gen, Scooby ensemble, FRC, 675 words
For singer_d, who prompted with "a scooby signs up for nanowrimo".
Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face. Damned if he could understand a word of what Willow had just said. "What?" he said.
"Nano is smaller than micro, right? No. Wait. Bigger. Pico is smaller," said Buffy. She was on her back in front of his fireplace with her stockinged feet braced against one side of the hearth. Giles supposed if she wanted to set her jeans on fire, she knew what she was about.
"Not that kind of nano," Willow said, with more fondness than exasperation in her voice. She was also on the floor in front of the fireplace, kneeling with her latest Macintosh laptop resting on the rug in front of her.
"A nano wry-mo. Whatever that is," Xander said.
Willow tucked her pencil behind her ear. "It's short for national novel-writing month.. I'm going to write a novel. Or fifty thousand words of one, anyway. It starts tomorrow, that being the first and all."
"Fifty thousand. Woah. Never knew there were so many words in a novel," said Xander.
"Most have far more than that," Giles said.
Buffy said, "I read a romance novel last month that was three inches thick. Found out on the writer's fan forum it was two hundred thousand words long. Took me forever, but it was worth it. The scene at the end when they finally get together was totally hot. Um. Forget I said that."
Giles raised an eyebrow. He knew Buffy had had a romance novel habit in high school, but hadn't realized she'd kept it up with such enthusiasm.
Willow tutted. "NaNoWriMo is fifty thousand words, anyway. So that's what I'm going for."
"So why November?" Xander said.
"Because of the bad weather."
"England should provide a nice dose of that for you. It's already started to get colder. And rainier, and before you say anything, Buffy, yes, indeed that's possible."
Buffy snorted at him, as he'd expected. "So, whatcha gonna write about, Willow? Witchy things?"
"A coming of age story, I think, about a teenaged girl who discovers she's gay and has to overcome the prejudice of her uncaring small town. Plus there are, um, monsters. And things. Enemies to, you know, overcome. Metaphorical whatsits."
Xander snickered quietly.
"Laugh all you like, but I'm putting it all out there. I'm taking the challenge. Do I see any of you guys brave enough to try it? Huh? Do I?"
Silence from the lot of them, until Willow pouted. "Cowards, one and all."
"I'll do it with you," said Giles. Then he poked at his glasses, embarrassed by the impulse. Willow looked pleased. "Fifty thousand words in thirty days. I think I can manage it. I say, Willow. How will I know when I'm done? Must I count the words?"
Willow shook her head. "All you hafta do is upload the file and--"
"Will," said Xander. He jabbed a finger at Giles. "This man's going to write in a leather-bound notebook with a fountain pen. No upload-y computer-y counting for him."
Giles shrugged, palms up. Of course he'd be writing with his favorite pen, the same way he'd written in his diary every night for the last thirty years. He hadn't given any thought to the notebook he'd use, though. Buffy'd given him a new sort for his birthday, with the wire flip across the top. Perhaps he'd use that. And as for ink--
"So what's your novel going to be about, Giles?"
"He probably doesn't know yet, Xander."
Giles leaned forward in his armchair, elbows on knees. "Oh, I have an idea. Had it for years. A thinking man's thriller. About a man who trains assassins who has to come to grips with the moral consequences of his profession. He decides to commit an assassination himself, and realizes he's cocked it all up, and well. There are consequences."
Buffy sat up and swiveled around to look at him. Giles ducked his head to avoid meeting her eyes. "I'd read that," she said.