Another crisis...
So, yeah, we saved the world. Not to mention the Senior Partners.
Still ain't sure what to think about what happened.
Gettin' up there was a bitch, yeah. Crawlin' through sewers, avoiding a plague, fightin' through more nightmare vision shit, wading' through a buncha Wolfram and Hart almost-zombie crazy people, gettin' separated from everybody on the way up to the White Room...oh, yeah. Fuckin' cake.
Then we get up there to the White Room and see Skippy glowin' like a lightning bug instead of a cockroach 'cause he been suckin' the juice outta the Partners. Everybody there just starts whalin' on him, me and Angel and Faith and even Lilah. Ain't doin' a damn thing.
And then...
I heard voices in my head. A lot of 'em. Don't know what they were sayin', and I don't remember if I understood 'em then. And then I felt...strong. Like Superman-strong, light as a feather, sting like a bee strong.
Strong enough to whup Skippy's cockroach ass.
And then, just when his ass was beat down, I blacked out.
Woke up back at the hotel. Apparently the Senior Partners decided they could clean up their own mess from there, thank you very much, don't let the door hit you in your ass on the way out.
Here's the thing of it. I don't remember what any of those voices were whisperin' in my head, that's the truth. But I remember who it was I was listenin' to.
That was the Senior Partners broadcasting on Radio Gunn FM. They picked me to juice up with their mystical steroids. Me. Not Angel or Faith, or even their bitch Lilah. Me.
Somehow that bugs the shit outta me.
Ain't been able to talk to Angel or Wes about any of that since it all happened. One, I been too tired. Two, we ain't had shit to do. Three...I just don't know what I'd say. "Hey, our worst enemy thought I'd make a pretty good foot soldier for 'em. Anybody want pizza tonight?"
Yeah, right.
But I guess it's gotta come up sooner or later. Best not put it off, since all that does around here is fuck people over six ways to Sunday.
After we get back from this birthday party up in Sunnydale for Angel's ex-girlfriend, the other Slayer running 'round. Then I'll sit down with everybody and figure out if I should be scared shitless or not.
Right now, I'm just worried about what to get for a damn gift. Best Buy gift card's lookin' good right now...
Still ain't sure what to think about what happened.
Gettin' up there was a bitch, yeah. Crawlin' through sewers, avoiding a plague, fightin' through more nightmare vision shit, wading' through a buncha Wolfram and Hart almost-zombie crazy people, gettin' separated from everybody on the way up to the White Room...oh, yeah. Fuckin' cake.
Then we get up there to the White Room and see Skippy glowin' like a lightning bug instead of a cockroach 'cause he been suckin' the juice outta the Partners. Everybody there just starts whalin' on him, me and Angel and Faith and even Lilah. Ain't doin' a damn thing.
And then...
I heard voices in my head. A lot of 'em. Don't know what they were sayin', and I don't remember if I understood 'em then. And then I felt...strong. Like Superman-strong, light as a feather, sting like a bee strong.
Strong enough to whup Skippy's cockroach ass.
And then, just when his ass was beat down, I blacked out.
Woke up back at the hotel. Apparently the Senior Partners decided they could clean up their own mess from there, thank you very much, don't let the door hit you in your ass on the way out.
Here's the thing of it. I don't remember what any of those voices were whisperin' in my head, that's the truth. But I remember who it was I was listenin' to.
That was the Senior Partners broadcasting on Radio Gunn FM. They picked me to juice up with their mystical steroids. Me. Not Angel or Faith, or even their bitch Lilah. Me.
Somehow that bugs the shit outta me.
Ain't been able to talk to Angel or Wes about any of that since it all happened. One, I been too tired. Two, we ain't had shit to do. Three...I just don't know what I'd say. "Hey, our worst enemy thought I'd make a pretty good foot soldier for 'em. Anybody want pizza tonight?"
Yeah, right.
But I guess it's gotta come up sooner or later. Best not put it off, since all that does around here is fuck people over six ways to Sunday.
After we get back from this birthday party up in Sunnydale for Angel's ex-girlfriend, the other Slayer running 'round. Then I'll sit down with everybody and figure out if I should be scared shitless or not.
Right now, I'm just worried about what to get for a damn gift. Best Buy gift card's lookin' good right now...