The comic's routine is a snooze. In the barroom no laughter ensues. However, the crowd Is still very loud; There is clearly no shortage of "boos".

A little late on my own response, I know. This was something that I wrote quite a while ago originally and have spruced up and redone over the last month, hence why I'm putting in here.

For those of you who were in the last Write-Off you might recognise the characters, but if you weren't (and aren't aware of some of my D&D antics) then that doesn't really matter, this is more of a prequel than a sequel after all.

And so without further ado, here is my response for Writing Prompt 1) from this month:

Here

Nova

Prompt: "How many people does it take to change a lightbulb?"

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The anthropomorphic bee looked curiously over the shoulder of the human who was currently typing on something vaguely resembling a laptop, occasionally glancing up to scowl at the light fixture that had gone out a few minutes ago. “How many people does it take to change a lightbulb?” they asked, mostly out of idle curiosity.

Jeff looked up at them and blinked. “Um… one?” he said.

The bee tilted their head - an expression of confusion they had obviously learned from books, given the… somewhat over-exaggerated way in which they did so. “Only one?” they asked. “I would have thought it would take more.”

“They’re… not that complicated,” Jeff said, reaching up to push the bee’s head a bit straighter. They’d asked for the humans to just correct their posture physically - trying to explain with words had a tendency to get… interesting, what with the translation process between their languages being very, very incomplete for the moment. “Why? How many of you does it take?”

“One,” the bee replied simply, still appearing rather confused.

“But -” he stopped, thought for a moment, then realized. “Oh. Oh, right. Sorry - I meant how many bodies does it take you, not how many Rivis - or, is it Rivi right now?” Rivi was, for the moment, in the somewhat-irritating habit of changing their name at least once a week - apparently they’d never actually settled on one before meeting the humans, and so now they were trying them on like sets of clothes. … No, no, that wasn’t fair. Rivi’s clothing choices were far more static.

“Ooooooh,” the hive mind said. “Right, right. Um… on average, I think about two hundred and thirteen?”

Jeff stared at Rivi for a long, long moment. “... It takes you two hundred and thirteen bodies to change a light bulb? How complicated are those things?”

“I do not think they are that much more complicated than yours?” Rivi said, though they sounded rather doubtful. They had discovered that humans were… odd about these things, sometimes. “There’s the bodies to mine the materials, the bodies to maintain my connection to that planet, the bodies to move the materials out of the mine…” They trailed off as they saw Jeff shaking his head, and laughing at… well, something. “What is it?”

“That explains it,” he said, after getting himself under control. “What I meant is, how many bodies does it take to grab the lightbulb and go up to change it. Not how many it takes to manufacture it. Stars, you actually keep track of that?”

“Well, not for every lightbulb, but it helps to know how when I need to… to...” They trailed off, then shook their head - a gesture they naturally shared with humans. “Never mind, it is not important right now. But… yes, I see what you mean now. That only takes one body. It probably only needs one body when you might need more, actually, since… oh, I forget the word.” The wings on their back buzzed to life, and they lifted a bit into the air. “Because of this.”

“Because you can fly, yeah,” he said. “Alright, things make more sense now. They really need to get this thing figured out.” He mock-glared at the laptop, though, being as incredibly experienced in the ways of singletons as they now were, Rivi was pretty certain that he was actually glaring at the dictionary that had thusfar been compiled.

“We are working on it right now, but we are having some trouble with a few… zo-o-lo-gi-cal terms,” Rivi said, in that odd way of speaking they had when they were copying the words they’d just heard with a different set of ears without necessarily understanding them. “Shirou says that Mariettasusanhakim-”

“Marietta,” Jeff interrupted. “Her first name is just Marietta.”

“You humans and your names,” Rivi said, amused, shaking their head and conveniently forgetting that one week that their name had been Hazerentirikvanelifahein. “Shirou says that Marietta will arrive in a few minutes to help, but it will take some time even once… she? She’s assisting.” They looked at the computer again, and added, “Though, if it only takes one person to change a lightbulb, why are you sending so many messages?”

“It’s only three,” Jeff protested, though admittedly, Rivi had a tendency to view any messages as a lot - which he, personally, was enjoying while it lasted, since in no more than a few decades, Rivi would probably view anything less than twelve billion as a laughably small number. “And I need to make sure this gets through to Maintenance - I think I’ve seen another one out, maybe a couple, actually, and the chief engineer hates not being on top of this sort of thing. And she’ll want to send out a few people to check all the lights, actually, so… huh, I guess I lied. I guess it will take more than one person. Only one for each lightbulb, but there will probably be a few people wandering around and checking for a few hours.”

Rivi was quiet for a moment, and he thought that was the end of it, until they said, “Twelve.”

“Huh?”

“It will take twelve people to change all of the lightbulbs.”

He blinked, then grinned and smacked Rivi on the arm. “That’s cheating!”

“The last time you told me not to ask was seventeen hours and twenty-eight minutes ago,” the hive replied, smiling.

He laughed and set the laptop down. “Alright, guess that’s fair. Come on, then - that was the last thing I needed to take care of, and I need food. And no, before you ask, don’t just bring something here - the last thing we need is a diplomatic incident because of your taste buds, like what almost happened last month.”

“You are all so odd about your food,” Rivi said as they walked towards the door. Then, they paused and asked, “What are taste buds?”

Prompt: Man walks into up to (a woman on her way to) a bar. Ouch!

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Replacing this scene from the pilot episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

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In an AU where Jack Harkness, some short time after getting stranded in 1869, wanders into the Watchers’ Council rather than being scooped up by Torchwood. Decades later, estranged from the Council, he has made his way to 1997 Sunnydale, California to help the latest Slayer. Angel, meanwhile, was never approached by Whistler to join the fight and support Buffy, and remains, for now, a reclusive and repentant vampire with a soul elsewhere in America.

--

Buffy was on her way to the Bronze for the first time (yay, social life!) when she realized someone was following her. A man, she realized after some concentration—and he was barely bothering to be sneaky! Either an idiot or very confident…?

Not good. Not for him, anyway, and probably not for her night, either.

By the time the stranger sped up, turning a corner brought him only the view of an empty street. He stepped forward and finally came to a halt, sighing—

Buffy, balanced in a handstand on a metal rod above his head, let gravity take over. Silently, her legs swung down and caught him a blow in the back of the head.

He went down with a startled ‘oof!’, rolling. Before he could get back up, Buffy planted a foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

Unexpectedly, he laughed.

“What?” Buffy demanded.

The man grinned up at her. “You’ve got flashy moves. I’m a fan.”

Buffy dug her heel into his chest until he winced. “Why are you following me?”

The smile turned placating, friendly. “I just want to talk. Got my words in order a little late, I guess—thought I’d manage it faster. Let me up, alright?”

Buffy hesitated.

“I don’t bite,” the man said. His voice was almost gentle, now; combined with a level gaze, it…seemed believable enough, at least for now.

Besides, she’d knocked him over once, even if he’d laughed after. Buffy let him up.

“Thanks,” the man said cheerfully. He got to his feet and brushed himself off. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but his shirt seemed blueish (or maybe purple?) and the jacket he tugged straight was both leather and very definitely black. Grimacing, he rubbed the back of his neck, but didn’t mention it when he spoke. “You know, I kind of thought you’d be taller? This is good, though. Should give you an advantage. No one’s going to look at you and think ‘this girl can kick me through a wall’—no offense,” he added. “Should be good for getting the drop on the stupider ones, that’s all—even the smarter ones might underestimate you a bit.”

“Right,” Buffy said, drawing out the word. “So, that’s what you wanted to talk about? ‘Ouch, you’re short’?”

The man chuckled. “Never did quite manage to get out of the habit of giving advice. But no, that’s not quite it.” He took a step closer, sticking his hands in his pockets; the streetlight illuminated the kind of face one expected to see on a Hollywood actor, not some random creepy guy in Sunnydale. What was he even doing here? “I’m here with a warning.”

Buffy glared at him. “I don’t want a warning. I want to be left alone.” She shoved past him, hoping he’d take the hint; just once, couldn’t something be easier?

He was following her. Again. “Believe me, I get that,” he said. He even sounded kind of sympathetic. “I really do. But you’re the Slayer, and this is a Hellmouth. It wouldn’t leave you alone if you bribed it.” He’d caught up to her now; glancing to the side and up was enough to meet his eyes again. “Unfortunately, it’s about to open, and that means you have got to be ready.”

Buffy refused to take a step away. “What for?”

That was definitely sympathy. She wasn’t sure she liked it, especially if her first impression hadn’t been wrong and he really was a vampire.

“The Harvest,” he told her, and then, “Here.” One hand dug briefly deeper in its pocket, and then emerged with a medium sized jewelry case, which he handed her.

Buffy took it, partly just out of curiosity. “Who are you?”

He smiled. Definitely Hollywood; definitely annoying. Why couldn’t she just be approached by normal guys in normal ways? Well, normal guys a bit closer to her age, she amended: darkness was generally forgiving, but he couldn’t possibly be even in his early twenties.

“I’m a friend,” he told her. “And I should probably let you get back to your night.” With a nod and another smile, he was off, patting her shoulder quickly twice along the way.

Not that she didn’t approve of him leaving, but—

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want a friend!” she called after him.

He laughed, and didn’t turn around. “Maybe not, but I’m useful. I’ll see you around, Buffy.”

She let him fade into the darkness. Let him go; she was still going to the Bronze, even if this Harvest thing didn’t sound too good. She was not going to let this wreck her life.

Before she left the streetlight and tried to capture a bit of normal life, there was one more thing to do. She was still holding the jewelry case: now, she opened it.

There was a cross inside, on a thin but sturdy-looking chain. The chain itself seemed new, but the cross was older: recently polished silver with an inlaid fleur-de-lis at every point and a simple set of lines engraved along the middle of the bars. They looked almost like grasses, from which each fleur-de-lis sprouted.

Buffy set it carefully back in its case, and closed the lid.

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The necklace (vintage German sterling silver, apparently).

Quite open to feedback. Thanks to Neshomeh for the lone bit of betaing this has had so far, and for helping to accidentally spark this idea to begin with!

~Z