New Orleans Square
Indiana Jones Adventure aside, Angel was not having an easy day.
"Spike! We've been here less than two hours and you've already lost Illyria!"
"She's not a piece of bloody luggage," his grandchilde argued. "And you were the one who was so hell-bent on runnin' off to get that Splash Mountain fastpass!"
"What, do you want to wait for two-and-a-half hours?"
"'Have to get a fastpass, have to get a fastpass!" mimicked Spike in an impossibly high voice, dancing about for good measure.
"Oh, that's mature," Angel grumbled.
"Relax, she probably just went to go use the...uhh... 'little goddess' room,'" Gunn assured them, not sounding too terribly assured himself.
"Nope, I already checked," came in Fred, coming back to the group with Wes in tow. "The two closest to here, anyway. And considering that the park has 52 public restrooms…"
"Did you check the men's room, Wes?" Angel sighed.
"No, why would I?"
"She's always going on about 'I'm a god-king, I'm beyond gender.... yada yada yada..."
"Trust me, she isn't," Spike asserted, very adamantly. "Anyway, Her Royal Blueness doesn't use the loo in the first place. She doesn't really need to eat or drink, so…"
"Why didn't you tell us that before?" Angel groaned in aggravation.
"Figured you knew."
Clearly, there was no use arguing with Spike. "Wes?" he changed tack, needing to vent.
"Maybe you could have mentioned something?"
Wesley had radar-vision securely locked in on Fred again. "Hmm, what?"
"Never mind."
To everyone's relief, Illyria soon wandered back over, her hands filled with shish kabobs. Judging from the amount of barbeque sauce thoroughly coating her face and hands, she'd already downed at least a good ten or more. Nonchalantly, she raised one of the meat-and-vegetable skewers to her mouth and took a bite.
"Illyria!" Angel cried. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"
Her reply was the unconcerned sound of teeth working away on a hank of bell pepper.
"Doesn't need to eat, huh?" he shot at Spike, who shrugged.
"I said doesn't need to, not doesn't like to."
"How did you buy all those, anyway?"
The goddess swallowed and deigned to answer his question. "I utilized the small plastic card that you used to barter entrance to this land."
"My credit card! Spike!!"
"What?" the blond vampire asked distractedly, watching Illyria demolish another kabob—stick and all. "Should I be turned on by this?" he asked Gunn as an aside.
"Nuh-uh," was Gunn's reply.
"Don't you have anything to say?" Angel pestered.
"Oh, uh—yeah. Thanks, Lyria-love. In a mind to share?" Illyria handed him a chicken kabob before eating another one herself. The wood skewer crunched with every bite. "Good fibre, that," he commented.
"Roughage," added Fred. "With an emphasis on the 'rough.' Ewww."
"Spike!!" Angel barked. "Anything else? Like maybe an 'I'm sor—"
" 'Course. Sorry, Fred," Spike apologized. "Leery, be a luv and give Fred one of those, too, eh? She's practically salivatin.'"
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"You guys are gonna love this one," Fred said as the group finally reached the Haunted Mansion ride. They'd been held up not a little by a very sore Angel, walking along stiffly after his attempt to introduce Illyria to the miracle of the Fresh-N-Soft baby wipe. A nonetheless barbeque-free Illyria had further responded by handing out shish kabobs not only to Fred, but to Spike, Wes, and Gunn as well. The others might have felt sorry for their noticeably left-out friend were they not so busy eating and discussing the rides to come.
"Yup, it's got a graveyard, a weird elevator, a ballroom, and these cool 'doom buggies' to ride in," Gunn agreed with Fred. "Right up our alley."
The Mansion was an absolutely beautiful Victorian-style manor house, surrounded by elegant landscaping and a small graveyard. After a brief wait in an outside line, a large group of patrons were ushered through the front door and directly into a large, cylindrical elevator with paneled walls. Trying to stay together, Team Angel found themselves smushed together in close quarters as the doors closed and lights dimmed.
Spike was becoming comfortably engrossed in the plotline of the ride, which was being explained by a deep, spooky voice over the loudspeaker, when he heard the odd sound of panting beside him. Illyria, wild-eyed, was casting jerky, almost panicked looks at the tight walls and packed-in crowd.
"It's too small, it's too small…" she began to mutter, voice raising with every word. Turning in a circle, she earned some annoyed glances from some fellow ride patrons when her elbows whacked against them.
The situation quickly reached desperate proportions. "You might'a warned us that Illyria's claustrophobic!" Spike hissed to Wes.
"You're her husband!" he replied.
"It never came up!"
All at once, Illyria was off, ramming through the crowds as she dashed the perimeter of the elevator. Park guests were flying into the air, feet above their heads, tossed up by her tunneling. Their grunts and surprised cries almost drowned out the piped-in announcer.
Spike tried very, very hard not to laugh.
"This chamber has no windows and no doors…" the narration voice went on. …so how are you going to get out?"
CRASH!!
Dust settled. Wood slivers dropped to the ground. People stared. Illyria was nowhere to be seen.
"Well," Spike couldn't resist quipping, "I guess there's always Illyria's way."
"Yeah," Fred seconded, staring at the odd, new, perfectly-Illyria-shaped hole in one wall of the elevator. With a little shrug and quirk of her mouth, she climbed through it and into the dark corridor that was the next part of the ride. Wesley followed, then Gunn and Angel, who finally just raised his hands as if absolving himself from further responsibility.
Spike was left with an elevator full of petrified, dumbstruck tourists.
"Sorry about the wall, mate," he told the nearest ride attendant, patting him on the shoulder. Without further ado, he slipped through the hole. Disneyland, he was sure, had plenty of insurance for this sort of thing.
If they didn't, he hoped for their sake that they got themselves some-- preferably in the next three minutes.
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Thankfully for all involved, the next corridor, while dark, was considerably more open. All along the walls were portraits that looked normal and lovely one moment, then turned decrepit and horrifying with a flash of light. Stone busts had eyes that appeared to follow the guests as they walked down the hall towards the ride's loading area. Tremendously large cobwebs hung liberally from the ceiling. Best of all, the gang could look at all this completely at their leisure, with no press of a crowd hurrying them along. The rest of the elevator's riders were giving them considerable berth.
Spike sauntered along beside his wife, casually taking in the portraits but mostly focused on the fun that was to be had ahead-- if he played his cards right. "Now, there's a bit of a… ritual… with these dark rides," he told his goddess, immediately piquing her interest. Illyria was liable to get interested in a trip to the drugstore if you used the word 'ritual' to describe it beforehand. Granted, this was because 'ritual,' in her day, had generally involved some form of worship directed at herself, and she was very testy to deal with if she discovered otherwise. Thankfully, this was not one of those times. "Once you get into the dark, you have to make out with the vampire on your left."
"Make… out?" Her brow furrowed.
"Sorry, didn't teach you that one." Illyria was not one for colloquialisms. "Snog?"
"Ah." She smiled. Spike smirked.
Unfortunately, he was not the vampire on her left. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
"What?" Angel asked, clueless.
"Right, right!" Spike cut in. "The vampire on your right!" How on earth had he managed to mix those two up? "Bloody lift," he muttered, saving face. "Got me all turned around."
"This is a ritual?" she questioned as they reached the moving platform that would deposit them into their 'doom buggies.' Wes and Fred skipped ahead and happily settled into one of the domed black carts, followed by Gunn and Angel, who each took their own to stretch out in. The remaining couple stepped up to the belt.
Illyria had no problem whatsoever with this… making out as Spike called it, but she was usually not in the habit of showing such activities to all. Showing of affection could be interpreted by some as a moment of weakness. Even though she now knew better for herself, not everyone, she thought, was as brilliant and insightful as she.
"'Course. You don't do it-- and the ride breaks down right in the middle. Idn't that right, Wesley?" he called up to the first doom buggy. No answer. "Wesley? Fred?" Still, nothing. "There-- you see? Ritual."
Illyria had the distinct feeling that her husband was teasing her, but she cared little. The idea appealed to her as well. After leaping into a doom buggy of their own, she made herself comfortable and prepared for worship-- i.e. 'making out.' Spike grinned in a downright predatory manner, leaned over, and…
"Oi!" he yelled in annoyed shock as the lap bar automatically lowered, catching him in the chest. Thwarted again! "Bloody lap bars!"
The vampire's temper was soon appeased as his attention was captured by the goings on of the ride. The doom buggy was designed to swivel on the track at planned intervals, letting the riders see each section of the ride in a controlled manner much like a movie camera filmed a scene. It also occasionally gave glimpses of the doom buggy occupants directly in front of or behind one's own. Angel was gesturing at something before his buggy rounded the corner. Spike caught on. The first room was the conservatory, where a funeral was taking place. Unfortunately, the coffin didn't want to stay closed. The lid was being pounded on, with cries from within demanding to be let out.
"There's some memories," Spike muttered, a little disturbed. Illyria's answer was to shimmy over the lap bar. Bad memories flew as he ended up with an armful of demon-goddess-comfort.
The ride came only in little glimpses for the vampire after that. There was a hallway with creepy rattling knobs, a floating candelabra, and some grotesque glowing portraits that even the former Big Bad had to admit were enough to give him the willies. Another area held a full-scale séance with the head of a gypsy woman, Madame Leota, speaking from a crystal ball.
"Gypsies," Angel said a bit nervously, on instinct trying to look inconspicuous behind his lap bar.
Fred's squeals could be heard even from a distance as the group passed the large ballroom, where ghostly couples swirled over the floor. Everyone was most impressed with the largest scene-- a dark, sprawling graveyard with streams of ghosts flying and wailing overheard. A ghostly attic wedding topped things off.
Impressed, the gang tumbled out of their buggies at the end of the ride and discussed their favorite bits as they rode out on another moving sidewalk.
Spike, who had seen only about half of the ride due to the 'ritual,' summed it all up. "I've been a ghost, and trust me-- it wasn't this much fun."
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Pirates of the Caribbean, the only other ride in the Square, was next on the agenda. It had the fastest-moving line at Disneyland due to the large seating capacity of the flatboats, and the gang scarcely had time to look at the caricature paintings of famous pirates that donned the interior walls before they were in the boarding area and climbing onto their boat. They were all able to fit on one of the long benches, but that was where their luck ended. Directly in front of them was a gaggle of giggling, loud, thoroughly obnoxious pre-teen girls who wouldn't have stopped talking if the boat had turned over on top of them. It was also difficult to tell if they were babbling to each other, themselves, or into the light-up cell phones they each carried permanently fixed to their ears.1 Gunn wondered if it was some sort of mystical implant and shuddered.
Of course, they couldn't have been discussing anything remotely intellectual, or, to the men's point of view, remotely interesting either.2
"Johnny!"
"Orlando!"
"Johnny!"
"Orlando!"
"I cannot hear the skull," Illyria grumped, referring to the talking scull and crossbones whose free-floating voice was introducing the ride plot. "I am tempted to take these mindless pre-pubescent and deliver them over the side of this vessel."
"No one's stopping you," Angel murmured. He would have been shocked to find himself condoning one of his rival's actions were he not so completely, mind-twistingly annoyed by the girls.
"JOHNNY!"
"ORLANDO!"
"Or I may make trophies of their spines," the Old One amended. "Poor trophies though they may be."
"No one's…" Angel caught himself just in time. Illyria was not making any immediate moves toward spine removal, anyway. He was beginning to think that most of her threats were cathartic in nature. Most.
"Besides, Wes is hotter'n both of 'em," Fred giggled flirtatiously, snuggling up to her husband. The former Watcher lit up like a Lite-Brite.
"I thought that would start to wear off," Gunn said, observing. "But it's only gotten worse since the wedding."
Angel's brow creased. "Wait a minute. Let me get this straight—Wes and Fred... are married?"
Gunn couldn't believe it. Sure, Angel was a little slow on picking up romantic cues, but this was ridiculous! "Don't you remember-- the church, white dress, lots of organ music, flowers?"
Nothing.
"You were in it! And then there was the Blue Meanie marching Spike up to the alter so he could swear eternal fealty and they could mate at will?"
Wes, overhearing, put in his two cents. "That really added a sacred touch to the ceremony. Though you do have to appreciate her traditional values."
"Or was that you who swore the eternal fealty and love-slavery?" Gunn half-teased. "Little fuzzy on that part."
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Pirates was a big hit. The gang floated along in their boat, taking in the sights of animatronic pirates ransacking a Caribbean town, complete with canons, boats, gun battles, and rampant fires. Despite what seemed like a serious theme, the ride was lighthearted due to the comic nature of the pirates and the cheery "Yo Ho, Yo Ho," number that piped in throughout the ride. (The fact that it finally drowned out the pre-teen girls was an added plus.) Before long, the guests were singing along with gusto.
Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me
We're beggars and blighters and ne'r-do-well cads
Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!
Aye, but we're loved by our mummies and dads
Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!
We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack
Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!
Maraud and embezzle and even hijack
Drink up, me 'hearties, yo ho!
Gunn by far had the best voice of the group, though his encore-worthy "I am a Pirate King" from Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance, performed in the line, was the better showcase for his talents. Wesley sounded like quite possibly the most ridiculously refined pirate ever in existence, Fred was just plain off-key half the time and didn't care, and Illyria was singing a full octave below the male-voiced soundtrack. Spike had a good voice, but was too turned on by Illyria's near-bass rumbling to get anything out.
Angel, feeling caught up in the spirit of the thing, joined in on about the fourth round.
It could have been a coincidence, but the ride suddenly stopped dead.
1 This is also based on a real event. Man, those girls were loud.
2 The author is not dismissing the value of this topic, only that enough is enough. Besides, anyone knows that the answer is clearly 'Johnny.'
