Phone.
[Spike sounds oddly manic, not that you would know it was odd for him.]
I guess this is like a conference call, huh? So who's on the other end. [a few crickets...] Not sure what to make of all this, but. Haven't seen a phone like this since--[sudden throat clearing]What do you lot do around here? Go to the drive-in with your steadies and
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Sorry yourself, jerk.
Just be glad I didn't drop my sandwich.
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[Then softer] No harm done.
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Pretty rude.
And I'm gonna guess you;re new here.
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Mart Vineyard.
Born demi-god and professional ass kicker.
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Spike.
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Spike, huh?
So... what's your deal?
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Don't suppose you came from somewhere interesting.
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Came from a Hellmouth. Don't know how interesting that is next to a 1950s suburb with an attitude problem, but there it is. Demons.. vampires, you name it.
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I fuckin' hate demons though.
Always trying to eat me.
And vampires... pretty lame if you ask me.
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Yeah. Lame.
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Especially all that romantic bullshit "Oh! I'm immortal, I'm angsty, I need to suck blood to stay unalive but it makes me sympathetic."
What a bunch of saps.
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