who. buffy what. the immortal decides that he's tired of buffy using his credit cards, so buffy decides to try and get a job. we all know how that goes. when. the day after the buffy/angel log. where. various businesses around town. locked to. no one ( one-shot ). rating. pg-13 for some ranting and cursing. notes. you know you're jealous of my dolly parton ( pardon? ) lyrics!
"You have received this notice to inform you that the credit card in your name has been canceled, due to being overdrawn. If there is failure to pay the entirety of $4,874.28, there will be legal action taken."
Sincerely, American Express
Buffy had bad days. She had some really, really terrible days. But never - never - had she come home from a terrible night, only to wake up with a letter from American Express explaining that she owed upwards of $4,000 in debts on a card that supposedly had unlimited funds. Apparently, the Immortal had decided he was tired of Buffy piggybacking, despite the fact he'd told her it was "entirely all right." Even better was the note that he attached to it, his pristine cursive a figurative slap in the face. Focus in on the tableau; the Immortal sitting in one of his high-backed chairs that Buffy had adored, his breathtakingly beautiful face a mask of wicked pleasure as he drew the pen across the paper. At least, that's what Buffy pictured.
"Dearest Buffy, I do hope you enjoyed the free ride and the Valentino gowns. Though, you might have to sell them in order to pay back your debts.
Love, The Immortal"
More than a minute must have passed before Buffy even seemed to show signs of life. It happened in a split second. She went from being sleepy and confused to outraged. Could anything else go wrong? Of course it could. This was Buffy Summers we were talking about. Any time she'd think that she was at rock bottom, the ground would give and she'd fall a little more. Debt was nothing that she wasn't used to. Ever since her mother had died, it had been a near constant in her life and the lives of her friends. That is, until he came along. The Immortal swept into her life like some beautiful tornado, sweeping her off of her feet. Not only was he entirely gorgeous, but he had enough funding to buy out entire continents if he so wished. Maybe Buffy was shallow, but she hadn't argued when he'd showered her and her friends with expensive things. And even after she left him, he'd insisted that she keep his credit card. It had been the only thing keeping the dozens of slayers in the hotel.
What would they do now?
"Mother fucker!" Reaching for the first thing she could grab, fingers wrapped around one of the numerous pillows on her bed. She must have really looked crazy. What, with her hair standing up from sleep on one side of her head while she used her pillow to wail on the bed - the bed that she wouldn't have next week if she didn't come up with more than four thousand dollars. Buffy typically wasn't one to curse, especially with her little ( Buffy didn't care that she was technically an adult now ) sister sleeping in the next room, but the string of curses that flew from her snarled lips would have put any sailor to shame. "You've fucking got to be fucking kidding me!" Wailing and cursing continued until Buffy could flail and curse no more, and she collapsed down onto the bed in a gasping heap. Slowly, she seemed to deflate, going from outraged to disbelieving in a few seconds' time. What were they going to do? None of them had jobs. Somehow, they had to house and feed over sixty slayers on a nonexistent salary. Even if Buffy got a job, it would be impossible to house them all, but it was a definite start.
Two hours later, and Buffy was on her way to her first interview. Dressed to the nines with a pair of stilettos that brought her 5'2 frame up to a 5'6, Buffy was feeling pretty confident. She had Dawn help her go through the paper and mark the places that were hiring, and that were paying a decent salary. Some of them seemed right up her alley - there was an opening for a high school counselor. That was perfect, right? She'd done it before. What could be so different? Sunnydale and Cleveland were both on a Hellmouth, after all.
Apparently, her resume hadn't impressed the principal.
"Ms. Summers, it says on your resume that you've only had two paying jobs, and neither of them lasted very long." Before Buffy could defend herself, the plump, older man glanced up from the paper, seeming to size her up. "You're what -- thirty?" Thirty? Thirty!? Buffy stammered once or twice, motioning to the paper in his hands. "Twenty-eight, actually. Isn't that on there?" There was a beat, as the Slayer inwardly winced. "I don't look thirty, do I?" He ignored the question, making a sound at the back of his throat that made Buffy realize that the interview had taken a downturn. If she wanted to be employed, she needed to step things up. It wasn't like she wasn't likeable, right? "I don't know if you noticed, but one of those jobs was at a high school. I was a counselor there, too." The principal did a double-take, as if to make sure she was telling the truth. Maybe Buffy shouldn't have said anything at all. When he realized where she'd counseled, he gawked. "Ms. Summers, Sunnydale High had thirty-six fatalities the year that you worked there." What he didn't know, of course, was that the hellmouth had erupted beneath them, making the students go mad. That wasn't exactly something she could tell him, though. "There were circumstances." Less than thirty seconds later, she was shown out.
Okay, so she wasn't called to be a counselor. No big deal, right?
In a few hours' time, she realized that she wasn't called to be many things. A florist ( she'd spilled the water all over the owner ), a nursery worker ( the baby had vomited on her jacket ), a baker ( she tried to hide the fact that she'd never baked in her life with a dazzling smile, which didn't help the burnt cookies at all ), and various other things that all ended the same way. Buffy wasn't meant to hold a job. She was meant to kill demons - not bake, take care of crying babies, or mess with flowers.
There was only one thing left to do.
"So, Buffy, I see you've worked in our chain before. Is this something you see yourself doing in five years? We aren't interested in "half-hearted" people, after all. We want lifers. Are you a lifer, Buffy? Wearing this hat is a very serious thing." Oh, no. The first time she'd worked at Doublemeat Palace had been bad enough. Everyone was so chipper, and gung-ho about meat. She'd hated working in fast food. That entire year had been one whole degrading experience after another. Not the least of them being wearing a hat with a cow on it. She'd vowed to never go through that again. And here she was. Using her peppy voice, Buffy gave the cheesiest thumbs up that she could, smiling even when she wanted to gag. "Oh, I'm a lifer all right. There's nothing more I look forward to than the smell of grease in the morning." The facetious answer seemed to please the woman, who quickly smiled before handing her the orange and white striped uniform. On top of it sat the dreaded, horrid hat. The cow's smile was no longer friendly. No, it was mocking her, its black eyes shining with the glee that only it could find. "Wear this with pride, Elizabeth. Wear it with pride." Elizabeth? Who the hell was Elizabeth? "Buffy. You mean Buffy." The woman seemed confused for a long moment, going as far as to cant her head to the side in a way that reminded Buffy of a dog. "... You mean your name isn't short for Elizabeth? It's just .. Buffy?" Oh, God -- what if she didn't hire Buffy because of her name!? "No, no .. it's Elizabeth."
Not only would she be making eight dollars an hour while consistently coming home smelling like days-old grease, but she'd be going by a name that wasn't even her own.
As Buffy walked out of the restaurant, she glared at the bright, obnoxious lettering that sat above the door. Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace! Buffy couldn't remember the last time she flipped something off, but she rose her middle finger high.