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Boris The Vampire Slayer

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"What? What's all this fate and destiny nonsense?" Boris looked befuddled.
"In every generation, there is a Chosen One. He will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. He is… the Slayer," intoned Stanley. He looked at his watch. He'd hoped to get this over quickly, so he could return to his pink house for lunch, but it was proving to take far longer than he'd anticipated.
Boris stared at his father, still confused. "Yes, but what does that have to do with me?"
"You, Boris – you are the Slayer."
"This is utterly absurd," Boris sputtered.

It was rather difficult, Boris discovered, to combine being an MP, an editor, the politician of choice for befuddled people, and a vampire slayer. It was tricky finding places that sold stakes and crossbows, and it ate into his salary. Authentic traditional weapons were not cheap. It was also rather difficult when one of the oldest vampires around, one who had sired countless others, one who was feared by those beneath him and only had to snap his fingers, one who was prophesised to bring forth destruction, turned out to be the leader of your political party. Rather difficult indeed.

"He's the Slayer. We can't keep him this close. It's far too dangerous."
"But, sir! Everyone loves him. With him on our side, victory shall be ours! It's only a matter of time."
"He will be our destruction."
"We can destroy him before that happens. In the meantime, we need him. He's our only chance for world domination, don't you see that?"
"Are you questioning my intelligence?" Michael Howard bared his fangs. In the darkness, his eyes gleamed.
"No, sir. Of course not, sir."
"I'm glad we're in agreement. He must be disposed of. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Boris hadn't been so sure that vampires were evil before this had happened. After all, people were always saying bad things about the Conservative Party, and it usually just meant that they didn't understand, or had been brainwashed by crazy liberal thinking which was all very well and good but not practical in the slightest, really. But this – this made him realise. Vampires were, in fact, downright evil. They had no idea of fair play or morals or any of those qualities. They were only concerned with three things – power, sex, and blood. It was his destiny to fight back.

Behind the door there was an argument going on.
"I had a soul first."
"Doesn't mean the prophecy's about you."
"Does not."
Boris knocked again, and was finally let in.
"Ah, the Slayer," Ian said, looking at him thoughtfully.
"Tell us, Boris, why've you come to us for help?" Paul challenged.
"Well, you're fairly decent chaps," Boris said, hopefully. "And you're not like the rest of the vampires, I hear."
"No. We don't vote for the Tories," Ian explained.
"And we have souls," Paul added. "The two are closely intertwined, I think you'll find."
"So – can you help me?"

Paul and Ian debated the matter once Boris had left.
"Should we do what he wants?" Ian mused.
"You're the one he sired," Paul pointed out. "You've got the most to lose."
"True. He might send his minions after me. They've had it in for me ever since the Archer-mocking began."
"Do you think this might be it? The prophecy?" Paul wondered.
"That the vampire with a soul would help the befuddled Slayer remove the evil one from power and then be rewarded with true love? That one?"
"I see you've memorised it."
"Well, it is about me."
"Is not."

The three strode down the corridor, coat tails swishing behind them. The slayer took the lead, sporting a bandana and matching shorts. Behind him, the two souled vampires, still continuing their argument about which one of them the prophecy referred to and occasionally looking behind them to make sure their coat tails were swishing properly. When they reached the door, they assumed fighting positions. Boris knocked, while Ian and Paul prepared to break down the door if necessary. As it happened, there was no need. Michael Howard peered out, and then, with a sigh, and fangs ready, allowed them in.

"Well, I say, chaps, that went rather well," Boris beamed. He was rather proud of himself. He had done his duty as a Slayer – not with fists, but with the much nobler method of blackmail. It really was quite fortunate that Paul and Ian had an extensive collection of photographs of politicians in compromising positions.
"The prophecy's been fulfilled," Paul said dazedly to Ian.
"Yes. Yes it has," Ian responded, looking equally dazed. "Nice blackmailing with you, Boris."
"We must do this again sometime," Paul nodded, and then they were gone, leaving Boris wondering what all that had been about.

It really wasn't so bad being the Slayer, Boris decided. Once he'd got used to it, it really wasn't so different from any other job. And he was getting much better at staking the vampires through the heart, instead of missing half the time. And the crossbow was a rather nice one and had come at a very reasonable price, too. He wasn't still entirely sure about this whole destiny lark, but he supposed it wasn't the end of the world.
It was at precisely this moment that Stanley showed up and informed him that there was an apocalypse due.