It's morning. Orlando's called Xander back and as he skims down the list of phone calls he made last night he almost regrets having his phone at all. Some of them he's sure could have been okay messages, the rest? The one to Angel specifically has him worried. Shaking his head in a moment of disbelief at the row of tiny empty bottles along the
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Comments 13
Fiddling with the edge of the formica on the table, he kept on eye on the door. Xander walked through ten minutes late, looking like hell warmed over. Oz nodded slightly and caught his eye.
"Hey."
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"You look good Oz," despite the non-shower status Xander always envied the way he could pull off that rolled out of bed rockstar thing. Xander could never pull it off at all. "This pretty much sucks. I've got no idea what to even say to these people about this. I'm sure most of them have heard something or another... it just doesn't seem fair does it."
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Consoling people was not something Oz was really very good at. He looked down at his menu without really seeing it-- just words jumbled on a greasy page. He knew he had to say something, but the menu was not going to have the answer.
Oz looked at Xander, "I know, man. It's like everyone is waiting for someone else to say the right thing." He sort of wanted to pat Xander's shoulder or something comforting but it probably had been too long and they didn't really know each other like that anymore.
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The waitress came by again, but really they hadn't really looked at the menus. She said she'd come back, but Xander despite having nothing in his stomach except a dull ache, wasn't really ready to eat.
"Well, I think maybe we should just blow this place and start in on the phone calls. It's gonna be hell, so why not just start the apocalypse early."
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