Xander scowled at the little kid who had just swiped the very last M-16.
"There goes my planned costume," he muttered. "What else is in store, or the store, for the X-man?"
Digging through the bin, he found two flintlock pistols. They kinda reminded him of an old book he loved to read.
Okay, maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.
Xander looked at his collection of children that he had to escort.
"Now, you lot listen to me," he said. "Listen to old Harris, and we'll get a power of candy, shipmates. Now, tears'll do, they'll get yer yer double bagger. Y'c'n try 'y' missed me', but they'n only good fer choc'late. Ready?"
The kids all cried 'Aye, aye!', and the collection of people all mentally aged below ten moved out.
Israel looked around. "Where am I? Where the devil am I, by thunder!"
A redheaded whore ran up to him. "Xander!"
Israel scowled at the girl. "Who in blazes is this Xander swab? Me names Israel, Israel Hands. Now, where am I?"
"S-Sunnydale," the girl said uncertainly. "What's going on?"
"I don't know, last I saw I was with that 'Cap'n Hawkins'," Israel said, then spat on the ground. "But he's dead 'n gone, and I ain't got no feer of sperrits. Now, where mought I find me a tavern?"
The Judge looked over the peculiar building -- what Angelus called a 'mall'. The place teemed with lives to burn to power his own.
The sound of something heavy moving started, and he looked to find a heavy iron cannon being pulled forwards by a blonde slip of a girl.
"Pull!," a brownhaired boy shouted hoarsely. "Pull! Put yer back into it!"
"What is that?," the Judge asked Angelus.
A line from an old book flashed through the old vampire's mind, as he recalled the events of Halloween the year before.
'Israel was Flint's gunner,' said Gray hoarsely.
The brownhaired youth crouched behind the cannon, aiming the heavy thing, then stood up and took the flaming torch from the older gentleman.
"Dru, run!," Angelus shouted, jumping off the stairs.
"What's that?," the Judge asked again.
Xander touched the torch to the fuse, and the iron cannon roared.
Xander flicked through the rows of costumes morosely.
He'd intended to buy a toy M-16, and go as a soldier, but the shop had none. They'd all sold out.
He paused. A long wooden crutch was suspended from the hanger, and a tricorn hat and a set of clothing also hung from it.
"What on earth is this supposed to be?," Xander asked, puzzled.
"Long John Silver, I believe," an English accented voice said. Judging from the man's previous encounter with Buffy, Xander assumed him to be the proprietor of the shop.
"Cool!," Xander grinned. "How much is it?"
"I'm certain we can come to an arrangement," Ethan smirked. Any friend of the Slayer was fair game, in his eyes. "We have a special today, and you'll receive two pistols with the costume. Here, let me show you how one hides a leg with this costume..."
Xander scowled at the group of kiddies. Given that his right leg (currently bound up in some leather harness of some sort) was going to sleep, and he had a fair amount of trouble learning to use the crutch, this wasn't entirely faked.
"Alright, listen up," he said. "You just listen to Cap'n Silver, and we'll clean out this town. Now, tears are what ye wants. Tears'll get you a lot of candy. Y'can try 'ye missed me', but only go there fer choc'late. All set? Let's be off, then."
John looked around in bewilderment.
The last thing he recalled was sailing away from the Hispaniola with a sack full of old Flint's gold, and the Squire and the Captain swearing at him. Now, he was in some strange place that he didn't recognise in the slightest. He pulled out one of his pistols, checking it.
Good, loaded. Half a second later, he established that that one was loaded too.
He looked around. He was on some road of some sort, and expensive houses lined it. Trees grew in the front lawns of the houses. Why he'd be there, he had no idea. Why wasn't he at his old inn?
"Xander!," a girl shouted.
Long John turned around. "Who might you be looking for?"
"Xander!," the girl pleaded. "It's me, Willow!"
"Xander?," Silver asked. "Never heard o' him. John Silver, at yer service. How much d'ye charge?"
"Charge?," Willow asked blankly.
"Oh, ye're not in that business then," Long John backpedalled. "My apologies, t'be sure. Now, it's a hard thing, being a man like me stuck in a place like this. Where'm I?"
"You don't know me?," Willow asked again.
"Never seen yeh before in me life," Silver said. He tugged his hat. "Later, lady."
"Hello, kitten," a cockney voice said arrogantly at the mouth to the alleyway.
Long John turned around slowly. "Who're you? I don't know no kitten."
"You're the Slayer's little lapdog," a thin man with pale white hair said insolently. "I'm gonna enjoy bleeding you dry, I am."
"Is that indeeeeed, sahr?," Silver dragged out, his lip twisted. His hand went into his shirt.
Spike leapt at the crippled man, only to get the shock of his life as Silver hit him soundly with his crutch with more force than he should have been able to muster. Once Spike was falling towards the ground, Silver's hand came out of his shirt with a large, evil looking flintlock pistol.
Spike muttered "Oh, crap," as the large lead ball ripped his head clean off his shoulders, causing his vampiric body to dust.
"Well now, that were strange," Long John said, puzzled. "That ain't natural, for bodies to die like that."