A Season On The Hellmouth, based on A Weekend In the Country, from A Little Night Music by Sondheim

Part 1 | Part 2

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by Betsy Hanes Perry and Dana D.
(dedicated to Mark Hellish)

(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

[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

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

[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. ]

On to Part 2

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