For a minute this morning, I sleepily entertained one of those meta, self-insertion bunnies. After jotting a few words of it just to clear my head, I realized that I'd really already seen this done sufficiently. And even if I haven't, the world doesn't need another one. But here is my silliness.
"Who are you?" Buffy asked her.And now: sunlight, nasal surgery, and work. Really, thank god it *is* Friday, or I'd be leaving on a tramp steamer for Burma about now.
"I'm--uh, I'd rather not say."
Willow traded a look with Buffy. "Why not?"
"Someone might be reading this, you know?"
"I really, really...no."
She stared off into space as gloomy realization struck. "It will be my punishment to bear the name 'Mary Sue'," she sighed.
"Too right," Spike said, wincing his face up a little.
She glanced at him, down and then up again. "Huh. They're right. You really are short. Small, even."
Spike bristled in disbelief. "Who said that?" He glared around the room, then settled his pissy gaze on Buffy. "Like any of you scrawny-limbed chits have a place to talk, 'cept Harris here."
"Hey," Xander snapped, then paused. "Wait. That wasn't exactly an insult. Never mind. Wait, is 'chit' an insult and is there an implication of girlishness, because--"
"God, you're soooo cute," she said, mooning at them.
The two nonplussed men looked at each other, gazes communicating a mutual uncertainty about whether she meant them in particular, and in combination, and if so, gahhhhhh.
"So why are you here," Buffy broke in impatiently.
"Um. I'm not sure. It's some kind of authorial self-insertion."
Buffy held up her hands. "Okay. TMI. And...ouch."