Gunn panted heavily, his arms strapped to the chair, as the doctor (or whatever he was) unhooked his head from the weird contraption. "Alright, Mr. Gunn, that about does it. Oh wait, I almost forgot. You have the legal know-how now, but you still lack a certain..." The doctor waved his hand, searching for the right word, "sophistication, that will surely be required in the legal world. For that reason, we've called in a few experts in the field of human reconstruction."
Gunn started to get scared. Pain, he could handle, but what the hell was human reconstruction? By this time the doctor had unstrapped his arms, and Gunn grabbed his favourite black sweatshirt and pulled it over his head.
The doctor laughed, seeing the fear on his face. "Don't worry, Mr. Gunn. These five are incredibly skilled. You should have seen Lindsey McDonald before they got to him. Cowboy hats and 'y'all this' and 'y'all that'. He never could have survived Wolfram and Hart if it hadn't been for this crew. Boys, come on in!"
Gunn turned his head to the door, apprehension overtaking him as he imagined what could be coming through the door, when suddenly a blast of techno music was heard, and five men ran into the room.
A thin, blond man led the pack, but screeched to a stop as he saw Gunn. "Oh good lord guys, this is going to take some work. I should have left more sacrifices at my shrine to the fashion gods last night."
"Who—who are you?"
"Oh, how rude of us. I'm Carson: Fashion."
"Kyan: Hair and skincare."
"Ted: Food and Wine."
"Thom: Interior Design."
"And I'm Jai: Culture."
"Uh, okay. So you're here to...?"
"Make you over of course."
"But I don't need a makeover," Gunn managed to get out.
Kyan looked at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. "Your hair, or lack thereof says otherwise. I mean, what were you thinking?" The dark-haired man walked over to Gunn and started rubbing his head. "This wasn't intentional, was it?"
"Whoa! Dude, stop touching my head." Gunn swatted his hand away. Kyan just rolled his eyes.
"You think you've got your work cut out for you, Kyan? Am I the only one noticing the travesty that is that shirt?" asked Carson.
"Believe me, you are not," said Thom, who was now feeling the material. "How long have you had this thing?"
"My guess? Since the dawn of time."
"Or at least his conception."
"Everybody stop! I'm standing right here, in case you didn't notice."
"How could we not? That outfit is hardly inconspicuous."
"It's black."
"It's a—a—I can't even bring myself to say it—an old, faded sweatshirt. That's really law firm chic. Not to mention, it appears to have some sort of dried up blood stain on the sleeve."
Gunn smiled. Oh yeah, that was from that one time when--."
"Please. We don't need to hear your kinky stories."
"Ooh, I do!"
"Well, he can tell us on the way to his apartment. Let's skedaddle!"
Before Gunn could argue, the five guys had gathered around him and pulled him to his feet, as they headed out the door. Before he knew it, he was out of the building and sitting in a large SUV, squished between Jai and Thom. The five men chattered incessantly, mostly about him, but Gunn was starting to relax a little. That calm was yanked away when they arrived at his apartment, though. Wolfram and Hart had set him up with the place, so he had only just moved in. Hardly anything was organized yet.
"Holy mother of God," Thom deadpanned. "It seems like the only thing you've unpacked is an extensive collection of battle axes."
"Well, I need them. See, what I do--."
"What you do now is practice law. All you need for that, in addition to all that knowledge and whatever, is to come across as something resembling professional."
Suddenly Jai burst out of the bathroom. "Oh my God, you guys, I think Kyan passed out from shock. This guy seems to own one bar of a soap, a practically rusty razor, and the oldest toothbrush known to man."
They all piled into the bathroom, Carson waving a pair of Gunn's underwear in front of Kyan's face in an attempt to revive him. It was going to be a long day.