Neither Xander, Anya, nor the film they are watching in any sense belong to me. I just provided the popcorn.


Xander should have known this would be a bad idea. Really. What on earth had he been thinking? But he knew the answer to that question. This was the latest in a never-ending series of attempts to instill in his ex-demon girlfriend some sense of how to behave remotely normally in a social setting. No matter how adorable he found her painfully blunt mannerisms, there was only so much of his private life a man wanted laid out before the public. Or, more importantly, Spike. However modest it was, Xander's ego was still nursing wounds inflicted by the latest round of taunts he had received from the peroxide-soaked, chain-smoking prat.

"What? This makes even less sense than that three-headed member of the Order of Tral-jorin arguing with himself before killing his prey. Everyone knows they only bicker on a full stomach," said Anya irritably. "And Rasha'akk demons definitely don't make things explode by pointing at them; it's the saliva! See, look, and now he's spitting all over them and they're barely flinching."

"Uh, how can you be sure he's a Rasha…thing?"

"The horns and the eyebrows. It's obvious, really."

"Sure, An." Anya pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and raised her eyebrows scornfully as the movie went on. Xander had relaxed almost to the point of being able to enjoy his favorite film again, when Anya suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream and upset the popcorn bowl with her wild gestures.

"What kind of sick movie is this?!" she shouted. Xander cowered, utterly bewildered. He didn't even dare to brush the popcorn off himself as she went on in complete hysterics. "So that whole castle scene with those normal, sensible women was just some horrible ruse? Lull me into a sense of security in spite of the rampant simple demonology mistakes? I can't believe you'd actually show me this on a date!" She departed in a gait that was something between fleeing in terror and stomping off in a huff. Xander blinked and looked from the cushion she had just vacated to the TV, just as King Arthur's frantic cry of "Run away!" filled the room.


Pity she didn't stick around to see the Holy Hand Grenade. I really wanted to name this "And Now for Something Completely Different", but I didn't want to give away the ending.

Review, or I shall say "ni" to you! *dramatic chord* And after you have left a review, you must fetch a shrubbery for me and my muse. *dramatic chord* And cut down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring. *dramatic cho--


We apologize for the frivolity in the final author's note. The one responsible has been sacked. She now has no choice but to continue writing the third episode of "Season 9". Except when she's watching the new episode of Dollhouse.