Frank and Angelus in the Box- AKA Your Tax Dollars at Work. Not finished, because it's difficult.
"Mr. Angelus," Frank said."Forgive me for saying this, but you don't look like what I expected. You look like you should have a role on a soap opera, or be on the cover of those books, you know the ones...with the women's breasts spilling out of their dresses? My wife calls them her guilty pleasure. I tell her she shouldn't bother with them. But you know how women are, messing around with things that aren't good for them."

"Will this make things more comfortable for you, Detective?" His face changed, grew ridges, and his eyes turned yellow. For the first time, Frank felt relief at the cage separating himself and the dangerous suspect. He was shocked at the transformation, but contained his surprise.
The cage limited his pacing route, but he still made a small circuit. These bastards hated a moving target. He passed his pen from hand to hand and pretended to make notes. Suspects always wanted your undivided attention. It was better if you pretended not to give it to them. "It's not my comfort I'm concerned with. I just like to keep my cards on the table, that's all. I would suggest keeping a human face on when my partner comes in here. He's kind of a nervous sort."

Angelus laughed, a short bark that Frank hated the sound of. "Does that ever work? That was an old bit when I got thrown in jail the first time, two hundred years ago."

"You'd be surprised. Most people that come in here aren't as experienced as you. You do know the point is not to get caught, though, right? You don't strike me as the brain-dead type. And I'm not saying Timmy would hurt you on purpose. But accidents do happen, especially when feelings are running high like they are now.Mostly, he's the kind of guy who would take bugs out rather than stomping them, but once in a while he takes things personally, makes it a mission. You and me, we're not like that. You know, I envy you."-more-

"I imagine you do. Do you think I could feed now? That last meal your department gave me didn't stick with me. Too many donuts."
"In a minute. We've got all night. Or at least I do. Sunrise comes pretty fast this time of year. But really, I ought to thank you. I've been hamstrung by my conscience. With the Hellmouth behind me, I could make minions of everyone in here, instead of being a civil servant with a broken desk chair and no AC till August. You made me a Hellmouth believer. I want to thank you."

"I don't suppose they had Miranda when you were arrested last."

"When I was human last they didn't have flush toilets. Or chainsaws."

"Are you threatening me? Cause I'd hate to use this pencil for anything but writing. But we're just talking. People talk about all kinds of things. Revenge fantasies, the shrinks call 'em, but that psychology is Tim's department. Let's get this Miranda formality over with."

He reads the now famous warning, and Angelus just looks past him, probably thinking of the blood in his veins. Frank understands what women talk about when they feel like objects. Suddenly, he feels like a bag of blood and internal organs, an animal's chew toy.Finally, the indifference gets on his nerves. From a more catlike relaxed pose, he taps on the bars of the cage. "Hello, in there! Am I boring you? It's fine with me if you don't answer, no skin off my back. It's there to protect you, not me.He takes the bars in his hand and pulls. They kind of rattle hollowly, like the expression. Back to pacing, trying to stroll like there's noplace he would rather be.

Ten minutes later, Bayliss comes in. Human suspects sometimes wait twenty, but nobody wants to leave this one alone too long.

They read Angelus Miranda rights.

Omigod.

Only in Sunnydale....

The detective bustles in, being careful not to pay any overt attention to the caged suspect. Bayliss' Bad Cop is like something from James Dean. Pembleton privately calls it Sullen, Moody, Cop.
"Excuse me, Detective Whelp?" Angelus says. Bayliss counts to forty. "Were you addressing me? For your sake, I hope not."

"I've seen many boys like you. Broken them, too. And they all thanked me before they died. One didn't. He turned on me. Family can be such a trial.

'Why don't you break his neck, like you did Jenny's? And while we're on the subject, I know places to put a crucifix that will make you wish you were buried alive all over again. And whatever I say about it, people will believe. I'm like Superman around here. Pure as the driven snow." Bayliss approaches the cage, holy water concealed in his left hand.
"The whelp is a terrier. Feisty. I like it. Of course, I'll kill you anyway, but we can have some fun first."
Bayliss splashes some holy water, hitting the vampire in the hand. "Great. My turn."

FUCK!

just realised, during the downtime, it ate my previous post.

erika, I said - IIRC - how much I loved the next-to-last bit, but was wondering if you could place Frank visually for me. I can hear him, but can you move him around for me? I gather the table in the cage has been pushed aside to make room for the cage - what's Frank doing, leading up to the (suhNERK) miranda rights reading? Is he pacing, slamming his hands on tables, being faux-easy - he's so kinetic, I'd love to see him as well as hear him.

OK, I added a little, but it must be insufficient. Also, I lost it, I think.

erika, as weird as it sounds, I'm kinda relieved that it wasn't singling me to hiccough at, or my posts to eat. I'm post-Avonex and grouchy, damnit.

THERE'S your new stuff. It just popped up on my screen. Weirdness abounding.

Gorgeous!

Bayliss splashes some holy water, hitting the vampire in the hand. "Great. My turn."

HOOBAH! Loving this. Mean Zen!

erika, I am absolutely in love with your story. Frank'n'Tim vs. Angelus. Mmmmmm.