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He knew this was a bad idea. And not just a bad one. A bleating-sheep Baaaa-AD! idea. He thunked his head his head against the polished mahogany desk. Stoopid, stoopid. The door opened. He gulped. Erp. Was this really worth it? At what price the bright love renewed, refueled, rebirthed in pure fervor in his godess' eyes? The lady in the room raised an ogee-arch of a perfectly waxed eyebrow. No plucking for *her*. Not for Lilah schemin' Morgan. Perhaps she could taste the frisson of fear which made itself known in lad Riley's wide-expansed man-bosom. "What's the matter, Agent Finn? Having second thoughts?" Oh, to see dear Buffy's face light up in unadulterated pleasure, in utmost and raw devouring desire. What would he give? Just when he thought he could stand the pain no longer...luckily for him the helicopter had to be refueled in the old El Torro base. And that the stars and satellites [including the one which had hampered communications and somehow tipped off a certain Eeevil law firm] had somehow aligned or mis-aligned in such a way to deposit him squarely into his last chance. His final hope. The ultimate window. The last call. Not to mention a sure way of bargaining the only thing he had left...his now-marked, signed, sealed, and almost delivered Soul. Lilah leered and bent closer with her palms atop the table, eyes directly perusing this latest victim across from herself. But surely he was no victim? No reckless debtor? No double crossing gopher? She smiled falsely, and Riley could smell the spicy scent of her no-doubt overpriced perfume. "What's the matter?" Was the pallor of his courage fading? "Nothing's wrong." "Good. Take off your clothes." Riley's eyes grew wide with surprise. "What?" "In order for the spell to work you must bake the confectionery goods by using a pound of these goose berries, fertilized by the gwana of mutated posessed fruit bats, flour from the 14th Dimensions of one of the hells accessible on earth, and this spatula specially enchanted by our very best and quite respected black-arts free lancers. You know the rest." "Rest? What rest?" "Rest!" "But I'm not tired, thank you." "The rest of the spell!" "Oh." "The spatula must have the blood off your back, the sweat of your brow, and the- uh, [cough] from your parts in order for the love tarts to work." Riley suddenly felt queasy stirrings in his tummy region. "I can do it from here, thanks." Lilah sighed impatiently. "A woman not intended to be the target must be the wielder of said spatula." "How come you're the one doing it?" "To score points around here you have to get really hands-on with special projects." Lilah wielded the sinister-looking spatula expertly, and advanced. Riley looked a bit...green. "Now STRIP," she barked. Better than a Drill Sergeant. Scarier, too. And Finn thought to himself that perhaps he'd gotten in way over his head. |