(Beginning of one for Elena)
The man sat on a gravestone, his feet tucked under him, wishing for a lawn chair. He was talking with a dead thing.
"Do you know," he said conversationally, "I have this very odd feeling that you aren't really the Mayor of Sunnydale."
The Mayor, or whatever it was - it had stepped out from behind someone's family crypt, all stone angels and lamenting statuary - tilted its head and regarded him.
"Well now," it remarked. "Aren't you just the clever sorcerer? And why are you sitting on that pile of mouldy decayed body bits? Don't you know how unhygenic grave dirt is?"
"True. I didn't think to bring a chair." Ethan Rayne got up, and stretched. "And yes, as it happens? I'm quite clever, in the usual way. Tonight, though, I seem to be a bit dim. Since you're not the Mayor - I keep an eye on Sunnydale, so I'd heard all about the school and the snake and all that - I honestly can't guess why you're bothering to show up here, and dressed in a Mayor-suit, of all things. Care to enlighten me?"
"Oh, Ethan Ethan Ethan." It shook its head at him; the Mayor's mannerisms, he thought, were being very well done, but they weren't perfect; something was being crammed into a space it wasn't meant for, and didn't fit. Still, it was close enough to disturb. "I think someone's not as bright a boy as he could be. Definitely need a paddling - you haven't been studying. Now, if only I was corporeal..."
"Ah." Gooseflesh crept along Ethan's arms, despite the warmth of the night. "The First, I presume? Nice to meet you - well, no, that's rot, not nice at all, utterly wrong word. What can I do for you?"