Poor Bil. You do it because it gives you pleasure. And it also gives us pleasure. And it's a creative exercise. And, well, because it would make me happy.

Oh, and if you leave the field for the bad fic writers the terrorists win. I always forget about the terrorists.

t bad-tempered

Look what I did just there.

Yeah. DON'T LET THE TERROSUEISTS WIN!!!

We need all the writers we can get.

They were really very pale. Paler than Spike's own. He licked his lips, and then said, almost defiantly, like it meant something, like he thought he was the Slayer,

I like that part.

with so many people here hoping it would end

I think you have us confused with someone else. Me, at least.

They were really very pale. Paler than Spike's own. He licked his lips, and then said, almost defiantly, like it meant something, like he thought he was the Slayer,

That was my favorite.

I liked the garbage sailboats and the description of the rain.

connie, forgot to say 'Giles has minions?' might be the funniest fucking thing I've read all year.

Jossed to hell, but I don't care. Set over the summer.

Maybe it's all because of the beating my noggin took when she walked in the door. Not that she hit me on the head or anything like that, in spite of the amount of head-hitting that goes on in this place. I just hit it on the counter when I heard her footsteps in the lobby. Maybe I should explain that I was under the counter at the time, which makes sense if you think about it. I mean, glowing white aura or no, Cordelia's filing system never did improve, and I figured maybe she'd stashed some relevant pieces of paper there along with the emergency nail files and a couple pieces of gum.

I was prodding the edge of something (it turned out to be a receipt for a pair of shoes--charged to the business account) with one of those nail files when I heard the aforementioned footsteps. They were too light to be Charles, and besides, he always announces he's back. I thought maybe it was Cordy, and I didn't really want her to catch me under her desk sneaking through her hidden stuff so I beat a hasty retreat. I kind of misjudged the clearance between the bottom of the desk and the top of my head.

When they talk about seeing stars, it's a bit of an understatement. Everything went a little supernova before it faded to a couple of big hurkin' Pylean suns.

It wasn't Cordelia standing in the lobby. It wasn't anyone I could remember seeing, and I'm pretty good with faces, and besides, there's no way anyone could see her and not have her burned his or her retinas. She was standing there in a tight tank top and a baggy pair of pants, holding a big old duffel bag and looking around like she'd just gotten back from some hell dimension and couldn't quite believe she'd escaped it. Which is a pretty common look around here, now that I think of it.

"Angel Investigations! We help the helpless, how can I help you?" I chirped. After all, she wasn't anyone I knew, and she was in our lobby. Therefore, it made sense that she was a client.

"Where's Angel?" Her voice was deep, kind of gruff, and not really what a person would call patient, and from the sounds of things, I was wrong about the whole client assumption.

"He's, well, he's...." she cocked an eyebrow and I gave up on obfuscation. "Well, it's kind of funny you should ask. We're not sure."

"What, he went out for milk and didn't come back?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"Shit. Should have known something was up when he missed his semi-annual visit to the big house. Where's Wes?" She was starting to look a little panicky.

"We don't really say that name around her anymore. He's kind of persona non grata."

"Well, at least that's one awkward social encounter I'll be avoiding. Cordelia?"

"Oh, she's been AWOL for as long as Angel. They kind of vanished at the same time."

She dropped her bag and stared at me for a minute before responding. "Let me get this straight: Angel's missing, Wesley's fucked up again--big shock there--and Cordelia's gone too? Who's running the shop?"

"That'd be me. Well, me and Charles. Oh, and Connor, but he's run off somewhere again."

"So who the hell are you?" She seemed more tired than hostile.

"Oh! Sorry, I must have been kind of distracted. I'm Fred. Can I help you?"

"I'm Faith. I was kind of hoping Angel would have a job for me. He's not here, but sounds like you're short staffed at the moment. How 'bout it?"