Title: Morning Is Broken
Author: Beer Good
Word Count: ~500
Rating: PG13; some implied naughty behaviour
Summary: Everyone has their morning rituals. Until one day in early season 7, when they're interrupted by the latest curse to strike Sunnydale...
Morning Is Broken
Buffy liked Sunday mornings. Slow, lazy, sunny, dependable. Everyone had their morning rituals, which in her case meant actually getting a solid eight hours' sleep after patrol and waking up in time for a big breakfast.
This morning, however, as she entered the kitchen she found Dawn standing in the middle of the kitchen, giving the refrigerator a look normally reserved for embarrassing big sisters.
"Hey, Dawnie. What's up?"
"Um... I was about to fix breakfast, and... well... There's a bear in the fridge," Dawn blurted out.
"I know, there's a bottle left from pizza night. You're not having any. Especially not for breakfast."
"Not a beer. A bear."
"A what?" Buffy walked over to the fridge and opened it. The huge grizzly bear who somehow managed to fit in the much smaller refrigerator roared at her, reached out with his mighty paw and slammed the door shut again. Buffy stood there listening as the bear resumed munching on the left-over pizza. "Uh... yeah, that's one picknicky bear. Did we piss off the Chumash spirits again?"
"I don't know, but there's something really weird going on here." A quick search of the kitchen revealed a golf course in the tea drawer, a few DVD box sets in the cereal cupboard, and the tin where they kept the flour was full of dandelions.
"Oh, wait, I know what this is!" Dawn ran into the living room, almost tripping over the coach, and got out one of the demonology books. "Here. It's a Ffording - a mispeling deamon."
"A misspelling demon?"
"No, a mispeling deamon. They sort of misspell reality. A beer becomes a bear, a couch becomes a coach..." They both turned around as the front boar snorted and ran out into the yard where it started rooting under the bushes around the male box. "And doors get a sudden craving for haycorns."
"Huh." Buffy shrugged. "I guess that explains why I had to fight a rabbit for my hairbrush this morning. So if there's a mispeling deamon on the lose -"
"- it's pretty harmless, right?" She was interrupted by a horrified scream from upstairs. "Willow!" Buffy grabbed a sword and bounded, somewhat self-consciously, up the stares.
Willow was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, pajamas in disarray, pointing at her bedside table. The drawer was open, and sitting in it was a small, jovial fellow with hairy feet, smoking a pipe and fidgeting with something in his pocket. He smiled and held out his hand towards Buffy. "Hullo, miss. Bilbo Baggins, at your service."
Buffy shook his hand with hesitation. "Um, hi, would you mind telling me what you're doing in Willow's bedroom on a Sunday morning when she always likes to... sleep in... and... wait; Bilbo?" She suddenly pulled her hand back as her inner spellcheck kicked in. "Gaah! Willow!"
Willow turned bright read with embarrassment and tried to sink through the flour... which they used to make a hardy pancake breakfast before they trucked down the mispeling deamon and sleighed him.