Chapter Three: Music
Journal,
Angel is again driving us to a different location. I am greatly displeased, for I had grown particularly fond of the verdant plains of Montana.
Spike, on the other hand, was ecstatic. "Finally!" he exclaimed as we drove away from the house. "Let's get someplace with some real action! All this sitting and waiting we've been doing... I'll be buggered if my muscles aren't ready for a breather. By which I mean a great big brawl, of course."
"Let's hope we can find some demons or vampires to kill that also happen to have a little cash," Angel responded. "If we can't refill our wallets soon, we're going to be sleeping in the dumpsters."
"How much do we have left?" asked Spike.
"Three hundred. Enough to keep our gas tank filled, and hopefully get us a cheap hotel room for a couple of nights. After that, who knows."
There was silence. Then Angel started shifting around some miscellaneous garbage while simultaneously attempting to drive, with the result that the automobile started to swerve on the road.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Spike demanded.
"I'm looking for my damn Barry Manilow tape, all right?" retorted Angel.
"Oh, that," snickered Spike. "You aren't gonna find it. I threw it out before we left."
"You did what?!" roared Angel. "I'm going to kill you, you pathetic sack of--"
"It bleeding well serves you right, what with making me leave my Xbox back in LA, you miserable popinjay--"
"I thought you might have been mature enough to live without your stupid video game--"
"And yet you can't go ten minutes on the road without listening to 'I Write the Songs'--"
"At least it's conducive to refined thinking, unlike your mindless--"
"Like you'd know anything about thinking, when all you do is sit around and brood like a--"
"Brooding is thinking, you thick-headed--"
They continued quarrelling in this manner for another half-hour, neither one of them allowing the other to finish so much as a sentence. If I had not had this journal to which I could turn my attentions, I feel certain I would have become incensed enough to kill them both.
I still do not understand why they fail to separate themselves from each other's presences, if they detest each other as much as they seem. I had even conveyed my wonderings to Lorne and Wesley a few months ago. Before they were both gone.
"It's called 'sexual tension'. And I'd say it's thicker than George Clooney's wallet," Lorne had answered.
"Sexual tension?"
"Lorne's exaggerating. Quite profusely," corrected Wesley. "The truth is, Illyria, none of us really knows why Spike and Angel behave the way they do. Why they tolerate each other. Personally, however, I believe they still retain a sort of familial association. They were part of a small, vampire gang for so long, I imagine they started to configure brotherly-type bonds. Hence, the underlying tones of sibling rivalry." Wesley smiled slightly. "Competition over women, destinies... Really, it's just like they're fighting over the best toys in the box."
"That's not such a bad notion, Crumpet. But I'm still going to stick with my sexual tension theory."
Wesley's explanation failed to remedy my query. I myself had possessed a sibling, millennia ago, when I was formed from the magma of my world. Soon after I was created, another powerful demon sprung forth out of the same fissure that had released me. I knew her as my sister.
We never competed, however. In fact, I never felt any sort of bond with her at all. One day, when she had an army that I desired, I eviscerated her and converted her exoskeleton into a large cabinet where I stored human skulls.
Angel and Spike have discontinued their quarrel. We sit, now, in silence. I must carry on with my writing at a different time, lest they hear the scratching of my pen and discover this journal. I cannot imagine such humiliation.
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Journal,
I had not thought I could find a filthier, more malodorous place than Los Angeles. Yet Spike, Angel, and I inhabit this dismal lodging area, this motel. I detest this place more than I did Wesley's old apartment. At least he kept his dwelling clean, and the only odors that clung to the curtains were those of human liquors and tears. But this place smells of smoke and sweat and feces. So utterly sickening.
Spike is asleep on one of the beds, having drunk himself into a stupor. Angel is in the bathroom, taking a shower. Not that it will help. Vampires always carry a stench, no matter how many times they bathe. I had told him this once. He had scowled and called me various rude names.
We are in a place called Colorado now. Earlier, an hour after we had settled into this motel room, Angel came in from outside, where he had been having a conversation via his cell phone.
"That was Andrew," he declared to Spike. "He's back in Mexico, and he's agreed to give us succor. We'll meet up with him in Texas, and he'll drive us back to his house. In return, we have to help him find and train Slayers."
Angel sat at the small table and buried his face in his hands. "Just talking to him for twenty minutes gives me a killer migraine. I got treated to a speech about how we were the Fellowship taking shelter with his Galadriel. Only then he realized he'd compared himself to a female and he changed it to Celeborn. Do you have any idea how irritating that is?"
"Please," said Spike. "I had to put up with the little pimple for over six months. One time, I had to listen to him rant for an hour about how the '10th kingdom' series was only worth watching after the three trolls were incapacitated by a magical gold finger. Don't ask me what the hell any of that means." They commiserated about this Andrew character for a few more minutes, before Angel spoke up regarding a different matter.
"We've got a bigger problem," he said. "We're not going to have enough money to get us to Texas. We need to find some way to get cash. So let's hear some ideas, unless one of us wants to strip. Like in 'Forces of Nature'.
"Aah," said Spike appreciatively. "Sandra Bullock."
"What is this 'stripping' to which you are both referring?" I inquired. "Does it involve flaying the skin off of people?"
"Not exactly," answered Angel. He looked as though he were considering the best way to explain. "It's a bit more, uh... never mind. It's not important. What is important is how we're going to come up with some extra cash. I figure another two hundred bucks should cover us."
"Shouldn't be too difficult," said Spike.
"All right, then," began Angel. "Tomorrow evening, we'll go out. Let's agree to make a hundred each, however we can. Within the realm of moral limits, of course."
I addressed them. "I will also go out into the town. No doubt I am far more capable of procuring currency than either of you."
They both stared at me. "No offense, Blueberry. I just don't think that's the best idea," answered Spike.
"Definitely not," agreed Angel.
"Why don't you just stay here? Maybe go out and stargaze. You wouldn't want to go out into town. All that smog and stuff."
I felt it best not to argue with them. I will simply wait until they leave tomorrow. Then I will also leave. I will prove to them that I am just as proficient at obtaining money. I will return with more wealth than either of them.
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Journal,
I find it difficult to describe the night I have just experienced. 'Eventful' seems an appropriate word.
My evening began when Angel and Spike left. They took the automobile and drove the five miles into town. An hour after they departed, I ran from the motel and arrived at my destination within two minutes. No demon could hope to match my speed.
After searching for a moment, I saw a group of people walking down the street. I approached them.
"Revolting people," I declared. "I will allow you to kiss my boots, and in return, you shall give me money."
They gaped at me for a moment, before bursting into laughter.
"Beggars sure are funny, nowadays," chuckled one of them. And with that, he dropped a coin at my feet. The group then proceeded down the street. I began to follow them with a murderous intent, before remembering how irate Angel had been when I had broken the arms of the solicitor. It would not have done well to mutilate the group of humans for their disregard and for their money, only to listen to Angel's nagging.
I looked at the coin in my hand. I had not hence bothered myself with the understanding of human currency, but I knew I would need many more of these bits of metal in order to meet Angel and Spike's quota. Allowing people to worship me had not met expectations thus far. I would have to conjure another solution.
I strode down the sidewalks, inspecting the various stores and eateries. None of them seemed to serve my purpose, for I would sooner tear my own head from my body than serve a human.
After several hours, I perceived a sign with a word unfamiliar to me: Karaoke. I elected to learn more. I marched into the building while reverting to the image of the Burkle girl (so as not to receive questions based on my coloring) and was instantly assaulted by harshly bright colors and shrill noises. There were many people sitting at tables and staring at a raised dais, on which stood a woman attempting to sing. And failing.
Others sat at a long, thin table that stretched across half of the room. Behind this long, tall counter stood a man serving drinks to those on the other side. I approached this man.
"Hello, darling," he greeted. "What can I get for you? You look like a blueberry daiquiri girl."
"Get for me?" I responded. "I do not partake of primitive drinks. I require no such beverage."
"Here to sing then, huh?" replied the drink server.
"Do I receive money for singing?" I asked.
"If the audience is feeling generous. And if you're a good singer. If you're bad, my customers tend to throw other things. We had a guy with gelled-up hair in here earlier singing Barry Manilow's 'Mandy'. When he left, he was covered with rotten tomatoes."
I considered this for a moment. I had been renowned for my melodious singing back when I ruled worlds. But I was unsure how my voice would have fared after spending epochs locked in my sarcophagus. And there was no way to know how human ears would react to my form of singing. Still, I could conceive no other way to receive money in this town.
When the woman on the stage finished her shrieking, I stepped up and took her place on the dais. I grasped the amplifying object and spoke to the crowd.
"Hear my words, tasteless and dim-witted people. I shall sing, and you shall award me all of your money. If I am not honored accordingly, I shall spend the night feeding your bowels and their contents to those sitting near you."
As the audience gawked at me, I debated what song I should sing. Back in my Old World, minstrels often sang glorious songs of great wars and fearless champions, but most of the songs involved painful tortures of humans, and I did not believe my current spectators would approve of such lyrics. I remembered a song Wesley had played for study purposesone time; he had claimed that it possessed mystical powers to entrance people. I had liked it, and I decided it would serve my purpose well.
"In our secret backyard,
We can make your day more fun and less hard
No more frowning,
Let's get learning,
ABC's and 1-2-3's,
Everything from words to weather,
We'll discover them
Together!
Time to strap your thinking cap on,
Thinking things are going to happen,
Every day's a new beginning,
All your friends are here and grinning
'Cause it's Smile Time
That's right!
You're on Smile Time
I stood and waited while my audience gazed at me, enthralled. All at once, they burst into raucous laughter. Then each and every one of them stood and clapped.
"Such a cute young lady," I heard one woman say to the man at her side. "Simply adorable!"
The crowd proceeded to throw money at me. Green pieces of what felt like papyrus and many silver-like coins. I gathered them all together, certain that there was more than enough for what Angel and Spike lacked. I left amidst another thunderous round of clapping and returned to the motel. Spike and Angel were already there, sitting at the table and trading stories.
"I got thirty off of a vamp I found and dusted. I took that to the local casino and managed to get another eighty after a coupla rounds of poker," explained Spike.
"I went to a karaoke bar, but that... didn't turn out too well. So I convinced a waiter to let me cover his shift for a hundred bucks. That means we have two hundred ten. Should be enough."
Not to let myself be outdone, I dropped all of the money I had received on the table at which the two vampires sat. "How much is that?" I asked.
Angel's eyes widened at the sight of the large pile of money, while Spike did a quick count. "One hundred ninety. How on Earth did you get all that?"
"My presence alone is enough to inspire the plebeians of this world to inundate me with their valuables."
Angel wiped what appeared to be tomato juice off of his brow and narrowed his eyes at me. "You didn't hurt anyone?"
"As much as I wished to do so, I did not hurt a soul this evening."
Spike was looking at me, impressed. "That brings us up to a round four hundred. Way to go, Aqua-Girl."
Angel gritted his teeth. "Yes. Thanks, Illyria." He considered me a moment, as if hoping I would reveal how I actually procured the money. After a minute, he got up from the table. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm going to bed right after I take a shower."
He marched to the bathroom, muttering along the way about stupid, tomato-throwing crowds.
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More to come soon.
A/N: For anyone left wondering, Illyria is singing the theme song from "Smile Time," Angel episode 5x14.
Imagine this chapter, only instead of wanting money, Illyria wants reviews. Let's be a good audience and give them to her. Many thanks to everyone who has already rewarded our favorite blue monarch!