Four well-dressed vampires sitting together in Whitby, watching the Dracula
tourists go past. "I've got you under my skin" plays in the moonlight. One
of them is looking out for a pale bloke, who owes him eleven quid.
It's Spike, Angel, Dru on medication, and Darla back from the dead - again. It's allowed: she's a small blonde who's shagged Angel.
Darla: Ah...Very passable, this, very passable.
Dru: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau Noxious, ay Spike?
Spike: You're right there Dru.
Angel: Who'd have thought thirty years ago we'd all be sitting here together drinking Chateau Noxious?
Darla: Mercy killing...But in those days we'd have been glad to have a juicy victim.
Dru: A...diseased victim. Ooh disease.
Spike: A cold victim.
Angel: In filthy rags.
Darla: Decaying.
Angel: I never even had decaying victims. I had to eat rats.
Dru: The best I could manage was sucking on you. Ooh...sucking.
Spike: Better with me pet. But you know, we were happy in those days, even though we were hunted.
Darla: Aye, BECAUSE we were hunted. The Master used to say to me, "easy victims doesn't buy you happiness."
Angel: He was right. I was happier then, and I had nothing. We had to hide in a barn.
Dru: Barn? You were lucky. Mm...hay. Spike?
Spike: You were lucky to have hay. I had to hide out in a coffin.
Darla: Ohhh we used to DREAM of living in a coffin. Would have been a palace to us. We had to hide in the sewer when Holtz hunted us. We got woken up every evening by the tide of filth washing all over us. Coffin! Hmph!
Angel: When I say, "barn" it was only a hole in the ground covered by a blanket, but it was a house to us.
Dru: We were chased out of *our* hole in the ground by a mob; we had to go and hide in a mineshaft.
Spike: You were lucky to have a mineshaft. There were a hundred and sixty of us, including the minions, living in a small crypt, in the middle of the Slayer's patrol route.
Darla: Crypt?
Spike: Aye.
Darla: You were lucky. We lived for three months under a gravestone in Watcher Council grounds. We used to have to get up at six in the evening, clean the tombstone, eat a dead rat, go hunting fourteen hours a night, week in - week out. When we got home the Master would thrash us to sleep with his belt.
Dru: Luxury. We used to have to get out of the mineshaft at three in the afternoon, clean the mine, eat a handful of hot pit-ponies, hunt all night for a new doll, come home and Angelus would beat us around the head and neck with a bullwhip, if we were LUCKY! Angelus...bullwhip...mm...daddy?
Spike: Well, we had it tough. We had to get up at midday, and lick the crypt clean. We had half a freezing cold rat each, hunted twenty-four hours a day for a box of bleach once every six years, and when we got home Angelus would cut my head off with a blunt bread knife, and sing, badly off key, over my dust.
Angel: Right. I had to get up, half an hour before I went to bed. Eat half a rats tail, hunt twenty-nine hours a day, and beg permission of Mistress Willow for the privilege. And when I got home the Master would pour holy water over every inch of my flesh, force garlic into every orifice, stake me by impalement, bury my ashes, and dance on my grave singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Darla: And you try to tell fledglings today that...and they won't believe you.
It's Spike, Angel, Dru on medication, and Darla back from the dead - again. It's allowed: she's a small blonde who's shagged Angel.
Darla: Ah...Very passable, this, very passable.
Dru: Nothing like a good glass of Chateau Noxious, ay Spike?
Spike: You're right there Dru.
Angel: Who'd have thought thirty years ago we'd all be sitting here together drinking Chateau Noxious?
Darla: Mercy killing...But in those days we'd have been glad to have a juicy victim.
Dru: A...diseased victim. Ooh disease.
Spike: A cold victim.
Angel: In filthy rags.
Darla: Decaying.
Angel: I never even had decaying victims. I had to eat rats.
Dru: The best I could manage was sucking on you. Ooh...sucking.
Spike: Better with me pet. But you know, we were happy in those days, even though we were hunted.
Darla: Aye, BECAUSE we were hunted. The Master used to say to me, "easy victims doesn't buy you happiness."
Angel: He was right. I was happier then, and I had nothing. We had to hide in a barn.
Dru: Barn? You were lucky. Mm...hay. Spike?
Spike: You were lucky to have hay. I had to hide out in a coffin.
Darla: Ohhh we used to DREAM of living in a coffin. Would have been a palace to us. We had to hide in the sewer when Holtz hunted us. We got woken up every evening by the tide of filth washing all over us. Coffin! Hmph!
Angel: When I say, "barn" it was only a hole in the ground covered by a blanket, but it was a house to us.
Dru: We were chased out of *our* hole in the ground by a mob; we had to go and hide in a mineshaft.
Spike: You were lucky to have a mineshaft. There were a hundred and sixty of us, including the minions, living in a small crypt, in the middle of the Slayer's patrol route.
Darla: Crypt?
Spike: Aye.
Darla: You were lucky. We lived for three months under a gravestone in Watcher Council grounds. We used to have to get up at six in the evening, clean the tombstone, eat a dead rat, go hunting fourteen hours a night, week in - week out. When we got home the Master would thrash us to sleep with his belt.
Dru: Luxury. We used to have to get out of the mineshaft at three in the afternoon, clean the mine, eat a handful of hot pit-ponies, hunt all night for a new doll, come home and Angelus would beat us around the head and neck with a bullwhip, if we were LUCKY! Angelus...bullwhip...mm...daddy?
Spike: Well, we had it tough. We had to get up at midday, and lick the crypt clean. We had half a freezing cold rat each, hunted twenty-four hours a day for a box of bleach once every six years, and when we got home Angelus would cut my head off with a blunt bread knife, and sing, badly off key, over my dust.
Angel: Right. I had to get up, half an hour before I went to bed. Eat half a rats tail, hunt twenty-nine hours a day, and beg permission of Mistress Willow for the privilege. And when I got home the Master would pour holy water over every inch of my flesh, force garlic into every orifice, stake me by impalement, bury my ashes, and dance on my grave singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Darla: And you try to tell fledglings today that...and they won't believe you.