I won't bore you kiddies with a detailed explanation of how I managed to turn back the clock; suffice to say it involved calling in every magical marker I had and then some. Anyhoo, after reenacting the money shot from "Back To The Future", I found myself back in Bedford Falls, aka Caritas, my own lost horizon. I was about to do the dance of joy when who did I run into but a devilishly handsome chanteuse. He did a double take at the sight of me, nearly spilling his drink in the process.
"It's me, me looking quite stylish, if I do say so myself," he said. Looking down at the glass in his hand, he said: "I could have sworn I told Ramone to make me a straight seabreeze. Apparently he mixed a little peyote in with the gin."
"You might want to lay off the drinkerinos, Green Hornet. You're going to have quite the bangeroo come daylight," I said. "By the way, you look fabulous."
"No, YOU look fabulous," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "Love the leather jacket."
I laughed. "Oh you flatterer! This old thing? It's been hanging in my closet for months."
"Assuming you're not an alcohol induced hallucination, what's with the Ghost of Christmas past routine, Krevikins?" he said.
I filled him in on the backstory. "Well you see, it all started when Angel and Darla had a child. . . we brought Fred back from Pylea . . . Cordy gave birth to Angel's fully grown black grandchild slash ancient evil goddess . . . so we all joined Wolfram and Hart . . . and then, after I gunned Lindsey down in cold blood. . . So here I am!" I said cheerily.
"Damn, I knew Ramone put a little extra something into this seabreeze," he muttered. "Memo to self: Have Ramone fired."
I sensed a bit of skepticism from my younger self. "I get the feeling you don't believe me."
"Your story does have a few plot holes," he said.
"Name one," I said.
"Angel had a black grandchild? Aren't he and Darla the whitest white people who ever lived? I've seen vanilla ice cream with more color than those two. And Cordelia, tannorexic that she is, isn't exactly african-american," he said. "No, sorry, I just don't believe it."
I stared at him. Tough room, I thought. "Of all the crazy, fantastical things I just told you, the sticking point is Jasmine's complexion? Okay, I always thought Connor should have kicked Gunn's derriere," I said. "But that's neither here nor there. Name another objection, my verdant doppleganger."
"You killed Lindsey? Am I supposed to believe you suddenly turned into Joe Pesci?" he said. "Didn't I leave Pylea because I was sick of the bloodshed? Sorry, I just don't see myself taking on the role of lord high executioner."
"All right. You do have a point there," I admitted. "Things did get a wee bit out of hand towards the end. Anyhoo, that's why I came back here, to put things right."
"Here I am to save the day, is it?" he said.
"This is the night Angel brought Darla to Caritas, isn't it?" I asked, wishing and praying the answer would be yes.
"I sent those two crazy kids to the trials several hours ago," he said.
"Oh thank Bruce Almighty, I'm not too late!" I said. Gathering my assorted weaponry, I said: "Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I must bid you adieu. So long, farewell, and all that jazz."
"Good luck with the master plan," he said, waving goodbye.
As I ran out the door, I heard him say: "I really must ask Ramone what he put in this seabreeze. I could make a mint."
To make a long story short, I made my way across town to that sleazy dive, hunkered down in the doorway across from Darla's cheap motel room, and waited.
"It's me, me looking quite stylish, if I do say so myself," he said. Looking down at the glass in his hand, he said: "I could have sworn I told Ramone to make me a straight seabreeze. Apparently he mixed a little peyote in with the gin."
"You might want to lay off the drinkerinos, Green Hornet. You're going to have quite the bangeroo come daylight," I said. "By the way, you look fabulous."
"No, YOU look fabulous," he said, taking another sip of his drink. "Love the leather jacket."
I laughed. "Oh you flatterer! This old thing? It's been hanging in my closet for months."
"Assuming you're not an alcohol induced hallucination, what's with the Ghost of Christmas past routine, Krevikins?" he said.
I filled him in on the backstory. "Well you see, it all started when Angel and Darla had a child. . . we brought Fred back from Pylea . . . Cordy gave birth to Angel's fully grown black grandchild slash ancient evil goddess . . . so we all joined Wolfram and Hart . . . and then, after I gunned Lindsey down in cold blood. . . So here I am!" I said cheerily.
"Damn, I knew Ramone put a little extra something into this seabreeze," he muttered. "Memo to self: Have Ramone fired."
I sensed a bit of skepticism from my younger self. "I get the feeling you don't believe me."
"Your story does have a few plot holes," he said.
"Name one," I said.
"Angel had a black grandchild? Aren't he and Darla the whitest white people who ever lived? I've seen vanilla ice cream with more color than those two. And Cordelia, tannorexic that she is, isn't exactly african-american," he said. "No, sorry, I just don't believe it."
I stared at him. Tough room, I thought. "Of all the crazy, fantastical things I just told you, the sticking point is Jasmine's complexion? Okay, I always thought Connor should have kicked Gunn's derriere," I said. "But that's neither here nor there. Name another objection, my verdant doppleganger."
"You killed Lindsey? Am I supposed to believe you suddenly turned into Joe Pesci?" he said. "Didn't I leave Pylea because I was sick of the bloodshed? Sorry, I just don't see myself taking on the role of lord high executioner."
"All right. You do have a point there," I admitted. "Things did get a wee bit out of hand towards the end. Anyhoo, that's why I came back here, to put things right."
"Here I am to save the day, is it?" he said.
"This is the night Angel brought Darla to Caritas, isn't it?" I asked, wishing and praying the answer would be yes.
"I sent those two crazy kids to the trials several hours ago," he said.
"Oh thank Bruce Almighty, I'm not too late!" I said. Gathering my assorted weaponry, I said: "Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I must bid you adieu. So long, farewell, and all that jazz."
"Good luck with the master plan," he said, waving goodbye.
As I ran out the door, I heard him say: "I really must ask Ramone what he put in this seabreeze. I could make a mint."
To make a long story short, I made my way across town to that sleazy dive, hunkered down in the doorway across from Darla's cheap motel room, and waited.
