The Long Summer 21
He debated going home. Home felt empty, however. If he thought about it for any length, he would admit to himself that all of his hard work was an apology.
Spike's assumption on that front turned out to be far more accurate than Xander cared to admit. He detoured his route home towards the skewed side of Sunnydale. As Cordelia once labeled it, the bad side of town lay about a hundred yards from the good side of Sunnydale.
Of course, objectifying good and bad in Sunnydale didn't seem to fall into one clear category or another. He pulled the beaten pickup onto a dingy, gray street with pockmarked potholes.
He locked the vehicle out of habit before strolling to the door. Smoke wafted into the street as he pulled the heavy, battered door wide. The heavy odors of sweat, liquor and cigarettes perfumed the air. He shoved the beads aside and strolled into the main room of the small bar.
Willie looked up from his position behind the bar. His narrow features sharpened acquisitively as Xander made his way to the bar. Xander knew that Willie's wasn't the only speculative glance thrown in his direction.
"Beer." Xander ordered.
"Beer?"
"Beer."
"All right." Willie grinned and walked over to a cooler that housed God knew what. He fished out a bottle by the neck. He strolled back to Xander and used a rusted bottle opener to pop the cap off. He set the alcohol down and kept his hand on it. "Five bucks."
Xander pulled out his wallet and fished out a twenty. He laid it on the bar. "Keep them coming."
"Big spender."
"Go away." Xander groused and snatched the beer up.
Willie's rat-features spread into a grin, but he wandered back to his work at the other end of the bar. Xander hunched his shoulders and swigged the beer. He didn't come to the bar to prove anything. He came for some beer and then he'd head home.
A figure settled onto the stool next to him. Xander glanced at it from the corner of his eye. The pair of black horns peeking through the crown of hair were the most noticeable feature. He swigged back another drink and noted the dark skin that looked like someone brushed gold sprinkles over it.
"What are you?" Xander asked, curiosity overwhelming.
"A messenger." The man replied before taking a drink of the boiling mug Willie slid down the bar to him.
He couldn't resist. "What are you, Hell's Angel, you have a damnation, we deliver?"
"Something like that." The figure shifted on the stool and stared at him. "You're Xander Harris, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Got a message for you."
He snorted and polished off the beer bottle. "Yeah, what's that?"
An envelope slid across the bar top. Xander stared down at the crimson and black paper. His name was etched in red on the front. "Who's this from?"
The creature shrugged. "I don't read them. I just deliver."
A cold beer replaced the empty and Xander studied the envelope briefly before slitting the paper open and looking inside.
Willie wandered back down and eyed the empty stool with the full beer sitting in front of it. "Guess I'll keep the ten as a tip." He grinned at the horned gentleman who shrugged philosophically.
"He won't need it."
He debated going home. Home felt empty, however. If he thought about it for any length, he would admit to himself that all of his hard work was an apology.
Spike's assumption on that front turned out to be far more accurate than Xander cared to admit. He detoured his route home towards the skewed side of Sunnydale. As Cordelia once labeled it, the bad side of town lay about a hundred yards from the good side of Sunnydale.
Of course, objectifying good and bad in Sunnydale didn't seem to fall into one clear category or another. He pulled the beaten pickup onto a dingy, gray street with pockmarked potholes.
He locked the vehicle out of habit before strolling to the door. Smoke wafted into the street as he pulled the heavy, battered door wide. The heavy odors of sweat, liquor and cigarettes perfumed the air. He shoved the beads aside and strolled into the main room of the small bar.
Willie looked up from his position behind the bar. His narrow features sharpened acquisitively as Xander made his way to the bar. Xander knew that Willie's wasn't the only speculative glance thrown in his direction.
"Beer." Xander ordered.
"Beer?"
"Beer."
"All right." Willie grinned and walked over to a cooler that housed God knew what. He fished out a bottle by the neck. He strolled back to Xander and used a rusted bottle opener to pop the cap off. He set the alcohol down and kept his hand on it. "Five bucks."
Xander pulled out his wallet and fished out a twenty. He laid it on the bar. "Keep them coming."
"Big spender."
"Go away." Xander groused and snatched the beer up.
Willie's rat-features spread into a grin, but he wandered back to his work at the other end of the bar. Xander hunched his shoulders and swigged the beer. He didn't come to the bar to prove anything. He came for some beer and then he'd head home.
A figure settled onto the stool next to him. Xander glanced at it from the corner of his eye. The pair of black horns peeking through the crown of hair were the most noticeable feature. He swigged back another drink and noted the dark skin that looked like someone brushed gold sprinkles over it.
"What are you?" Xander asked, curiosity overwhelming.
"A messenger." The man replied before taking a drink of the boiling mug Willie slid down the bar to him.
He couldn't resist. "What are you, Hell's Angel, you have a damnation, we deliver?"
"Something like that." The figure shifted on the stool and stared at him. "You're Xander Harris, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Got a message for you."
He snorted and polished off the beer bottle. "Yeah, what's that?"
An envelope slid across the bar top. Xander stared down at the crimson and black paper. His name was etched in red on the front. "Who's this from?"
The creature shrugged. "I don't read them. I just deliver."
A cold beer replaced the empty and Xander studied the envelope briefly before slitting the paper open and looking inside.
Willie wandered back down and eyed the empty stool with the full beer sitting in front of it. "Guess I'll keep the ten as a tip." He grinned at the horned gentleman who shrugged philosophically.
"He won't need it."