The Calendar Post
Jul. 5th, 2008 05:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightThought I'd better do this before the month gets away from me completely.
You at the back there, stop it! I saw you roll your eyes.
Anyway, last month this happened. Now read on, or decide there are better ways to spend the last forty mintues before the DW finale begins and commence twiddling your thumbs.
His little bout of r&r with his beloved pookie Spike being over, Angel is once again trying to beard people in their dens (as it were) in order to obtain nice photographs of them for his and Spike's 2 year anniversary album. This time it's Anya's turn.
Angel: Do I have to ask her? I mean, she's dead and it's weird.
Buffy (for it is she): Sssh! She gets awfully cranky if you remind her of that. She's still sore cuz He Who Shall Not Be Named For Fear He Rains Down Fire From Heaven (no, Buffy hasn't turned into Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, she just doesn't want to piss off Joss again) killed her instead of Andrew.
Angel: I can sympathise.
Buffy: Me too - and what's more, to add insult to injury, Andrew's the only one who's mentioned her by name in the comics. How mean is that?"
Angel: How do you think Spike and I feel?
Buffy (glancing nervously over her shoulder): Never mind that now. Get to it.
:pushes Angel through the door into a big office where Anya is counting the Money:
Anya (glares): What do you want? Dead person trying to work here.
Angel (already very intimidated): Sorry. This'll only take a moment.
:Explains what he wants:
Anya: And why should I want to do anything to make Spike feel happy? I mean, he gets his own comic - and so for that matter do you, whereas I get to be dead. Where's the justice in that?
Angel: Um-
Anya: No, don't bother trying to think up excuses, because there aren't any. It's a disgrace.
Angel (beginning to wilt): Er-
Anya: Oh, all right then.
Angel: What?
Anya (puts hands on hips, glares harder): I said, oh all right then. And hurry up, because I have loads of important money to count before I have to be dead again.
:They look through a small stack of photos, the first of which is of Anya looking very fetching in a stunning red dress, with Xander standing right behind her:
Anya: How about that one? I look great. :sighs: Being alive was fun.
Angel (peers suspiciously at the picture: Who took this photo?
Anya (rolls eyes): Does it matter? I think Spike did, as a matter of fact.
Angel (decisive): No way. Xander's staring too hard at the photographer, and I don't like it.
Anya: You're weird. How does Spike put up with you? I meant to ask him that loads of times when I was alive, but the opportunity never arose. We were always in such a rush, what with the running and the fighting and the accidental sex on tables.
Angel (a bit disconcerted): How about this one?
:He shows Anya a picture of her in, I think, season 4, looking very sweet and innocent:
Anya: Absolutely not! That's not nearly sexy enough and not at all how I want Spike to remember me.
Angel (small voice): It's fine by me. :not for the first time, he wonders why all of Buffy's friends seem to have this need to undermine him sexually:
Anya: How about this one? :shows him the third small picture, of her again looking smoulderingly sexy: It'll remind Spike of one magical night in the Magic Box.
Angel: It will? :puts the photo back down: I don't think so. I don't want Spike reminded of any magical nights, except if they're with me.
:claps hand over mouth as he realises what he's said:
Anya (pats him on the shoulder): It's okay, you odd vampire person. Your secret is safe with me.
Angel (hopefully): Because dead men tell no tales?
Anya (glares): We were having a nice moment then and you had to spoil it.
Angel: Sorry.
In the end, they compromise with the big calendar picture, which is also of sexy, season 5/6 (I think) Anya, but which shows her looking weirdly butch.
Anya (at the end of her patience): Now can I get on with my important work? Being dead is no cakewalk, you know.
Angel (in a hurry to leave): Of course, be my guest.
He leaves the room in a hurry and leans on the closed door, breathing a sigh of relief.
Buffy: How'd it go?
Angel: About as well as can be expected. What did she mean, a magical night in the Magic Box?
Buffy (sings): I'll never tell.
Tune in again next month for when Angel has yet another spooky encounter, but hopefully with slightly less acid.
You at the back there, stop it! I saw you roll your eyes.
Anyway, last month this happened. Now read on, or decide there are better ways to spend the last forty mintues before the DW finale begins and commence twiddling your thumbs.
His little bout of r&r with his beloved pookie Spike being over, Angel is once again trying to beard people in their dens (as it were) in order to obtain nice photographs of them for his and Spike's 2 year anniversary album. This time it's Anya's turn.
Angel: Do I have to ask her? I mean, she's dead and it's weird.
Buffy (for it is she): Sssh! She gets awfully cranky if you remind her of that. She's still sore cuz He Who Shall Not Be Named For Fear He Rains Down Fire From Heaven (no, Buffy hasn't turned into Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, she just doesn't want to piss off Joss again) killed her instead of Andrew.
Angel: I can sympathise.
Buffy: Me too - and what's more, to add insult to injury, Andrew's the only one who's mentioned her by name in the comics. How mean is that?"
Angel: How do you think Spike and I feel?
Buffy (glancing nervously over her shoulder): Never mind that now. Get to it.
:pushes Angel through the door into a big office where Anya is counting the Money:
Anya (glares): What do you want? Dead person trying to work here.
Angel (already very intimidated): Sorry. This'll only take a moment.
:Explains what he wants:
Anya: And why should I want to do anything to make Spike feel happy? I mean, he gets his own comic - and so for that matter do you, whereas I get to be dead. Where's the justice in that?
Angel: Um-
Anya: No, don't bother trying to think up excuses, because there aren't any. It's a disgrace.
Angel (beginning to wilt): Er-
Anya: Oh, all right then.
Angel: What?
Anya (puts hands on hips, glares harder): I said, oh all right then. And hurry up, because I have loads of important money to count before I have to be dead again.
:They look through a small stack of photos, the first of which is of Anya looking very fetching in a stunning red dress, with Xander standing right behind her:
Anya: How about that one? I look great. :sighs: Being alive was fun.
Angel (peers suspiciously at the picture: Who took this photo?
Anya (rolls eyes): Does it matter? I think Spike did, as a matter of fact.
Angel (decisive): No way. Xander's staring too hard at the photographer, and I don't like it.
Anya: You're weird. How does Spike put up with you? I meant to ask him that loads of times when I was alive, but the opportunity never arose. We were always in such a rush, what with the running and the fighting and the accidental sex on tables.
Angel (a bit disconcerted): How about this one?
:He shows Anya a picture of her in, I think, season 4, looking very sweet and innocent:
Anya: Absolutely not! That's not nearly sexy enough and not at all how I want Spike to remember me.
Angel (small voice): It's fine by me. :not for the first time, he wonders why all of Buffy's friends seem to have this need to undermine him sexually:
Anya: How about this one? :shows him the third small picture, of her again looking smoulderingly sexy: It'll remind Spike of one magical night in the Magic Box.
Angel: It will? :puts the photo back down: I don't think so. I don't want Spike reminded of any magical nights, except if they're with me.
:claps hand over mouth as he realises what he's said:
Anya (pats him on the shoulder): It's okay, you odd vampire person. Your secret is safe with me.
Angel (hopefully): Because dead men tell no tales?
Anya (glares): We were having a nice moment then and you had to spoil it.
Angel: Sorry.
In the end, they compromise with the big calendar picture, which is also of sexy, season 5/6 (I think) Anya, but which shows her looking weirdly butch.
Anya (at the end of her patience): Now can I get on with my important work? Being dead is no cakewalk, you know.
Angel (in a hurry to leave): Of course, be my guest.
He leaves the room in a hurry and leans on the closed door, breathing a sigh of relief.
Buffy: How'd it go?
Angel: About as well as can be expected. What did she mean, a magical night in the Magic Box?
Buffy (sings): I'll never tell.
Tune in again next month for when Angel has yet another spooky encounter, but hopefully with slightly less acid.