31.
The male members of the Think Pink team followed the trail of excited voices through a maze of dusty parade floats and arrived just as Cyvus Vail mentioned increasing the size of his harem. Their arrival stalled the confrontation that had been building. Hamilton turned to evaluate the newcomers and missed the entrance of a small, furry adversary. Mr. Pussy, who had been stalking shadows under the moth balled trailers, skittered unseen into the room and quickly found a new hiding place.
“We’d have been here sooner,” Wesley stated as he strode toward the women. A cursory visual survey of the expansive space gave him needed tactical information. “But there was the small matter of a dragon to contend with.” Finally he turned his critical eye to Hamilton.
“I thought you might like that little teaser.” Hamilton rolled his lips into a mirthless grin.
“Is the team okay?” Harmony asked, eager for an update.
Gunn wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple and scanned the perimeter of the room. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news but it had to be said. “That thing swallowed Angel, Harmony. I don’t know. It doesn’t look good for him.”
“Oh!” Harmony’s forehead wrinkled with concern.
“You girls okay?” Spike couldn’t help but check on his ladies.
“We’re good,” Buffy answered.
“Good, uh-huh,” Dawn confirmed.
“You look like you had fun,” Buffy commented on Spike’s battered appearance.
“Nothing to write home about. Didn’t even break a sweat. What’s all this, then?” Spike looked at the odd machine with bored disdain. It failed to impress.
“We have a situation here, Wesley.” Fred’s terse reminder was hardly necessary.
“Indeed,” Wesley acknowledged the metallic presence with his characteristic English deadpan.
“Interesting design,” Lorne scrutinized the sleek machine. “But given the state of your hairline, Hamilton, I can’t say I’m shocked.”
“Gentlemen,” Hamilton interrupted the conversation with a hint of a harried smile. “If you wouldn’t mind? We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Angel…” A forlorn squeak escaped Harmony’s pouting lips.
“Ugh!” Archduke Sebassis cleared his throat. “This is most unsavory. I thought vampires were supposed to be ruthless.”
“Hey!” Harmony’s ire flared to red hot once more. “My middle name is ruthless! You think you’re so great? Winged loincloth, my eye! You’re wearing a diaper and those horns of yours are just plain dorky!”
“Now, now,” Hamilton intervened with an icy chuckle. “There’s no need to get personal. I’m a reasonable man. There’s plenty of goodies to go around.” He took a step toward the monolithic phallus.
Wary of the mysterious contraption, Wesley reached under his jacket and whipped out twin pistols from his shoulder harness. He leveled them at Hamilton. “Is this what you’ll use to create the hellmouth?”
Hamilton ignored the firearms and responded with a smile of arrogant pride. “Stylish, isn’t it?”
A wayward voice warbled from elsewhere in the warehouse. “Marco!”
Hamilton and Wesley maintained their tense standoff while the others turned to glance toward the open door.
“Marco–” At last Andrew tripped through the door. “Oh! Here you all are. No need to worry, I’m perfectly fine!” He panned the room with the camera. The threatening piece of machinery immediately caught his eye.
It looked like something Warren might have dreamed up after a night of Zima fueled trash talk and AC-DC blared at full volume. Clearly, the engineer behind this contraption had some unresolved personal issues. “Would you look at that?” Andrew marveled. “A big, black, mystery machine. Quel suprise, evil-doers. Love the homage to ‘Dr. Who’, though. So understated and yet so shiny.”
“Not so close,” Wesley sounded a warning.
“Could you stop acting like a complete nit for ten seconds?” Spike scolded. “Get away from that thing.”
Andrew zoomed in on Spike’s threatening eyebrow briefly and then pivoted to record the images of Hamilton, Sebassis and Vail, the nemeses of the moment. “If you gentlemen could assist me with your names, that would be great, and I’ll probably need the correct spellings too. This is for posterity, you understand.” He adjusted the picture to accommodate the Archduke’s elongated horns. “Ooh, love the horns. Very photogenic. And you are?”
The video deposition ended when the dragon exploded through a wall sending the small crowd and a wave of splintering structural supports flying in all directions.
The pistols flew from Wesley’s hands when a section of siding sideswiped him. A torrent of flaking dry wall and destroyed ceiling trusses landed in a clump around Andrew, effectively entombing him. The dragon landed with a heavy thud and fell sideways, coughing and wheezing, trying in vain to spit out the nasty bit of vampire it had recently devoured. All eyes fixed on the great beast as it opened its mouth to expel the resistant blockage.
Angel could be seen swinging from the creature’s mouth, one hand held a firm grip on its uvula and the other held a battle-axe. The dragon’s head thrashed back and forth to no avail. It was only able to dribble out tiny bursts of flame that merely scorched Angel but did not dislodge him. A faint musical squeal could be heard from Angel as he dangled precariously, an unwanted pendulum from the mouth of the dragon. The titanic beast lumbered in agony, trying in vain to alternately swallow or spit out Angel. It was an engrossing spectacle for all in attendance.
“That’s not ‘Mandy’.” Knowing Angel’s musical preferences, Gunn tried to decipher the battle song choice. It was vaguely familiar.
“‘Copacobana’, I believe,” Wesley suggested. “It has that cheerful, up-tempo chorus.” When Wesley began to twitch his index finger like a conductor’s baton Gunn could not mask his amused reaction. “Really, Charles,” Wesley responded. “I’ve listened to the radio. I know music.”
Gunn wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass. “Yeah? You and Flavor Flav kick it old school, huh?”
“Flavor? What flavor? Charles, what on earth are you talking about?”
Gunn breathed a sigh of relief. “Just checking. Don’t scare me like that again, Wes. I mean it.”
“Now, that’s what I’ve been talking about!” Spike pointed at the dragon. “Fighting back from the belly of the beast!” He didn’t need to point out the spectacle as everyone stood staring in awe at the remarkable sight. “See? I knew Angel wouldn’t be dragon kibble,” Spike remarked. “He’s made of strong stuff, he is. Irritating stuff. Bound to piss me off for ages to come.” Spike raised a palm to his mouth and yelled encouragement. “Give ‘im hell, Angel!”
“And I thought I’d seen everything,” Lorne gaped at the hypnotic display. “I mean, the dude makes a mean mocha, but this?”
Cyvus Vail immediately took advantage of the unusual distraction to conjure a magical ball of flame in the palm of his hand, which he hurled with great relish at the crowd.
“Holy sh–” Buffy saw the tiny inferno coming at her, grabbed Harmony and Dawn and dove for cover. The ball of fire burst against a steel pillar, sending shards of flame ricocheting around the room.
The fireworks succeeded in agitating the dragon further. It let out a choked gush of muffled rage and shook its head at an impossible velocity until Angel’s grasp on the slippery uvula finally gave way. He promptly disappeared head first down the dragon’s gullet. At last freed from that troublesome and less than flavorful morsel, the dragon swished its tail back and forth in a show of superior strength, inadvertently impaling Cyvus Vail and sending him careening into the far wall of the enormous room. The warlock’s terrified screams ended when his wizened body met the solid wall with a bone crushing splat and slow slide to the floor. He then exploded in flames.
A sly, slobbering grin animated the dragon’s reptilian features as it advanced once more on the nutritious bipeds in its midst. The dragon opened its mouth to roar in fiery triumph but instead crashed to its knees and flopped forward in a dead, smoky heap. Everyone bolted in a frenetic scramble to get clear of the fleshy hazard; everyone, that is, except the slow moving, imperious archduke who hadn’t moved faster than a deliberate mosey in decades. The sound of horns snapping under the weight of the carcass echoed in the room like fingernails scraped along a blackboard.
A muffled voice called out from beneath a pile of debris. Andrew’s voice. “Don’t worry, guys! I’m still all right. Air pocket here. No problem at all.” Predictably, no one spared a moment to ascertain exactly which pile of wood and metal remnants imprisoned Andrew. There were a few more important matters to attend to at the moment.
Hamilton shook his head in disgust at the ease in which his associates were eliminated. He hadn’t counted on the dragon taking out both his partners. “Amateurs,” he sighed and adjusted his cuff links. Ever the pragmatist, Hamilton turned his attention to the gang of pesky do-gooders in his midst. “Wow. Your group thing really is impressive, honey bunch.”
“You really think so?” Harmony gushed under Hamilton’s unexpected praise. “I mean, yeah, it is!”
“Never should have doubted you. I was a fool to think Sebassis and Vail could outmaneuver you.”
“You got that right. Think Pink rules!” Harmony swung her weight to one hip in triumph.
“I guess it’s just you and me and my little hell maker now.” Hamilton casually patted the metal skin of the machine.
Alerted by the look on Harmony’s face, Wesley stepped forward. He’d witnessed it often enough before and was concerned. Hamilton was an expert at stroking Harmony’s ego among other things.
“Harmony,” Wesley spoke her name in warning.
“Never mind them, doll,” Hamilton cooed in a lazy, seductive voice. He knew his strengths and, unfortunately, Harmony’s weaknesses. “You want to rule a world?” He flared his empty eyes at her. “A dozen?” Hamilton had nerve, ego and arrogance to spare.
Unfortunately for Hamilton, Harmony was ready for his tactics. “Excuse me? You expect me to just forget how you stood there and let Cyvus Vail come on to me like some scabby, petrified noodle?”
“I knew he was no match for you.” Hamilton’s silky delivery never let up.
“You called me a photo op!”
“Don’t forget ‘shining star’, and I meant that sincerely.” Hamilton attempted a seductive lip wiggle.
Harmony zapped him with a lethal dose of stink eye.
“I don’t see what the problem is. You and me, babe, we are on the same side here. The Senior Partners side?”
“You are unbelievable!” Harmony fumed. “I knew you were a snake, but apparently you’re a dog, a pig and a chicken too. Heck, you’re the whole damn barnyard! Men!”
“Don’t forget you signed a contract,” Hamilton reminded her.
“I know I can get you out of it, Harmony,” Gunn spoke with confidence and an electrifying smile. “It’s what I do.”
“Things are done in a certain way, Marcus,” Harmony lectured. “Even big, evil things. There’s plans and revisions and meetings and teleconferencing and…other…stuff!”
“Protocol,” Gunn quietly prompted.
“Yeah, protocol. What about that? We have a chain of command for a reason, damn it!”
“What chain of command?” Buffy added fuel to the flame. “Hamilton said Wolfram and Hart ran itself.”
“Did he now?” Wesley spoke tersely.
“That sounds like serious breach of contract territory to me, Harmony,” Gunn advised.
“If I may?” Undaunted, Marcus reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a tiny remote control. One flick of his thumb activated the machine. “Love to chat gang, but I do have a schedule to keep. Hellmouth opening and all that.”
What happened next surprised everyone. Mr. Pussy, who had been hiding beneath the hell machine engaging dust bunnies in battle, reacted badly to the sound and vibration of the diabolical machine’s starting sequence. With a shrill hiss he leapt into the air and landed four sets of razor sharp claws on the back of Marcus Hamilton’s eminently fleshy neck. Hamilton lurched off balance before grabbing the snarling mass of claws and throwing Mr. Pussy to the floor. An impulsive press of the remote followed and a tiny laser beam blasted from the curved tip of the machine, quickly finding its target. In a moment it was over.
The tiniest member of the Think Pink team never saw death coming. Mr. Pussy Galore arched his back and hissed at the hated colossus who took so much of the shiny one’s attention. A truncated yowl echoed through the room and then all traces of the curious and vivacious feline evaporated away into empty air. An unseen wave then rippled out from the epicenter where the kitten recently crouched. It spread in all directions, passing through friend and foe alike before disappearing through the walls. Everyone stood stunned as the grip of the kitten’s innocent enchantment fell away like grains of sand from an hourglass.
Wesley shook his head to clear the cobwebs and then stared at the mass of dead dragon flesh before him. “Angel!” he yelled and scrambled toward the fallen carcass just as the blade of a battle-axe sliced through the creature’s skin from the inside. Two intersecting slices formed an escape hatch and instantly Angel’s head popped through.
“…the hottest spot north of–” Angel stopped singing and sported a goofy grin. “Hey, guys!”
Spike and Gunn leapt on to the body of the dragon and pulled Angel from the slick snare.
Gunn immediately pulled his coat lapel up over his nose. “Sweet baby Jesus, that reeks!”
“What?” Angel scrambled out of the body of the beast, happy to be in a less restrictive environment. He licked his lips and winked at Gunn. “Tastes like chicken.”
“Oh man, you did not just say that.” Gunn winced and jumped clear of the dragon’s body for fear Angel might decide to shake like a wet dog.
Globs of the departed dragon dripped from Angel’s mildly scorched clothing into a lumpy puddle at his feet. “Okay, that was cool. Wouldn’t recommend it to the faint of heart but tops on the scale of one to cool.” Spread sheets and secretarial ephemera receded from his mind and were replaced by giddy mania and a widening smile. Felling a dragon from the inside had to be one for the record books.
“Angel, the Dragon Slayer,” he murmured. “That’s got a nice ring to it. I should get t-shirts made.”
“Whatever floats your boat, Peaches,” Spike jumped off the carcass with balletic ease.
“I– Uh– What has occurred?” Wesley’s recall of fighting an enthusiastic crowd of demons and confronting Hamilton was intact but momentarily clouded.
“I slayed a damn dragon, that’s what!” Angel crowed. “And from the inside out!” He puffed out his chest at a sticky job well done.
“Wow! Angel cakes,” Lorne ventured forward. The look of admiration on his face soon twisted in reaction to the repulsive odor. “Holy mackerel, my stinky hero! We’ll hose you down and then I’m buying the first round!” Lorne’s mind began to spin with creative possibilities. “I’m thinking of a Vin Diesel-esque unknown for the film version or maybe Vin himself, if he’s in shape. Just think of him in tattered clothes, covered in dragon digestive juices. I can see the grosses now. Dynamite!”
“Hold up a moment!” Wesley called out for silence. They were all missing something vitally important, of that Wesley was certain. He remembered the main points: the feral equinox, Hamilton at his insufferable worst, the prospect of apocalypse, a flash of claws and then–
All eyes turned in unison as a spine curdling screech erupted from the fiery pits of hell itself and exploded from the larynx of a horror-stricken vampire.
“MR. PUSSY!”