To the tune of Stephen Sondheim's "A Weekend In The Country", from A Little Night Music.
(with apologies to Sondheim, Whedon, and the starving Armenians)
[ A blithe blonde girl, BUFFY, saunters onstage, sucking a lollipop, accompanied by two teenage girlfriends, who remain silent. (That's why they call this "fiction".) She is accosted by a raincoat-clad person, MERRICK, who looks suspiciously like Donald Sutherland. He stoppeth one of three. The other two girls break for the wings and their paychecks.]
MERRICK: Guess what! You've been anointed
Slayer, to save all the world.
Don't look
So damn disappointed
You'll never be a normal girl.
BUFFY: Mister, get out of my face now!
I never stole it!
Mister, just exit my space now!
Whatever's your deal, control it!
Let go my arm! I'll call a cop!
I meant no harm!
Just let it drop!
MERRICK [barrelling on]: The Slayer--
BUFFY: That really sounds icky,
MERRICK: Of Vampires--
BUFFY [backing off]: No, that isn't me...
MERRICK [closing the space, holding out a stake]: Predestined--
BUFFY [freaked]: Take back that doo-hickey
I do not want a Dest
iny. A season on the Hellmouth--
MERRICK: I'll arrange it.
BUFFY: Is not part of my plan.
A season on the Hellmouth--
MERRICK: You can't change it.
BUFFY: Yes, I can.
MERRICK: A season on the Hellmouth, you'll be breathless,
BUFFY: I'm afraid that I will.
MERRICK: A season on the Hellmouth,
BUFFY: With the deathless?
MERRICK: And the kill.
BUFFY: There must be some sort of error,
MERRICK: I'm afraid not,
BUFFY: Yes, there must.
I don't look good in stark terror,
And my hair gets all mousy when covered in dust.
And a season on the Hellmouth--
MERRICK: With pashmina--
BUFFY [intrigued]: You're putting me on --
BOTH: A season on the Hellmouth
BUFFY [it's final]: No!
Not even if it's to save Dawn.
MERRICK: [spoken] "Dawn?"
SARAH MICHELLE GELLAR: [spoken, drops character] "Oh, you haven't seen the Season 5 scripts yet?"
DONALD SUTHERLAND LOOKALIKE: [spoken, ditto] "I have GOT to get a new assistant."
[He strides off stage right, muttering.]
[Enter, stage left, an amazingly decrepit car containing an amazingly badly dressed demon. Oh, and WHISTLER. BUFFY remains and kibitzes the conversation, although apparently neither ANGEL nor WHISTLER can hear or see her. In fact, it is clear that they are scrutinizing an imaginary BUFFY who is hovering a couple of feet over the heads of the customers in the expensive seats. ]
WHISTLER: Guess what? A Chosen chickie,
BUFFY [scornful]: Guess what? That isn't my name.
'Buf-fy'. It's really not tricky,
Pass on the 'doll-face', 'dish', and 'dame.'
WHISTLER [oblivious]:
Guess what, she needs a hand, kid,
Look, kid, she's charming,
You can be part of the plan, kid
BUFFY [mimicking]:
Guess what, the prospect's alarming!
[gets a better look at ANGEL]
Golly, he's big,
Great sex-appeal...
ANGEL: Can I lose this wig?
Then it's a deal.
BUFFY: Hooray!
[They do a hay for three, then turn, face the audience, and give it their all.]
ANGEL: A season on the Hellmouth,
With renewals
And a spinoff or two,
BUFFY [gleeful]: Some pleasin' for the Slayer!
ANGEL: On a Hellmouth
BUFFY: Built for two.
ANGEL: I can finally get some rad threads
WHISTLER: You can borrow--
BUFFY [horrified]: Not a chance!
'Cause a season on the Hellmouth
Calls for Gucci, not Goodwill, Armani, not "pants".
ALL: A season on the Hellmouth
ANGEL [wistful]: In tight leather
WHISTLER: Not while you've got a soul.
ANGEL and WHISTLER: A season on the Hellmouth
BUFFY: Whee!
ANGEL: I'll struggle to keep my control.
BUFFY [disappointed]: Oh....
[They all exit. When they reappear, ANGELUS (stage left) is wearing season-2 leather (hooray!), BUFFY (stage right), season-2 exposed lingerie straps (boo!), and WHISTLER (stage right), flashback grunge (shudder). BUFFY is sobbing hysterically.]
[ANGELUS doesn't actually have anything to sing, but he strikes several very effective poses and smirks a lot.]
BUFFY: My vampire--
WHISTLER: It wasn't supposed to--
BUFFY: My vampire--
WHISTLER: This grieves me no end--
BUFFY: My vampire, whom I gave the most to--
WHISTLER: Is now your very former friend.
BUFFY [dissolves into wails]: Nooooo!
WHISTLER: A season on the Hellmouth--
BUFFY: A disaster!
WHISTLER: Didn't you read the script?
A season on the Hellmouth
with no Master
and no crypt.
Stake your lover, 'cause it's fated,
Life is cruel, ain't it sad?
He is soulless now he's mated,
(And you thought that just testing for VD was bad)
But a season on the Hellmouth,
BUFFY: With my sweetie!
WHISTLER: But without maidenhood.
BOTH: A season on the Hellmouth
BUFFY: Oh, I'm quitting this racket for good!
[WHISTLER exits. BUFFY crosses to ANGELUS and they engage in that annoying stage pseudo-fencing where the object is clearly to hit the opponent's sword rather than, say, his chitlins. After many tense clinches and exchanges of repartee, he gets his soul back, she stabs him through the heart, he goes to Hell, you know the drill.
[We will now have an INTERMISSION while the audience either succumbs to bitter despair, grief, and angst or accelerates the authors from the third balcony. Smaller houses may substitute dropping them from the flies. ]
[Fast forward to Season 3. Faith, dressed in clothes which are both garish and tight, saunters into the set of the Mayor's Office. The Mayor, busy eating homemade oatmeal raisin cookies and sacrificing a goat, wipes the milk mustache off his face and looks at her expectantly.]
MAYOR: Well?
FAITH: I hear that you might have an opening.
MAYOR: Yes.
FAITH: Now that I've killed your right-hand man.
MAYOR: That's true.
FAITH: I know I'm evil, so I'm hoping that
I might fit in here.
MAYOR: Well, aren't you a dear?
Here's my evil plan...
[The spotlight swivels to the other side of the stage to show the Scooby Gang in typical Library pow-wow mode.]
WILLOW: I knew it!
WESLEY: I'm telling the Watchers.
WILLOW: I told you!
BUFFY: At least now we know.
WILLOW: That slut-bomb!
GILES: I wish we had caught her.
CORDELIA: The skanky bitch!
BUFFY: Right. Don't trust that 'ho.
WILLOW: [confused] A ho?
GILES: Oho!
WILLOW: [gets it] Oh, 'ho!
GILES: Oh. No.
ALL: A traitor on the Hellmouth.
XANDER: How surprising.
GILES: But she's still a huge threat.
A traitor on the Hellmouth
is alarming--
WESLEY: I'm upset.
WILLOW: A traitor on the Hellmouth.
WESLEY: Where's the handbook?
I'm in need of a clue.
XANDER: A traitor on the Hellmouth.
CORDELIA: How's my hair look?
GILES: We're all doomed.
BUFFY: But with graduation coming
We had better be prepared
Though the situation's numbing
WESLEY: But--
BUFFY: I'll go find Angel.
WESLEY: Please help me, I'm scared
Of a traitor on the Hellmouth
GILES: This is dreadful!
WILLOW: And exams are next week.
ALL: A traitor on the Hellmouth.
WESLEY: And just think of the havoc she'll wreak!
Eeek!
[The spotlight swivels back to the other side of the stage. Faith prances in, dressed in an even more Goth outfit ('cause she's evil, get it?), carrying a small box which rattles alarmingly.]
FAITH: Here, boss, the Box of Gavrock.
MAYOR: Gee, you're one heck of a girl.
Now I'll proceed with my plan to
Conquer and eat this mortal world!
[Back to the other side of the stage. The spotlight operator is heard muttering curses somewhere up above the audience's heads. We're now in the school cafeteria, where Buffy, Angel, Giles, Xander, and Oz stand arrayed against the forces of Darkness...Mayor Wilkins, Faith, and a captive Willow.]
BUFFY: I've got the box now, loser...
Hey, that's my best pal!
I will not let you abuse her.
MAYOR: Then, missy, you'd better choose her.
The world or the gal?
The box or the witch?
OZ: Hey, give her back, you son of a bitch!
ALL: A standoff on the Hellmouth
MAYOR: Oh, how charming!
XANDER: Give us our Willow back.
MAYOR: A standoff on the Hellmouth
BUFFY: Set her loose or we'll attack.
MAYOR: Well, it isn't quite that easy.
There are spiders in that box
And I need them to ascend, see?
It appears we are stymied; it's quite the deadlock.
But this standoff on the Hellmouth,
Though delightful
Is beginning to bore.
So exchange the box for Willow.
And avoid the Third World War.
(spoken) And you know, this little fling you and the vampire are having will never work out. Take it from a man who knows about the dark forces.
[Suddenly a mob of all the contract players comes onto stage, looking upset and dressed for a fight -- pitchforks, flamethrowers, crossbows, just another typical Tuesday in Sunnydale. Mayor Wilkins runs offstage and is replaced by a giant rubber snake looming in the background. Everyone bursts into song.]
ALL: Three seasons on the Hellmouth
Fighting evil, and it's come down to this.
Ascension on the Hellmouth
And the Mayor's snaky bliss.
Three seasons on the Hellmouth
Staking vampires
Watching students get slain.
Three seasons on the Hellmouth
With the laughter
And the pain.
With the drama and the fighting
And the fashion and the quips,
Though the acting and the writing
Will be called into question by Season Four scripts.
'Cause next season, on the Hellmouth
Will be shocking, in so many new ways.
Next season on the Hellmouth if...
[Everything screeches to a halt. Angel, clad in his favorite billowy King of Pain coat, strides to center stage. Somewhere in the distance, mournful church bells begin to toll.]
ANGEL: Miss Summers, I must leave you,
It's for your own good.
When I said 'love eternal',
You misunderstood.
Please trust me, as the the older,
To know the best way
I'll seek my redemption in L.A.!
(spoken)
CORDELIA: Ooh, L.A.? I love L.A. Can I come?
WESLEY: I want to come, too! I can be a rogue demon hunter!
[ANGEL, horrified, melts back into the mob and avoids making eye contact with either of the future Angelettes for the remainder of the Finale.]
SPIKE: Next season on the Hellmouth,
I'm returning, with a chip in me nog!
RILEY: Next season on the Hellmouth,
I'll kiss Buffy!
BUFFY: Oh, my God!
WILLOW: Next season on the Hellmouth,
I'll turn Wiccan,
And perhaps a bit gay,
OZ: Next season, on the Hellmouth
I'll be moving
Far away.
GILES: I've discovered from my reading
That the Mayor soon will rise,
ANYA: It's real yucky when he's feeding
So I'm thinking that leaving would be well-advised
Cause a season on the Hellmouth
HARMONY: Can be fatal!
And it's bad for the hair.
ALL: Next season on the Hellmouth
If...
We manage to blow up the
Manage to blow up the
Manage to blow up the
Mayor!
[Because the budget remaining for this sequence is nil, a scrim reading "BOOM!" is lowered from the flies. Under cover of backlighting, the cast scuttles off to their hiatus jobs. ]
[And the authors duck for cover.]