Andrew's Sandwiches
Los Angeles, the world without shrimp 2022
Andrew hummed to himself as he walked down the squalid halls of the Wolfram and Hart LA office. Only Lorne appeared to be in the near vicinity, and he was sitting in his office having a heated argument with his manager, belting down the phone in a language Andrew thought he knew. He didn't.
"Iel iyania - that's bad tacos, yeah definitely bad tacos." Andrew mumbled to himself as he walked past the office. Heading for the way out, he was looking on google maps for nearest sandwich shop. He hadn't been in the city of angels for a while and his grasp on sandwich shopping had slipped past the breadline. If you pardon the pun. His preferred taste was for egg mayonnaise, which sounds on the edge of disgusting to the unexperienced ear, but Andrew swore it was like ambrosia. Food of the gods. His boyfriend disagreed; he thought the breath produced by said egg sandwiches was comparable to death by beating, especially in the mornings.
As he walked through the front doors onto the street, Andrew felt a little exposed strolling onto the sidewalk, his last time in LA he'd wandered into a demon bar and run up a dozen kittens on his tab. Technically he'd been working as an undercover vampire for the watcher's council, but debts still had to be paid and Giles didn't really approve of feline gambling. He looked both ways before using the crossing, it was bright daylight, so he assumed there wouldn't be too many demons lurking around. Even after the modern demon regime, which aimed to reform the way that demons are seen by the general public.
Andrew had had to spend hours in his office in Rome researching the new Californian laws for his hopeful new position as Head Watcher, something he'd been dreaming about since first becoming a watcher. A role that would allow him to start teaching new trainees and travelling far and wide in his time off to note take about the worst and most evil demons in the known world. He'd waited and studied for years for a chance at this position, a role his archnemesis - Artemis Jamison-Smythe - had held for almost twelve years. She'd had twins last year and had hung up her post (at least for the mean time), and the watcher's council had been hell bent on replacing her. But the role was prized, it was a job people fought for, he would have to earn his place, just as he did all those years ago when he first applied and missed out sorely through lack of experience.
As said his thanks to the man behind the counter, a man who most definitely went to the gym, but that was a whole other story. Andrew set off back along the sidewalk, remembering that he must definitely send Giles a follow up email about the work he'd just finished doing with reformed werewolves.