"Have the SPIN-ers Stopped Screaming, Clarice?"
Longer Summary: Here's the Three-Ian-Etc. humor fic for Palindrome, and man, did that one give me a lot of material. You'll find all kinds of new guest stars in this one, and it's a two-parter, too! Among other things, there will be elements creepy and kooky, and a pair of real American...villains. Well, okay, they might be English; I was never sure. In general, though, prepare for more evil twins than you can shake a stick at! Despite the title, though, no Lambs people; I just thought it fit. Enjoy!
Title: Have the SPIN-ers Stopped Screaming, Clarice?
Spoilers: Through the 8-19-02 episode, "Palindrome." Also, explicit spoilers for the movie "Fight Club," in the notes after Part 2.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation.
Author's, er, Quote: "I'm so evil and skanky! And I think I'm kinda gay." - Willow re: Vampire Willow, "Doppelgangland," Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Part 1
The elegant stretch hearse turned onto Faust Street. The hollow-cheeked driver parked it just outside the gate, then got out. And kept on going and going...when he'd reached his full height of eight feet or so, he leaned over and opened up the back.
Out bounded, first, a man who looked the stereotype of the classic Latin lover, down to the pencil-thin moustache. He looked into the hearse's interior and reached out an arm.
"Morticia, my love," he said, "We're here!"
On his arm emerged a woman of near-emaciated thinness and perfect corpse- white complexion, offset by a black gown tight as a mummy's wrappings and full blood-red lips. After her filed an old woman with bird's nest hair, a monk-bald, heavyset man, and two children, a girl and a boy.
"Is this entirely necessary?" the girl asked in a voice flat as poured concrete.
"Now, now, Aras may be a bit odd, and she may not have the family name, but she is still an Addams," Morticia said, draping herself decorously across the Faust Street gate. "We owe her a social call to see how well she's faring in New York. And if she's dead, we simply must bring her home to the family crypt."
"You think she's dead already?" Grandma asked.
"Always was a bit of an overachiever," Fester commented.
"Now children," Morticia said to Wednesday and Pugsley, "run ahead and announce us. We need a bit of time to make a proper entrance."
"Yes, mother," Wednesday said.
"I think I hear dogs," the pudgy boy said.
"Oh. Then we'd better prepare," replied Wednesday, removing a bottle from her pocket and spraying herself.
"What's that?" Pugsley asked.
"Ammonia."
"Can I have some?"
"No." She removed a pouch of herbs from her pocket and sprinkled them over Pugsley's head. "This is for you."
"What's that?"
"Parsley."
* * *
Amidst a maelstrom of howling and barking, they made it to the door, which was opened by a girl who looked to be Wednesday's age. She only looked that age, technically Bola was going on four hundred. Not that Wednesday knew this, necessarily, but she tended to be prepared, and was eyeing Bola suspiciously.
"I'm Wednesday Addams," she said, in a voice completely devoid of emotion. "This is my brother Pugsley. Our family is on its way in, just wanted to let you know."
"I'm Bola," replied the girl with brown hair. "Come on in. Would you like some vodka?"
"Absolutely," Wednesday replied. "You should have some too."
"Of course," Bola replied, then, "Why?"
"You'll need it," Wednesday said, and there came a crash from the study.
"Can I have some?" Pugsley asked eagerly, as they all moved in that direction.
"Yes, Pugsley," Wednesday replied in that same flat tone. "You can tell us if it tastes any different when it's on fire."
"Cool!"
Bola shot a mildly incredulous look at them both, then caught Wednesday appraising her in turn. "Nice guns," Wednesday said. "Can I have one?"
"No."
"Oh well."
They followed her in the study's general direction.
* * *
In said room reclined the woman Aras, also called Pagan, the bleach-striped look-alike nemesis of Sara Pezzini. Today, she wore zebra-striped hot pants that flared out at the knee and a cropped black T-shirt that said, in red letters, "I *am* the evil twin." She was currently in the process of draining a large bottle of Old Milwaukee, and when done, chucked it over her shoulder into the fireplace, where it shattered.
"'Nother one, honey?" she yelled. A second later, the current season's Ian Nottingham, third in a series, was behind her, holding two more bottles. She grabbed them both, popping the tops off with her teeth. As he sat beside her on the couch, she twined herself around him, serpentine. At that moment, the prior season's original Ian the First, walked in, giving his brother a glance that was so sidelong, it was perpendicular.
He said, simply, "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"What?" Ian 3 replied.
"Bad enough that you've backslid completely into being Father's little zombie, but this...this..."
"This?" Aras said dangerously, arching an eyebrow.
"This," Ian One said with a sneer. Before things could get entirely out of hand, Ian 3 spread his hands in a placating gesture.
"Look, I'm not certain whether Satan or Conchobar was the last straw, but can you really fault me for taking the advice everyone's been giving me? I was exceedingly tired of being the only one here who'd never played sheik and harem girl, if you know what I mean."
"Hey," Aras said, nibbling on his ear. "Wanna play hide the scimitar later?"
"Oh, God," said Ian One. He forced his eyes away with difficulty. "At any rate, I've come to tell you that you have guests. Aras, your family has apparently arrived for a visit. Bola is bringing them by." He took great satisfaction in watching the prizefighter blanch.
Ian 3 noticed it too. "What's wrong? I know all about your family..."
"No you *don't,*" she said. "Look, Kenny placed me with my folks to make sure I turned out wrong, right? Only, he didn't really know or care who their extended family was. Well, I found out, and believe me when I say that we need to get out of here right..."
"Hello, Cousin Aras," came the almost robotic voice of a girl in black jeans, black jacket, and jet pigtails.
Aras sighed in resignation. "Hello, Wednesday. Pugsley," to the boy who'd accompanied her. "Where, ah...where are your parents?" Ian 3 caught her slight shudder at that question.
"Oh, don't worry," Wednesday said. "They'll be here very soon." Wide-eyed, Aras scouted the perimeter of the room. At about that point, Ian 2.0, season one's evil Nottingham clone, wandered into the room. "Oh, good," Ian 3 said. "He's back. Now you can finally meet the rest of the family." The clown girl Harley Quinn trailed in on his heels.
"Heya!" she said brightly. "You the real thing or the neck-snapping skank?"
"C'mere and find out," Aras purred.
Harley held up her hands. "Hey, no issues here! My puddin' here's been known to enjoy a spot of neck-snapping on occasion."
"Oh, *really,*" replied the white-highlighted killer. Her eyes slid sideways to the short-haired, tiny-bearded version of her lover.
* * *
Ian 2.0's eyes met Aras.'
"Uh-oh," said Ian 3
Aras' eyes met Ian 2.0's.
"Uh oh," said Harley.
* * *
"This is..."
"...not good..."
Ian 3 and Harley looked at each other, identical looks of concern on their faces. Then the window exploded.
Rather, it burst inward as a large object hurtled through it, extending in midair to the figure of a man. He rebounded with spectacular flips off of the interior of the tall, round room until he hit the ground, pulling a rapier from a sheath on his back and shouting "Ha!"
"Oh no," Aras groaned. "It's Cousin Gomez."
The elegant if short gentleman waved his sword, shouting, "A roomful of assassins? Surely one of you dares challenge my skill!" And Ian 2.0 stood, drawing his katana.
"If you'd like to be freed of your earthly bonds, I would be happy to oblige," he said, with his ever-present smile.
"I'm sorry, my good man. I put a great deal of stock in my earthly bonds!" Gomez too grinned wildly, and the battle was joined, mad fencing all around the study, leaping over desks, tables, chairs, and couches.
"Ooh..." Aras said appreciatively. Harley smacked her upside the head. "All right, that's it!" The fighter launched herself at the clown, who danced out of reach.
"What? What?" In the midst of several back handsprings, she bounced high off the head of an eight-foot-tall man who'd lurched in with the rest of the Addams Family. "Can't'cha take a joke?"
Meanwhile, two spirits with a yen for fight spectatorship appeared in the room, Kenneth Irons within a suit of medieval armor and Hector Mobius next to it.
"This is better than pro wrestling," Moby commented.
"Didn't I tell you?" Irons replied, as Ian 2.0 and Gomez danced past, swords glinting. "Five hundred on the doppelganger."
"You underestimate the mythic power of the Harlequin archetype. You're on. Although..." He looked at Irons critically. "You might not want to observe from there."
"Why not?"
*CRASH!* *CLANG!* *THUD!*
"Oh."
"Oops! Hee hee," Harley giggled. "Eep!" She rolled away from the Pagan's leaping attack and the two were off again.
Moby knelt near the open helmet, now lying on the floor. "Two hundred I.Q., and yet nobody ever listens to me. I wonder why that is. Oh, say, Kenneth?"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you can help me with something. I can't seem to recall how I got out from under that big block of concrete."
"Oh, that's easy. You didn't."
"Ah. Well, that explains a lot."
Also meanwhile, another member of the Addams family tiptoed, or rather tip- fingered, quietly into the room. Thing, for all intents and purposes a severed hand, had a much smaller profile than the rest of the Addamses, and so had to take care that he was not run over by psychotic clones, clowns, or relatives. Spying something odd, he clambered up on an old oak table, next to a vase that seemed to harbor a hand like him. He waved cautiously with his forefinger, then gently tapped the glass. The hand seemed to curl just a little bit, but was otherwise unresponsive. Thing shrugged with his index finger and pinky, and settled in to watch the proceedings, but just then Gomez and his younger opponent leapt to the tabletop, fencing furiously.
"Your form lacks teeth, old man!"
"Yours lacks originality, as do your looks!"
Thing spread all his fingers in shock and jumped down. Maybe it'd be better to watch from the floor. At the same time, Ian 3 deftly reached in to move the hand vase to a safer home for the duration. Thing watched his fellow limb removed to a high shelf and shrugged again.
Eventually, it began to appear that the young, strong psychopath had the older gentleman on the ropes. The elegant Morticia, eyes dewy, clasped her hands to her breast and sighed. A breathless Harley somersaulted up to her and leaned over, saying, "Hey, it looks like my Puddin' might just take out your Puddin.' No hard feelings, huh?"
"Look at him," Morticia replied. "Fighting potential relatives to the death for my honor, just like when we got engaged." She smiled serenely.
"Uh, yeah," Harley replied, sticking out a foot to trip Aras as she made a run at the clown. The doppelganger went skidding into a display stand. Then Harley got a tap on the shoulder, and she jumped. It was the odd girl Wednesday.
"This isn't over," was all the girl said, and the certainty with which it was uttered made Harley just a little nervous. Keeping a weather eye on the stunned Aras, Harley leaned back to watch the main event. Gomez was panting, sagging against the wall by the fireplace. Sword lowered at his eye, Ian 2.0 moved in to place his deadly hand against the other man's neck. He reached...and Gomez grabbed his wrist.
"Ha HA!" Then Ian 2.0 was flying to land on his back on the table, beneath which Thing congratulated himself on his good judgment in moving. An instant later, Gomez had his neck caught between his rapier and a fireplace poker.
"Yield. Or. Die," Gomez said.
"Puddin!" Harley cried.
"No!" a groggy Aras shouted. Ian 3 stared at her.
"Kill!" cried Fester and Grandma.
"I..." said Ian 2.0 haltingly, his smile gone, "I...yield."
"Wuss," muttered Ian 3. Eyes rolled in his direction - his temporal duplicate had heard him.
Gomez lifted the weaponry from Ian 2's neck and rose. He turned to his wife, sticking his sword out blindly behind him to end a centimeter from Ian 2's throat as his opponent renewed his lunge. "Ah-ah-ah," he chided, then leapt to Morticia's side, capturing his wife in a deep swooning kiss.
Thunderous applause burst from every corner of the room.
The mansion residents and the Addamses both spun about, staring at the much larger audience.
"Where..." said Ian 1
"Did..." said Ian 2
"They..." said Ian 3
"Come from," all three versions chorused. The fight spectators had grown to include several identical men in waiters' jackets, dead ringers for one another down to their mismatched eyes. There were also two men in red and blue workout gear, or possibly body armor, also identical save for a scar that marred one across the cheek. They grinned when the Ians spoke in unison. Two women rounded out the group, a short redhead in gothic black, who had an evil grin to match Ian 2.0's, and a tall, cool-eyed brunette with highlights much better executed than a certain look-alike's. It was the brunette who stepped forward.
"They're with me," she said. "Lilah Morgan, Wolfram and Hart, Attorneys. Ms. Aras?"
"Uh...yeah?" said the dazed doppelganger, whom Ian 3 was helping to her feet.
"We need to talk."
* * *
TBC
TMF
Longer Summary: Here's the Three-Ian-Etc. humor fic for Palindrome, and man, did that one give me a lot of material. You'll find all kinds of new guest stars in this one, and it's a two-parter, too! Among other things, there will be elements creepy and kooky, and a pair of real American...villains. Well, okay, they might be English; I was never sure. In general, though, prepare for more evil twins than you can shake a stick at! Despite the title, though, no Lambs people; I just thought it fit. Enjoy!
Title: Have the SPIN-ers Stopped Screaming, Clarice?
Spoilers: Through the 8-19-02 episode, "Palindrome." Also, explicit spoilers for the movie "Fight Club," in the notes after Part 2.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation.
Author's, er, Quote: "I'm so evil and skanky! And I think I'm kinda gay." - Willow re: Vampire Willow, "Doppelgangland," Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Part 1
The elegant stretch hearse turned onto Faust Street. The hollow-cheeked driver parked it just outside the gate, then got out. And kept on going and going...when he'd reached his full height of eight feet or so, he leaned over and opened up the back.
Out bounded, first, a man who looked the stereotype of the classic Latin lover, down to the pencil-thin moustache. He looked into the hearse's interior and reached out an arm.
"Morticia, my love," he said, "We're here!"
On his arm emerged a woman of near-emaciated thinness and perfect corpse- white complexion, offset by a black gown tight as a mummy's wrappings and full blood-red lips. After her filed an old woman with bird's nest hair, a monk-bald, heavyset man, and two children, a girl and a boy.
"Is this entirely necessary?" the girl asked in a voice flat as poured concrete.
"Now, now, Aras may be a bit odd, and she may not have the family name, but she is still an Addams," Morticia said, draping herself decorously across the Faust Street gate. "We owe her a social call to see how well she's faring in New York. And if she's dead, we simply must bring her home to the family crypt."
"You think she's dead already?" Grandma asked.
"Always was a bit of an overachiever," Fester commented.
"Now children," Morticia said to Wednesday and Pugsley, "run ahead and announce us. We need a bit of time to make a proper entrance."
"Yes, mother," Wednesday said.
"I think I hear dogs," the pudgy boy said.
"Oh. Then we'd better prepare," replied Wednesday, removing a bottle from her pocket and spraying herself.
"What's that?" Pugsley asked.
"Ammonia."
"Can I have some?"
"No." She removed a pouch of herbs from her pocket and sprinkled them over Pugsley's head. "This is for you."
"What's that?"
"Parsley."
* * *
Amidst a maelstrom of howling and barking, they made it to the door, which was opened by a girl who looked to be Wednesday's age. She only looked that age, technically Bola was going on four hundred. Not that Wednesday knew this, necessarily, but she tended to be prepared, and was eyeing Bola suspiciously.
"I'm Wednesday Addams," she said, in a voice completely devoid of emotion. "This is my brother Pugsley. Our family is on its way in, just wanted to let you know."
"I'm Bola," replied the girl with brown hair. "Come on in. Would you like some vodka?"
"Absolutely," Wednesday replied. "You should have some too."
"Of course," Bola replied, then, "Why?"
"You'll need it," Wednesday said, and there came a crash from the study.
"Can I have some?" Pugsley asked eagerly, as they all moved in that direction.
"Yes, Pugsley," Wednesday replied in that same flat tone. "You can tell us if it tastes any different when it's on fire."
"Cool!"
Bola shot a mildly incredulous look at them both, then caught Wednesday appraising her in turn. "Nice guns," Wednesday said. "Can I have one?"
"No."
"Oh well."
They followed her in the study's general direction.
* * *
In said room reclined the woman Aras, also called Pagan, the bleach-striped look-alike nemesis of Sara Pezzini. Today, she wore zebra-striped hot pants that flared out at the knee and a cropped black T-shirt that said, in red letters, "I *am* the evil twin." She was currently in the process of draining a large bottle of Old Milwaukee, and when done, chucked it over her shoulder into the fireplace, where it shattered.
"'Nother one, honey?" she yelled. A second later, the current season's Ian Nottingham, third in a series, was behind her, holding two more bottles. She grabbed them both, popping the tops off with her teeth. As he sat beside her on the couch, she twined herself around him, serpentine. At that moment, the prior season's original Ian the First, walked in, giving his brother a glance that was so sidelong, it was perpendicular.
He said, simply, "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"What?" Ian 3 replied.
"Bad enough that you've backslid completely into being Father's little zombie, but this...this..."
"This?" Aras said dangerously, arching an eyebrow.
"This," Ian One said with a sneer. Before things could get entirely out of hand, Ian 3 spread his hands in a placating gesture.
"Look, I'm not certain whether Satan or Conchobar was the last straw, but can you really fault me for taking the advice everyone's been giving me? I was exceedingly tired of being the only one here who'd never played sheik and harem girl, if you know what I mean."
"Hey," Aras said, nibbling on his ear. "Wanna play hide the scimitar later?"
"Oh, God," said Ian One. He forced his eyes away with difficulty. "At any rate, I've come to tell you that you have guests. Aras, your family has apparently arrived for a visit. Bola is bringing them by." He took great satisfaction in watching the prizefighter blanch.
Ian 3 noticed it too. "What's wrong? I know all about your family..."
"No you *don't,*" she said. "Look, Kenny placed me with my folks to make sure I turned out wrong, right? Only, he didn't really know or care who their extended family was. Well, I found out, and believe me when I say that we need to get out of here right..."
"Hello, Cousin Aras," came the almost robotic voice of a girl in black jeans, black jacket, and jet pigtails.
Aras sighed in resignation. "Hello, Wednesday. Pugsley," to the boy who'd accompanied her. "Where, ah...where are your parents?" Ian 3 caught her slight shudder at that question.
"Oh, don't worry," Wednesday said. "They'll be here very soon." Wide-eyed, Aras scouted the perimeter of the room. At about that point, Ian 2.0, season one's evil Nottingham clone, wandered into the room. "Oh, good," Ian 3 said. "He's back. Now you can finally meet the rest of the family." The clown girl Harley Quinn trailed in on his heels.
"Heya!" she said brightly. "You the real thing or the neck-snapping skank?"
"C'mere and find out," Aras purred.
Harley held up her hands. "Hey, no issues here! My puddin' here's been known to enjoy a spot of neck-snapping on occasion."
"Oh, *really,*" replied the white-highlighted killer. Her eyes slid sideways to the short-haired, tiny-bearded version of her lover.
* * *
Ian 2.0's eyes met Aras.'
"Uh-oh," said Ian 3
Aras' eyes met Ian 2.0's.
"Uh oh," said Harley.
* * *
"This is..."
"...not good..."
Ian 3 and Harley looked at each other, identical looks of concern on their faces. Then the window exploded.
Rather, it burst inward as a large object hurtled through it, extending in midair to the figure of a man. He rebounded with spectacular flips off of the interior of the tall, round room until he hit the ground, pulling a rapier from a sheath on his back and shouting "Ha!"
"Oh no," Aras groaned. "It's Cousin Gomez."
The elegant if short gentleman waved his sword, shouting, "A roomful of assassins? Surely one of you dares challenge my skill!" And Ian 2.0 stood, drawing his katana.
"If you'd like to be freed of your earthly bonds, I would be happy to oblige," he said, with his ever-present smile.
"I'm sorry, my good man. I put a great deal of stock in my earthly bonds!" Gomez too grinned wildly, and the battle was joined, mad fencing all around the study, leaping over desks, tables, chairs, and couches.
"Ooh..." Aras said appreciatively. Harley smacked her upside the head. "All right, that's it!" The fighter launched herself at the clown, who danced out of reach.
"What? What?" In the midst of several back handsprings, she bounced high off the head of an eight-foot-tall man who'd lurched in with the rest of the Addams Family. "Can't'cha take a joke?"
Meanwhile, two spirits with a yen for fight spectatorship appeared in the room, Kenneth Irons within a suit of medieval armor and Hector Mobius next to it.
"This is better than pro wrestling," Moby commented.
"Didn't I tell you?" Irons replied, as Ian 2.0 and Gomez danced past, swords glinting. "Five hundred on the doppelganger."
"You underestimate the mythic power of the Harlequin archetype. You're on. Although..." He looked at Irons critically. "You might not want to observe from there."
"Why not?"
*CRASH!* *CLANG!* *THUD!*
"Oh."
"Oops! Hee hee," Harley giggled. "Eep!" She rolled away from the Pagan's leaping attack and the two were off again.
Moby knelt near the open helmet, now lying on the floor. "Two hundred I.Q., and yet nobody ever listens to me. I wonder why that is. Oh, say, Kenneth?"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps you can help me with something. I can't seem to recall how I got out from under that big block of concrete."
"Oh, that's easy. You didn't."
"Ah. Well, that explains a lot."
Also meanwhile, another member of the Addams family tiptoed, or rather tip- fingered, quietly into the room. Thing, for all intents and purposes a severed hand, had a much smaller profile than the rest of the Addamses, and so had to take care that he was not run over by psychotic clones, clowns, or relatives. Spying something odd, he clambered up on an old oak table, next to a vase that seemed to harbor a hand like him. He waved cautiously with his forefinger, then gently tapped the glass. The hand seemed to curl just a little bit, but was otherwise unresponsive. Thing shrugged with his index finger and pinky, and settled in to watch the proceedings, but just then Gomez and his younger opponent leapt to the tabletop, fencing furiously.
"Your form lacks teeth, old man!"
"Yours lacks originality, as do your looks!"
Thing spread all his fingers in shock and jumped down. Maybe it'd be better to watch from the floor. At the same time, Ian 3 deftly reached in to move the hand vase to a safer home for the duration. Thing watched his fellow limb removed to a high shelf and shrugged again.
Eventually, it began to appear that the young, strong psychopath had the older gentleman on the ropes. The elegant Morticia, eyes dewy, clasped her hands to her breast and sighed. A breathless Harley somersaulted up to her and leaned over, saying, "Hey, it looks like my Puddin' might just take out your Puddin.' No hard feelings, huh?"
"Look at him," Morticia replied. "Fighting potential relatives to the death for my honor, just like when we got engaged." She smiled serenely.
"Uh, yeah," Harley replied, sticking out a foot to trip Aras as she made a run at the clown. The doppelganger went skidding into a display stand. Then Harley got a tap on the shoulder, and she jumped. It was the odd girl Wednesday.
"This isn't over," was all the girl said, and the certainty with which it was uttered made Harley just a little nervous. Keeping a weather eye on the stunned Aras, Harley leaned back to watch the main event. Gomez was panting, sagging against the wall by the fireplace. Sword lowered at his eye, Ian 2.0 moved in to place his deadly hand against the other man's neck. He reached...and Gomez grabbed his wrist.
"Ha HA!" Then Ian 2.0 was flying to land on his back on the table, beneath which Thing congratulated himself on his good judgment in moving. An instant later, Gomez had his neck caught between his rapier and a fireplace poker.
"Yield. Or. Die," Gomez said.
"Puddin!" Harley cried.
"No!" a groggy Aras shouted. Ian 3 stared at her.
"Kill!" cried Fester and Grandma.
"I..." said Ian 2.0 haltingly, his smile gone, "I...yield."
"Wuss," muttered Ian 3. Eyes rolled in his direction - his temporal duplicate had heard him.
Gomez lifted the weaponry from Ian 2's neck and rose. He turned to his wife, sticking his sword out blindly behind him to end a centimeter from Ian 2's throat as his opponent renewed his lunge. "Ah-ah-ah," he chided, then leapt to Morticia's side, capturing his wife in a deep swooning kiss.
Thunderous applause burst from every corner of the room.
The mansion residents and the Addamses both spun about, staring at the much larger audience.
"Where..." said Ian 1
"Did..." said Ian 2
"They..." said Ian 3
"Come from," all three versions chorused. The fight spectators had grown to include several identical men in waiters' jackets, dead ringers for one another down to their mismatched eyes. There were also two men in red and blue workout gear, or possibly body armor, also identical save for a scar that marred one across the cheek. They grinned when the Ians spoke in unison. Two women rounded out the group, a short redhead in gothic black, who had an evil grin to match Ian 2.0's, and a tall, cool-eyed brunette with highlights much better executed than a certain look-alike's. It was the brunette who stepped forward.
"They're with me," she said. "Lilah Morgan, Wolfram and Hart, Attorneys. Ms. Aras?"
"Uh...yeah?" said the dazed doppelganger, whom Ian 3 was helping to her feet.
"We need to talk."
* * *
TBC
TMF