Funeral
Part VI

Across the street from St. Anne's Episcopal Church in downtown L.A., there stood a small and rather dingy diner. Word on the street was that the owner of the diner was willing to pay out under the table to any prospective waitress with blonde hair, a petit figure, and a pretty face. Word on the street was right.
For example, six years ago there had been a petit blonde sixteen-year- old whose nametag only read "Anne." Who she had been beyond that, no one knew, and no one had ever found out. No one cared. This summer, it was a different blonde girl (older) and a different name on the nametag ("Eve"), but the story was the same. The story was always the same. A nice girl decides to or needs to give up the life and identity she once had, and become invisible. This diner was the place such girls found their way to.

Across the street, the church bells began to ring. They were clearly having a funeral over there, Eve could tell, because the people who now streamed out of the church were all dressed in black. Eve couldn't help but think about Lindsey. He never had a funeral, and never would. His body had been disposed of (she didn't know whom by—someone with Wolfram and Hart?) quickly and silently. It was just as well, perhaps. Besides Eve, who would have gone to mourn? He had died alone and—except for Eve—unloved. Just like, with Lindsey gone, Eve now was.
Two people, probably husband and wife, enter. They had clearly just come from the funeral, as they were both dressed in black. Expensive fabrics, even. Eve knew there was only one reason why people who could afford to be dressed like that came to a place like this to eat—it was because they were cheap. She knew not to expect a big tip.
They were both older, perhaps in their seventies. The woman was somewhat frail, but the man looked like he let nothing get in his way, not even the ravages of time.
"Can I get you anything?"
The man looked at the woman. "What are you getting, Delores?" he asked.
"I think I'll just have a bowl of tomato soup, Roger," the woman answered him.
Roger looked at Eve as she wrote the woman's order down. "And you, sir?" The man ordered a chicken salad sandwich and an iced tea.
Cheap, she thought. Definitely plan for a small tip.
When she brought back the food, the two of them seemed to be discussing the funeral. "I don't know why the preacher had to say all of those things," said Roger. "Made him out to be some sort of hero." The contempt in the old man's voice was unmistakeable, and Eve loss no time in getting away from their table as fast as she could. She stopped back two or three times before they left to make sure they didn't want or need anything else, but they never did.
The bill came to $9.67. On the table, they had left a dollar, a quarter, and a dime.
Oh well, she thought as she pocketed the change. When you were all alone, every little bit counted.

THE END

Angel the Series
Requiescat in pace
1999-2004

A/N: And there ends the funeral of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. For those of you who don't know, I did create a sequel (sorta) to the Faith and Illyria scenes. It's called Dark Champions and its intended to act as a new spin- off, so I write it in script format. So far (as of 7-11-04), I've completed the first two episodes: "Night of the Old One" (focusing on Illyria) and "Saved by Faith, Part One" (focusing on Faith). The regular characters are Drusilla (my favourite!), Lilah, and Andrew. Check it out if you haven't already. Also, in the "Buffy" section, I've just updated both "Windows of My Soul" (my epic) and "The Academy" (which, like Dark Champions, is set in Cleveland).

--Alixtii