Cincinnati Apocalypse Part 5

Giles was looking over his shoulder when he tripped over something-or someone-big. Impossibly big. Bigger than a Hell's Angel or Dog the Bounty Hunter.

"Oof!" he cried as he fell forward, scraping his palms as he used his hands to break his fall. He looked up and back, to see that his luck, which was bad, was holding true. Of all people or, he supposed he should say, dogs, he'd tripped over none other than Mickey Mouse's dog, Pluto.

"Oaf?" The muffled voice inside the gargantuan head of the Pluto-costumed entertainer cried. "You tripped over me. If anyone's the oaf, it's you."

"I didn't say 'oaf,'" Giles replied. "I said 'oof.'"

"Why would anybody say 'oof'?" Pluto demanded. "It's not even a word."

"It's an interjection," Giles informed the costumed canine.

"That doesn't count," Pluto retorted, "whatever that is."

"It's the eighth part of speech," Giles declared, "and it does count."

The children who'd been visiting with Pluto when Giles tripped over him looked uneasy. A few started to back away. They'd been loyal fans of Disney all their young lives, and they knew that Pluto didn't talk. He couldn't talk, even if he'd wanted to do so. Now, Goofy, that was a different story. Although he was also a dog, Goofy could talk, and he did talk, often and hilariously.

But not Pluto.

Pluto never talked.

Sure that they were correct about Pluto's inability to speak, the youngsters fled, terrified to find that one of their beloved characters was an imposter. No doubt, as such, he had bad intentions.

"Now, see what you've done?" Pluto asked, peeved. "You've frightened off the children."

"Giles?" an astonished voice cried.

The Englishman spun, eyes wide, grinning. The young woman's voice wasn't merely familiar; it was unmistakable. "Buffy?"

The Slayer, pretty as ever, blonde as ever, and energetic as ever, was dressed in a tight, thin top that revealed her nipples way too clearly for her former mentor's comfort, skin-tight jeans, and knee-high boots with high heels.