Who: Anyone!
When: Friday, August 19th-Sunday, August 21st
Where: The Foxhole
Format: Whatever you prefer. Tag yourself in, mingle and go nuts. Might wanna specify which night threads take place, open or closed, that sort of thing.
What: HAPPY HOUR. or...unhappy hour, idk.
Warnings: TBD
(
How does Anatole not have its own branch of AA yet... )
…Okay, that one…
He makes up for it by sprawling back in one chair with one foot up on another and the other on the table itself. Yeah, that's right. I'm not waiting for anyone, who may well not turn up and so show me completely pathetic: this whole table is my barcalounger. Bake me a beer, barwench. …Pretty please.]
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[ At least with Spike, Faith knows she won't be ogled. Or if she is, she kinda won't mind. ]
[ So she sashays on over with a glass of miscellaneous hard liquor that tastes like white rum and miscellaneous cordial that tastes like orange pop without the bubbles. ]
Budge up.
[ She swings a chair around and straddles it, resting her arms across the back, laissez faire. ]
Long time no see.
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So what's a slayer like you doing in a dimension like this?
[he raises his glass to her]
'Sides from improving the view.
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[ The look she gives him is somewhere between bring it on and you're kidding, right? She lifts her glass back, and lets the cheesy line pass in case she wants to convince him to fill it again later. ]
Let's not, with the me, I'm making the best of a bad relocation. What's up with you? Last I heard was Andrew saying you'd visited him in Italy.
[ Which sounded like b-s, but would do to get the gossip started. The Sunnydale grape-vine may have now stretched world-wide, but Cleveland had only ever caught the Chinese whispers. ]
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Wasn't there to visit him. Official business. With Angel. Law firming. Demon mafia war-prevention decapitation… Vespa… bombing… things.
Just stopped in at Andrew's to… check in on Buffy.
[sudden enormous swig o' beer. Which is more embarrassing: having the details of that trip out there in the wider known, or having to remember it?]
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[ Faith tosses back her head and starts to laugh. ]
Guess that whole doubles business worked better than expected.
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[frowns]
…though never did get around to finding what he was doing there with her.
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He who?
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[Where did she come from? Hard to guess. But Buffy presses her hands against the back of Spike's chair, and taps him on the temple as she takes a seat.]
Who are we talking about?
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Mr Storyteller. Poster Child for reformed- [though at this table really shouldn't be throwing that stone] -lame- [that fixes it] -villains anonymous. Andrew. In your future, I suppose… gadding about in Rome with [huge grimace] the Immortal.
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