Wow, I wanted to think you did, but it's so well done I thought you'd tell me you bought it, so I was afraid to ask. Now I'm glad I did. My family is jealous. I get exotic mail.

Okay, baby settled, going back to bed now.

Some advice please. How much in 'Murricaland to stay in a fairly crap motel for a night?

I get exotic mail.

For some reason, being regarded as an 'exotic' source of mail is making me giggle. It's not the way I normally think of myself!

Edit: numberslut!

crap motel, if you're very lucky, $35.00 up to 60ish.

Oh, Am, you're very 'xotic, believe me. Though, maybe not so much to Greg, who just wants to adopt you.

Cheers.

Did that help then, UTTAD? It kind of depends on the chain and where you're going to be.

It's a fictional crappy wee motel on the edge of Nowheresville. Just needed a ball park for the price. Thanks.

Awesome.

Okay, babies told me I was wrong, but quiet for the moment.

After I posted the drabble, someone posted a comment that it wanted to be longer. So I started thinking about what would happen if, right now, the MoG were free to go to the rescue of Sunnydale. This is what's happened, so far.

***

It took three, increasingly impatient knocks before the door was answered by a young girl with long brown hair.

“Yes?”

“Hi, uh, Buffy here?”

She swung the door wide just as another girl went thumping up the stairs at her back. “In the living room.” Turning, she shouted up the stairs, “And stop using my toothpaste!” She pelted up the stairs before Gunn could ask anything else, squealing. “I mean it! You are so going to be in trouble!”

Gunn pushed the door wider with one finger and stuck his head in around the door. Huh, strange bunch. Not what he was expecting from the slayer’s house. Of course, the only slayer he’d ever met was Faith and he didn’t think she and this one were that much alike. Wow, though wouldn’t it be great if they were? He smirked, stepping inside before calling out. “Hello? Anyone here?”

A voice answered, “Kitchen!” another, younger voice chimed in, “Pizza?” Before Gunn had crossed the living room and entered the kitchen, an argument had broken out.

A big, dark haired guy was shouting, “I’m getting sick of pizza! And, I’m telling you, when I’m sick of pizza, there’s just too much pizza being eaten.”

“Sod off, carpenter boy. At least you’re not having to get all your nummies from blood. Let ‘em have their pizza. At least it spares us the sight of you in an apron.”

Gunn raised an eyebrow. How the hell did they function with so many people in such a small space? There were three men and at least 5 women in the one small room. “Uh, hello? Maybe I should introduce myself?” No one turned around. “Looks like you guys could use the Hyperion. I think you’ve got some space issues.” Still no one looked at him. By now the smaller blond guy had joined in on the pizza discussion, his little weasel face pinched in concentration. “So, nice to meet you all. I’m Charles Gunn, you know, up from L.A.” He paused. “Okay,” Gunn took a deep breath and tried again. “Angel Investigations, Charles Gunn, at your service.”

The babble died in mid cry as all eyes fastened on him.

“Hi.”