SA, I am wondering where you're taking that. It's... interesting.

Yeah. It's also finished. I may poke at it a little, but that's pretty much it. Not sure if there's a point.

Um.. right. Okay. I think I might have to re-read it, given that information.

Just a note: blood sacrifices will not result in more writing but most likely a long recitation of "Euw" and "poor goat." Tiaras are sufficient inducement to fic.

connie, the blood sacrifice wasn't for you, it was to keep Ethan intrested.

she says, hurrying off to find tiara...

Am, I've got tiaras, I've got more tiaras than heads. Happy anticipation of the next installment is all the inducement I need.

And Ethan doesn't want any blood sacrifices he doesn't get to participate in.

Happy anticipation of the next installment is all the inducement I need.

Well, I think I might be able to manage that...

Ethan doesn't want any blood sacrifices he doesn't get to participate in.

What does he need? A formal invitation?

What does he need? A formal invitation?

Ethan? A whiff of smoke and halfway comprehensible directions are all he needs.

edited for grammar. Gramper wants his two-cents as well.

blows candle out, lets smoke drift down internet connection

Turn left out of Rivendell, right by Morder, into LA on the main freeway, turn pink at the roundabout, and you're still eight miles away.

Edited because even Dark Lords need good speeling.

OK, the amusing part of breakfast, at least. Blame the Bitches

They left the hotel without incident an hour later, after too-brief washups and shaves. Ethan redeemed himself of a fair amount of past annoyance by providing a cantrip to deal with razor nicks.

Once the foursome was on the street, the subject of breakfast presented itself. Giles looked over the group and hoped they didn't look too much like vagabonds, with their backpacks and air of weariness. He himself probably still had some shreds of respectability to his name, but Ethan always looked like he was on the run from something.

Molly perked up and pointed across the street. "Look, Starbucks!"

"No," Giles said firmly. "My god, I came home to get away from those damned things. We're British, dammit, we're going to have something British for breakfast."

"You've been in California far too long," Ethan said calmly.

They found a caff around the corner than had all the things Giles considered part of a proper breakfast. Molly looked at the waitress hopefully. "Corn flakes, with some fruit?" Annabelle nodded agreement at the order.

Giles shook his head. "Tea, sausage, eggs, toast--oh, and grilled tomatoes."

Ethan winced. "Could you be anymore of a cliche, Rupert? Coffee, eggs, and bacon, please."

As the waitress left, the two girls gave Ethan and Giles a look that spoke volumes about middle aged men, arteries and greasy food. "Should you be eating all that?" Annabelle said cautiously.

"Don't worry," Ethan said, "I trust it will all get burned off before today's over. One generally doesn't get fat being a sorceror."

Molly glanced at Annabelle. "So--you're a sorceror? A magician?"

"Like in Harry Potter?" Annabelle added.

Ethan put his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. "My god, I hate those books." Giles just snickered. "Yes, like in Harry Potter."

"Think of him as Snape," Giles said.

"Thank you very much--Dumbledore."

"Do something magical," Molly said eagerly.

"I will not!" Ethan glanced around the restaurant. "Especially not here."

"Really," Giles added, "he'd best not. There are people about who can tell when magic is being used, and we'd rather not catch their attention."

The food was delivered, and four hungry people dug in for a while. Annabelle finally looked up. "So, now what? Where are we going, what are we doing?"

Ethan looked at Giles. "The great questions, Rupert. The girl would like to know the meaning of life--or, at least, this afternoon."

As the waitress left, the two girls gave Ethan and Giles a look that spoke volumes about middle aged men, arteries and greasy food.

Bwah!