a little. That accent so did not go with the image. But he was hot enough for it not to matter…much. She could definitely work with this.

"I have no idea where we are," she said with a flirtatious smile; she started running her hands down her cheerleading outfit, amoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles, absolutely sure that it would draw Hottie McHotterson's attention. "But I—what the hell?" Buffy looked down in confusion when she didn't feel the soft material of her uniform; in fact, it was almost as if… "WHAT THE HELL AM I WEARING?!"

Xander woke up with a start; someone was screeching, which was never a good sign in his house. He frowned when he realized he wasn't in his house. He sat up, wincing at the pounding in his brain. He wrenched his eyes open and took in his surroundings.

Willow was here, so nothing too bad could have happened. But the room was filled with people he didn't know. And right now, a beautiful blonde girl was frantically babbling about her clothes.

"I have to get to the game! This isn't funny! I refuse to wear these unfashionable solid-color tragedies of a fashion disaster! I want my uniform back!" The girl started crying in earnest. Some punk-looking guy was crouched over her, trying to comfort the girl; they seemed like they knew each other, and Xander scowled. Why did good guys ALWAYS finish last? It was totally unfair. "I look hideous!" the girl wailed. Xander thought she looked pretty good; that top was cut just low enough that…

"Unnskylder meg, mann med den muskuløs armer. Hva er denne sted ?" a feminine voice asked from beside him. A woman with light brown hair and an open face looked expectantly at him.

"Ummm…what?" he asked with confusion. The language that was coming out of her mouth was nothing he was remotely familiar with.

"Er jeg i landet av Gudene ? Jeg er, med slik finery omkring meg. Og disse magi tenner. ..very imponerende. De er en mann av stor rikdom og kraft. Vil De liker ha kjønn ?"

Xander had no idea what the woman was saying…but she was running her had VERY suggestively up his arm. He blushed bright red, his teenaged-brain trying to operate as his blood rushed south. The look the woman gave him made his eyes glaze over; was she really offering what every freshman guy dreamed of?

"I-I-I-I…" he trailed off, unable to form any sort of remotely coherent sentence. This so didn't happen to people like him! He looked helplessly at the woman, who smiled widely and put his hand on her boob. Xander gaped. His hand was on a woman's boobie. His HAND was actually TOUCHING a REAL boob. This was…Willow wasn't going to believe this! No one at school was going to believe him either.

"Alexander Lavelle Harris! What are you doing?!" a voice screeched. OK, so maybe Willow would believe him. He looked up, a goofy grin on his face before Willow dragged him off of the woman, glaring daggers at her.

"Boobie!" he crowed delightedly.

"Er De ikke intereted ?" the woman asked with a pout.

"Xander! What did you do? Y-y-you can't take advantage of someone who doesn't speak our language like that! It's wrong and immoral and…and wrong!" Willow ignored the jealousy that coursed through her. She and Xander were just best friends, nothing more.

"E-e-e-excuse m-me?" a timid voice asked. They both turned to look at a nervous girl with straight blonde hair, looking at them with trepidation. "W-w-where are we? And w-w-what's going on?"

Willow glanced around at the group of people. Only Xander was familiar…and she was pretty sure she didn't usually hang out with people who had bleached hair and dressed all in black. Logically, none of it made sense. Though if she were honest with herself, they were in Sunnydale, and things did tend to go very weird here. So she put on her best smile and stuck her hand out.

"I don't know, but I'm Willow," she said with a huge smile. The shy girl shook her hand, and Willow jumped when something that felt almost electric raced up her arm.

"Tara," the other girl said. She was looking at Willow with wide eyes.

"I'm Xander," the boy said with a little wave, looking a bit bashful. Their eyes turned to the foreign girl, who simply stared back at them. Xander decided since he was the one who had touched her boob, he should try to communicate with her.

"Xander," he said, thumping his chest. "You…?" He pointed back and forth, doing the classic me-you thing. In the movies, they had to do this at least ten times before anyone got it. "I'm—"

"Xander." The girl touched her chest and fixed him with a blinding smile. "Anyanka," she said.

"Anyanka," Xander tested. She smiled broadly, and nodded enthusiastically. "Hi, Anyanka."

"But the game is tonight!" a wailing voice suddenly cut through their huddle. The hot blonde chick Xander had noticed first was in tears, and the punk rocker looked like he was in way over his head.

"I do not know what game you speak of, Miss, but I assure you that I will do everything in my power so that you do not miss it." Buffy looked up into the hottest blue eyes she had ever seen and melted.

"You mean that?" she asked with a sniffle. A smile spread over the guy's face, and he gave her an odd little bow.

"Upon my honor, Miss…?" he trailed off, realizing that he had no recollection of this golden goddess' name.

"Buffy," she said with a smile that made all other smiles pale in comparison.

"Buffy," he murmured reverently. He raised her hand to his mouth and laid a gentlemanly kiss upon it. He wasn't usually so forward, but there was something enchanting about this girl. She was…vibrant, effervescent, vivacious… effulgent. Yes, that was the very word for her. Effulgent.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding," a voice scoffed, breaking their stare-fest. Buffy turned an annoyed look at the mousy brown-haired guy who had forced her to stop looking at the hunk of salty man meat.

"I beg your pardon?" William asked.

"Does that really ever work? Please. That act is so lame. I mean…look at how you're dressed!"

"I fail to see what is wrong with my attire…" William trailed off, staring at what he was wearing. This was wrong; these clothes were indecent! He was wearing some unbearably coarse material on his legs that squeezed him in unnatural ways; his body was covered by a great deal of leather. This was entirely unbecoming of a gentleman! Where were his trousers? His coat? This was most embarrassing.

"I'm indecent!" he cried, turning wildly apologetic eyes to the blonde woman who had so captured his attentions. "Madame, I beg your pardon, for I have undoubtedly offended you with my ghastly dress." Buffy giggled at how upset he seemed to be, giving him an appraising once…twice…thrice over.

"I think you're kind of hot," she said with a grin. She batted her eyelashes at him, thrilled that this sexy man was actually flirting with her.

William was smitten. Thoughts of Cecily had instantly been driven out of his mind when this woman had opened her brilliant green eyes. Her odd style of dress didn't tarnish the fact that she was perfection in human form. Words bubbled in him, eager to find their way onto paper.

"You are as a flower, ensnaring me with it's beauty
Like a been drawn to honey, who knows only duty
Until fate should show him the power
Of his chosen, striking, effulgent flower."

OK, so it was a little slap-dash, but he hadn't had time to work on it. Inspiration struck, and he had to comply.

Willow gaped at the punk-rock looking man who was spouting bad poetry at a girl who was so not his type. He needed some pale skanky hobag with dark hair and crazy clothes, not some golden-haired suburban chick. What world had she and Xander been sucked into?

"Who ARE you?" Xander asked incredulously. Guys dressed like this character did not walk around spouting poetry! It was so against the rules! He couldn't look like a sexy bad ass AND be a nice guy! Xander shrugged off the 'sexy' part; best not to think of these things.

"I am William James Pratt the third. And you are?" Xander crossed his arms and fixed the guy with a glare. Something about him was just down right annoying.

"Alexander Lavelle Harris…the first."

As the boys engaged in a staring match, Willow tentatively raised her hand.

"Um…does anyone know what's going on?"